Tomorrow

In the middle of the night, when her sleep was interrupted, Ella awoke to her grandmother's arms lifting her from the bed and leading her downstairs. Her questioning murmurs elicited only sshhhs from her Grammy. But, she could hear her father not being quiet at all.
 
“She's dead? You're lying!” His shouts came from the living room.
 
“Son,” Grammy called out, “Don't trouble the doctor none.”
 
When they reached the room and Grammy sat her on the sofa, Ella looked at her father, who was cradling a bloodied hand as he paced in front of the fireplace, the hearth covered by shards of the green Depression glassware her mother once collected.
 
“Mama is resting in heaven,” she whispered, and was surprised when he stopped.
 
“And I am going to hell,” he said, with a look to the doctor.
 
He left the room, taking a bottle of whiskey with him.
 
While Grammy accompanied the doctor to the front hall, their voices low and their sentences too adult for Ella to decipher, she stood and walked to the window.
 
“There are no stars up there,” she said. “How can I make a wish tonight?”
 
Grammy returned and stared at her grandchild, her eyes wearied by age and fear and tears.
 
“You don't really need them for that, honey,” she said.
 
Ella shook her head. She knew her grandmother wanted her father to be sent away to the special hospital. Too many times now he did not remember that mama had been dead for months. Skull fracture from accidental fall, according to the coroner's report.
 
She could not forget because she saw her die.
 
That's why Grammy woke her, then. To say goodbye to Daddy.
 
Ella wiped her tears and walked to her grandmother.
 
“Maybe I'll see them tomorrow,” she said.
 
“Yes, child.” Grammy kissed the top of her head. “There's always tomorrow.”
 
However, no matter how many she wished upon, the stars would not alter the truth that it was Ella who had pushed her mother to her death.

Hocus Pocus

When Celeste cut his head off, which took a long time because she used a small hacksaw, she decided to arrange the body by the front door. She wanted it to be the first thing the others saw when she answered their knock. The head sat on a small table next to the tray that held her keys, phone, and vial of tin-white powder. 

Everything was almost ready.

She could hear the others talking and laughing as they walked up the street to her door. They’re here. Celeste looked at her wet hands. There was no time to wash so she rubbed her face and her tattered clothing with her palms, and raked her fingertips through frizzy blonde hair.

She counted to five and opened the door, and laughed when she heard the cacophony of screams and shrieks.

“Happy Halloween!”
“Trick or Treat!”

The Grim Reaper, otherwise known as her neighbor Freddie, was the first to enter. He gasped as he looked around the room at all of its gory décor.

“You outdid yourself this year! And, wow, couldn’t figure out why you wanted that old mannequin from the dumpster. But, man, it’s freaky.” 

The others agreed that they were frightened witless though they laughed and walked to the tables shrouded in misty white vapor trails from the dry ice, and helped themselves to the food and drinks.

At the end of the evening, vampires, witches, French maids, gargoyles and all the other costumed people from Weeping Willow Lane raised their glasses and toasted Celeste on being the scariest person in the neighborhood on this night of all nights.

* * * * * *
Celeste didn’t feel like cleaning up after everyone left, though she did have them take the mannequin and set it by the curb for the garbage collection tomorrow. She went to her bedroom and locked the door behind her.

He was there.

He was lying on plastic sheeting under her window.

All trussed up.

Celeste would never forgive him for telling her that morning that he wanted nothing more to do with her or their relationship – that she was a freak.

What I am, she thought, is a do it yourself type of woman.

She drew the blinds. She picked up the hacksaw.