“Yes, Mischief night.” He said, his face furrowed as if sad. “That was when it happened.”
“The murders, yes, that was when my friends were murdered.” He took a seat and began to speak in earnest. It was a normal day. I was staying with my old friend from Sea days but he hadn’t been, how you say? Normal. Yes Normal. Sun chirping as birds shined on the tree limb outside my window sill. No noise woke me, the temperature was cool but warm enough to remind me of holidays. I felt no hunger or need. I felt peaceful, rested, & relaxed, since about the first time I found out Santa Claus was fake and I was out of Vodka. I knew something had to be wrong somewhere, it just felt so strange, but I guess I misplaced my afear when I went to sleep. I rose and put on a nice warm robe, belonged to my friend, was made with dark silk, perfectly cut. I made my way towards the kitchen.
His children met me in the hall, two of them, just the right age, big smiles and all.
"Uncle Leo, uncle Leo." Says they. I smiled, happy. My friend had a good life. They hand me candy covered report cards replete with rows of A's, and I scratch my head.Weren't they flunking something before. Oh well, I give them a quarter, and they quietly trot off to play.
Now onto breakfast. Think I'll have orange juice and fluffy eggs, and presto, there she is, blonde bombshell in saran wrap nightgown serving eggs. Kiss on the cheek of my friend and off she goes to do wonderful things.
As I eat my eggs, I ponder this silly feeling I have somewhere in the back of my head. that something m-i-g-h-t be wrong somewhere, or something. My friend looked funny at me. Crazy eyes.
“Aren’t I married to a hag with bratty kids?” He whispered.
“Don’t be crazy”. I said. “You have wonderful life!”
“Didn't I hate breathing these last days gone by???”
“Nah, not you.”
I rise & get dressed, going to look for a ship to take back home. I’d been away long enough, I wanted to see my own family and ha made enough money on this trip. I leave and my friend leaves for work in glorious noon, carnation in lapel, salt air in breeze.
Heading back I se my friend sitting at bench staring into space, he seems spaced. “Stupid bitch is screaming again...” He mutters.
“Huh?” I ask, puzzled.
“It’s mischief day.” He says. “And she wouldn’t stop screaming. She wouldn’t stop screaming.”
I look down and notice blood on his clothes and bag. People walking by stared and soon police came. I went to his house and his family was fine. He’d lost his job and gone crazy.” He said sadly, doing one more shot. “He couldn’t afford costumes for mischief day. That is British Halloween. He snapped and committed the mischief day massacre.”
I was dumbfounded. How horrible. The Russian smiled and did one more shot. “I trick you silly American. I Treeek you. There is no massacre. I trick you now by me a drink!”