Friday Nightmares

by Corey Edward

  I laughed. “Most grandmas wouldn’t do that for their grandson.”

  “Most grandmas aren’t me.” She winked. “Are your friends coming? The dance is at eight, and it’s already a quarter-after-seven.”

  “They’re on their way.”

  “Good. How’re you feeling? I know tonight must be… hard for you.”

  I bit my lip. Grams knew about the deadline, but she didn’t know that I was going to say yes to taking over Candle Paranormal Investigations. Her respect for my personal choices ended at my safety- which, I guess, was understandable.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “It’s going to be a fun night.”

  “There’s something on your mind, Henry,” Grams said. “I can tell. Do you want to talk about it? Or do I have to bribe it out of you with sweets?”

  “Nothing. It’s just… it’s about Dad.”

  “What about him?”

  “Be honest, Grams. Do you think he really loved me?”

  The question hit both of us hard. She sighed and gestured for me to follow her into the living room from the hallway. I joined her on the couch, where Rusty was chewing away, merrily at a pig’s ear. Gramps was watching some ghost hunting show called Spirit Seekers, about a family of four that traveled the country hunting spooks. They were in London for their Halloween special, in some cemetery that was allegedly the most haunted in all the world. Sounds nice compared to what I’ve been through.

  “That,” she said, “is a tough question. Love is a hard thing for people to understand. For some, love is unconditional — especially when it comes to their children. For others, love is earned rather than given. And for still more, love is nearly impossible to express because they’ve never seen a good example of how it should be expressed in a healthy way. Usually, these kinds of people tend to need love the most, even though they don’t act like it. I know that your father loved you, even if he wasn’t fit to be a dad at the time you came here to live with us. He just… didn’t know how to show it.”

  “His own father was horrible to him,” Gramps said from his recliner. “From what Gracie told me. Used to beat him black and blue if he went a day without learning a new spell. He learned how to be a father from a man who abused him. Think about that.”

  “But I’m not abusive,” I said. “And I’m not afraid to tell the people I love how much they mean to me. Why am I different?”

  “You had Gracie until you were five, and then you had us from the age of ten on,” said Grams. “But your father? He only had you, and then you were taken from him. I’m not defending his actions — God knows I don’t condone the way he treated you, like you were more of an employee than a child. But he did love you. That I know for sure.”

  I nodded wordlessly. What could I say to something like that? I knew he loved me, somewhere deep down. And I think it took losing his life for him to realize how much he hated losing me.

  And yeah, I did miss him. I didn’t miss his mockery or his drunken, violent tirades. And if you asked what specifically it was that I missed, my mind would come up blank. I didn’t want to miss him, but I still did.

  The bell rang, and in marched Frankie, Enisa, and Molly, costumes in-hand and ready to change. Rusty ran over to greet them and so did I. We decided to change here, at the house, because we wanted to surprise my grandparents with the group costume.

  “What’re you three supposed to be?” asked Grams, hands on her hips.

  “I don’t know, Claire,” said Gramps, holding his hand in front of his eyes, “but those masks are giving me the creeps.”

  “Can it, Gramps,” said Frankie. “Henry, we’re going to your room. Enisa and Molly are taking the guest bedroom. We’ve got forty minutes. Let’s roll.”

  We hurried upstairs, the girls laughing and giggling their way into the guest bedroom and us entering into mine. It’s been a little while since Frankie and I had a good guys’ night alone, with just the two of us. Between band practice and the paranormal, life really had gotten the better of us lately.

  “I can’t wait for tonight, bro,” Frankie said, taking his costume out of his bookbag and yanking the top on over his t-shirt.

  “I know, right?” I said, pulling on my own costume over my shoulders. “Especially Operation Candy Corn. The looks on their faces are going to be something to remember forever.”

  “But aside from that. It finally feels like we got a group going, you know? Like, a legit group of friends.”

  “Just like we always wanted.” I adjusted my cape in the mirror before putting on my makeup. “And hopefully we’ll start having more. I know we can’t be the only outcasts at Dunwich. Maybe after tonight, they won’t be afraid to start speaking up.”

  “Maybe. So, dude.” Frankie put on his wig and fixed the hair, so it fell wild and untamed over his face. “Are you, like... into Molly?”

  “What?” I said, pretending I didn’t hear him.

  “I said, are you into Molly? I mean, she’s cute as hell, dude. You’re a wizard and she’s a witch… it just feels like it’s meant to be. But do you want it to be?”

  I laughed. Good old Frankie, always able to turn an awkward moment or question into a punchline. But then I was left with how to answer the question, and how to be truly honest.

  “I… don’t know,” I said. And then, because I was feeling really daring: “Actually, I don’t really know what I’m into.”

  “Oh?” Frankie paused just as he prepared to slip his fangs into his mouth. “What do you mean, bro?”

  “Uh.” I felt like I was going to explode. Maybe that would be better: to just detonate and never have to worry about things like love ever again. “Never mind.”

  “No.” Frankie turned around to face me. “We’ve been friends since we were, like, too young to see Insidious in theaters. If you think there’s something you can tell me that will change us, you’re dead wrong, dude.”

  “I don’t want to label myself before I’m done finding myself.” It was the truth. “I don’t want to jump the gun into something serious if it isn’t going to work out. You know?”

  “I know. How about you just be into… being you?”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “Cool.” He slathered some gel into his hair and spiked it up all over the place, making it turn extra wild. “How do I look?”

  “Absolutely feral. Just like a werewolf.”

  He grinned. “Exactly what I was going for.”

  “How do I look?”

  “Like a broody-ass vampire. Think the girls are done yet?”

  “We can find out.”

  Our costumes complete; we left my bedroom and hurried over to the guest room. Laughter and giggling could be heard coming from within, and I wondered whether they were able to hear us. We knocked on the door — though it was more like I knocked and Frankie banged.

  “You guys done in there?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Frankie echoed. “It’s going to be Christmas by the time you girls are finished!”

  The door flew open and out came Molly and Enisa. The duo was almost completely unrecognizable. Enisa was wearing an outfit of all-brown: brown leather boots, tan leggings, a brown blouse and hijab, and a tan adventurer’s hat. Secured to her back was a bow and arrow. Molly, meanwhile, had transformed into a pixie, complete with pink wings, violet tutu, and neon green leggings.

  “You guys look ridiculous,” Enisa exclaimed, taking out her phone. “Say cheese.”

  She snapped pictures of us laughing as we dove for her phone. Molly swatted Frankie playfully over the head with the straw of her broom, and Enisa took out one of her faux-arrows and jabbed me right in the arm. In the end, we managed to escape, charging down the steps to greet Grams as she closed the door on another trick-or-treater.

  “Holy Moses, you four,” she exclaimed. “Look at you! We got a vampire, a werewolf, a witch, and a… female Indiana Jones?”

  “We’re the cast of a young adult novel,” Enisa explained. “I’m the tough female lead of a
dystopian series that says she doesn’t need no man, even though she clearly does.”

  “I’m the broody vampire love interest who says he’s vegan and is dating a teenager even though he’s over a hundred,” I said.

  “And I’m the other point of the love triangle,” said Frankie. “The werewolf who the love interest strings along until she eventually decides to be with the broody vampire instead.”

  “What about Molly?” asked Grams. “Is she a fairy?”

  “I’m a manic pixie dream girl whose only reason for existence is to make the male main character happy,” Molly exclaimed. “We sort of ran out of tropes by the time it came to plan my outfit.”

  “Hey, I get it,” said Gramps. “I really do. What’s the name of that one series you kids were reading a while ago? Henry, you and Enisa were talking about it constantly.”

  “The Starvation Saga?” asked Enisa.

  “No, wasn’t that.”

  “Dusknight?” I suggested.

  “Nope.”

  “Uh, Throne of Scepters and Iron Hearts?” tried Molly.

  “Maybe that’s the one.” He frowned and gave an indifferent little shrug. “Then again, maybe not. They all bleed together these days. Anywho, I hope you four have fun. You deserve it.”

  Grams insisted on taking group photos before we left, which we’d already been expecting. Rusty, of course, stayed behind- though he looked so perfectly content watching Spirit Seekers on Gramps’s lap that I wouldn’t have disturbed him otherwise.

  We hopped into Frankie’s rickety old van, which was significantly more risky than fighting Darkon, and were off what we hoped would be the greatest night of our lives.

  I couldn’t tell them about what my father had said earlier. About a rising darkness or my decision to finally, formally claim Candle Paranormal Investigations for my own. I wanted to enjoy the night as much as I could, even if it made me as hopelessly naive as the characters in the novels we decided to lampoon.

  Seventeen

  All Hallow’s Leave

  Dunwich High spared no expense for the Halloween dance. Its enormous auditorium had been decked out for the occasion, all strung up in orange-and-black lights, faux cobwebs, and glowing jack-o-lanterns. The school was almost unrecognizable, and so were we.

  We entered the auditorium and peered around with wide-eyed wonder. A DJ was blasting the latest hits from the front stage, and the floor below was filled with costumed students. Though we were on the lookout for the Girlicane and the Fisher twins most of all, we all agreed that we didn’t want them to be the focus of the night. We wanted our night to be about us.

  So it was. We got our punch and stood together on the side, observing the costumes and commenting on them as need dictated. We were the eternal wallflowers, waiting hopelessly for someone to come ask us to dance who never arrived.

  Then, we saw them. The Girlicane turned our way. Bailey and Jade were dressed up as nurses, but in reality, they didn’t seem to be nursing anybody but a crowd of jocks and cheerleaders. This included the Fisher twins, who were now green-skinned ogres on the outside as well as the inside, too. Sophie Crane, meanwhile, had a costume to remember: with a billowing blue ball gown, white face paint and a foot-tall hat, she was Marie Antoinette, the Sophie Crane that France was smart enough to overthrow.

  “Who are you supposed to be, Enisa?” Sophie shouted over the music. “Katniss Eve-Iran?”

  “Peeta Akhbar!” called Bailey, and the group laughed. Eric Fisher grabbed his cape and wrapped it around his head, sticking his tongue out at Enisa.

  “Ignore them,” Molly said, protectively draping her arm over Enisa. “We’ll have our laughs later on.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “They’re just a bunch of assholes. ”

  “Their words don’t hurt me,” said Enisa. “I’m fine, as long as I have you guys.”

  I looked over to the punchbowl to see Miss Delaney scooping a spoonful of red liquid into a cup. Her eyes went wide with enthusiasm when she noticed us, and she gestured wildly for us to come over, so we did.

  “Hello, kids,” she said, smiling widely. “I just love your costumes.”

  “Thanks, Miss D,” said Frankie. “Do you know who we are?”

  She squinted. “You’re a rock band.”

  “Nope,” said Enisa. “We’re the cast of a young adult novel. What about you?”

  “A psychic school librarian, of course.”

  “I knew it,” said Frankie. “Your costume is lit.”

  We all groaned at that one.

  “Hope you’re having a good night out there, creepy cats and ghastly ghouls,” said the DJ. “Don’t forget to vote for your favorite costume! In just a few minutes, Monsters and Meatloaf will be taking the floor to rock it out. Stay tuned!”

  “And that’s my cue to — ” Frankie began, but stopped suddenly, his hands going down to his pocket. “Shit.”

  “Shit?” I repeated.

  “No, not literally ‘shit’. I don’t have my guitar pick.”

  “You don’t need it. You’ll be just fine on your own. Go on and rock it out.”

  “But-”

  “Go.” I pushed him forward.

  He didn’t have anything to say to that. I let it drop and smiled at him as he hurried backstage to get ready.

  The curtain fell and then rose again a few minutes later to reveal Frankie and his two bandmates, instruments in hand and ready to rock the night away.

  “Hey, everyone,” Frankie said into the microphone. “We’re called Monsters and Meatloaf. We’re the monsters; you’re the meatloaf. This song’s named One Last Duet. Enjoy.”

  They started the song off with a loud, bellowing bang. It was their first performance in a long time without Frankie’s magic guitar pick.

  And as much as I hated to admit it, it showed.

  Not a note was on key; not a sound was in tune. Thomas was banging on the drums with no rhyme or reason, and Ernesto’s voice really did sound like a nursing home resident singing the Star Spangled Banner. Frankie was doing his best to keep the group together, but not even his decent guitar skills could cover up for everything else.

  There were boos and jeers all around. A couple of people sat down on the dance floor. Someone even threw a drink up on the stage; Frankie had to duck to avoid it hitting him in the face. After no less than two minutes, Ernesto flung his drumsticks to the side and stormed off the stage. Thomas joined him, bursting into tears and running behind the curtain. Frankie looked at the booing crowd for a minute and then rushed backstage with the rest of his band.

  “Great Merlin,” Molly whispered. “What the hell was that?”

  “Hold on,” I said, and then I ran backstage to find them.

  It was quite a pathetic sight. Thomas was bent over a trash can barfing with no sign of stopping. Ernesto was laying on the floor in a fetal position, crying as if someone had just run over his beloved pet. Frankie was sitting in a chair with his hands buried in his hair, looking utterly dejected. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but judging by this scene, it might be the last.

  “Frankie,” I said, running over to his side. “What happened out there?”

  “We happened out there,” Frankie replied. “Because we fucking suck. Because I fucking suck.”

  “Stop it. You don’t suck.”

  “Yes, I do. I can’t even keep my band together. Do you know how pathetic that is?”

  “Then forget the band. You don’t need them. You can do just fine on your own.”

  “No, I can’t. Without the pick, I’m useless. I’m a dream without a direction. A rock star without the star.”

  “Without the pick, you’re still Frankie Kato. My best friend. And you don’t need magic to rock it out. Just pick up your guitar, go out there, and show them what you got.”

  “I’ve got nothing. All I’m meant to be in this world is a glorified chicken flipper.”

  “No, it’s not, and I think you know that. Trust me. If I can ta
ke on Candle Paranormal Investigations, you can take on a solo music career.”

  “Fine.” He sighed. “Whatever. But if I fail…”

  “You won’t. I’m going to go back out there to help Molly prepare for Operation Candy Corn. I want you to get your ass on stage and rock it. Can you do it?”

  “I don’t — ”

  I grabbed onto his shoulders. “I said, can you do it?”

  He looked me in the eyes, thought on it for a few seconds, and then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess… I think I can.”

  “Good. I’ll be watching.” I gave him a quick hug and then left the stage, hurrying out to join Molly and Enisa in the crowd.

  “What happened back there?” Molly asked.

  “I gave him a little pep talk,” I said. “Watch.”

  The curtain rose again to reveal Frankie sitting on a stool with a guitar in his hand. The whole crowd went quiet at the sight of his return to the stage. Someone booed, but they were quickly shushed. The tension in the air was as thick as water.

  “This is a song by God, AKA David Bowie,” he said. “I dedicate it to my best bud, Henry Candle. For always believing in me even when I think I know better.”

  He commanded the attention of the audience as he launched into a soft acoustic version of “Heroes”- our shared favorite. His voice was smooth and jazzy; his sound pitch-perfect. Ironically enough, Frankie didn’t seem as cut out for heavy metal as he was for sweet, melodic pop.

  Phones came out as people filmed. Some were even cheering and was that applause? They loved him — no, adored my friend and his guitar — and he’d done it all without magic. A star had been born that night. A star that shone brightly all by himself.

  He came off the stage when he was done and rejoined us. He was beaming from ear-to-ear, face flushed and slick with sweat. I don’t think he could’ve been happier if Steven Tyler himself had arrived to play a duet.