Thank Christ It’s Halloween
St. Dunstan’s Catholic Primary had sent home a very specific letter on pink paper (reserved for the most important messages from the principal) explaining that no violent, bloody, sexually suggestive, or otherwise sacrilegious costumes could be worn to school on Halloween. Eric Dawson dared to arrive that Wednesday morning in a rather striking Grim Reaper costume.
“Oooooh,” the other kids said as he lined up to head into the front door. “You’re gonna get in trooooooouble.”
“What? No way.”
“That’s a weapon!” one know-it-all said.
“No, it’s actually an agricultural tool — and I made it out of aluminum foil.”
“Death is, like, part of the Devil. He, like, works for him,” someone said, adjusting their dinosaur mask.
“That’s not true,” Eric said, lifting his paper mache skull face to show disgust. “And why are you assuming death is male?”
“How would yooooooou know; your dad isn’t even a practicing Catholic!”
“Yeah, why do you even go here?” someone dressed as Speed Racer sneered.
“My mom said the local public school is really bad,” he said to no reaction. The kids just laughed and pushed past him down the hallway.
“Death is totally a man,” a kid in a cowboy costume said as he passed by. “My mom could never kill a kid, but my dad — ”
Eric could see Miss Theriot wrapping the cord of her phone around her finger nervously as she called the attendance down the office. She looked right at him and then stepped into the hallway to say something in private.
A few minutes later, Sister Mary-the-Mother-of-James burst through the door like a western sheriff and grasped the black hood of Eric’s cloak.
“Very scary, Mr. Dawson. Very appropriate as well. You and your parents make such good decisions, don’t you?”
Pretty much the whole class was biting their lips in sheer glee.
“Ooooooooh,” one of the girls couldn’t help but say.
“Would you like to join him in ISS, Miss Flores?” Sister MtMoJ asked, lowering her thin but intimidating eyebrows.
“No, Sister.”
“Well, then, any of you with school-appropriate costumes can drop by my office after the last bell for a piece of candy,” she said in terrific benevolence before marching Eric to the suspension room.
When the school was built, it had been a confessional for students in urgent need of reconciliation and absolution. It still smelled like fear sweat and priest cologne. For the last 20 years, confessions had been heard in the better-lit chapel for legal reasons, while the tiny room was converted into Sister MtMoJ’s personal debriefing and reprogramming cell.
“I hope you will use your suspension time to reflect on the real harm that death does in this world each day, young man. There are children in this school with dead pets, dead grandparents — how do you think they feel when you decide to show everybody how special and edgy you are by reminding everyone of the horror of death?”
With that, she gave him a nunly shove into the old booth.
“You’d better start praying and asking for the Lord’s forgiveness for being so selfish and rude,” she said and locked the door shut.
Eric spent the first hour of ISS too angry to pray, but he eventually realized that Sister MtMoJ was never going to let him out until he had earnestly prayed for forgiveness, and she always knew, whether through a deep understanding of human fear or some nunly super power, when someone had prayed to God for forgiveness or not.
He performed the sign of the cross and knelt down onto the padded kneeler from the old confessional.
“Dear Jesus,” he said. “I am sorry if it is a sin to dress up as Death for Halloween. I was not trying to draw attention to myself or make anybody feel bad about their dead pets. I know both of those things are definitely sins.”
Eric nervously shifted weight from one knee to the other and transitioned from the “pointed fingers” prayer position to the “folded hands” one.
“But, really, I have to ask, was it a sin to dress like Death? Like, are you offended by that? Is Death a man who works for the Devil, like the other kids said?”
“What is it with you people and death?” a voice said. “Did you guys miss all the parts about ‘fear not’ and how there is no death through me, and how the faithful will find eternal life?”
There, leaning up against the wall of the old confessional was Jesus. The savior of humanity was barely taller than Eric, although he was rippling with laborer’s muscles and the curls of his hair glowed with righteous frustration.
Eric forgot his question about death momentarily and had to clear something else up first.
“Why are you white in all those paintings? Couldn’t you, like, tell the painters?”
“Don’t you think I told every single one of those painters? White artists, am I right? If I’d put the message at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey with the most sexually racist possible label, maybe some of them would’ve found it.”
“You’re not really what I expected.”
“How do you mean? Haven’t you read the book?”
“We — uh — we read some of it in class.”
“Well, there’s your problem there. You gotta start at the beginning and go straight through. When I show up, stuff gets so much better. I mean, Isaiah is fine — ”
“But you’re okay with death?”
“Of course, man. Lower-case d death, upper-case D Death, it’s all part of the master plan. Eternal life to the faithful — all in the book.”
Eric’s face lit up.
“Do you think you can tell Sister Mary-the-Mother-of-James that? It would get me out of a lot of trouble.”
“Look, I am not really interceding on a daily basis anymore. It’s actually kind of a legal thing. Even this is pretty questionable, but I figured I could get away with it based on your poor reputation with adults and low status among your peer group.”
“Aren’t you here to bring me comfort or help me or something?”
“Hey, I’m honest whether you like it or not. Read the book.”
“Come on, pleeeeeease?” Eric asked.
“Sorry, kid. Can’t do it.”
“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease, Jesus? I really need your help.”
“Ugh, you did read some of the book, didn’t you?”
Jesus unlocked the ISS room door (muttering, “I really shouldn’t be doing this kind of stuff anymore,” as he did it) and followed Eric down the hallway back to Miss Theriot’s classroom.
The other students were busily drawing pictures of their three favorite costumes worn by classmates, which would be followed by a turn-and-talk and whole-group share led by Miss Theriot to help her get to lunchtime on a day when the kids had way too much energy and couldn’t be effectively restrained by their uniforms.
The teacher looked up and saw Eric and Jesus standing in the doorway.
“Eric, did Sister Mary-the-Mother-of-James say you could return to class?” she asked, studying but not acknowledging the dark-featured man in the dress.
“Well, no,” he began.
Jesus tapped him on the shoulder like, “Watch this.”
“He has been freed from the chains of bondage by a higher power, dear sister,” he said.
“Oh, I’m not a sister, I’m Miss — ”
“We are all brothers and sisters in His name. We are all His children.”
The teacher stared at him, puzzled.
“I get it!” the Speed Racer kid said. “He’s Jesus!”
“Who do you say I am?” Jesus cupped his hand to his ear and did a little curtsy.
“That’s a sacrilegious costume too,” the dinosaur said. “He must be in ISS with Eric.”
“Don’t talk to strangers like that, Jennifer,” the teacher said nervously as she crossed toward the odd pair in the door.
“No worry, sister. Suffer little children and forbid them not to come unto me.”
Jesus smiled because it was one of his favorite lines. The teacher inspected his robe.
“All adults need a guest pass from the office.”
“Miss Theriot, he’s actually — ” Eric said, but Jesus cut him off.
“Even the dust of your city which clings to our feet we wipe off in protest against you,” he said with a passive-aggressive smile. “Eric, lead me to the office.”
He made a friendly wave to the students, and while none of them recognized it in the moment, the erasers in their pencil cases turned into king size chocolate bars.
Sister Gertrude had been the receptionist since the ’70s, and she knew the Son of Man when she saw him. She fell to her old knees in prostration and kissed his dusty, sandaled feet.
“On the eve of All Souls Day, He has returned to walk among us once more. Hosanna in the highest!” she said.
Jesus shot Eric a look like, “Great, now we’re both gonna get in trouble.”
“Arise, sister,” he said, waving like he wanted her to quiet down. “I am in need of a guest pass so that I might — ”
Just then, Sister Mary-the-Mother-of-James entered from her adjoining office.
“What on earth are you doing in here?” she asked with her angry eyes on Eric. “I didn’t let you out of the ISS room. Have you been plotting an escape? Both those things are high sins, you know — especially when you’re being punished.”
“Sister, don’t be angry. If you are angry with others, you will be judged,” Jesus said.
“And who exactly are you, Mister — ”
Sister Gertrude nearly fainted at Sister MtMoJ’s question.
Jesus just smiled warmly. “ben Joseph. You know: the Truth, the Way, and the Light.”
She wrinkled her nose and studied him up and down.
“What grade are you in? Take that beard off! What gives you the right to dress like our lord and savior?”
“Well, your lord and savior’s mother gave me this robe, so — ”
“Sacrilege!” she said. “Time for both of you to head back to ISS and pray the Lord forgives your insolence.”
“Sister, be slow to anger,” Jesus warned.
“How dare you take that tone with me?”
With that, she reached out to grab his wrist to drag him down the hallways, but the second she touched him, her eyes glazed over and she staggered backward in amazement.
“You can — you can — ” she huffed and puffed at Eric, “you can go back to class. Take him with you. I don’t care.”
“You’re the man, Jesus!” Eric said as they walked down the hallway toward the classroom. He would be back in time for the candy exchange.
“Just like it says in the book.” He gave Eric a friendly punch in the shoulder.
“What did you do to make Sister Mary-the-Mother-of-James listen to you?”
“Well, I’m really supposed to keep this stuff mysterious, but when she touched me, she saw exactly how she was going to die.”
“Oh man, is it bad?”
“Not really, just next week.”
And they laughed.
This story is part of 13 Ghost Stories in 13 Days. Each entry in the series was written and published in a single day during October of 2020. This idea was completely stolen from Mark Macyk.
Day 1: The Devil’s Diphthong
Day 2: The Podcasting Ghost
Day 3: The Portal Potties
Day 4: The Household Accident
Day 5: The Scarecrow Competition
Day 6: The Cursed Father
Day 7: When the Car Hits the Tree
Day 8: Thank Christ It’s Halloween
Day 9: The Greek Halloween Myth
Day 10: The Ghost & The Cockroach
Day 11: Pampered
