Behind the Civilized Mask

A man refuses to let history repeat itself... or to let it go

James sat in the rocking chair on the porch sipping his coffee. He'd spent much of the previous night doing the same thing. He was always sleepless at this time of year.

The road was mercifully empty at this time of day, the leaves rustling lonely whispers on their way from nowhere to elsewhere. Tonight, the street would be full of flashlights, clamoring children, and frustrated parents. Piles of leaves carefully raked up would be carelessly kicked hither and thither. Doors would open and close, open and close; residents would squeal in delight at the novel costumes. Ubiquitous bowls of candy would rest tantalizingly on every porch, spiderwebs across the bushes.

Halloween was James' least favorite time of year, but this time of the morning was still okay, still peaceful. Morning was still safe. Later... His thoughts took him back, whether he wanted to go or not.

That morning had been peaceful, too, and the afternoon had been exciting. Then the night, the costumes, the laughter, karaoke at the Ales-worth— but be home before trick or treat! Then the roaring engine, the squealing tires... the sound like a pumpkin being smashed on a porch.

James drank the rest of his coffee and stood up. He would turn the porch light off tonight, along with all the lights inside. He would sit at the kitchen table and pour himself a glass of whiskey— not to celebrate, but to punish. That's what he had been drinking that night. That's why he hadn't seen her in her three blind mice costume. That's why his little girl would never say trick or treat again.

He was why she would never say anything all.

NOTES: ▼

Word Count: 278
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the words leaves, coffee, pumpkin