Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
The days pass by in a blur. Instead of the photography assistant I’ve always wanted, I now have a squad. Complete with matching shirts. Which is a good thing because I never would have survived without them.
Going viral has brought a lot of… stuff with it.
And everyday brings something new. The crowds are mostly pleasant and well-behaved.
What started as a line and a ladder has grown into a full backyard setup including lighting, a porta potty in my front yard, and a well organized check in and check out process.
There’s a rental company currently setting up outdoor tents in my backyard and so we can move the hay bales and other backdrop items inside overnight in case of storms. We’ve been spoiled with beautiful weather, and the golden hour sunset pictures have been some of my best work.
I’m also incredibly inspired by the subject matter. Although I’m loving the cash flow and meeting the obligation of actually using BJ as a photo prop, I’m starting to resent everything but him.
My legs hurt, my fingers are going numb from overuse, my lawn has been destroyed, and even the lovely Spooky Bitches are starting to grate on my nerves with their constant helpful presence. This is all compounded by the guilt I feel for being annoyed instead of appreciative.
Honestly, I’m hoping a big storm hits so I can get some alone time with my skeleton and have another makeout session instead of falling into bed exhausted each night. Even when I’m not taking pictures, we’re never alone.
The neighbors are grumbling, but the influx of visitors is also pumping money into the local economy so the town is happy to help out. They have officers patrolling regularly, and often we need someone to direct traffic at the closest intersection.
I swig down the last of my coffee and start my new daily routine. First, I peek out the living room blinds to see what today’s line looks like—still around the block. Then I walk through the garage and out into the yard.
The Spooky Bitches are already getting tables and chairs set up under the tent and the new merch displays.
Although they initially wanted to volunteer, since the volume never died down, I insisted on paying everyone for their time.
There is a rotation of them now, popping in and out to help.
Dawn has it all taken care of, from scheduling to payroll.
I just hand her a chunk of cash from each day.
The new merch is also selling like hot cakes. I didn’t love the idea at first, but once I saw vendors walking up and down the line outside, hawking their t-shirts and trinkets I figured I might as well sell official designs that I actually liked.
I was also able to partner with some of the local businesses to create licensed designs that I’m selling both here and at their stores. It’s a win-win for everyone.
I shove my hands into the pocket of my “We heart BJ” hoodie.
With the weather definitely turning, the early warmth of October giving way to Fall, this sweatshirt is a particular favorite.
The Spooky Bitches had an incredible amount of talent between them and, in addition to helping with the day to day activities, were also responsible for running the website, social accounts, merch design, and probably a few other things I could no longer keep track of.
Despite the early morning hour, the sky is already darkening. My lips tip up at the thought of a nice Fall storm to chase away the crowds and leave me with some much needed private time with my skeleton boyfriend. Skelly-friend?
Right on cue, fat rain drops began to fall, and with them, the temperature plummets.
I pull up my hood and duck under the tent. The rental crew is putting up the final touches. They zip on the thick plastic walls, and I already feel warmer without the biting wind and chilly precipitation.
Not only did the tent provide some shelter, but it’s also now blocking the street view of BJ. I exhale a breath, and my shoulders relax, tension I didn’t realize had been wound tighter than a spring finally uncoiling.
I thank everyone who helped to move the hay bales and decor in from the rain and then tell everyone we’re taking a day off. As helpful as the Spooky Bitches have been, even they look relieved.
Once everyone is finally gone, and my yard is blissfully empty for once, I rummage around in the garage and pile my supplies into the wagon so I only have to make one more trip out through the rain. I make a mad dash with the wagon back inside, then run to open the back flap.
I undo the industrial zipper and call out, “Mr. Bonejangles! Come in out of the rain.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t even shift his eyes to mine.
For a second I wonder if I imagined everything, but then I hear it—the thudding bass of a passing car.
As soon as it fades away, he springs into action, faster than he moved before.
I hold back the flap as he ducks under the tent.
It’s large, but he’s still too big to stand up inside except at the center pole.
“Good thinking, BJ. You remembered what I said, no one else can see you move,” I say, smiling up at him. “Hang tight, I’ll get us set up.”
First, I get the portable heater started. Then I lay out a large tarp, followed by some moving blankets. I don’t want to waste a moment of our time together. Next, I unpack my old sleeping bag and lay it on top.
With a shy smile I ask, “So, want to sit with me?”
He nods, and a thrill goes through me at our first communication. He comes over and sits on the blankets, then motions me over.
I stand there for a beat, then say, “Well, BJ, now that I have you to myself, what am I going to do with you?”
His eyes change, and although he has no lips, I can see that he is smiling.
“I mean, I guess we will have to see what happens,” I say playfully although I know exactly what I want to happen.
Walking to the edge of the tarp, I toe off my rain boots and then crawl across the sleeping bag to sit next to him.
He narrows his eyes at me and scoops me up in his giant bony hands.
I let out a shriek as he deposits me in between his legs, then moves to sit criss-cross-applesauce, caging me in.
Laughing, I say, “Alright, big guy. I see exactly where you want me. I was hoping you could help me pick out some new outfits for you. Things have been so crazy I haven’t had much time, but we need some new photo props, and I wanted you to have a say in what you wear.”
He nods but then holds up a finger at me.
“One?” I ask.
He nods.
“One what?” I question.
He reaches down and taps the pointed end of a single phalange against my watch, then signals me with one finger in the air again.
“Oh, one minute,” I deduce.
He nods, then pushes my hood back from my face.
“Guess it’s warming up in here now that the heater’s going,” I murmur, pulling my hair free from the sweatshirt.
BJ runs it through his fingers, staring at the strands as they slip through them and then repeating the motion.
My eyes flutter closed, and for the first time in days, I feel myself relaxing. I allow myself to just sit in the moment and enjoy this simple pleasure.
His touch moves to trace over the planes of my face as his other hand wraps around my waist as if tethering me this moment.
The rain beats out a steady tattoo against the canvas of the tent as the space heater hums softly, wrapping us in a cocoon away from the prying eyes of the world and the relentless appetite of social media.
“Can I be honest?” I ask, and open my eyes to look up at him.
He nods encouragingly.
“This right here?” I gesture between us. “This, I love.”
His eyes turn into red hearts again, and I laugh softly.
“I’m happy you love it, too. But all this craziness?” I gesture around the tent. “Not so much.”
He tilts his head at me and puts his hands up in the air, elbows bent as if to ask why.
I look down at the sleeping bag, picking at a small ball of lint on the red and black plaid until a finger gently but firmly lifts my chin to look back at him.
"Well, Lois wanted to take you away." I reach up and run my fingers over the crooked rib, devastated at the mere thought, especially now. Then, I was fighting for a decoration. Now, I’m fighting for so much more.
"She thinks this is all stupid. Decorations. Costumes,” I say, pointing at the photo props. Then I smile up at him and say, “Giant skeletons. People dressing up and pretending."
I shrug.
"Maybe she's right." I give a soft laugh and continue, "But I think people need a little pretending."
His LED eyes stay fixed on me.
"When I was a kid, Halloween was the one night of the year where nobody cared if you were weird. Hell, everybody wanted to be weird. Monsters were cool. Witches were cool. Ghosts were cool. The things people spent the rest of the year hiding suddenly became something worth celebrating."
I look up at him again and explain, "Most holidays are about being grateful for what you already have. Or asking for more stuff. But Halloween is different. Halloween is about imagining what could be."
The words surprise me as they leave my mouth. “It’s hope, and that feels a lot like magic. For one night, people believe in things again. Not just ghosts and monsters. But wishes and possibilities."
My hand settles over his crooked rib once more, and my voice goes soft. "I think that's why I love it so much."
He merely sits still and silent, a large presence that should be imposing but instead is deeply comforting.
“Life is hard. People leave. Things don't work out. Dreams don't happen the way you planned. But every October, I get to believe in magic again, even if just for a little while.”
I smile sadly, thinking about everything that didn’t work out for me.
“And maybe that's why Lois hates it,” I say. And what I don’t say, but my heart ponders is, what didn’t work out for her?
I glance up at him. “Because Halloween asks people to believe. And believing is scary.”
My fingers curl around his rib, and I hold on tight with conviction in my voice as I say, “So no matter how much I want you, and how happy I am that you're finally here with me, I'm afraid she won't stop trying to take that magic away.”
His eyes flash, anger clear at my words. He points to me and then to the ground emphatically, as if to say he will stay here with me.
“So I did the only thing I could think of to protect you. I said that you were part of my business,” I admit.
His eyes go flat, and now it’s his turn to look away.
I jump to my feet and rise up on my toes, stretching my arms to turn his face to look at me again.
“Mr. Bonejangles, you are not just part of my business.”
When he doesn’t respond, I continue, “BJ. You are not just a prop, not just some thing to me. I’ve always wanted you, and now, I think I know why. I didn’t just want you. I needed you.”
He turns to face me and bends, bringing his face closer to mine.
I slide my hands up to cup the smooth sides of his skull and bring his forehead down to rest against mine. “I needed this.”
He gives a subtle nod, smooth heat and life pulsing where I should feel cold, rigid plastic against my skin.
I let my eyes close as a small tear slips free. With a laugh I say, “How is it that you are kinder and more compassionate and expressive than any human man I’ve ever met?”
He shrugs and places the point of one bony finger over my heart as his eyes turn to hearts again.
“Same,” I whisper and reach out to lay my hand against his sternum where his heart should be. And although the ribcage is empty behind my hand, I swear I feel energy pulsing as steady as a heartbeat.