Party Planner
by (Hidden)
It started with a party. A high school party, so everyone tried too hard. They lived in a fucked up world, so they had to. No hope for a future. Between climate change, stock market crashes, and unemployment, they needed some way of letting off steam and giving the middle finger to the establishment.
The sponsor, some new-to-the-school rich kid. Someone said that his father produced the Twilight movies or something. Paid way too much for the party. He hired Sarah and didn’t give her a budget.
Abandoned house. DJ. Spooky decorations. Smoke machine. Alcohol. Drugs. Plus Sarah’s little extra that will make the party a memory for a lifetime.
Ron’s costume sucked. He had spent less than two minutes on it. A long black leather jacket borrowed from his father, a goalie mask, and a plastic cleaver. Horrible, unimaginative, but it allowed him to get in the front door. The bouncer gave him, who didn’t dress up, a critical look and held him up.
“I know Sarah. I have a costume,” Ron said as he held up his pathetic plastic cleaver. It hadn’t helped his case. The bouncer still shook his head. A grade ten girl, in her cheerleader costume, fluttered her fingers, and the bouncer, with a smile, let her pass.
With a sigh, Ron dug out some money and gave it to the bouncer. The massive guy raised his eyebrow as if to ask, ‘That’s it?’ but he let Ron up the concrete stairs and into the party. Once inside, Ron stalked his prey. He needed to get to her before she could do something stupid. He needed to save her from herself.
Sarah wore a sunflower costume. Handmade with felt yellow petals around her young face. Painted black freckles acted as seeds. She wore an almost see-through green unitard. Around her, friends jumped and laughed, smoked, and drank.
Quality costumes everywhere. Some kids spent weeks making them.
Paint peeled from the walls. The floor had parts of the carpet ripped up to expose dirty hardwood. A simple layout. Living room. Kitchen. Dining room. Stairs up to two bedrooms. Stairs down to an unfinished basement. Crayon people and houses covered the walls to hip height. Cobwebs hung from corners. The lights flickered from faulty wiring.
“Dude, you made it,” Kevin shouted as he bounced through a group of grade tens and put his hand up to high-five Ron. Kevin wore his ninja costume, the same one as last year and the year before. Too short in the arms and legs, the black material had drink stains and small rips in the elbows. Poor, Kevin couldn’t afford to upgrade. He worked two jobs after school just to help his family. If anyone needed a night off to party, Ron thought.
Someone in a zombie costume intercepted the high five and then hugged Kevin. The zombie kid looked real. A zombie pirate. It still wore the hat. Bright crimson blood on his shoulder. Dark sunken eyes. At a normal party, the realism might get them in the top ten best costumes, but too many other teenagers looked better. Plus, the moan for brains didn’t fit the character. He needed a pirate, ‘arrr,’ or ‘barrrains,’ or something else creative.
As Kevin and the Zombie embraced, Ron slinked around the pair and moved closer to his target. He smiled, thinking that Kevin might get lucky tonight. For the past two weeks, Kevin had complained that they had no cute guys at the school.
Ron, a grade twelve, pushed through the group of grade tens. The two girls wore slutty police costumes, while the boys wore burglar masks and clothing. Each held a red cup with alcohol. The dark-skinned girl smoked and stared into the eyes of the taller boy. The petite girl, her oversized breasts spilling out of her white top, had one hand on the Asian boy’s shoulder while they ground together.
Three complained about Ron pushing through the middle. The tall boy didn’t notice or didn’t care, as a bead of saliva rolled off the edge of his pale red lips. He stared at the dark-skinned girl with an odd, hungry focus.
A girl in a supergirl costume screamed from the top of the stairs. She leaned over the railing, yelling, “I’m so drunk!” The railing broke, and she fell into a group of Unicorn girls sharing a glass pipe. Ron imagined that he could hear her leg snap as she landed awkwardly. The pink unicorn girl dropped the pipe, which smashed on the hardwood. The goth unicorn screamed and started to kick the supergirl. The third unicorn girl, dressed in purple, her horn broken, lay against the wall, her head at a strange angle, while her legs twitched. Ron used to like the trio of unicorn girls, back when they had a personality other than getting high every day.
With a shake of his head, Ron turned away, as did the other teenagers, all back to their party.
Sarah’s rosy red cheeks shone in the half light of the front room. Her bright white teeth between her ruby lips lit up Ron’s world. Her pale pink skin seemed to glow in the half light. An angel on earth, just with a tarnished halo and a wicked, evil, mischievous grin.
Behind Ron, Kevin and the zombie fell to the floor, still intertwined.
On Ron’s right, a vampire, complete with blood on its teeth, hissed and raised his arms, black fingernails long, over an inch, palms red with crimson liquid, realistic-looking blood. He had a chance to win the costume contest for sure, Ron thought, as he ducked past the vampire, who embraced a black cat. The two wrapped their arms around each other. The momentum of the vampire carried them into the shadows behind a massive indoor tree plant.
The music changed to a heavier beat. The dangling lights above swung and flickered. The hardwood floor vibrated and made Ron’s walk difficult. Sweat rolled down his spine. Sweet smells of baking assaulted his nose while foul cigarette, cherry, and marijuana smoke swirled around him. He gripped his plastic knife so hard that the handle cracked.
A girl from his grade, Ron couldn’t remember her name, spilled her beer on Ron’s left arm. She giggled, apologized, “Sorry, sorry, how can I make it up to you?” Her right breast had fallen out of her white Super Mario costume tube top. The little red nipple beckoned to Ron, as did her red lips, even with the black mustache above them. Her friend, dressed as a zombie Luigi, grabbed the girl and pulled her away. Her ‘brains’ sounded better, more Italian.
Too many zombies this year, Ron thought as he watched the two fight on the ground. The idea that girls might fight over him felt good and added a bounce to his step as he caught a glimpse of Sarah between the two star football players.
Sarah laughed, spun around, swayed out of the living room and into the kitchen. Two huge football players followed. One wore a black suit and black sunglasses. The other wore a dog costume complete with a spiked collar and fluffy brown tail. Ron knew them. Everyone knew them. The darlings of the school. He, like so many others, hated them. He hated the idea that they would do something to her, with her. Something she would regret the next morning, like so many other times.
Someone screamed behind Ron, but Ron’s heart led him on. Like a magnet, it pulled him towards Sarah. Visions of her smile, her blue eyes, her button nose kept his gaze forward. The black hole of the kitchen portal beckoned to him.
A werewolf appeared in front of Ron. Mangy hair glued to his face. Yellowed fangs. Yellow claws with fur glued to the back of his hands. An Indiana Jones-like character jumped on top of the Werewolf. Jones’ whip went around the werewolf’s throat while a girl in a Tomb Raider costume shoved a red ball in the Werewolf’s mouth. The thing tried to howl, but it could only whimper.
Ron high-fived the Jones character. He didn’t recognize the face, which didn’t bother Ron much, because he could smell Sarah’s perfume. Lilac and watermelon. But also the football player’s body odor. They smelled like they wanted to do unspeakable things to Sarah. His Sarah.
The host grabbed Ron’s shoulders and spun him around. A bright red pimple on the tip of his nose captured Ron’s attention, and he stared at it as the kid said, “This is the best party. Your girlfriend is the freaking best. So worth it.”
Not his girlfriend. But how Ron wished. He loved her like a sister. They used to spend hours together. Sleepovers. Birthday parties with just the two of them. They used to have breakfast at Ron’s place, walk over to Sarah’s, have breakfast there, then repeat for lunch and dinner. Soulmates, until grade ten, when Sarah discovered her special talents. Like party planning. She had a warped mind. Ron liked to think he helped warp her mind, but in truth, she warped his.
A zombie caterpillar girl grabbed the host, spun him around, and the two embraced. Too many zombies this year.
In the kitchen, a drunk kid had thrown up on herself and collapsed beside the refrigerator. She wore a skimpy nurse’s uniform complete with blood on her cheeks and neck. Ron nearly slipped on a drink someone had spilled on the floor. His fake cleaver broke, and the plastic head fell into a puddle of black liquid that trailed from the girl. Ron could smell the tang of piss. The refrigerator dinged to tell the world that someone had left the door open. A rotten meat smell emanated from vomit at the base of the refrigerator.
Ron needed a new knife prop, and in a fit of inspiration, he grabbed a real cleaver from the wooden knife block, covered his nose to help block the smell of the teenage girl, and crossed the kitchen to the back two doors. One of which Sarah must have exited through.
The blue door with black spots led to the backyard, where black silhouetted figures ran around, screamed, and enjoyed the party. Typical teenagers. They didn’t jump or dance to the music, but rather just screamed and ran in random patterns.
A few embraced in the middle of the backyard. Also so typical. Teenagers would make out anywhere, even in tall grass, amongst discarded debris. The number of diseases, germs, and other foul stuff would make older, soon-to-graduate Ron not risk it. Almost in university, he didn’t act like the young grade tens or elevens, not anymore. He had made those mistakes. Ruined his favorite hoodie at last year’s party in a rose bush with that girl. Felt worth it at the time, but now he wished he had his hoodie back in one piece. Sarah had given it to him the year before. He missed her presence.
The other doorway led downwards, to the basement, where the smell of iron and copper emanated. Ron appreciated the authenticity. It smelled so much like blood that he could taste it.
The stairs creaked as he descended. Frayed rubber covered each step and allowed a good grip so that Ron didn’t worry about falling, which helped keep the dread at bay. He didn’t want to know why the football players brought Sarah down to the basement. He just needed to stop them before they hurt Sarah.
The smell grew stronger, almost overpowered him. The music dulled, but the pictures on the white wall vibrated and rattled. A smiling, happy family watched him. Vacations. Graduations. School photos. Why would someone leave these behind? Unless the rumors had some truth to them.
The teenagers claimed that the father had committed ritual suicide in the house. He had killed his wife in the upstairs bedroom, then his kids in their beds while they slept, before he hung himself in the basement. Ron didn’t believe the stories because teenagers like to gossip, and the story grew more macabre over the weeks leading up to the party. The first story only had the father hung in the basement. The latest rumor had satanic blood symbols on the walls, his whole family dead, and the police officer who investigated the scene locked up in an insane asylum.
The light from the top of the stairs spilled down and cut the blackness of the basement. A step behind Ron creaked, but lightly, as if a small child or someone prowling. At the bottom, Sarah stood over two large black lumps. Her green hand held a silver triangle that dripped a black liquid. Behind the goalie mask, Ron smiled. His queen, his sunshine. He had found her. Safe.
Sarah glanced up at him and smiled as she said, “You’re just in time to help clean up the bodies.”
A voice inside Ron, the cynical one, the one that grew up with Sarah, asked, ‘What did she do now? How much trouble will I get in this time?’ Ron’s right hand trembled as he squeezed the handle of the cleaver. His left hand groped for the non-existent railing. Pumpkin spice mixed with the taste of the blood in the air. The DJ had slowed the music down as screams filled the house.
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