“Damn!”

He’d forgotten it was that time of the year.

There’s fat Marge dressed as a witch, and in walks Brad, the estate agent, now a skeleton.

Jack orders lemonade and watches the party grow louder. The pub band, three ghosts and a ghoul, rock them into a frenzy.

Unable to bear the drunken hysteria anymore, he walks out, sober, into the chill of the night.

He tiptoed to his office cubicle ignoring everyone. They ignored him. Except for Anne who monitored his quota. It must’ve been adequate for he continued to pass me at the reception desk.

One day, I didn’t notice the scent of his signature aftershave. Nor saw his forlorn face staring at the patterned floor as he entered.

A radio news feature announced him as a “person of interest.” Missing. His apartment trashed.

Stephen perked up when he saw the light go out in Mr. Campbell’s office. He scrambled for his bag and coat, flipped off his computer, and almost ran for the elevator. He had a clever joke picked out already.

It was the complete lack of context that confirmed to Shirlene none of this was real.

There was very little this version of herself knew with any certainty. She remembered her name. She liked avocados. And she was positive that every memory she possessed was a figment of her imagination.

As Shirlene soared above the city of clouds and unfamiliar landscapes, she reflected on her other dreams and other lives. None seemed as real as this moment right now.

Leaning back in my seat, taking a deep breath, I close my eyes. A knock on the window startles me.

“Miss, are you okay?”

It’s a man dressed as Count Dracula, his fangs scarily realistic.

“My engine died.”

“Let me look at it for you.”

As soon as I exit my car, Count Dracula grabs my purse and drives off in his truck.

As the weeks passed, we heard the singing every night, the same song, the same window, the same candlelight. I might have imagined it, but the singing seemed to be becoming louder.

Timothy walked into the boardroom carrying notebook and coffee, ready for anything. He dutifully took notes as the minutes were recited, then listened as each department head read their reports covering the previous 24 hours.

An argument broke out over the order of the reports. The company would not refer to it as an argument, but rather a protocol discussion. The minutes wouldn’t make note of the raised voices on both sides.

Eventually, the meeting broke up. Everyone returned to their cubicles.

“Hi, Sweetie. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. Traffic was unbearable. I brought you your favorite, yellow roses, but they are ruined from the heat. I’m sorry, I can’t seem to get anything right these days.”

Jim placed the roses against the gravestone, knelt, and quietly prayed.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”

The blows, unintentional at this point, kept coming. Boots rammed into his hip. Someone stepped on his right hand, the one that had been holding the rainbow sign, and he felt the bones snap. He stopped struggling as everything went numb.

All Josh discerned now were their eyes. He realized they saw nothing outside of their own preconceived notions. They looked at the men and woman across from them with hatred.