Halloween 3 Fer

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Three different Halloween's and the costumes I came up with. Have fun!! Comments please.

Halloween 3 fer




Age 13

My mom died on October 28, 1981, and they; my aunts and uncles, etc., thought she should be buried in Drumheller, AB, to be close to her kin.

We lived in Calgary, AB at the time and I was 13 years old.

Waiting the required three days for her burial would mean staying with my cousins and aunt for a couple of nights, in order to have the wake. That meant Halloween, would be had in Drumheller, where the dinosaurs went to die.

My cousins, Patsy, Gale, and Suzie didn’t have any good costume material for guys, me and my two younger brothers.

I think Sheldon just wore his own clothes and they used makeup to change his face to that of a zombie or a ghoul of some sort. Lorne got a sheet they reluctantly cut holes in to make him a ghost.

And I, well….

I got to dress up as a 70’s era hooker.

It took some convincing, but with the clock tickin’ away and no other descent options presenting themselves, I had little choice. Hell, I was thirteen, and I decided that the shitload of candy would outweigh the embarrassment. I was wrong.

They did up my face like only young girls can - go heavy on the works, and if it doesn’t look right add more of everything. When you’re done, and you feel pretty, fuck what anybody else thought.

I didn’t feel pretty, I fuckin’ hated it. But they were having so much fun, and after the funeral earlier that day, I needed a win in the worst way, so I went with it.

I had longish hair at the time, so a couple of sparkly barrets did the trick, after a good combing and a definitive kibosh on the curler of course. For some reason, girls just love combing someone else's hair.

Then they found a onesie with a flared leg, a leftover from their older sister's seventies disco-dance attire, I think, I try not to picture my aunt Mae wearing such an outfit, it burns the brains. They added a belt that would have embarrassed a girl pirate and some sexy, strappy flat-soled shoes, and eh-voila,

70’s Hooker.

I remember distinctly drawing a line in the sand at the stuffed bra and high heels, at least I think I remember, things got a little blurry there for a bit. I think it was all the hairspray and the loud giggling.

After all this time, two things stick out in my mind about that night.

The first thing was My aunt Mae coming back from work when we were just about ready to go. She pulled up in a cab out front and saw us all through the front living room window. She came running up the walk and came right over to me and gave me a big hug. Turns out, she thought I was my older sister Cindy. I guess back then I had a thin, feminine face, and with all the gear on, well….

The second thing was something that happened when we were about three-quarters full on our pillowcases of candy and were just about done for the night. That’s when we were met at a door, by the girl of my youthful dreams…shit.

She answered the door with the bowl of candy in her hands, and my jaw dropped. She was perfect.

Flowing brown locks, enfolding a face that angels work towards for all of their long lives.

My new favorite fuzzy pink, short-cropped sweater with the perfect amount of perky’s filling it out. I was instantly in love.

I wanted to ask her out, I wanted to tell her how beautiful I thought she was, I swear I would have harmed small innocent animals just to get a chance to hold her hand. I would have killed them, for a kiss from her perfect lips. I consider myself a passivist animal lover, so you can see how smitten I was.

She liked my outfit, she said I looked sexy, and she smiled. The heat that that smile stirred in me, combined with my burning embarrassment was enough to melt my young soul. Like a flamethrower on a birthday candle.

End of Part 1


Age 29 or so

I lived upstairs in a hotel room above a bar in Medicine Hat, AB. I was crabby that day and wasn’t even going to go out for Halloween. I’d partied a couple of nights before that and was still hungover and a little tired of it.

Most nights we partied at the bar, I ended up carrying the whole show, I knew the best jokes, quips, and stories. It was a lot of weight, but I carried it well until I met Jesus. I still joke but now it seems to have developed a point. Laugh if you want, this isn’t a serious religious piece, well, it didn’t start out that way at least.

I tried to ignore it, I really did, I even turned up the volume on the crappy movie I’d found on the telly. But it wasn’t just a sound, it was a vibration carried up through the floor from the bar below. My feet would never lie to me, and they were telling me that there was some serious partying going on beneath those ten little piggies.

And of course, the dried roses in a vase atop the tv kept whispering sweet nothings to me.

I counted up my burnable money – 23 bucks, or in the vernacular of the bar, 11 pints of cheap beer. That and what was left in my bloodstream from the night before should get me through the night.

It took me about ten minutes to come up with the rudiments of a crazy but oh so Chris-like costume idea.

This is where the dried roses on the telly came in, I’d bought them in the hopes of impressing girls at the bar with my chivalry and sentiment, plus, the flower girl was kinda hot, in a homespun, spurned advances kinda way. Hope just doesn’t spring eternal, it lives and breathes within me, like a flame fed from the fumes of my romantic heart.

There were four of them, long since dead, and drooping low in their despairing way. A testament to the death of my undying hope. A reminder not to give up, and beautiful in their own right. It was actually the thorns that grabbed me and tugged on the tassel of my thinking cap.

It wasn’t bad enough with the whole cross-business, they just had to add the indignity of that indisputable and King-blooded crown of thorns. Fucking bastards.

I cut up one of my extra white sheets into a robe-shaped garment that would take two full pages to relate to you, so I won’t. Isn’t imagination a wonderful thing? Well, it is if you use it.

I added an extra blue sheet for a sash, just a simple bobby pin would suffice to hold it on.

I only needed three of the roses to make the crown, the fourth saved to keep the hope alive. I tied them into a circlet, with black thread used to hold them together. I shaved off all the inside thorns with my pocket knife (not a martyr myself, so why bleed?)

Then I added a little makeup, using the pastels that I draw with, a little grey under the eyes and some red for the blood coming down from the crown in various choice spots to give me that recently dead and haunted look and Eh Voila…

Jesus, born again and proud of it.

I had the long hair and the beard already, so all I really needed to do was take off my glasses. The unfocused eyes somehow clenched it.

People reacted in ways I hadn’t imagined they would. They essentially revered me, which was weird because they had never done that before.

This reverence took many forms:

NOBODY SWORE AROUND ME, all fucking night, at the bar.

I’ve never seen people behave the way they did that night, it creeped me out. It was like I was carrying an entire church around me, invisible but very real, and it ended about six feet from my skin.

A tiny bubble of Godly Goodness.

It messed with my head until I managed to get the gist of it…

If you just happened to see a nun or a priest out of the corner of your eye, you get right with the universe in a hurry, you straighten your shoulders, you hide your smoke and you act in a way suitable to their holy station. In the words of my dear departed mother, you smarten the fuck up.

But, if you see Himself out of the corner of your eye, well…that does tricks to your mind that even He might smile about.

I even had a couple of guys buy me a beer, as long as I drank it somewhere else, so they could get me and mine staring eyes off their petty brutalisms.

I had a couple swing by, dressed as wedding cake ornaments, and they actually got me to bless their holy union.

It was fun at first, but it got heavy after a bit, heavy cross-shaped and wooden.

I could go on, feel free to imagine your own scenario. Like, I don’t drive, so no wheels were grabbed or taken by me… hehe. Way ups and props BIG GUY, your spirit lives on, my brutha.

End of Part 2


42ish or so


I had just finished another busy year at the fruit stand in Creston, BC.

I was the last worker left, just around to sell off what apples I could, and the squashes, of course, I had no idea there were so many different kinds of either. I was a City kid and thought apples were either red, green, or yellow - silly me.

I was just getting up and getting ready for another day, when it occurred to me that it was Halloween, shit. It had been a busy season and I was fucking tired, I always remember Halloween, dammit.

Good thing I’m always equipped with a stunning imagination, a child’s sense of hope, and a quick, artistic mind…

The tiny acorn of this new costume idea came in the form of a long-sleeved lycra workout shirt I had gotten for a great price. It was supposed to be 75 bucks at the store where I found it a few years previously, but it had been put away on the wrong rack. The ON SALE NOW - $10 rack. I got given the ten-dollar deal by a grumpy sales clerk that was too tired of people's shit to give a flying fuck.

I loved that shirt, so comfortable, so cheap, and just the perfect shade of my favorite color – blue.

When I looked into my closet that morning all I had that was clean was my suits, office wear for an office job that had never materialized. It was obvious really….

So, my great big brain got busy crunching the numbers.

The shirt, the suit, and some of the many varied colored papers we used for signage at the fruit stand,

And Eh Voila

Superman’s Alter- Ego, Clark Muthafuckin Kent!

Best idea eva, check it:

I showered, underweared, and socked, then put on the blue shirt, a perfect match for the man o steels hero blue. Then I business-suited all over it.

I greased up my hair a bit with some gel, to get it gimp styled and hard as a fucking rock, lol. Then I undid a few of the buttons underneath my perfectly knotted half Windsor tie. This was going to be epic. Damn, I’m good.

I could even keep my glasses on this time.

When I got to work, I did some pretty simple but nonetheless crucial cutting and taping of cray paper, then I was ready to open.

A couple came in, both parents soft-spoken and a little shy, with a child of maybe 7 or 8 dressed as a wizard. He was overjoyed to be such a powerful being, if only for the day. His little twinkly eyes actually sparkled with real magic. The kind that keeps us warm and hopeful.

When they came up to the till, I smiled at the little dude and nodded, “That’s a really great outfit bud, are you Merlin or Gandalf?”

He professed “Gandalf of course!” he’d probably never even heard of Merlin.

Then I said, “I’m in costume too, guess what I am?”

I pushed my glasses up my nose and adjusted my tie.

The wife guessed first, “An accountant?”

“Nope,” said I, my own eyes sparkling now.

The husband was more generous, “Mayor?”

“Nope, sorry, last guess little man, I’ll give you a hint.”

Then I snatched the glasses off my face and placed both hands under my tie, to grab at my unbuttoned shirt to pull it open… and underneath….

Was a pretty damn good rendition of the Superman symbol for hope, done in red and yellow construction paper with liberal amounts of clear tape holding it onto my perfect shade of blue shirt.

Little dude got it in one.


It was a disguise within a disguise, his laugh and both of the grins on his parents’ faces made my whole day. I think I actually did manage to fly a little.

So that ends our little confab about Halloween costumes, you can buy them at the store, or you can use the noggin God Planted on the top of your neck, and come up with something really cool.


The End

Submitted: October 09, 2021

© Copyright 2021 chrispy. All rights reserved.

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