The Haunted Heritage

Two-2

AFTER THE FIRST COMMUNICANTS class debacle, the rest of the morning goes smoothly. The 10:30 a.m. Mass is its usual mixture of reverence and chaos, with the proceedings highlighted by my first triple baptism—two boys and a girl from three different families, the continuation of the parish’s baby boom prompted by a particularly snowy January and February.

After Mass, Helen and I eat a delicious lunch of pork that has been slowly braising in cola all morning. Helen brought her brussels sprouts cooked with bacon and brown sugar, as well as rolls and cheesecake, courtesy of The Muffin Man.

“So tell me, Tom,” Helen says with a smirk, “is there a Vatican-approved paddle for beating confessions out of children, or would you like my old nightstick?”

I roll my eyes. “Well, according to Emily, I’m too nice to beat anyone, so you’re going to do it.”

Helen laughs as I add, “Though Catherine did say Dan could do it if you couldn’t.”

“I think I need to have a little talk with him,” Helen says as tears roll down her cheeks, “about his interrogation techniques.”

“Eh, he probably uses them on the twins,” I shrug.

After this bit of banter, Helen says, “Nate and Gladys looked good. I mean, I didn’t see her scowl at him once. Has she finally forgiven him?”

“I sure hope so,” I sigh. “After yesterday, I think things will improve.”

“By the way, what was all that about?”

“You’re not going to believe this,” I say. “They were in a battle royal over Halloween costumes, of all the ridiculous things.”

For some reason, Helen’s smile disappears. “You think Halloween costumes are ridiculous?”

“Well, not for kids. But they’re full grown adults. I mean, I know they do all the cosplay stuff with Age of Artemis at comic book conventions, but dressing up for Halloween at their age?”

Helen’s frowning now. “So, tell me, Tom,” she says. “If I said we wouldn’t be having that argument because I’d decided a couple of months ago what we’re wearing—”

“You’re not serious, Helen!” I exclaim.

“Of course I am, Tom,” Helen says. “You know the last night of the Acutis Society’s haunted house—what are they calling it again?”

“Fairy Tales and Frights,” I say, “to emphasize that there is family-friendly stuff earlier in the evening.”

“Well, the last night is on Halloween,” she continues. “And they’re having a party afterwards. And someone in this room promised Mae Trent that we’d be chaperones.”

“Yes, chaperone,” I say. “Not dress up.”

“But Tom,” Helen says with a smile. “You know how much I love to dress up for Halloween.”

“I thought you’d outgrown that in 20 years.”

“Honestly, I haven’t in a long time—about 20 years,” she says. “I’m really looking forward to this, darling. And the costumes I picked out are perfect.” She lowers her voice. “And, Father Tom, I can guarantee you’re going to like my costume in particular.”

Her sultry tone sends a thrill through me, and I’m suddenly aware that I need to turn the heat down in the Rectory.

Rallying my last remaining shreds of dignity, I whine, “But you know how much I hate Halloween.”

Helen rolls her eyes. “Yes, Tom. I remember. And I remember why you hate Halloween. But shouldn’t you be over that by now?”

“Listen, being awakened every day in October year after year by Nola Greer wearing a hideous witch mask is not something you get over easily.”

“That was forty years ago!”

“And the scars are still there.”

Helen leans forward and pouts. “Oh, come on, darling, won’t you do it for me?”

“I guess so, but only if you insist.”

“Anyway, Tom, it’ll be good for you.”

“That’s what you always say.”