Paisley Coats

I pause the video during a scene at school recess. The cement court is surrounded by a tall chain link fence. The children do not play a single game. Several balls pass back and forth between them. All stop mid-air or mid-bounce when I press the button on the remote. Ghostly blurs jitter on the screen. I’m half-standing two feet from the television and still wondering why all of the children are blond. Slowly I break away and answer the knock on the door.

One of my neighbors stands on the stoop, the one who jogs her white lab around the complex some evenings. She wears a knee-length skirt, not the frumpy sweats she sports around the block. Hello, I’m Evangeline. Would you like a jack-o’-lantern? My kids made them and we have plenty of extras. Mr. Pieper’s kids keep a pumpkin patch each year and we teach the children feelings: happy, funny, sad, and scary. There’s no charge.

I suppose so, I say. The woman smiles and steps back toward the cart she left behind at the end of my walkway. Jack-o’-lanterns sit on a cart made to hold library books.

This thing’s something I borrowed from school. I didn’t have anything else that would work. I’ll have to swing around and pick up some more pumps when I’ve done this street. Mine’s the last townhouse on Pineapple Lane and I’m heading down Mango after this. I should be out of pumpkins by then. Why don’t I give you this one? It’s supposed to be a visual aid but the school says it’s too frightening. But I ask you, what could be more frightening than 30 twelve-year-olds with plastic carving knives?

The pumpkin she holds is ceramic and looks much like a skull. About the right size. The face is expressionless with empty eye sockets. The woman doesn’t seem to notice when my hand jerks when she brushes fingers against mine. Watch out for the pedestal, she says as she sets the stand on the edge of my step. How about here?

That’s okay, I say. Evangeline, right?

Yep, that’s me. She helps me balance the head on the pedestal and waves goodbye, continuing down the street. I make sure to lock my door and watch through the blinds as she talks to the man next door with the car stereo. He gets a pumpkin, nothing special. She never even stood on his step. He must have seen her coming and now he stands watching her from behind.

I sit on the couch and think about my jack-o’-lantern. I see Evangeline’s face but the rest of her body is a blur. I unpause the movie and the children continue playing. The flying rubber balls unfreeze. The cacophony blends like birdsong in a rain forest. They might be yelling in a foreign language, but who can tell one way or another. Another kid dressed in black walks into frame and pumps a semi-automatic action shotgun. Children scream and run. Some fall. The camera follows the intruder, recording several close-range head shots. Off camera, a cheer accompanies each report. I feel ill and drunk. After a few minutes more the scene ends and a title materializes. Beheadings. A man with a chainsaw stands in front of a pig. He is smiling.

3 Things About This Flash Fiction

1. Boo!
2. Based on a dream that lacked the violent ending.
3. This is a story about one man getting a head.