Hope's Halloween Party (Inktober, Saturday, October 10, 2020)

For Inktober, Saturday, October 10, 2020. Prompt word: "hope." Tuckerization: Mella Schmid 

A reminder that volunteering for tuckerization only means a character in the story shares the participant's name. Other than that, there are no other similar characteristics implied.

Hope’s Halloween Party 

by Alan Loewen 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

As Brendan parked the car, Mella could see that Hope Hodgson’s Halloween party was already going full swing. From tacky lawn decorations to orange strobe lights and blinking orange Christmas lights that ran the length of the front porch, Mella could already feel an approaching headache. 

She turned to Brendan. “Now, if Hope’s boyfriend is here, I want you to promise me you won’t hurt him.”

Brendan sighed. “Can I kill him?” 

“No,” Mella said firmly. “It's my turn. Let’s go.” 

With Brendan dressed as a medieval plague doctor and Mella as a dark specter, they made their way to the front door avoiding the blinding lights and stumbling over plastic Dollar Store figurines. 

Hope answered the door, her body swathed in white bandages. 

“Oh! You’re a mummy!” Mella said. 

Hope gave her a puzzled stare. “But I don't have any kids,” she said.

“No. No,” Brendan interrupted. “That’s mummy, not mom … you know what? Forget it.” He stepped around her. 

Immediately the stench of pumpkin spice hit him like a mailed fist. In response, his larynx slammed shut. “I’ll party on the porch,” he said between gasps stumbling back through the front door. 

Inside, Mella waved at the people she knew. Not sharing in Brendan’s asthma, her nose quickly got used to the pumpkin spice, and she walked over to speak to her friends. 

Minutes later, Hope banged on a plastic cup with a plastic spoon shrieking for somebody to turn down Nickelback for an announcement. It took a few minutes, but eventually, everyone calmed down. 

“I have a special treat for everybody,” she said with a smile. “I made my own beverage for this party with a recipe I made up myself.” 

Hope uncovered a tureen and showed a thick fluid somewhat akin to a newborn’s first disappointing diaper. “Now, who will be first?” she asked. 

She scooped out a large ladle’s worth and let the contents ooze into a paper cup. “C’mon,” she said. “Who is going to be the first to try my new concoction. The first person gets the honor of naming it.” 

Everybody smiled nervously at each other, and Mella could see through the front porch window Brendan fleeing for the car. She sadly shook her head. 

“I’ll try it.” Everybody turned toward the speaker. Hope’s boyfriend, Reginald, held solitary court over in the corner talking to himself, the only person he felt worthy to hear his pronouncements. 

He sauntered over to Hope and took the proffered drink. “Philistines!” he muttered at the partygoers and promptly downed the contents with a gulp. 

Mella later recalled that she could never remember anybody’s eyes growing that large or that a person’s pallor could change into that number of colors. Just like a chameleon, she said later to Brendan, but not as cute as the lizard. 

With a gasp, Reginald fell to the floor and began writhing and screaming on the carpet. Madly, he started flailing his way toward the front porch. Somebody opened the door and let the wailing thing make its way through. With flair, the door was closed behind Reginald as he continued to roll off the porch. 

“What is that stuff?” somebody asked. 

Holly looked with shock at the group. “It’s … it’s just 190 proof Everclear mixed in a blender with a whole bottle of pumpkin spice.” 

Above the stunned silence, Mella spoke. “Hope, I think I have a name for your experiment. We’ll call it Hope’s Autumn Drink.” 

“I like that,” Hope said with a smile. 

“Yeah,” Mella muttered quietly. “Just one sip, you turn colors and fall.”