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The clock struck twelve.
A young boy turns in his chair, turning away from the bright light of his computer.
It was Halloween.
Skid’s absolute favorite-est day!
But it also brought about some troubles…
It was an anniversary today, actually. An anniversary that no one liked thinking about.
The day that his father disappeared.
Skid didn’t like thinking about that aspect of Halloween, instead choosing to flood his mind with the joys of trick-or-treating, eating diabetes-inducing amounts of sugar, and best of all, hanging out with his best friend of all time!
But it was midnight, and he didn’t want to go to sleep, and he certainly didn’t want to bother Pump right now.
His mother was asleep.
The only one to talk to was himself.
So sure.
Skid and Beverly can have a chat.
Skid scooted his chair across the room and took off his mask, running a hand through his hair as he rolled over to his mirror to stare at his reflection.
Skid always thought his face was cool.
He was pale - some would even say deathly so - but that was what happened when your parents never saw the sun. (Not like they could. The sky was always weird in this town. The sun was too bright for Skid, too.)
His eyes were pretty cool in his opinion, too. They were like.. brown. But they had some blue in them, too! He doesn’t know where the blue came from - both of his parents had brown eyes - but it was cool nonetheless!
His face didn’t really have any other cool markers or whatever, but that was fine.
That was him. Beverly.
He looked a lot like his father.
Damnit. There he goes again.
Okay… let’s think of something else, huh Beverly?
Like what?
Um.. hm.
Well that’s a problem- he had no idea.
We could think of how he should go to bed so he can be as awake as possible for trick-or-treating.
But going to bed is boring.
We could think of what happened on last Halloween.
But Skid really didn’t want to think about that.
Well, we could-
Before he could finish that thought, Skid was alerted of a sniffling sound.
Crying.
…oh.
Skid was crying.
…Oh…!
Not good…
Skid had never liked crying. He was what one would call an “ugly crier”. But not immediately, no.
When he cried for long periods of time, it really got ugly in the worst sense.
Not only was there the fact that every time he cried, his eyes started burning and he couldn’t see, needing to blindly wipe his eyes with tissues, but there was also the bloody nose.
As if it couldn’t get any worse, his nose always started bleeding after an extended cry.
His father always used to joke about it, always being able to lighten the mood.
“You must be allergic to crying, huh Bev? Like.. really allergic.” He would say, hugging his son in an attempt to calm him down. “Oh, no need to cry, son. It’s just a scrape, okay? It’ll be gone in a few days.”
Damnit.
That memory just made him cry even harder.
He grabbed the tissues on the nightstand, preparing for the worst.
“Oh, don’t cry, Bev,” He said as he approached the front door. He had crouched down to be at proper eye level with his son. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay?” He had given Skid a kiss on the forehead, ruffling his hair. Then he was gone. Out the front door, waving and smiling happily, as if he were leaving for work or so.
That was five years ago.
When trying to remember his face, Skid had a bit of difficulty - usually he did, at least.
All of the pictures in the house either had his face scribbled or torn out.
But sometimes, every now and again, he could remember.
Like he was there with him.
His smile was large and excitable, yet was calming and grounding enough that it almost, almost, made Skid want to chill out for a minute.
Skid’s father had, what Skid believed to be called a, quote-unquote “beauty mark” on his face, just below his mouth.
That was cool. Skid kinda wished he had one of those.
Skid remembered bothering his father while he was busy, getting a kick out of how annoyed he was while still trying to be nice.
“Bev, kiddo, I’m a little busy right now- it’s gotta get done by today.” He would say sometimes. “Can you go play with your toys or something? I’ll be done soon.”
There was also the occasional time where Skid would bother him while he was doing his woodworking thing.
“Bev, buddy, please stop because I really don’t want to stab myself with a chisel right now.” He would say. He ended up stabbing his hand with the chisel anyway.
Skid also remembered his laugh.
It was just as cheery as his personality, as one would expect.
Sometimes he snorted when he laughed, which really just made him laugh even harder.
He often spent his time bothering Skid’s mother, cracking jokes and all.
“What’s a husband for if not to annoy his wife every now and again?” He would say.
“Does it count as ‘every now and again’ if it’s every day?” His mother would retort.
“You know exactly what you signed up for when you said ‘I do’, isn’t that right?”
“Did I really? I didn’t read the fine print.”
Skid used to like listening to his parents banter. It was funny. They could crack jokes at each other’s pride and still be in love.
That was admirable.
His mother…
His mother was devastated when he didn’t come back.
She had fallen into a depression, one that Skid wasn’t entirely sure she had gotten through. Not fully, at least. Those pictures were evidence enough.
Was her cheeriness fake? It was plausible. If Skid asked, she probably would lie about it.
So Skid doesn’t ask.
Skid eventually stopped crying. His eyes were dried and his nose, while still bloody, was plugged up by a tissue.
He was fine.
Skid looked at his dresser, spotting a small spider. Just walking around. Minding its own business.
Unflinchingly, Skid grabbed a book from his desk, immediately using it to squash the spider.
He looked at the back of the book, where the spider’s guts were now displayed.
Whoops.
Skid would’ve taken the spider outside if he were up for it, and, most importantly, if it wasn’t the middle of the night.
His mom had had a security system installed in order to deter the thieves that so often showed up in their house.
It was on right now. Skid knew the code to turn it off, too.
He just wasn’t really feeling it. The effort. The annoyingly loud sound the system made when you turned it on or off. The even louder sound that blared when you forgot to turn off said code when you open a door or window.
Sorry spider. Welcome to the back cover of the book.
Not like he was really planning on reading that book anyway. It was for school. Pump was letting Skid copy off of his notes, so he was set until the test at the end of November.
Skid glanced at the front cover.
“To Kill a Mockingbird”.
That was the book.
If he recalled correctly, it was one of his father’s favorite books, because he shared his name with one of the characters.
The lawyer guy - father of the protagonist.
Skid couldn’t really remember the name at the moment.
Skid actually really liked spiders.
His father had a pet spider. A tarantula.
Her name was Totum. Skid always called her Susan though, because “she looks like one”.
It’s been a while since Skid had seen Totum, come to think of it. Years, actually.
Somewhere in his subconscious, Skid had assumed that his father had just taken Totum with him, before he recalled that his father took no luggage, let alone a spider.
She must still be in the house somewhere.
Something to keep an eye out for.
Skid got out of his chair, going over to his bed and lying down. He got under the covers, not intending to sleep, only just to get comfortable.
He stared at his ceiling, beginning to think of what shenanigans he and Pump could get into as they trick-or-treated.
He began dozing off. He didn’t even really realize this.
One minute he was awake, the next he was drifting in and out of sleep.
Until he wasn’t.
He shot up, staring blankly ahead, hardly breathing.
Atticus.
That was his name.