Hallows Eve Chad Lutz I am a box of crayons. My little brother is a dinosaur. My older brother, Jason, is a spider. My dad is probably a Native American. My mom is Minnie Mouse. We’re probably handing out the best treats in the city. Water bottles stuffed with candy. The sixteen-piece. The doubles. Dark chocolate. Nougat. It’s snowing. We’re wearing long sleeves because our costumes don’t conceal us enough. No one can tell I’m the kid Freddy Krueger with my Starter jacket on. We can see our breath on the air. We’re probably watching Nightmare Before Christmas. We’re probably listening to Spooky Sounds. My dad helped me build a casket we use for decoration. I was eleven. He was fifty-three. We don’t talk because I’ve tried to kill myself. I lean on him for support. Not because I love him but because I need him. The way a snail needs moss. The way loved gets tossed. The way some people hand out apples on Halloween.
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