Scary Movies: A Romantic Halloween Story Read online

Scary Movies:

  A Romantic Halloween Story

  By Rusty Fischer, author of A Town Called Snowflake

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  Scary Movies

  Rusty Fischer

  Copyright 2014 by Rusty Fischer

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  This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Cover credit: © barelko.com – Fotolia.com

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  Author’s Note:

  The following is a FREE short story edited by the author himself. If you see any glaring mistakes, I apologize and hope you don’t take it out on my poor characters, who had nothing to do with their author’s bad grammar!

  Happy reading… and Happy Halloween!

  Enjoy!

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  Scary Movies:

  A Romantic Halloween Story

  The little bell over the door rings while I’m helping a customer, so I don’t see him right away.

  “Welcome to Rewind,” I chirp out on autopilot, never quite looking away from the sales counter where I’m currently engaged in some tense, last-minute horror movie negotiations. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  He mumbles something and I ignore him, turning back to my regular customer instead. “Come on, Mr. Folgers,” I urge him, tugging on the sleeve of his mustard yellow sweater good-naturedly. “It’s Halloween. Live a little. Doesn’t Mrs. Folgers like to be scared every now and again?”

  “Oh heavens no,” he says, adjusting his greasy bifocals and shaking his head so that dandruff cascades like snowfall onto his sloping shoulders. “The last scary movie we watched was The Blob, way back in the 50s.”

  “Mad respect,” I say, duly impressed and letting him know it. “That’s a real horror classic. Kudos, my friend.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t know anything about that,” he chuffs, sounding a little irritated. And, for once, not with me. “Mildred got so upset we walked out before I could even finish my popcorn.”

  I smirk and reach behind me, to a dusty shelf marked “Classics,” and pull out my single DVD copy of The Blob. “Well, here’s your opportunity to give it a second chance,” I urge. “Seriously, you gotta watch something scary on Halloween.”

  “You think?” he asks, shaking his head uncertainly even as his wrinkly hands reach for the DVD case. “It won’t scare Mildred too badly?”

  “It’s more atmospheric than scary,” I assure him. “And besides, don’t you know watching a scary movie is the best way to get a gal to cuddle up with you?”

  I tap his hand for emphasis and he blushes, readjusting his glasses. He fumbles for his video card and I wave him off.

  “It’s on the house tonight, my friend,” I say, watching his eyes get big. “Happy Halloween, Mr. Folgers. Now, go pop some corn, turn off all the lights and get cozy with Mildred.”

  He wags a finger gratefully and, speechless, shuffles for the door. As I watch him go, I notice his slippers don’t match. I feel little fingers clutch at my chest for a moment, thinking of the life he and Mildred must have had. Suddenly, I feel a little bad for pushing The Blob on him. Usually he checks out romantic movies.

  What if I just ruined his night?

  Then it passes, and I’m hopeful that seeing the movie again will transport them back to 1958, sitting in an old-timey theater, wearing old-timey clothes, holding young, unwrinkled hands and watching cinematic history unfurl before their very eyes.

  I turn from watching him walk out the door, wistfully, and spot the newcomer standing in front of the New Releases rack. “Can you imagine?” I sigh, digging my hands deep inside the pockets of my black hoodie covered in white skeleton bones. “Seeing the original Blob, live, in a theater? Opening weekend?”

  When he doesn’t turn around, I press, “Wouldn’t that be just the best?”

  Finally he turns, a familiar smirk to his face, a DVD case in each hand. “I prefer the remake myself,” he says.

  “Josh?” I ask, shaking my head a little. He looks so… different. “What… what are you doing here? I thought you’d be off at State, graduating in record time.”

  He shrugs, inching toward the sales counter. He looks taller, if that’s possible, bulkier, more… manly. “I’m home for the holiday break and I thought I’d stock up on scary movies for tonight.”

  I spot the DVD covers in his hand and smirk. “Then… why are you holding Princess Confessions 1 and 2?”

  He blushes a little under his unruly dark curls and slides them onto the counter, upside down, so the covers are hidden.

  “Just messing with you,” he says, unconvincingly, and I smile at his tuxedo T-shirt and snug gray jeans.

  He was always a beanpole in high school, that nerdy class clown you couldn’t help but like… and then quickly forgot once the school bell rang at the end of each day.

  Actually, I haven’t thought much about him since graduation. I’d heard he got an academic scholarship to State, and apparently he’d been hitting the gym while he was away because, suddenly, he’s filled out in all the right places.

  Now his shoulders are broad and his face looks fuller, almost like… a man. A young man, but a real man. There’s even a little scruff on his chin and a five o’clock shadow spread across his ruddy cheeks.

  “Your Dad still runs this place?” he asks, leaning on the counter in a familiar way. There’s a plastic pumpkin full of Halloween candy between us and he peeks inside, grabbing a caramel and unwrapping it before popping it between two full lips.

  I look briefly away and say, “My Dad passed away this summer. I kind of… stepped into his place.”

  He stops chewing and puts one hand over his heart, like maybe I hurt him or something. Or maybe he’s just shocked. Saying it out loud that way, I’m still a little shocked myself.

  “Haley I’m… I’m so sorry,” he stammers a bit. “Honestly, I… I had no idea…”

  His eyes are wide and brown and deep and soft and I shrug. “You didn’t know. How could you know? You were off at school, with the rest of our class.” I try not to sound too bitter, and fail miserably.

  He nods, but still looks upset. “I know, but… just the same. I feel like… like I should have known. Somehow…”

  I cock my head and meet his soft, brown eyes. “Why, Josh?”

  He shrugs. “I spent so much time in here my senior year,” he says, stepping back and looking around the Rewind video store as if seeing it for the first time. It’s small and shabby but I’ve done my best; sorting all the movies by genre and creating little displays to get folks into my favorite section: scary movies.

  “You were about the only one then,” I snort, a little too harshly.

  But he nods, just the same, walking around and taking in the racks and racks of scary DVD covers. “Usually I was,” he says, back to me. “But that was pretty cool, too, because your Dad and I would start talking about movies and usually he’d know a few good ones I’d never heard of and talk me into watching them.”

  I smile, heart sore at the memory. So many people have told me that about Dad. How he’d suggested what turned out to be their favorite movies.

  When I look up from the counter, eyes moist, Josh has turned back around, watching me carefully. “Most times, he’d let me rent one or two for free.”

  I snort. “Sounds like him.”

  He nods toward the door. “Sounds like you,” he says, coming back to the counter and rustling around in the trick or treat pumpkin for another caramel.

  When I cock my head he says, “I heard you talking that old man into watch
ing The Blob with his wife. For a minute there, you sounded just like your Dad.”

  I smile. Then I frown. “But… I worked here after school every day senior year,” I remind him. “How did I miss you? For a whole year?”

  He smiles. “You always had volleyball practice,” he reminds me. “Or Yearbook, or the school newspaper, or Drama Club. I’d come right after school and, I guess, had already checked out my videos by the time you showed up for work.”

  I nod. He kind of has a point. I was always so busy and eager and ambitious and full of life. The hell happened to me? “So?” I nudge, trying to live vicariously. “What’s it like being a freshman at State?”

  “Good,” he says, avoiding my eyes and spotting the 32-inch TV screen over the fake fireplace display in the corner. The sound is off, but it’s right in the middle of a giant mutant werewolf fighting a puny earth vampire in the middle of a foggy graveyard.

  “Is that… is that what I think it is?” he asks, eyes glazing over in delight.

  “Werewolf Bikers from Mars 5,” I brag, sliding down the counter to be closer to him. He smells like musk and