As Dead as They Come

Halloween is something most kids look forward to, no matter the age. For tiny tykes it means a night of dressing up, trick-or-treating, and getting a hoard of candy. For teenagers it’s night (and in some cases a week) of dressing up, partying, and living it up the dark and festive way. Under any normal circumstance, I'd be looking forward to the latter category of halloween festivities as much as the next fairly-average senior. This year I was down for all sorts of counts with the mother of all colds, conveniently on the year of all years for my younger brother of one grade to be throwing the most-anticipated party of the season at our house.

Our single mother was one of those be-a-friend-to-your-kids type of parent rather than the one that actually put effort and discipline into raising their children. Or she was just lazy... Or had relaxed morals. Probably both, my brother and I are living proof of the latter. In any case, the house was my brother's for halloween night, with a promise to A) not destroy it or any furniture, B) not let any horny teenagers into her room, C) clean up any and all abhorred messes produced during, and D) me agreeing to act as the "laying down the law" figure. Of course I said yes, my brother has more respect for me than he does for our mom. And the fact that she was letting him throw a giant party here to begin with was frickin’ awesome, especially since she'd be gone the whole time. Turned out, she had her own party to attend. But that's the life of a young and popular 34-year-old mama, I suppose.

In any case, when I started coming down with a mild head cold a week before the 31st, I wasn't too worried. By the time the 30th came around though, I had to miss school on the account that it felt like I'd been hit by a freightliner upon waking up, and you can bet your bottom I was a little panicked. My immune system won no awards, there was no way I'd be any better by All Hallows' Eve, and thus the party.

Like any other loving, concerned brother, Alexander took pity on me.

"We can paint you up like a diseased zombie and chain you to the sofa, so when you puke your guts out, you'll look the part."

"One, I have a cold, not the flu. Two, I've never heard of a zombie that pukes its guts out."

"You don't play the right games, then," Alex said, pausing in hooking up a large set of speakers to answer a flood of texts. I sank lower into the couch that I was lying miserably on, covered in blankets. It was the last article of furniture still left in the bare living room, all the other pieces removed to make room for a dance floor. I glowered as I watched him tap away on his touch-screen.

His naturally muscular frame and boy-bandish good looks earned him a ticket into the in-crowd pretty much the minute he hit puberty, which enabled him a turn at hosting this year's big party. Luckily for the rat, we had a sizable backyard. Lord knows the crowd this thing drew in would never entirely fit in the house.

"You still wearing that gorilla suit?"

"Mhm."

"Good. You won't have to tell people it's your face when they ask where you got that ugly mask."

"Fuck you," he muttered with a half-smile, utilizing his charming vocabulary.  

"Are you still gonna dress up while you mope alone upstairs?" His voice came from behind the speakers as he messed with the wires on their backs.

"Maybe, maybe not. I will if I can drug myself up to the point where I can come out of quarantine."

"Doubtful."

"I appreciate your faith and support."

He cackled as he reappeared from behind the tall speakers, face in his phone as he answered. "Hey, better you than me. Sucks to suck."