The Halloween Party
fiction by Tyler Schwanke
Miss Harper set the orange paper cups with the smiling Jack-O-Lanterns next to the punch bowl as seven-year-old Abby Shepard walked into class.
“Abby, why aren’t you at recess?” Miss Harper asked. “Did something happen? Did the photographers say something to you?”
Abby stood with her hands behind her back, her chin to her chest. “No, they’re staying on the other side of the street, and Mr. Kunkel is watching them. I came to change into my costume.”
Miss Harper checked the clock hanging above the dry erase board. “Abby, there’s still ten more minutes left of recess. You’ll have plenty of time to change with the rest of the students.”
“But my costume has a lot of makeup and takes a long time,” Abby said, swaying her shoulders. “I don’t want to miss any of the party.”
Miss Harper went to the window and opened the blinds. Photographers, reporters, and a couple of news vans lined the sidewalk on the other side of the street. There were strict rules about coming in early from recess, but she didn’t have the heart to send Abby back outside to face the press. She closed the blinds and told Abby she could stay.
“Thank you, Miss Harper,” Abby said.
Abby went to her cubby and removed a nylon gym bag from inside. She took out a plastic Ziploc bag with makeup supplies and headed to the wash station equipped with a sink and mirror in the back of the room.
Miss Harper went back to the punch table where several bags of decorations waited for her. First, she put out the happy ghost faces she had made from plastic milk containers by drawing eyes and a smiling mouth in black marker on the backs of them. They looked great next to the pretzel sticks drizzled in white chocolate, made to look like mummies.
“I’m really happy we get to have a party, Miss Harper,” Abby said.
Miss Harper looked back at the child. She could not see Abby’s face, but could tell from the way she hunched in front of the mirror that she was heavily focused on the application of her makeup.
“I’m so happy to hear you say that. It’s important to have fun once in a while.”
Next Miss Harper put out a spider made from black licorice with giant googly eyes. The spider was unfortunately inedible due to the amount of glue, but nobody really liked black licorice anyways so it wasn’t that big of a deal.
“Halloween was Ashley’s favorite. She would’ve been sad if we skipped it.”
Miss Harper almost dropped one of the Rice Krispie balls she’d made to look like pumpkins. It was the first time Abby had mentioned her sister to Miss Harper since she’d died.
“It’s one of mine, too,” Miss Harper said. “There’s something fantastic about putting on a costume and playing pretend.”
“Ashley always liked to dress up as a superhero. One year she was Black Widow and last year she was Wonder Woman.”
“Those sound like great costumes, Abby. Ashley really had a wonderful imagination.”
The clock told Miss Harper she had four minutes until recess was over, and she still had to set out the black cat masks she’d made for all her students out of string, paper plates, and crepe paper, not to mention put on her own costume.
“She liked to dress like her heroes,” Abby continued. “Like that lady who was a runner from Boston.”
“What lady?” Miss Harper asked, hoping she wasn’t talking about what she thought she was talking about.
“You know. The one on the news. They showed her after they talked about our Halloween party.”
The story Abby was talking about had followed the piece on Miss Harper and Chabon Elementary and how the community didn’t think it was appropriate that they throw a Halloween party so soon after the tragedy. A woman in Wisconsin had dressed as a survivor of the Boston Marathon and wore a runner’s outfit to work with her arms and legs covered in fake blood. The woman had been rightfully fired. Where she was obviously being insensitive to what happened in Boston, Miss Harper was trying to help her students move on from the shooting that had taken place at their school. The least she could do was try to distract them for a few hours with a party and some silly decorations.
“That’s different, Abby,” Miss Harper said. “That lady was seeking attention. She wasn’t honoring them. She was being disrespectful.”
“I think you’re wrong, Miss Harper. She looked like a nice lady.”
“Oh, sweetie, I don’t think so.” Miss Harper stopped getting into her Mary Poppin’s outfit and turned around to discover the costume the child had been working so hard on.
Abby’s face was painted ghostly white with blue and purple bruises along her neck and chin. On her forehead she painted a pink and red brain, and placed clumps of red Jell-O throughout her blonde hair. She wore a gray Chabon Elementary sweatshirt with sausage links died in red food coloring sprouting and hanging from holes cut over her stomach. In her hands she held a Mason jar filled with what looked like grenadine or strawberry syrup. She was standing on two black trash bags she had sprawled out on the floor.
“Trust me, Miss Harper. You’re wrong about this. She loved them.”
Abby tipped the Mason jar over her head, its contents splashing off her face and neck and onto her sweatshirt and jeans.
“Abby, stop!” Miss Harper cried. “You can’t walk around school dressed like that. What are you supposed to be?”
“My sister,” Abby said, wiping the red liquid away from her eyes. “And I’m going to go show the news reporters how much I loved her.”
“Abby, why aren’t you at recess?” Miss Harper asked. “Did something happen? Did the photographers say something to you?”
Abby stood with her hands behind her back, her chin to her chest. “No, they’re staying on the other side of the street, and Mr. Kunkel is watching them. I came to change into my costume.”
Miss Harper checked the clock hanging above the dry erase board. “Abby, there’s still ten more minutes left of recess. You’ll have plenty of time to change with the rest of the students.”
“But my costume has a lot of makeup and takes a long time,” Abby said, swaying her shoulders. “I don’t want to miss any of the party.”
Miss Harper went to the window and opened the blinds. Photographers, reporters, and a couple of news vans lined the sidewalk on the other side of the street. There were strict rules about coming in early from recess, but she didn’t have the heart to send Abby back outside to face the press. She closed the blinds and told Abby she could stay.
“Thank you, Miss Harper,” Abby said.
Abby went to her cubby and removed a nylon gym bag from inside. She took out a plastic Ziploc bag with makeup supplies and headed to the wash station equipped with a sink and mirror in the back of the room.
Miss Harper went back to the punch table where several bags of decorations waited for her. First, she put out the happy ghost faces she had made from plastic milk containers by drawing eyes and a smiling mouth in black marker on the backs of them. They looked great next to the pretzel sticks drizzled in white chocolate, made to look like mummies.
“I’m really happy we get to have a party, Miss Harper,” Abby said.
Miss Harper looked back at the child. She could not see Abby’s face, but could tell from the way she hunched in front of the mirror that she was heavily focused on the application of her makeup.
“I’m so happy to hear you say that. It’s important to have fun once in a while.”
Next Miss Harper put out a spider made from black licorice with giant googly eyes. The spider was unfortunately inedible due to the amount of glue, but nobody really liked black licorice anyways so it wasn’t that big of a deal.
“Halloween was Ashley’s favorite. She would’ve been sad if we skipped it.”
Miss Harper almost dropped one of the Rice Krispie balls she’d made to look like pumpkins. It was the first time Abby had mentioned her sister to Miss Harper since she’d died.
“It’s one of mine, too,” Miss Harper said. “There’s something fantastic about putting on a costume and playing pretend.”
“Ashley always liked to dress up as a superhero. One year she was Black Widow and last year she was Wonder Woman.”
“Those sound like great costumes, Abby. Ashley really had a wonderful imagination.”
The clock told Miss Harper she had four minutes until recess was over, and she still had to set out the black cat masks she’d made for all her students out of string, paper plates, and crepe paper, not to mention put on her own costume.
“She liked to dress like her heroes,” Abby continued. “Like that lady who was a runner from Boston.”
“What lady?” Miss Harper asked, hoping she wasn’t talking about what she thought she was talking about.
“You know. The one on the news. They showed her after they talked about our Halloween party.”
The story Abby was talking about had followed the piece on Miss Harper and Chabon Elementary and how the community didn’t think it was appropriate that they throw a Halloween party so soon after the tragedy. A woman in Wisconsin had dressed as a survivor of the Boston Marathon and wore a runner’s outfit to work with her arms and legs covered in fake blood. The woman had been rightfully fired. Where she was obviously being insensitive to what happened in Boston, Miss Harper was trying to help her students move on from the shooting that had taken place at their school. The least she could do was try to distract them for a few hours with a party and some silly decorations.
“That’s different, Abby,” Miss Harper said. “That lady was seeking attention. She wasn’t honoring them. She was being disrespectful.”
“I think you’re wrong, Miss Harper. She looked like a nice lady.”
“Oh, sweetie, I don’t think so.” Miss Harper stopped getting into her Mary Poppin’s outfit and turned around to discover the costume the child had been working so hard on.
Abby’s face was painted ghostly white with blue and purple bruises along her neck and chin. On her forehead she painted a pink and red brain, and placed clumps of red Jell-O throughout her blonde hair. She wore a gray Chabon Elementary sweatshirt with sausage links died in red food coloring sprouting and hanging from holes cut over her stomach. In her hands she held a Mason jar filled with what looked like grenadine or strawberry syrup. She was standing on two black trash bags she had sprawled out on the floor.
“Trust me, Miss Harper. You’re wrong about this. She loved them.”
Abby tipped the Mason jar over her head, its contents splashing off her face and neck and onto her sweatshirt and jeans.
“Abby, stop!” Miss Harper cried. “You can’t walk around school dressed like that. What are you supposed to be?”
“My sister,” Abby said, wiping the red liquid away from her eyes. “And I’m going to go show the news reporters how much I loved her.”
About the writer