Page 93 of Haunt the Mall
“You’re not going to check your messages?” she asked in her sad little puppy voice.
Even Dad gave me a wary look.
“It’s fine. We’re having family time.” I carved the pumpkin into an abstract monster and chatted with my family about anything except men. I even set chunks of orange goop aside so we could bake the seeds off for a snack. An argument raged on upstairs, but we could barely hear it over the hood fan.
Tori grabbed the silverware. “Oh, a spider.”
I looked over my shoulder. “What? Where?”
She pointed to the pumpkin. “Isn't that what you're carving?”
I paused and stepped back. Each rounded sliver of my work unleashed a dark, powerful memory. Not of Bitsy. Not of the widow. But of the man who'd lured me into his web for a dance macabre.
Dried guts cracked along my fingers.
Tori hugged the silverware. “Sorry, is it not that?”
I shrugged, my heart pounding in my ears. “I guess it's like a Rorschach test. You see what gives you meaning.”
She furrowed her brow. “What do spiders mean?”
“Everything,” I confessed.
My grip loosened on the knife. I hadn't realized I'd been carving my heart out for the world to see.
Mom swept into the room like a gust of storm air. “Spiders often mean patience and perseverance, sweetie. The web is creativity.” She placed a hand on Dad's shoulder. “You turned down the burner on the cider?”
He nodded.
She kissed his cheek, and he brightened. Love was saving someone’s apple cider from burning. Love was fighting a spider mech for someone’s safety. Love was lots of things, I guessed. Like trust. But I wasn’t sure it was meant for me.
Tori tentatively laid out another plate setting. "Is Jen going to join us?"
“I don't know." Mom placed her hands on her hips. "I just don’t know. She’ll want to eat eventually.”
She didn’t come down, though. No one talked about anything too serious at dinner. No brushes with death, no missing money, no dating stories. Just recipes.
I toasted my family with a glass of cider. “Everything tastes—and smells—great.”
Dad gave me a warning look. “Maybe you ought to get back to pumpkin carving.”
I shrugged. “Does anyone else want to join me?”
“No. I might need some wine or chamomile tea.” Mom slogged to the kitchen.
“We have an extra pumpkin if you change your mind,” I called. “Tori, do you want the baby one since you’re a baby?” I teased.
Dad cleared his throat. “That one isn’t for Tori.”
“Who’s it for then?” I asked.
He glanced at the entryway. “Well, I’m not sure if she’s…ready."
The stairs creaked with heavy footsteps. Long, natural nails plied at the framed dining room entryway. “What are you all eating?” Jen croaked.
The monster in my chest coiled around my lungs and squeezed as my sister stepped out from the shadows. Her other hand slid over her protruded belly.
“Oh my god,” I said. There was something inside of her too.