Four Octobers Read online

  Feeling like a disembodied observer of everything that was going on, Andy watched his friends hold open their treat bags as the man in the doorway dropped something into each.

  “What’s the matter—?” the man asked when he noticed Andy hanging back, alone on the sidewalk in the darkness. “Is Zorro afraid I might discover his secret identity?”

  Andy shifted from one foot to the other while the man waited for him to come up to the door. Finally, when Andy didn’t move, the man handed something to Jimmy and said, “Here. This is for your buddy.”

  To a chorus of “thank you’s,” the man swung the door shut, and Andy’s friends dashed back down the walkway to the street.

  “What the heck’s the matter with you?” Jimmy asked once the other boys had run ahead, whooping and leaping in the air like maniacs. The beams of their flashlights swept back and forth across the street like searchlights. Up ahead, another group of kids was making its way toward them, but Andy soon realized it was just a bunch of little kids, so he relaxed, knowing there wouldn’t be any trouble.

  Andy looked at his best friend, unable to ignore the yawning gulf he felt growing between them.

  “I’m—I don’t know,” he said, his voice sounding as fragile as glass as he shrugged helplessly. “I just don’t… I guess I’m not really into it this year.”

  Jimmy raised his Frankenstein’s Monster mask and regarded him with a long, steady stare. He started to say something but then clenched his teeth and shook his head as though deeply saddened.

  “You know, I think I’ll head on home.” Andy hefted his treat bag like a bank robber, satisfied with his haul of loot. “See you in school tomorrow, okay?”

  “What the heck—?” Jimmy looked positively shocked as he stared at Andy.

  “I’ve had enough for tonight,” Andy said.

  “You sure?” Jimmy frowned so deeply his eyebrows shaded his eyes in the bright glow of the streetlight.

  “Yeah… I dunno… Maybe I’m coming down with something or something. I just don’t feel right.”

  “Okay… I guess so,” Jimmy said. He glanced down the street to where JJ and Tyler were still whooping it up. Without another word, he took off after them, leaving Andy stranded in the middle of the street.

  Pulling off his Zorro cape, Andy folded it up and stuffed it along with his mask and black sombrero into his treat bag, then turned for home. The wind was out of the north and getting stronger. The chill cut into him as he started down the street alone. It bothered him that he had lied to Jimmy, but something else, something deeper was bothering him, too.

  The only thing he knew for sure was that he wasn’t going straight home.

  First, he was going to walk down to the corner of Curtis and Granite Street, and see if there were any lights on in Miss Henry’s house. What made him really nervous was thinking how he had absolutely no idea what he would do if he saw lights or if he didn’t.

  ****

  Keeping to the shadows and doing his best to avoid whatever cars and groups of trick-or-treaters went by, Andy started toward Stockholm Avenue until he was sure Jimmy couldn’t see him. After rounding a bend in the road, he darted into a neighbor’s yard and hid behind a hedge, waiting until he could no longer hear Jimmy and his other friends. Once he was sure it was safe, Andy broke cover and headed down the hill to Granite Street. He cringed, waiting to hear Jimmy call out after him, but he didn’t see anyone else until he was down at the bottom of the hill in front of the library.

  With a clean, easy vault, he leaped over the stone wall and knelt in the darkness behind the war memorial. He had no idea what he was going to do next. Just wait, he figured, but one thing for sure—he didn’t want to be slowed down carrying a bag full of candy, so he stuffed his pillowcase underneath one of the spruce trees beside the library. Then, moving swiftly, he crossed Granite Street to the shadowed doorway of the Post Office on the other side of the street where he had a good view of Miss Henry’s house.

  All the windows were dark. On any other Halloween night, that would have meant absolutely nothing to Andy. Miss Henry never handed out Halloween candy, but tonight… tonight was different. Ominous. Standing in the shadows, Andy stared at the living room window until his eyes started to hurt from the strain. He couldn’t stop imagining that Miss Henry was dead on the living room floor where he had left her earlier today, and he couldn’t stop thinking that, if she really was dead, he was somehow responsible. He should have told someone—his mother or father or someone—about what had happened. If the old lady died, he might have been able to prevent it. Maybe he could have saved her!

  Then again, why bother?

  Why was this bothering him so much?

  Andy shivered in the darkness and tried hard not to imagine that he could see Miss Henry in the window, silhouetted against the night. Black against black. He tried to convince himself he couldn’t feel her gaze, penetrating the darkness like a cat’s or an owl’s, staring at him, boring into him like an icy blade. He put his hands to his ears, telling himself it was just the wind, not the ragged sound of her breathing that whisked dead leaves and distant voices down the street.

  She’s in there… either alive or dead… she’s in there, and she knows I’m out here. She’s watching me!

  Andy hugged himself, fighting back the tears that pooled in his eyes. He clenched his teeth so tightly his jaw began to ache. It was impossible to take a deep enough breath.

  Should he go over to the house and check on her?

  Would she call the police if she heard him or saw him lurking out here?

  Or was she already dead?

  If she was dead and the police came, would they think he had anything to do with it?

  Andy had no idea what to do, but any decision was quickly taken out of his hands when a blur of motion in the living room window caught his attention. It wasn’t much. Just a hint of something shifting like smoke in the night.

  Like a ghost.

  Narrowing his eyes, Andy stared while trying to convince himself that it had just been his imagination. Then he heard a faint click, and the dark rectangle of Miss Henry’s door swung open. A small, indistinct figure, hunched over against the chill, materialized out of the darkness and shifted silently down the steps.

  Pressing back further into the shadows of the Post Office doorway, Andy watched as Miss Henry—it had to be her!—came out. She hesitated at the foot of the stairs for a moment, then started moving toward the sidewalk. She glanced quickly up and down Granite Street and then, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, started up the street. She moved with a quick, determined pace. Andy listened to the faint clicking of her heels on the sidewalk. He wasn’t sure what it was, but she was carrying something, holding it tightly against her chest.

  He watched and waited until she was almost to the corner of Granite and Story Street and then, keeping to the shadows on the opposite side of the road, followed after her.

  Where was she was going after dark… on Halloween night?

  Were the stories about her true?

  Was she really a witch who was off to meet up with other witches or maybe Satan himself on this special, evil night?

  Andy had read about witches in school when they studied the colonies, and Miss Jolico, his third grade teacher, had told them about the witch trials in nearby Salem nearly three hundred years ago.

  But there weren’t really any witches around now.

  Andy was pretty sure of that. And even if there were, there was no way Miss Henry was one. No matter what other people said about her, he had gotten to know her, at least a little. She might be mean and crabby, but she certainly wasn’t a real witch.

  But she was going somewhere, and Andy could tell by her purposeful walk that it was someplace very important.

  Andy’s sneakers made soft scuffing sounds on the sidewalk as he followed her, keeping on the opposite side of the road. From years of playing army and sneaking out at night, he was skilled at staying out of sight by dart
ing from tree to telephone pole to hedge to parked car. Fortunately, he was wearing a dark shirt and jeans to go with his Zorro costume.

  Very faintly, he could hear Miss Henry’s labored breathing as she made her way up Story Street. As he followed her, still wondering where she was going, he felt a sudden sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach when he thought he’d figured it out.

  At the end of Story Street was Hillside Cemetery.

  Was that where she was going?

  He hoped not.

  Every once in a while, he and his friends played in the cemetery, but never after dark. They had heard enough scary stories about the place. And even if there weren’t really ghosts and demons out there—which he was pretty sure there weren’t, just like there weren’t real witches—the teenagers sometimes hung around in the cemetery after dark, drinking and making out with their girlfriends, at least until the police chased them off. Andy didn’t want to be anywhere near Hillside Cemetery, especially on Halloween night… just in case; but if that’s where Miss Henry was going, he was determined to follow her and find out what she was up to so late at night.

  Half a mile from Granite Street, Story Street curved to the right. The entrance to Hillside Cemetery was on the left, just before the curve. Hanging back in the darkness, Andy watched the tiny figure, silhouetted against the night. Miss Henry was walking much slower now. The journey, short as it was, had taken its toll on her. Andy wondered if she knew or sensed that he was following her. If she did, she gave no indication of it.

  Miss Henry hesitated at the cemetery gates, stopping and leaning forward with a hand braced against one of the tall columns that framed the entrance. Raising her head, she turned slowly and looked down the street the way she had come. Motionless in the shadow of a huge maple tree, Andy was positive that she couldn’t see him in the darkness, but his skin prickled, and he didn’t dare move. He imagined that her eyes could pierce the dark and see as clearly as if the sun were shining. His heart was racing with a high, fast drumbeat in his ears.

  After what seemed like much too long, Miss Henry turned and walked into the deeper gloom of the cemetery. The narrow dirt road glowed dully in the night. Her figure flitted in and out of sight as she made her way up the gentle slope among the tombstones.

  It was getting late. Andy didn’t have a watch, but he knew he should go home and leave Miss Henry to her business, whatever it was. He shouldn’t be following her like this. He had been worried that she had died. Now that he knew she was very much alive, he should leave her alone.

  But Andy’s curiosity had gotten the better of him.

  He wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew why Miss Henry was out here so late at night.

  Moving as lithely as a cat, he leaped over the cemetery fence and followed her fleeting figure up the slope, staying low and keeping a couple of rows of tombstones between them.

  Miss Henry shifted in the darkness like a silent, wind-blown ghost drifting among the graves. She didn’t look to either side as she walked along the rutted dirt path, which glowed in the night like a windblown ribbon. She crested the hill. Silhouetted against the star-dusted night sky for a moment, she started down the back slope. Andy followed. He reached the top of the hill just in time to see her draw to a stop beside a solitary grave at the bottom of the slope, close to the high metal fence.

  Andy knew instantly whose grave it was.

  His Uncle Arnie was buried there.

  The night wind whispered over the dead grass as she knelt beside Arnie’s grave and carefully placed the object she had been carrying on top of the stone. Andy could see now that it was a bouquet of flowers. Intrigued, he watched silently as she clasped her hands in prayer and leaned her forehead against the cold, polished granite. The soft moaning sound of crying drifted to Andy on the breeze. Tears filled his eyes as he watched the old woman cling almost desperately to the stone.

  Andy lost track of the time as he crouched in the darkness, watching Miss Henry. The whole scene had a distinct feeling of unreality, like he was watching a movie or something. In the darkness, her figure appeared as vague and insubstantial as a ghost.

  What was he or she or anyone doing in the cemetery on Halloween night?

  This must have been where she had been the other night when she caught him sneaking around outside her house, trying to retrieve his bottles.

  But why was she placing flowers on Uncle Arnie’s grave?

  Flattening himself on the cold ground, sure that he was still out of sight, Andy watched for what seemed like at least half an hour as Miss Henry knelt by the graveside and wept. From time to time, she whispered softly, but Andy was too far away to make out what she was saying. Anyone passing by who heard but didn’t see her no doubt would go home with another story about the “haunted” cemetery.

  Finally, as the pale sliver of moon dropped below the black fringe of trees, Miss Henry struggled to her feet. She stood for a moment longer at the graveside with her hands folded and her head bowed. Then she picked up a single flower from the bouquet she had placed on Arnie’s grave and walked over to another grave a bit further down the hill.

  Andy couldn’t see well in the dark, but he didn’t recognize this grave. It had a small stone and looked untended, overgrown with long grass and weeds. Miss Henry paused there a moment, then placed the single flower on the stone, turned, and started back up the path. Andy shifted his position and waited, watching her go, confident that she was heading back to her house and that he hadn’t been spotted.

  Miss Henry’s form drifted soundlessly over the crest of the hill and was gone, leaving Andy alone with the wind, moaning softly as it swept up the dead leaves that littered the rows of graves. He shivered, and the urge to get up and run screaming from the place was powerful. Before he left, though, he had to find out whose name was on that other gravestone.

  Andy was angry that he had left his flashlight with his trick-or-treat bag under the spruce tree beside the library. Then again, he didn’t think he’d feel any safer even if he had a light. One thing for sure, he was grateful that Jimmy wasn’t here with him. They would have scared each other silly, talking about the creepy, horrible things that might be lurking, unseen in the night.

  Besides, Jimmy wouldn’t understand.

  Shifting onto his hands and knees, Andy took a deep breath, trying to get up enough courage to move. All around him, the darkness vibrated with an unearthly energy. Tombstones glowed with an eerie iridescence. In the corners of his eyes, he kept catching blurry traces of motion, like fast-moving smoke or fog, but when he turned to look, there was nothing there except gravestones, low-lying scrubs, and dying floral arrangements. His scalp tightened, and his shoulder muscles bunched up so tightly they began to ache.

  The smart thing—the sensible and safe thing—would be to get out of here now, he told himself.

  He knew that.

  But he started down the slope, feeling like he was moving in a dream as he walked silently among the tombstones.

  The moon was gone, and the stars, as bright as they were, didn’t cast much light. When Andy got to the grave, he leaned forward and peered at the stone, but he couldn’t make out the letters. He didn’t dare run his fingers over the cold granite to try to feel the letters. He knew he should wait and come back tomorrow after school.

  But what if he wasn’t able to find the right grave?

  No, he had to find out.

  Now.

  His father had taught him a trick about seeing in the dark. It was something to do with the part of your eye that sees in the dark—the “rods” and “cones”; Andy couldn’t remember—but what makes you see in the dark isn’t in the center of your vision. If you shift you gaze slightly to one side or the other, you can actually see better in the dark.

  Andy tried that now.

  Looking to one side, he concentrated on bringing the tombstone’s letters more clearly into focus. His heart was racing. His throat went dry as he struggled to make out the name. Gradually the letters
resolved, and he pieced the name together. As he sounded it out loud, whispering in the darkness, the coldness inside him spread all through his body.

  “Robert… Matthew… Draper… August 13, 1949 to October 29, 1949.”

  Part Three

  Andy didn’t get home until after nine o’clock that night. His mother was angry with him for staying out so late, especially on a school night. She grilled him about where he’d been and who he’d been with but, other than sending him straight to bed and not allowing him to have any of his Halloween candy, she didn’t threaten to punish him, which was a relief. He had plenty to think about as it was, and he had a lot of trouble getting to sleep that night.

  At breakfast and all through school the next day, Andy was tired and distracted. His mind tumbled with thoughts and speculations about what he had seen last night. Over and over, he tried to convince himself that none of it had really happened, that he had imagined following Miss Henry out to the cemetery, and that he hadn’t read the tombstone correctly, or that…

  or that…

  —Or what?

  He grasped at anything that might explain the name on the gravestone—his last name!—and why Miss Henry was in the cemetery so late at night and why she would bother to adorn that little tombstone with a flower.

  Nothing he thought of worked.

  All he knew for sure was that a secret existed. The meaning of that secret was still a deep mystery. He sensed on some level that it would have a profound and irreparable effect on his life, whatever it was. He didn’t think he wanted to know the answer, but he couldn’t get it out of his mind.

  “Mr. Draper?… Are you asleep?”

  Mrs. Doyle’s voice startled him, and he almost jumped out of his seat. A twitter of laughter ran through the classroom, and JJ, who was sitting directly behind him, poked him in the back with his pencil.

  “Would you care to answer my question, Mr. Draper?”

  “Ma’am?” Andy shook his head as though dazed.

  Mrs. Doyle took a few steps closer, tapping the rubber tip of the pointer she was carrying on the floor as she came.