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Despite her propensity for wearing black and her enjoyment of a good mystery, Tori was not particularly fond of Halloween. While the Tumblrinas call it spooky season, October has become increasingly saccharine as the American commercialized version of the holiday with sweets and polyester costumes invaded All Hallows Eve. Instead of death and harvests and the coming darkness of winter, it was … cute. Tori didn't do cute.
Of course, that meant Michael loved every minute of it. Apple bobbing? He was there, his curls dripping as he appeared grinning with an apple in his teeth. Carving pumpkins? His had classic triangle smiles and a crescent grin. Somehow he'd even learned about something called a popcorn ball, which had led to their flat being vaguely sticky for days after he had made sugar syrup to coat the popped kernels in before forming them into balls. What this had to do with ghosts and ghouls, she didn't know, but they were oddly delicious.
Most of this, she could accept as the fundamental eccentric nature of the only human mad enough to put up with her for years. The giant decorative skeleton sitting on their front step was mostly endearing, especially with the cat skeleton posed in its lap. But there was one part of Michael's Halloween obsession that Tori most dreaded every year.
If she asked Charlie, he would have said it was the couple's costume they wore to the party he hosted with Nick every year. But no, Tori secretly loved those. There was the year they'd gone as Sonny and Cher, the much taller Michael wearing a skimpy silver dress and long black wig. Gomez and Morticia, reusing the wig and Tori in a pinstripe suit. She was actually quite excited about the costumes Michael was putting together for this year. After all, she was going to be wearing comfortable blue dungarees while his outfit involved corsetry and petticoats. Mario had a much better deal than Princess Peach.
No, the worst thing about Halloween with Michael Holden was every single year, without fail, he would buy a large bag of candy corn. Some American had introduced him to the striped monstrosities at an international competition and he was hooked. To make it worse, he seemed to be on a quest to find the most horrific ways to eat the entire bag each year, without just eating it a handful at a time. Instead he committed culinary crimes with the corny confectionary.
Kernels were added to his cornflakes in the morning. He methodically split them into their constituent colors and made marshmallow treats with them. He took a log of marzipan, stabbed pieces into it, and then ate it with butter and salt like corn on the cob. It was mixed with salted peanuts as a weird trail mix. One year, he made waffles with pieces chopped up, which was never repeated after it took almost an hour to clean the waffle maker after. He had used it to garnish a cocktail made with vodka, dissolved candy corn, and diet lemonade, which she considered particularly sacreligious.
The smell permeated the flat, turning her stomach any time she caught a whiff. He didn't force her to eat it, but there was always a bowl sitting out, taunting her. It couldn't be as horrible as she remembered, right? So then she'd take a couple pieces. Pop them in her mouth.
Regret.
How something could be simultaneously sticky and chalky and crumbling and cloying was almost impressive. It was less a flavor and more a sensation of completely overwhelming sweetness with a bizarre acrid aftertaste, like your brain had short-circuited on sugar and now everything seemed bitter in comparison. It was supposed to be a treat, but was the worst trick ever played. Even her beloved diet lemonade couldn't make her mouth return to normal quickly. No, she had to drink water.
If it weren't for the fact that she watched him eat an entire bag each year, she would suspect it of being an elaborate practical joke. But this year, she had plans. Someone on Reddit had sent her a bag of pumpkin pie flavored candy corn. Even though Michael loved all things Halloween, he objected to pumpkin spice in all forms on principle. As he put it, pumpkins should be savory, not sweet. And of all the weird flavours she'd found, they looked the most like regular candy corn, as tempting as the purple blackberry “emo tears” had been.
She mixed them in one morning while he was at practice, knowing he would grab a handful upon his return, jamming it all in his mouth instead of methodically separating the layers. She strategically sat on the couch just past the entrance waiting.
“Did you know that the iconic eerie sound in most horror soundtracks is made with an instrument called the water phone?” called Michael instead of a greeting.
“I did, actually.”
There was a pause. “What?” A longer pause. “That's…”
“Yes?”
“Somehow even more delicious than usual!”
Tori sat up.
“It's got a lovely cinnamon note. Did you add something?”
“For fucks sake!” Tori shouted. “I got you pumpkin pie candy corn to ruin your candy corn, and you like it?!”
“Wait, is pumpkin spice just a sweet warming blend? Cinnamon, ginger, cloves and colonialism?”
“Yeah, pretty much. What did you think it was?”
“I thought they dehydrated and ground pumpkin and added it to things,” he said, halo of curls appearing around the corner. “This is just delicious. I should try more pumpkin spice things!”
Tori groaned. The only thing worse than Michael with a tradition was him discovering a brand new thing to explore. Now he was going to drag her across London in search of all things pumpkin spice. What had she done?
Her face must have shown her horror as Michael burst out laughing. “Got you!” He tossed a handful of the off-colored candy at her. “I spotted something was wrong right away. You won't trick me!”