Yeah, sure, I’m excited for fall. Mainly because I’m 100% over sweating from everywhere but my eyelids, but there are a lot of girl-centered activities that we all pretend to love. Apple picking (which is essentially menial labor), picking dirty pumpkins and fugly gourds, and wearing scarves that kind of itch the back of our necks all day. The biggest event, however, that all of us basics look forward to is Halloween. I used to LOVE Halloween. I was all about dressing up, putting on an exorbitant amount of lipstick, and drinking like the world is going to end. Even though I was too old to get candy, I would always get some sugar. Freshman year was no different. It was my first college Halloween, and I was ready to get weird. I drank in my dorm with some floormates with music blasting at a medium volume so as not to wake up our RA, and we stumbled out the door and to the address that a random upperclassman had sent us.
I walked in screaming “IT’S HALLOWEEN MOTHERFUCKERS!”. Technically, it was the day before Halloween, but everyone ignored me anyway, so it didn’t matter. Everyone except for Tom.
He was wearing a basketball jersey in a sea of guys wearing football jerseys. You couldn’t miss him. I had seen him at tailgates and day drinks, but never talked to him before. He had just finished being initiated into the most haze-happy fraternity on campus, so I knew he was a real man. He walked right up to me with a questionable cup of jungle juice and introduced himself. He had a dimple on his left cheek and a cig tucked behind his right ear. We scream talked about mundane shit while everyone went buck-wild singing Thrift Shop. It was only a matter of time before he took me out behind the house to sloppily make out. After what was either a few minutes or an hour and a half, he stopped and looked at me in the eyes.
“I’ll be right back. I gotta piss.”
He disappeared back into the house. I stood in the exact spot that he left me in, not wanting to uproot the tree of sexual tension that we had planted there. I was so excited to bring him home. He’d be right back, and then I’d take him back to my dorm room and we’d get scary. I scrolled through Instagram and threw everyone a like. My legs got tired so I sat down. My eyes were tired so I closed them. I awoke to my roommate shaking me and asking where I had been. I looked around for Tom, but he wasn’t there. No one was there, really. My roommate pulled me up by my arms, and shoved me in an Uber home.
I slept for 14 hours. I felt like something had taken over my body. My dreams were about Tom. I could still feel his red solo cup pressed up against my back, and I still felt tense, hoping I wouldn’t knock it out of his hand and spill the toxic red liquid all over my Risky Business costume that I borrowed from a guy who lived on my floor. I had already planned our outfits for the next three formals. But every time I checked my phone, there were no texts. There were no Snapchat stories. There were no pictures on his Instagram, just a big lock. He was but a ghost. Or so I thought.
A year had past and I had finally got him out of my mind and all that red lipstick off of my face, but it was almost time to put it back on. This Halloween, my friends and I were being KISS, and we looked hot as shit in all of our facepaint. I was ready to take cute pics, and then go out and mess it up immediately. We went back to the same house as the year before, and although different people lived in it, there was something eerie about it. As soon as I stepped foot into the house, I felt something on my back. It was a red solo cup. I turned around to find no one there. I just assumed that someone had bumped into me walking past, so I kept walking. I grabbed a beer out of the kiddie pool of melted ice, and as soon and I cracked the top, I heard someone say “I’ll be right back, I gotta piss.” My neck snapped in the direction of the voice. It had to be Tom. But I thought he had ghosted me. My phone buzzed. I looked at the time: midnight. It immediately buzzed.
“u at the party?”
It was Tom. This was the year we bone. I swiped my screen to answer, but my phone shut off. Thrift Shop started playing and everyone started moshing to the dance floor. As I was carried by the crowd, I caught the glimpse of a basketball jersey running in the opposite direction. I shoved past everyone and down a dead end hallway. I heard the voice again. “I gotta piss.” I knew he was there. I knew he was ignoring me. I kept drinking and searching all night. I checked behind the back of the house in one last exhausted attempt. He was nowhere. I felt the same solo cup on my lower back. I turned around to see a dark figure, who had a dimple on his left cheek and a cig tucked behind his right ear. I reached out to grab it, but fell to the ground. I woke up again to my roommate shaking me, wiping my tear-streaked facepaint off of my face, and throwing me in an Uber.
This happens year after year. It doesn’t matter where I go anymore, he’s always sending me messages. Just when I think I’m over him, his memory comes back the exact day that he first stole my soul. He could have been the devil. How could someone be all consuming after just one night together? I hate Halloween and I hate him and I hate that he made me hate Halloween. So go enjoy your night in your tiny little outfits with all your little friends. I’ll be checking the toilet before I sit down, because I have no idea where that horny ghost will turn up next..
Image via Shutterstock
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Ali Hin
A born and raised Jersey girl, she can always be found covered in sand and pizza sauce. Her personal brand is "that girl." She prefers wine in bottles because she thinks outside of the box. Send fan mail to [email protected] or by smoke signal.
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