by Jerry Spain
Grubby little kids knocking on doors, begging for candy. He turned off his porch light, Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do? They came anyway. Ringing the doorbell. Banging on the door. Interrupting his television. They disturbed his cat, Sam. The old tom yowled from the couch, a sharp, throaty complaint. They came at all hours. Last year, a group of teenagers had shown up at ten-thirty. That had worried Josh enough that he slept with his big knife under the mattress.
It was only eight in the morning, and already he was dreading the evening. He could go somewhere, but why should he alter his routine just to accommodate a pack of little demons? He had cameras at the front door. From his chair, he could watch them approach—kids in silly costumes, parents hanging back, urging them forward. Say it, Josh imagined them whispering. Say trick or treat.
He piddled around the house, dusting his model cars. That was his passion, assembling them piece by piece. He had hundreds, each one a small, orderly thing in a world that no longer felt that way. Josh didn’t work anymore. Years ago, when he’d been a school crossing guard, a child had darted into the street. Josh had pushed him clear, but the car struck Josh instead, crushing his legs and damaging his back. He walked hunched, with a permanent limp. His disability pension kept him and Sam fed, with just enough left over for his models. The year after the accident, Josh had tried Halloween again. He’d bought candy. Opened the door. Several kids laughed and asked if he was the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
That was the last year he answered the door.
At noon, Josh heated a microwave dinner and opened a can of cat food. He set the dish on the table. Sam jumped up and began to eat. Josh didn’t mind. He liked the company. Long before the accident, he’d tried dating. One woman had said it was disgusting that his cat ate on the table. After that, Josh stopped trying. Sam never judged him. Never laughed.
He kept glancing at the clock as the afternoon dragged on. Maybe he could adjust the sprinklers to spray the walkway. Maybe he could tape up a sign: Halloween Is of the Devil. Go Away.
Over the years, the number of kids had dropped—but not enough. Zero was the only number Josh wanted. To distract himself, he sat at his workbench and picked up his favorite project: a 1967 Mustang convertible. He poured a glass of red wine and worked, keeping one eye on the clock. Some kids wold come as early as five. Celebrity Jeopardy! would be on soon, but he wouldn’t watch it tonight.
He had a plan. When the first knock came, he would open the door and send them away. If he had to do it all evening, so be it.
The knock came at exactly five.
Josh was on his feet in an instant. He flung open the door.
“Didn’t you see the light was off?” he snapped.
Then he heard crying.
Josh looked down. A little boy sat in a wheelchair, tears sliding down his cheeks. The sound hit Josh like a blow to the chest. He looked up and met the horrified eyes of the boy’s mother.
“I—” Josh swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He gestured awkwardly at his back. “I was… pretending. Like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
The boy sniffled, studying him. Then he giggled. “You don’t look like him,” the boy said. “You just look like a man.”
Josh blinked. For years, the mirror had shown him only what was bent and broken.
“You need a costume,” the boy added.
Josh hesitated. The Mustang sat finished on the bench behind him, gleaming.
“Wait here,” he said.
In the kitchen, his hands trembled as he picked up the car.
“This is for you,” Josh said, placing the Mustang gently in the boy’s lap.
The boy’s face lit up. “Thank you! He held out his hand, “I’m Tommy”
Josh shook it with a strong grip “Josh.”
Tommy’s mother mouthed thank you as she turned the wheelchair away. Tommy waved, clutching the car.
Josh leaned against the closed door and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Sam padded over and pressed against his leg.
After a moment, Josh reached up and turned the porch light back on.
Jerry Spain is a retired U.S. Air Force veteran who studied creative writing at Cameron University. His stories The Tree of Skulls (2021) and Space Ranger (2026) received Honorable Mentions in the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest. He lives and writes in Texas.
Photo by Valeria Nikitina on Unsplash
