Malcolm hated Halloween. He hated the kids ringing the doorbell. He hated the costumed folks running around like idiots. He hated the entire holiday and the months leading up to it and the months following it. This entire season at the end of the year was full of celebrations and holidays that Malcolm didn't care for.
Not one bit.
Not at all.
If he could fast forward through this end of the year to get to the spring of the new year, he would. He couldn't see any pleasure from playing out this year, only pain and he was loath to have to do it again.
It was the same old same old, sitting at his front door, peering through the blinds, praying that the kids wouldn't ring his doorbell.
He hated the sound of his doorbell for starters. It was loud and echoing and reminded him of just how empty his house was.
He hated the laughter of the kids ringing the doorbell. Happy and bubbly and full of life.
He hated the sticky sweetness of the candies the children stuffed their face with. For no other reason than sweets hurt his dentures.
Malcolm hated Halloween.
He pulled the blinds back yet again, knowing that the children would come, wishing that they wouldn't.
He watched a little construction man and a vampire make their way up his weedy pathway, the likes of which they probably thought was ill maintained to add to the holiday appeal but which was more of a lack of care on Malcolm's end.
He closed his eyes and wished they would disappear, turn back around and leave him alone to his dark, empty house. Alone. As he was used to. Like he wanted.
But he knew how this night would end.
He knew with absolute finality that these next few months would not be merry, would not be filled with joy.
He knew there would be police tapes and interviews and crying parents in the coming months.
He wanted to stop living these months and move on to a spring day. Any spring day. A memory from the past or a promise of the future, Malcolm just wanted his suffering to end.
DING DONG.
Malcolm opened his door.
YOU ARE READING
NANOWRIMO 2020
Short StoryShort, unconnected stories written every day of November 2020 for NANOWRIMO. Each story stands alone and is a mix of comedy, drama, romance, self-love, existential crises and miscellaneous other feelings of being. As of now this is a series of one...
