We Thought We Found A Dead Hooker In The Woods, But It Turned Out To Be Something Much Worse

I’m not sure which led to the other; my love of Fall or my love of horror movies (thanks to Halloween, they pretty much go hand-in-hand) but obviously October is my favorite month. There are people who say that Halloween is their Christmas, but I literally set aside money all year simply so I can buy the new franchise horror movie props put out as accessories for costumes. Things like:

An officially licensed photo-accurate Leatherface mask from the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, complete with stitched-on quality wig. Or a toy Freddy Krueger glove, circa 1984, and yeah bitch I got one of those too! AND the sweater. What smells like green jelly?

Provided by the author.
Provided by the author.

Anyway, Halloween has always been kind of my jam. Though, when I took my seat at lunch that October 30th and Richie asked me what I had planned for Halloween night, I froze up. Typically, I would’ve been hanging out with Hunter, who was my one-and-only real friend. We’d been BFFs since like the second trimester but unfortunately, Hunter had spent the previous summer battling bacterial Meningitis and he was still recovering, which was fucking miserable. I’m sure it was no picnic for him either.

I tried not to sigh as I finally replied, “Nothing yet.”

Ritchie nodded at Dwayne and said, “We’re going to Sheriff Foti’s.”

Sheriff Foti’s Haunted House was admittedly pretty fun, if not a bit tame compared to more infamous New Orleans-based Halloween attractions like the House of Shock, which was apparently run by people who thought they hadn’t done their job right if the cops didn’t get called to investigate their set-pieces at least once every year. Seriously, that’s not even an exaggeration. Freaks go hard in the N.O.

“It’s half price if you have a costume,” Dwayne added. “I’m gonna be the Punisher and Richie’s going as Batman and then we’re gonna ride our bikes around and probably egg some shit. You wanna come?”

Only slightly more than I wanted to sit at home alone, watching horror movies (I already spent the other 364 days doing that), so of course I told him I did. Cue John Travolta going, “You should’a fuckin-better-known-better.”

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