#vchalloween

“--like, I don’t know what they expected from a haunted maze. What did they think it was haunted by, corn?” Sawyer’s eyes rolled at the thought, her exasperation clear in her tone. “But, anyways, then the guy in the Jason mask pops out of the maze and totally scares the absolute shit out of the people behind me, and they just completely bulldoze past me, knock me to the ground, and basically trample me on the way out.” Hence, the scraped up hands and the bleeding knees, the former of which are extended palm up for the other to see, currently waiting to be tended to as she sat on the (quite uncomfortable) plastic chair of the medical tent. “They’re just lucky I didn’t get blood on this outfit, you wanna talk about scary.” Sawyer huffed. Her eyes caught sight of her hands once more, frowning at the stinging sensation as she lowered them to her lap. “But yeah, that’s my story. What’s yours?”

If there was one thing Hilarie loved about Halloween in particular, it was how visual the holiday ended up being.  While she wasn’t one to get over-excited about anything that required a display, she also appreciated the ingenuity of people who did get excited.  Their costumes were often so novel she was almost inspired to dress up herself.  That impulse just never won out, never lasted through until the next year.  

Signing up for a haunted hike through the woods sounded like a great idea at the time of booking the cabin for a solo retreat. Now? Spying ghosts in trees felt like a cake walk in comparison to finding herself surrounded by a pre-assigned group of strangers. (Wasn’t this event supposed to be small groups? When did three become twelve?)

Flipping the pages of the memo absently for the umpteenth time, she pauses at the sight of a familiar face in an unfamiliar setting. The lines of her concerned expression iron out, smoothing as she takes to a pointed beeline to his side --- all the while stuffing the comically large map into the purse by her side.

“Thanks for volunteering with me,” Armin didn’t really want to sit at his booth alone at the small event happening in mount pleasant neighborhood. It was close to home and well, the person that was supposed to be volunteering with him was no longer in his life the same way that she was. It was his fault, he knew that, “And so last minute too, I really owe you. A home cooked meal or whatever you want, a bucket full of candy?” He didn’t know what would make up for asking her to do this on a night she might otherwise have been busy for. 

One of the best — and worst — parts of having a child on Halloween was that Boyd was never responsible for coming up with his own costume. Every year, he let Matilda decide, and usually it was something that went on theme with her own choice. When she’d announced that this year the inspiration was Percy Jackson, Boyd thought he’d get off easy with something like Poseidon. Pick up a trident, maybe a toga... And it’d probably look good enough he could wear it to more adult parties, too. Easy. Done.

But of course it could never be so simple.

‘No, Daddy, you’re definitely Grover...’ And now Boyd was left to figure out how to make hooves.

“I swear, Sloane and Mattie are teaming up against me,” Boyd groaned. “I had to buy fur pants on Amazon. What the fuck am I gonna do with fur pants after I’m done with them?”