All Hallows Eve

Short Story

All Hallows Eve

     His death had been labeled 'accidental, but they all knew better.  The Porsche had skid off the sleet coated portion of the old paved highway 91.  Local police sent a forensic team, which diligently searched the scene of the accident, and deemed, by the angle of the tracks, that he had been traveling at normal speeds. It was stated, after hours of monotonous scrutiny, that he had merely lost control along the treacherous plummeting turn known by town folk as the “widow’s peak”.  It had claimed its share of daredevils over the years, devouring them into the darkness, along its dimly lit stretch.  It was a hungry, curvaceous arch that snapped sharply, whipping on a hairpin curve. Those new to the deadly arc that didn't comprehend its danger would succumb to the old slab of concrete.  Her father included in its fatal claim.

       But Lucas Gibson wasn't new to the little town of La Vista, nor that perilous bend in the highway.  He had thwarted it a thousand times before.  He had driven that curve in the old highway coated with thick panes of slick, black sleet.  He was no stranger to the treacherous arc.

       Whispers of an ambiguous secret; answers to questions yet asked, begun to swirl like smoke from a fire across the tiny town’s outskirts, from one person to the next, until Walking through town was torture.  Every eye was upon her, every mouth murmuring to the next about the man she called father.  Her new hobby was now learning how to hide her tears from the narrow eyes of the nosy town's locals.  The locals that never stopped watching.  

      Her father had been on her mind all morning.  She remained captive to those imprisoning thoughts.  Even as she and David rode down the solemn stretch of highway towards the cemetery, her hand caressed the creases of the faded photo of her father, hidden deep in her tawny coat’s pocket. 

      She gazed out the lightly tinted windows of David’s truck as it swerved onto Long Street's wet pavement.  The rain poured down on the darkened window panes as she watched in trance, each vehicle as it passed in whirling blurs of slow motion.  Paint slipped passed in streams of changing hues; their tones intense somehow. The colors seemed to bleed, melting into one another like crayons lying too long in the sun; well passed the point where she could tell where one ended and another began.

      They arrived just past four and pulled into one of the gravel slots in the empty parking lot.  She approached his grave with apprehension; a bouquet of flowers bound in a yellow satin noose clutched tightly in her nervous palms.

      He stood at the foot of the headstone with her, staring in silence for two seconds.  Then he turned and walked away.  She was glad he had left her alone to grieve, to speak her words into space alone to the father she could no longer see, no longer hear, no longer hug.  She needed this, she thought as she knelt and laid the lilies she'd carried gently against his grey headstone.  It was time to accept it..

        He was gone.

        The rain had stopped but she knew not for long, as the clouds overhead began to deepen and change, warning of what was to come.  She concentrated on what little time was left for her last goodbye before the sky wept with her again. 

       “Why did you leave me papa?” she stammered, warm tears skittering down her face and into her mouth. 

      “I know you were sad here, that you couldn't handle the pain any longer papa...but try to be happy where you are now.  Promise me you will.  Promise me.. Watch over me as I grow and turn into the woman you always wanted me to be, at least I hope I will anyway.”

      The tears continued skidding down a little while longer and so did the conversation with the lone headstone.  Then she turned towards David and nodded silently, signaling him back to her side. 

         The first chill of winter stirred the stark silence like an echo, and he watched as a shiver coursed through her shoulders as they stood.  He had rejoined her at the grave.  His arm slid instinctively around the slender point of her waist; his fingers curling tight around the kaki belt of her coat as he held her a moment, then led her away without a word towards his truck. 

       She stared up at his pale blue eyes, which looked almost silver in the darkening skylight as they made their way back to the gravel lot.  They were the very hue of her father’s, but twinkled in the places where her father’s had gone dim. 

          Mena smiled meekly, feeling herself fake the strength to leave her father as she answered his urging words.  She knew he was not really worried about being late, but concerned she would never want to leave, and he was right. 

         “Yeah, I guess it would be rude for us to arrive late to the Halloween party we agreed to host,” she mused with a smile.

     “Just slightly,” David said with a coy smirk. 

        It had become impenetrably cold in a matter of minutes.  Even the dangling evergreen’s leaves seemed to be quivering along with them.  Her mind momentarily drown out the sound of David’s gentle protests to hurry and drifted away as she paused to touch the tree nearest her.  Her fingers pressed forgetfully into the rough bark, feeling every fold, every crease, her mind meticulously lost in trance like lucidity. 

       He watched her intently for a moment, wanting to give her the space she needed.  It broke him to see her this way, missing her father, the injustice of it all.  He felt truly helpless, with the knowledge that there would never really be a way to fix this for her.  At least not in bringing her father back, which was all she really wanted.  At least he could make her laugh, and with that he decided to joke his way out of the painful moment. 

      “You know I can always leave the two of you alone,” he teased, nodding towards the gargantuan tree she was tenderly grasping.

          “Ok, ok, you’re right,” she smiled.

         Her desire to disregard his request to leave was quickly dismissed and he led her away from the trees toward his truck. 

          “Will you look at that sky,” David stammered, his neck twisted unnaturally towards the clouds. 

          She stared upwards at the brewing storm above, contorting her muscles along with his.

         As she shifted her gaze she stole and irresistible glimpse of his jaw.  Admiring the way it set his profile, casting deep shadows along the length of his stubble covered neck.  She noticed the way the shallow light danced down his Adams apple, then continued flowing in one sinuous fluid sweep over his collar bone, ceasing at his shoulders, prominent and strong. 

          A rush of eager anticipation swelled beneath the surface of her skin, flushing her cheeks plum, and she wondered if he noticed.  Mena had been catching herself in this same scenario again and again lately.  She worried that it was becoming obvious to him, her new little habit of subconsciously slipping into idiotic trances at the sight of his tepid eyes during their conversations. 

          They were the best of friends, had been since grade school, and she’d never thought of him that way before.  But Mena could feel herself falling into an unfamiliar trap with David as her heart began to bend toward him in new directions.  Knowing he would never regard her as more than a younger sister, she forced herself to snap out of her own trance.  She moved her eyes sharply from his neck to the storm now consuming the skies atop the tree-line.

         Dark ebony clouds ballooned across the heavens like black oil spilling into ocean water, bruising the previously pale autumn sky. They walked faster and faster now to escape the eye of the storm.  Sheets of fine rain fell heavily down from the swollen clouds, once again weeping over the dehydrated bits of earth hidden far beneath the ridge of the mountain.  The very mountain whose hairpin turn had taken her father’s life.  They walked faster and faster now to escape the eye of the storm.  Through a slot in the sky, they saw and eagle descend, swooping overhead in wide gaping circles towards the tangle of trees.

          Beyond their towering tops lie the usually tranquil waters of the White River.  Its mirrored sheen, no longer still, trembled under each new drop of rain, dimpling its glossy surface.  Her father taught her to love these sort of storms, and so she did.  When she was small, he would take her outside and dance with her in the rain.  She remembered it all so vividly, the two of them, kicking and splashing beneath the rumbling sky.  While the rest of the town hid inside and trembled, they danced.  Though half the town thought them insane, it didn’t dissuade them.  A shame he had missed this one, she muttered beneath her breath.

     “What a shame.”…

          Mena and David continued gazing upwards as they sped towards his waiting truck, watching curiously as the eagle dipped behind the trees, then reappeared and circled once more before finally disappearing into the tufted gray sky. 

        He had always loved eagles, her father; even wore a golden necklace adorned with the bird’s beguiling image upon its charm. The sight of the eagle stunned Mena, for she knew it was a message, a sign in the sky that her father was there, meandering, watching over her wherever she may roam.     

     They got into the truck and slammed the doors behind them.  They were going to be late if they didn’t step on it.  David drove with the windows rolled down slightly for Mena.  The sound of thunder continued to rumble and lightning began to splinter across the night sky like deep veins of marble.  Frigid air blustered in, but he knew she loved the sights and sounds.    

     David exploded onto the highway like a firecracker, contorting the leather-clad steering wheel from lane to lane with indescribable expertise.  She could hear the thick tread of the oversize tires ripping loudly across the wet pavement.  They were not far from his house now, so she grabbed her purse and prepared to dash in and clean up.   

            They had arrived at David’s house in record time, making it there somehow long before the first guests arrived.  Racing in to lay out the food and dim the lights for the night’s Halloween gathering, they decided to split in two directions; one to handle the food, and one to handle the mood.  Then it would be off to don their costumes, with little over an hour left to do so.

         Mena’s father had passed a year ago just before Halloween, yet it had always been both of their favorite holiday.  There was a certain satisfaction in celebrating it now, tinged with a simultaneous sadness, distinguishing the two would turn out to be much harder than she had ever imagined.  She thought of him the entire time, as she laid out glittering dishes of candy and hung strands of twinkling lights adorned with skulls and pumpkin heads.

           It was unconventionally humid that evening.  Dewy precipitation wept down the window panes like tears, slick and insistent in the atmosphere.  The swamp-like air swirled, causing the fabric of Mena’s uncharacteristically tight costume to cling in close folds to her flesh.

         The doorbell chimed and Mena darted to the front door.  She swore for a split second as she passed David to let the very first guests in, that she caught David ogling her silhouette.

         She tugged nervously at the taut folds of fabric.  Mena was consistently hard on herself, one of her many fatal flaws.  This was no surprise, considering that her own mother had been quite critical of her as a young girl, and as time passed she quickly learned that nothing would ever be good enough.  Unfortunately this was a thought that had spread onto Mena like a virus, making her deeply insecure.      Guests gathered to dance beneath the blankets of faux webs strewn from wall to wall.  A great strobe light suspended from the ceiling in the living room, flickered over every dancing ghoul.  The celebratory sound of chatter and laughter resonated throughout the entire house, intertwining with the growing pound of the speakers.  Wolves thick with fur, wielding sharp claws, moved under the moonlight.  Vampires, flaunting fangs danced seamlessly with glowing ballerinas drenched in luminous glitter, beneath the sole beam of light spinning from above.  The party had a momentum all its own by midnight, but Mena couldn’t help but think of her father.  Her father who she wished was with her.

         How ever, she was happy that her mother never came to these parties.  Mena could be herself for a change without the presence of her mother.  She would be free for the evening, not worrying about whether or not she was perfect under the all- scrutinizing eye.  Mena’s mother was a judgmental and critical woman whose federal reserve of patience closely resembled a lit bottle rocket with a quarter inch fuse.  She could see her mother in the deep recesses of her mind, thought she worked monotonously to forget and enjoy herself.        

         She was a tall and gaunt woman, with discernible high cheekbones and prominent shrewd eyes that seemed to peer straight through you when you spoke to her.  Her black hair was thick and it spilled down her slim back like the two curly tendrils of a DNA strand, molecular and slick.  She remembered the way her mother would leer at her with disdain, each time she met with her venomous disapproval. 

         Mena loved her mother and longed desperately for her praise, though she knew it was in all likelihood, never going to happen. 

          Having had a tumultuous childhood and no real male role models, she had learned to stay on her own, to never trust.  The fortress of brick she’d constructed around the perimeter of her heart was unreasonable, and virtually unscalable, yet she couldn’t help but note the growing sensation that the bricks were beginning to loosen, one by one. 

         Mena wondered as she watched David entertaining guests, if he was playing the greatest role in the gradual crumbling of her protective construction.

        It had gotten very late, and though she didn’t want her favorite night of the year to ever end, she glanced at David, nodding towards the clock; a hint he understood instinctively. 

     “Okay, everybody, gather round,” David said, his hands cupped around his full mouth like a megaphone.  “We’re going to wrap up tonight’s festivities with a little game of Simon says.” 

     As he spoke the party-goers gathered around and a hush fell over the raucous crowd.  His glimmering smirk spread as he quickly garnered their attention, explaining the rules of the game.  Guests scurried into position.  Mena joined them reluctantly.  David stood at the helm of the living room, perched behind a podium of sorts, constructed of a tall table drenched in dark purple cloth.  Atop it sat a faux cauldron filled with dry ice, swirling in slow moving smolder.  It billowed enchantingly just before his face as he spoke.  She caught herself staring again.  It was an action she could no longer resist, as though it had become involuntary.

       “Simon says… touch your toes,” he smirked as he sent out the first command.  Every guest obeyed.  “Simon says, stand up.”  He grinned as each guest rose in response.  The swish of satin and mesh material reverberated throughout the room as they moved, like a hush falling over the costumed crowd.  Mena wondered how many other people were as itchy in their ensembles as she was.   

         One by one every ghost and ghoul was eliminated, round after round until only the winner remained, Mena.  David smiled longingly at her, a crooked smirk that looked unusually flirty, especially for him.  It caused that same, bittersweet swell of anticipation to rise even deeper in her skin again, and this time, she was sure he noticed.  Tired guests dispersed to gather their things, leaving the two of them standing there, alone.  Time crept to a crawl, until it seemed to move no more.  He was watching her, watching him.  A coy grin broadened across his jaws as he gazed straight into her eyes from afar, until suddenly, his disposition shifted, and his face grew more serious than she had ever seen it before.  He studied her nervous gaze intently, holding it with his, far too long, from across the empty living room. 

      Even the leaving party goers seemed to take notice of the pulsing undercurrent suddenly emanating between the two of them.  Nobody was more blindsided by these brewing feelings than Mena herself.  An uncomfortable surge of yearning began coursing through her body as his eyes refused to drop from hers, then all of a sudden snapped away, looking towards the last guests leaving through the great oak door.        

        Mena’s heart fell from her chest into her toes as his eyes dropped from hers, and she scurried to gather herself.  She began picking up the trash and tossing it away as he walked to the door to usher the last of the lingering werewolves away. 

     “Goodbye guys,” Mena called over the music as the door came to a final close.

     She had gone to the shelf with the stereo, her back turned to him now, and for good reason.  She could hear the shuffle of his feet as he grew closer and closer to her.

It was only the two of them now, and Mena stood more still than stone.  The smell of his cologne, sweat, and temptation slipped somewhere cerebral.  A hidden place deep within her circuitry was drawn, propelled by the thought of him near.  It was now an obsessive need, a powerful emotion she had never felt before

          There was no one left in the room but she and he.  The last person had swept through the open threshold of the great oak doors, long ago, it seemed, and she felt the lump swell deep in her closing throat.  The thud of her heart began hammering loudly in her eardrum.  She found herself suddenly alone, with him.  He was her best friend, had been for years, why would she be nervous with David?  The very same David who used to throw snowballs at her in winter on their way home from school.  The David she had been alone with a thousand times before this.  Yet the fear and anticipation of what was to come continued to swell inside her like water soaking into sponge. 

           Mena was more than merely beautiful.  It seemed that she was the only person who didn’t see it that way.  The brazen curves of her body drifted from the bend of her hips to the innocent seduction that played along the arch of her pouty upper lip. 

          Within what felt like a fraction of a second, he was behind her; his left arm reaching around her waist to lower the sound on the stereo’s pulsing receiver.  His body only grazed hers, but she could still feel the heat of his torso on her bared skin, exposed by her backless costume.  “Damn costume”, she muttered in her mind.

          He finished adjusting the volume, but did not move away.  The silence was deafening.  Before she could convince her brain to fire the message to move, his hand was at the side of her neck, slipping her long hair slowly to one side.  She shut her eyes instinctively, feeling the warmth of his breath bearing down upon the vulnerable nape of her neck.

            She turned her body towards him, facing the silver eyes that she’d avoided so often lately.  They looked different tonight; somehow urgent and impatient.  Like he’d been bottling up something deep down for years and could no longer wait to express it, physically or emotionally.

            “Mena,” he whispered, his lips hovering over hers. 

            “Yes,” she said.

          “I have been avoiding my feelings for you for far too long.  I no longer care if you are interested in anything with anyone, because I am beyond interested in you,” David confessed, She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she didn’t want it to stop.  His blue eyes were unwavering as they bore into hers. 

          “David, don’t,” she protested.  But his impenetrable gaze never broke as he gripped her by the middle and pulled her body close, pressing her frame tightly against his.  He laced his arms around her waist, and moved his lips across hers until both eyes slipped shut.

       His kiss was potent, hooking her like addictive poison.  Her will was bending and she knew it.  Her solemn vow to keep their friendship intact was no longer available.  She could not bear to let go of the intensity of this new bond.  His mouth was more intense than his face had been, and she surprised herself, mindlessly lacing each finger around the back of his neck. 

       As they stood kissing slowly, Mena realized this was the moment she had always feared the most.  Her soul itself had been stirred, and for the first time in her life, she had felt real love.  And on that fateful All Hallows Eve, the one she would one day tell her grandchildren about, she allowed the brick dust to glitter down, red debris raining everywhere.  Her wall had finally crumbled.  But far more than this monumental submission, on this monumental night had occurred, for she had finally allowed the last of the bricks to clatter to the ground, agreeing to once again living, to letting go of her greatest fear.    

Reviews

[Jacob Clifford]

Before I delve into the story itself, there are a few technical things I want to get into. I'll use examples from the first paragraph or two of this story.
1) When writing and throwing ideas onto paper, it's very easy to throw in an unneeded word. That isn't a huge deal, but the extra meaningless words weight down the story and distract from the progression. "Her father’s death had officially been labeled 'accidental', but they all knew better." Now written without the "fluff": "Her father's death was officially labeled 'accidental', but they all knew better". Not a big change by any means, but now the sentence is trimmer and has the same meaning. I was initially very adverse to cutting out the fluff (I thought it sounded better with those extra words), but I've learned the hard way what people like more.

2) When possible, avoid using passive voice. Passive voice would be, "The door was closed by him." Instead, try, "He closed the door." I won't spend much time droning on about that topic; I don't think you 'll have much trouble with that.
Aside from those two things, the story is fine, aside from the odd grammatical error. I assume they're typos.

Now onto the story... It's full of dark detail and theme. The father's death is a terrible thing that clearly becomes a defining moment in Mena's life. You have these themes that dance around each other throughout the progression of the story. You told this tale in a way that makes every detail relevant and very stark Every part of the story contributed something, either to the characters, the atmosphere, or the tone. I quite enjoyed the way you take the father's passing, incorporate elements in it to tie it in with her relationship with David, until it finally ends with her wall falling down. You showed great progress and evolution within this story.

[M. L. F.]

:) Ok, first, "blushes" at the last paragraph... I had a professor tell me this piece and a book I have is publish worthy... I am wildly insecure, so I only pray he is right!! Fiction writing is my life blood, so I am reading a lot on the technical aspects, on grammar and format, which seem to be the three things I struggle most with learning thus far. I think they will be easy things to master though soon enough. Simple things like, how to format the dialogue in the paragraph etc. Also I agree about the "fluff". I used to be way worse, lol. I have been reading Stephen Kings book on writing and he is teaching me more about how to use the right amount of adjectives and such then two published professors did!

I see the point you made in the first paragraph and I see how small the edit is, but how it makes a difference in the flow. I have said this before, but writing has a rhythm and I want my work to sound as good to the ear as it can. I read my work aloud when I think it is close to done, so I can hear if things sound off or need to be edit down more / changed. Thanks for the tip. Your version is not much different but sounds much better. :)

The King book is also teaching me more about not using the passive voice. I was told I am an "organic writer" by a teacher once.. No clue what that means, but I think he meant that It kinda comes to me naturally, and there is where you see my struggle with the rules and regulations of grammar and format / voice etc. I just go, I don't stop to think about passive. But now I am seeing how important it is, and I want to learn more. King says it is the difference between letting things happen to you, or taking charge. I want to take charge. ;) So I really appreciate you pointing that out to me.. Now I can see the passive voice in my own writing and be better armed to train myself to never use it again in the future. :)

Finally... Yes, the few grammatical errors I probably created in my many hack and slash editing sessions. Sometimes I edit so many times before I am happy with my work that I actually "create" typos and new errors.. Thank you so much for the detailed review, and I am glad the intertwining themes and atmosphere were not lost on you. Thank you for the compliments as well. I respect your opinion as a writer and a reviewer, so this means something to me. :)

[Jacob Clifford]

It's great that you are so open to suggestions. It shows your desire to improve and make your words meaningful. That's one of the most important traits a writer can have.

[M. L. F.]

Thank you! I take it so seriously. I have a tender heart, so as long as it is worded nicely, I can take it... (crosses fingers).. ;) But yes, I really want to hone my craft until it is ready to go out into the world. I LOVE writing. It's great to be here with other people who feel the same and are willing to help each other out. :)

[Jacob Clifford]

This website really does have a great community. It's a great opportunity for growth and friendship.

[M. L. F.]

You'll get no argument there from me. :)

[M. L. F.]

Took your advice and corrected the first sentence. It's such a slight change, but it flows much better now Clifford. Thanks for the great advice! ;)

[Coyote Poetry]

A very good tale told. I liked the way you the description. Making every scene come alive. The internal thoughts gave feel of real life to the situations and the character. I like the journey and the lesson learn. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote

[M. L. F.]

Thank you very much Coyote. I'm glad that the story was alive for you, that is the most important thing I can give the reader. Thanks again... Misty :)

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome Misty.

[Philip Muls]

Credible and authentic writing. Erotic in its descriptions, familiar in its emotions. You take enough time to deepen out the characters.

Well done.

[M. L. F.]

Fiction is where my heart is, so this is the piece I most want reviews and feedback on, so for that I thank you... Thank you also for the compliments. I really care about letting my readers into the setting, emotions, joy, and pain of my characters. I really want to publish my work, so I am trying to polish a first chapter to post here. The chapter is called "Dead Man Walking". It is a bit horror / thriller genre, and I'd like to hear what you think of it when it is posted. :) I will check out your work too. :) Thanks again for taking the time to read me.
... Misty

[Sir Drift & Mr. Pulse]

Well though I thought this story would be about a mystery I saw how you transitioned it into this romantic drama. It was really good and your metaphors and Similis are also good. Over all well done, and the ending was such a tease girl. You're a tease. Well good job

[M. L. F.]

Haha... Thank you. I love to write, it's all I want to do, spin tales. Glad you enjoyed it! ;)

[Takeshi Yamada]

As a writer, I often find it difficult to return to the point when I didn't know the ending of the story. So I'll review as I read, sharing each feeling and thought I have.

I like that you lead with an open question, a hook that makes the reader want more. If it wasn't an accident, how did Lucas Gibson die? I can't wait to learn how!

"Each ones paint slipped passed in streams of changing hues. They seemed to bleed, melting into one another, like crayons lying too long in the sun; their colors shifting into indiscernible shades."
Fantastic use of simile here...I loved the way you worded this. The melting crayon comparison also gives a feeling of slowing down time, which works perfectly with the slow motion she is experiencing. I get to choose the colors (red, blue, and yellow are what I saw), but you triggered the images in my mind. That's a powerful trick I'm also trying to work into my own writing - hinting at what you want the reader to see, but letting it be their creation. Nicely done!

"She concentrated on what little time was left before the sky wept with her again." How poetic. I really like that the sky is sharing her sadness. That makes it more for me and I'm already feeling her now.

"...tears skidding down her face into her mouth." Wow...that's so obvious that tears could run into someone's mouth, but I would have never have thought to write that! Beautiful way to express that she's crying and the extent.

"They were the very hue of her father’s, but twinkled in the places where her father’s had gone dim."
Again, you have a way of expressing complex feelings, here her father's loss of hope and will to live, with such simplicity and poetry. And I'm not sure yet where this is going, but the fact that his eyes match her father's and his arm is circling her waist in a very affectionate way certainly heightens the tension here. Even if you're not taking the story in a forbidden, brother-sister love direction, the fact that I as a reader experience that as a possibility increases my engagement in the story which is always good. (Not that I'm personally into that sort of thing, its just that forbidden love always adds tension.) ;)

"She knew he was not really worried about being late, but concerned she would never want to leave, and he was right." I like the familiar banter between her and David. They seem to "get" each other and the dialogue is smooth. They're close.

I totally empathize with David's experience, consoling her with humor the only way he can. Sometimes, as much as we love someone, we can't do anything for them except be present and share the painful experience with them. Nice touch.

Mena's staring at David, almost admiring him like a work of art is cute. It lightened the mood for me a bit and shed new light on their relationship.

"Knowing he would never regard her as more than a younger sister, Mena forced herself to snap out of her own trance." Ooh...the plot thickens here. He's either her brother or a brother-like friend. Either way, this is definitely an interesting development and I'm glad you don't answer immediately.

Your descriptions of the places they travel through are well done. "Its mirrored sheen, no longer still, trembled under each new drop of rain, dimpling its glossy surface." Lovely description of the White River on a rainy day. And a the memory of her father dancing with her in the rain tugged my heartstrings.

"While the rest of the town hid inside and trembled, they danced." Awesome line. I absolutely love it - the image of her and her father dancing in the rain, truly living, while others huddle in their "quiet desperation", thinking the two crazy.

I like how the pace changes and things become a flurry as they prep for the Halloween party. You don't waste words there and move us to the next action point, which is nice writing. I like the hint that David might have been ogling her. Not definitely, but just might. It could have just been her wishful thinking.

"A great strobe light suspended from the ceiling in the living room, flickered over every dancing ghoul." Nice image here! I'm really seeing the party.

"Mena’s mother was a judgmental and critical woman whose federal reserve of patience closely resembled a lit bottle rocket with a quarter inch fuse." Oooh...nice description of Mena's mother. I'm not sure I want to meet that woman! She sounds difficult. Growing up with her must have been hard.

"Mena’s heart fell from her chest into her toes as his eyes dropped from hers..." Wow, it's almost as if he were Dracula or something, the effect his charms are having on her. She almost seems entraced by him to an unnatural extent. I'm starting to wonder if maybe he came into some kind of power and is using it on her.

Wow...it's taking a seductive turn I didn't quite expect. I can't stop reading to comment anymore...

Ahh...nice ending. The fact that you mentioned writing horror stories before tricked me. :) Until the very last paragraph, I kept expecting him to be some kind of doppleganger with seductive charms who had somehow replaced her the real David. But this was a story about a young woman who had been afraid to let anyone in, and finally, on the anniversary of her father's death, finally opened up to a friend who reminded her of the best in her father. Am I right?

After reading, I like that David respects her love for her father without feeling threatened, despite his clear feelings for her. It makes him much more desirable.

Just a few really small suggestions, feel free to ignore them if you disagree because the writing is great as is. I realize they are very detailed and border on knit-picking, but that's the kind of attention I think this level of writing merits:
(1) "They walked a quarter mile until reaching the plots where her father Lucas was buried." I would say, because of the previous hints you've laid that Lucas is her father, you might consider just saying "her father was buried" or "Lucas was buried". It's not a problem here, but I just think you've already established very well that Lucas is her father's name.
(2) "But Lucas Gibson, was not new to the little town of La Vista nor that perilous bend." I think the comma is not necessary there? Maybe it's left over from a previous edit?
(3) At the paragraph where you write "He watched her intently for a moment, wanting to give her the space she needed" you switch to David's POV. I've heard this sort of thing referred to as "head jumping" and that it can disorient the reader or reduce the emotional experience connection they have. For that reason, I try to stick to a single perspective per scene. That said, I'm not really a fan of hard and fast rules, and if head jumping can work, it seems to be fine here. It might make Mena's experience more powerful to the reader if you revise that part from her perspective, maybe her noticing how he seems to feel towards her?

Congratulations! Longest review I've written so far, and that's saying something! I really like your writing style (you're spot on that we are very similar). I enjoyed this immensely and look forward to more of your writing!

[M. L. F.]

Dearest Takeshi,

Thank you so much for another detailed and thorough review! I cannot express how thankful I am that you take the time, (which is so precious to writers) to review my works in such a beautiful and unique manner. I feel ready to burst from the compliments. When people of like mind in fiction read my work and get the techniques applied and the underlying meanings emotionally it makes all the sleep lost writing worth it. You really nailed the relationship with the father and saw the beauty therein. Glad it was not lost on you. Also he was a long time friend, her David, no relation, though that is funny... lol... I wanted to tell you how nice it is that you and I see eye to eye about fiction and that we can share with one another ideas and our works, both here, and behind the scenes. I loved that you felt that work of this caliber merits the knit picking! :) I will deflate my writer ego now and get back to work!! lol ... To be honest I am so close to my work and looking at the content that I often miss typos from edits and re-write, and did not even notice the extra comma, nor the shift of point of view in that sentence. I fixed all before bed last night. ;) And the suggestion you gave about the father's name was also valid and valuable. I did make an adjustment to that sentence as well and now it flows much better! :) I will attack the POV shift today when I get the time. Trying hard to finish the next story to post... I would be glad to let you be second in line behind Robert for the read. I got the brainstorming page you sent me for YOUR All Hallows' Eve story and it is fascinating to see the way another fiction author pre creates, so to speak! Thank you for sharing! You asked me somewhere about the poet I admire on here and his name is "David Lewis Paget"... His work is my favorite because he is a poet, but his poetry also tells a story. Narrative poetry.. He is published and when I read him I know why. He is good... Enjoy and I look forward to checking out the reads you sent me. May take me a bit to get around to reviewing them this weekend, but as soon as my story is done and off to Robert I will read them! Thank you so much again for the lovely review! I am so glad I found your work here and was reminded by others to read you!
Talk soon Takeshi...
...Misty

[Tsubaki Kuro]

That was amazing. You are a great writer. Those details were incredible. God I wish I was as good as you. 100/100

[M. L. F.]

I know sometimes people give fluffy reviews here to receive more badges, etc, but I also know sometimes people are really serious about how they feel when they are moved by something... I am that way. But you seem genuine, and I thank you so much for the wonderful words! It means a lot to me... really. Fiction is my fated love... I want to perfect my craft. That is why I am still yet to fall asleep and its after five in the morning here, trying to finish the next short story ;) Thank you so much for reading this story!
.... Misty

[Tsubaki Kuro]

Your welcome. I already have the badge by the way. I give real reviews, if it's sh8t i will tell the person that it's sh8t. I'm a very cold person, you can tell by my writings. But you are a excellent who I look up to. :)

[M. L. F.]

I must sleep now, but tomorrow I will read you.... Thanks again for the compliments. It means a lot to me... :)

[Krizito]

That ending paragraph, it was 'monstrous'. You said you love horror, and seeing as you threw in Halloween and a bit of an opening death setting; I was bracing myself for the "serial-ghost-murderer-type", but I'm thankful you didn't take that route. Your writing style, the creation of imagery..it was almost photographic. Drawing one in- subtlety yet progressing-as the plot progressed...until that final absolute climax. Wow!!

[M. L. F.]

Lol, the story I am finishing up now, has a ghoul ;).. haha! So since you said you hate ghost tales, you might want to avoid the new one coming. Irony "whispers" ;) But I think the new one is even better, so maybe you will like it just a teeny shred, I hope. Alas, thank you for all the kind comments. My stories take slices from my own experiences, and maybe that helps them feel more real. But honestly, that is my main goal with fiction, to drown my reader in sensory overload. If they don't see it, hear it, feel it, smell it, then I fail at fiction... I thought I needed to pace it a bit better but I guess it was alright lol. Thanks so much for the compliments again! I love that you loved it.... That's all that matters to me. ;)

[Krizito]

Just make the ghost interesting, and maybe I'll have a 'beautiful' nightmare:)

[J.D.Reaper]

I'm a film student and I love how I could picture every detail in my mind. Your wordplay and descriptiveness was on point. I loved reading it, couldn't stop.
P.S. - A spelling error, it's little but just saying it's there. Within the opening paragraph, just before "widow's peak," you say--know--instead of--known--.

[M. L. F.]

Thank you... I really strive to drop the reader into the story. It is the most important element to me of fiction. I want you to feel the frosty air, smell the stenches, feel my characters hearts breaking open... If I fail at that, then I fail at fiction, and I love writing way to much to let that happen. I am almost done with a new story, should be up in a day or two, but my muse here is reading for me first :) And thanks for pointing out the typo, lol... I am too close to my own work sometimes, always listening for the flow of the story, and missing the technical errors. I can fix it now... so really, thank you. I am so glad you liked it. ;)
....Misty

[Stefano Segnan]

Most interesting. To speak the truth, in the beginning I expected it to revolve around the uncanny incident, but to my most positive surprise that wasn't it. Excellent work describing the scenery, creating the proper atmosphere and the skillful style.
Just one question: why "federal reserve" of patience?, I really found that term strange but amusing in some kind of fashion.
I really enjoyed reading this, really great work.

[M. L. F.]

Thank you for the positive words and compliments.. And the "federal reserve" of patience, is sort of just a tongue in cheek bit of sarcasm on her level of patience, which is quite little, ha.. I am glad you enjoyed reading it. Thank you for your time... :)

[Robert Parlange]

Beautiful. Human beings being human. I've been on this website for close to a year now and this is absolutely the finest short story I've read so far. Well written. The narration drives the story forward as we learn more and more about Mena and David. The conclusion was satisfying and appropriate.

Once again well done. Please keep writing. You have a devoted follower.

ps,
There was one small grammatical error. The sentence, “She would be free for the evening, not worry about whether or not she was perfect under the all-scrutinizing eye.” “Not worry” should read “not worrying.” A minor thing in such an incredible work.

[M. L. F.]

Oh... Be still my heart... I had a professor at my college who was himself published, tell me he thought it was also possible for me, with that story and a horror novel I am trying desperately to complete. I have a lot of insecurities as a writer. Creativity is easy, but the technical perspective of writing, correct punctuation, and these sorts of things, isn't for me. Was beginning to think this story was lost on my readers, until you spoke. I corrected the error you found, thank you very much for pointing it out. It was a typo that occurred during re-write, which I do a lot. I scrutinize my own work to the point of minutia. I cannot thank you enough for the words you spoke to me just now!! Your remark has given me the confidence to forge into my future...to grab onto my dreams before they dive out of sight into the darkness... I will be adding a new short story / horror this week. I would really love it if you would read it as well. Thank you so very much for your words of kindness. You have inspired me to continue, endlessly.... Misty..

[Robert Parlange]

Keep writing. You're good at it. Remember, fiction is all about emotion. Write what you feel; not what you know.

[M. L. F.]

I am brimming over with feelings, no problem :) Sage advice...