Chapter 5Later that night, after I reheated the baked ziti and scooped a generous amount of it onto our plates, I decorated the front window with the kids’ scary pumpkins. I lit candles inside both so that the flickering light discharged slashes of spooky shadows behind the drawn curtains.
“Mine is better,” Dylan boasted from the living room couch.
“Don’t be mean,” Christie shot back, unwrapping her Butterfinger and devouring a large chunk of it. “My pumpkin is scary too,” she added, turning to me. “Right, Jesse?”
“Yes. Dylan, be nice.”
“I want to go trick or treating,” he said, ignoring me and staring out the front window at the dark street filling up with neighborhood kids dressed in frightening Halloween costumes. Everyone was wearing rainwear over their costumes.
I stared at my ce
