In Which I Learn with Dismay That I'm Just a Big Ol' Hallo-weenie
How a $35 Halloween decoration got the better of this lifelong Spooky Girl
I love Halloween. I just do.
As a clotheshorse, I love the costumes, from social-media memes to punny portmanteaus to clever re-creations of well-known characters’ getups.
It should go without saying that I love the candy. (Reese's, pleases!)
And I love the ghosts! I love to be deliciously spooked, whether with the tantalizing tidbit of a tragic story from days gone by or a good old haunted-house movie to savor after dark. So yeah, when you add it all up, I pretty much wish it could be Halloween all year long.
In a way, it can be, thanks to the Internet. All my spooky-season faves are available for streaming anytime, and the aesthetic of dark academia and its fandom have connected me with my spirit-loving sisters all over the globe.
And of course, one spooky person should always be partnered with another spooky person. Check!
and I both share an affinity for the creepy and the occult, and we have spooky stuff around our house year-round: mysterious old spellbooks; a life-sized raven figure perched atop a living-room bookcase; calaveras, or Día de los Muertos sugar skulls, to remind us of the precious ephemerality of life, and that death is just another transition and nothing to fear.For spooky people like us, Halloween season is a prime time to acquire year-round décor. So on Saturday, Dave went out to run a couple errands and came back with some Halloween decorations he figured would fit with our vibe. He brought back strings of lights shaped like ghosts and skulls, a wall hanging urging us to “Stay Spooky," a pair of “Nightmare Before Christmas"-themed gravestones - one labeled “Jack," and the other, unnervingly, labeled “Sally" (yes, I know I just said death is nothing to fear, but come on, now) - and one more item.
“I’ve saved the best for last," Dave called from the garage as I sat in the living room with my glass of cold brew. His tone was momentous, even reverent. "Close your eyes!” he commanded.
Rolling them first, I complied.
What followed was the sound of Dave wrestling something inside for a few moments before he proclaimed, “All right, you may look!"
I opened my eyes to behold this sight:
Yes, it was a life-sized, somewhat gruesome-looking plastic skeleton. (Its legs are dragging on the floor here.)
"Oh!” I sputtered. “Gosh!" I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how I felt! Borrowing a road-tested phrase from my brother, John, I settled for, "My, what a … skeleton!" This, not “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious," is what one properly says when one does not know what to say: just switch out the noun as the situation requires.
Dave flushed with pleasure. “It could not be passed up," he said simply, already at work clearing a place to display it.
"I see that!” I exclaimed nervously.
"Just $35!” he marveled. "And look what it does!” He pushed a button dangling from the skeleton's shoulder, which, I couldn't help noticing enviously, was intact.
This. This is what it does:
"Gahhh!” I yelped reflexively. "I mean, uhh. That's awesome." It was a hasty fib, and I hoped it was convincing.
Because, OK. This skeleton was weird, but it was absolutely the kind of thing we would have. It made perfect sense that Dave bought it. Indeed, there is almost nothing so weird that Dave and I would not buy it for $35.
But I found it absolutely terrifying. This was not deliciously spooky. For me, for whatever reason, this was downright frightening.
Agitated, I took to my phone for relief. I scrolled through my texts and pulled up the group chat with just me and Dave's parents.
“Your child bought this and put it in my home," I began, attaching the photo. "If I die of a sudden cardiac event in the night, you'll know why.”
Dave got the skeleton settled, and it watched us menacingly. I kind of wanted to move it out of my line of sight, but quickly decided I didn't want that thing watching me from where I couldn't watch it right back.
That night, I woke up and came out to watch TV. I didn't have a cardiac event, but next to the TV, the awful thing was juuust visible enough - and I was just tired enough to be startled anew each time the corner of my eye clocked it:
Somehow I gathered all my courage and managed to walk past it to get back to the bedroom.
The next day, I confessed sheepishly that it had caught me off-guard the night before. After all, I pointed out, when you come out of the bathroom in the night, you're instantly face-to-profile with this:
So we decided to dress him up a little bit. That way, he'd be less frightening. Makes sense! I thought.
“Oh, I know what!" Dave said, scampering off and returning with his own neon vaporwave board shorts.
Skull-print. Naturally.
"This is the best idea there's ever been,” Dave said with characteristic humility as he admired his handiwork in securing the board shorts over the skeleton's thin hips. "I can't believe I had an idea that good!” He looked at me for confirmation. "It's just … the best possible idea, right?”
"You, uhh … you sure?” I asked. Adding goofy board shorts - with more skulls on them - was not a big enough change for me.
“Absolutely," he answered passionately. “You know, I’m kind of getting a vibe that his name should be Rupert."
Rupert the skeleton? Fine. But Rupert still scared the absolute crap out of me. Chuckling and trying to play it cool, I nodded along as we added a visor, a pair of headphones, Dave's Adidas slides, a beach towel, and a bag containing a baby Yoda - some Mandalorian thing.
"See?” Dave asked proudly. “He's carrying the little baby! Not so scary now, is he?"
“Oh, no way," I said feebly. Somehow, this was actually worse:
But he loved it so much! And I love him so much. I couldn't disappoint him, could I? Certainly not: not when he was so happy.
“Now he's just a … a very skinny surfer dude, babysitting a Yoda,” I said. "And we don't body-shame! It's great. Rupert is … great.” I couldn't even look straight at him.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I stayed up as long as I could, so that I'd fall asleep as soon as I hit the sack. Unlike every other night, I left all the lights on until about 3 AM, when I went to bed - which I accomplished by flipping the switch and then hurtling myself into the bedroom as quickly as I could.
That was when things started to get weird.
As I lay on my stomach, my back to the open door, the thought drifted across my mind that perhaps this was not safe.
We leave the door open for air flow and so Jasmine can come and go - her water is in the kitchen - but with the door open, I realized, Rupert could just barge right in if he were to somehow, oh, I don't know - come to life. You know: or something. Whatever.
But this was a real worry. No, not the sheer insanity of that thought, but the ease with which I imagined Rupert coming to life, those awful red, glowing eyes activated without the use of the shoulder button, and then easing himself down from where we'd hung him in order to make his way into our bedroom, where he'd kill us right where we slept.
It was 3:30 in the morning. I was so tired. And I was so terrified.
After beating down a burgeoning panic attack, I was finally able to convince myself that Dave would protect me if Rupert the plastic Halloween skeleton came to life and attacked us.
Sure he would! Of course he would. He killed that horrible spider that one time, didn't he? And come on, Sally, I told myself, that's half the reason women even have fiancés and husbands in the first place!
And Jasmine would just absolutely chew him to shreds, I reassured myself. She'd be like - well - like a dog with a bone.
I settled into an uneasy sleep around 4.
When I woke up, I felt a little silly - until I stumbled tiredly out of the bathroom and yelped. There was Rupert.
Later that evening, Dave and I settled on the couch under Rupert's glowing red gaze: by now, his eyes burned like embers to me without anyone pressing the shoulder button.
“What else could we give him?" Dave wondered aloud. Changing Rupert’s outfits was believed to be half the fun, as if he were a cement front-porch goose and we were a pair of retirees circa 1992.
But how long could I keep this up? "Yeah, no, I don't know,” I answered half-heartedly.
Then, before I even knew what was coming out of my mouth, I heard myself scoff, “He probably can't really come to life at all."
Wordlessly, Dave lifted the remote and hit "pause” on the TV and peered at me for a few long moments. Finally, he spoke.
“Sorry?" he asked, his voice heavy with concern. “Wh-what did you say?"
I blinked and felt my face get hot. “Well, you know! Like … coming to life,” I said defensively. "He, like, probably can't even do that at all. Loser,” I added with false bravado, immediately glancing up to see if I'd angered him.
“Are you being serious?" Dave asked.
Oh, hell. "I kind of … couldn't fall asleep last night because I was concerned about Rupert coming to life," I said. “And attacking us. Specifically, killing us in our sleep. Is what I imagine. He'd, uhhh … do," I said, losing steam. “But he probably can't even do that, I mean. So.” I took a sip of my Diet Coke, hoping to appear nonchalant.
Dave eyed me critically for a few seconds. "Why don't I move him?” he asked. "Over into the kitchen, maybe, or into the library?”
“No!" I shrieked. “If he's going to be in the house, I've gotta have eyes on him!"
Dave let out a long sigh. “Sally, let's just move him onto the porch," he said. “He can sit outside the door! Problem solved!"
“Oh, no, then you won't get to see him!" I protested. “Just give me, like, several more days. Many more days, actually. To get used to him. I'll get there!" I exclaimed when he looked skeptical. “Like, maybe if we painted him neon pink and added a coat of glitter!"
But Dave just shook his head. “It's not any fun for me to see him if I know you're terrified," he explained.
And with that, I crumpled. "Oh, my God, I am!” I wailed. “I really am. I'm absolutely terrified of him! I'm so sorry!”
"I'm so sorry! I didn't know! But it's no trouble," Dave reassured me. "Here, look!”
He removed a few of Rupert's accessories that we wouldn't want stolen by mischievous street youths, then retrieved a lawn chair from the yard and set it up near the front door. He got Rupert situated out there, and as he carried him through the front door and out of the house, I felt a weight lift.
“Ooh, I've got an idea!" Dave and I exclaimed at the same time. We ran off in separate directions and returned: Dave carrying an empty Mountain Dew can and a roll of tape, and me with a beach hat.
Less than five minutes after the intent was declared, this was the result:
Don't get me wrong: this is still a little grim. If you ask me, Rupert looks a bit too much like an old desert hippie waiting for it to cool off a little. And I still have to walk past him to take Jasmine for her midnight potty-and-zoomies break.
But at least I don't have to look at him inside! And I'm reasonably certain that he's not looking at me, either.
Well - I think.
Pretty sure.