The lure of the Halloween costume...or maybe not ~ by Leah St. James

Halloween is just around the corner, and I’m mired in my usual dress-up-or-not-dress-up dilemma.

As a kid, it was a no-brainer. You dressed for Halloween, period. First was the march around the school grounds with your class, then the big event itself – Halloween night where we’d roam the neighborhood hoping to fill our pillow cases with Mom-approved goodies. And of course our UNICEF boxes with cash.

I was never an overly creative costumer. I might have gotten it from Mom who dressed me as a ghost for the first several years...before I spied the Cinderella costumes hanging in Woolworth’s window. After that, I was Cinderella for about a three- or four-year span. (Hey, why mess with success?!)

Eventually I outgrew Cinderella (probably more physically than mentally) and advanced to home-made costumes. My favorite was the Geisha-girl(ish) costume, designed with a set of silk pajamas my father had brought back from Korea. (I’m not sure how my sister and I talked Mom into letting us wear those, but she did, and probably regretted it.) I twirled my hair into a bun on the back of my head and stuck knitting needles through it. Yes, I really did.

After that, a long costume drought followed, until I had my own kids. Remembering how important costumes were to me, I was determined to give my kids the best. No store-bought costumes for them.

My best effort was Superman when Son No. 1 was five. I sewed it from a pattern, all by myself. And it was magnificent. I can still picture him standing in that Superman pose, hands on hips, legs braced for action. (Wish I could find a photo to share!) 

One year he went as “Construction Guy.” That was relatively easy. He’s a warrior in this shot, taken with my sister who was dressed as Mother Goose. She graciously took him trick-or-treating because Son No. 2 had been born just four days earlier...which might account for the fuzziness of the shot. Sorry about that.  (By the way, I made that dress too, although at the time it wasn’t SUPPOSED to be a costume! Whatever.)

Eventually the lure of HeMan won out, and I succumbed to the store-bought costume. (This is with my sister also.)

 When Son No. 2 came along, I started out fine. I remember culling together a pretty credible Dark Wing Duck for him, but eventually the store-bought HeMan was pulled from the depths of the closet. (And my sister again! I don't think I have one photo of me with my kids in costume...but these are better anyway.)

At some point along the way, it became popular for adults to start dressing up at the office. I joined in when I was feeling particularly creative—like the year I dressed in my husband’s black karate gei and posed as a ninja. (I had the weapons strapped to my waist lest anyone make too much fun of me.)

Another year I went as a ranch hand. That was easy—jeans, bandanna and a cowboy hat.

This  year we’re having a costume contest at work. I’m so NOT a competitive person (except with myself), so my inclination is to forget it. But that thrill of dressing up is still in the back of my mind and I can’t quite let it go.  Unfortunately I still have no idea what to wear...again.

I won’t buy anything other than maybe a few accent pieces, which leaves me at the mercy of my wardrobe.  Here are a few ideas I’ve been playing with:

Romance novelist on deadline
Granny glasses (because I’m blind from staring at the computer for a break-free, 96-hour stretch); hair that hasn’t been combed in that time (because I’m on deadline), ratty/saggy knit top dribbled with coffee/tea/spaghetti stains down its front (from eating at the computer); sweatpants and slipper socks. (The good news...I have all that in my closet already!)

Erotic novelist at reader event

I’d start with a big length of rope…uh, yeah, better avoid that one.

Working mother
Business suit with spit-up stains on jacket (yeah, I still have it); one brown shoe, one black shoe; mismatched earrings; mascara on one eye but not the other, maybe smeared on the side; hair falling from attempted up-do; crumpled and syrup-smeared permission slip for your child’s trip to the zoo stuck to the back of your skirt/pants.

In my latest story, Blood Moon (from “Mysteries of the Macabre | A Halloween Anthology”), my heroine and her husband dress up as a ‘60s couple. They’re inspired by the discovery of an old letterman’s sweater that belonged to his grandfather.  I had so much fun researching the styles of that day. 

Hey...there’s an idea! I can go as a heroine in one of my stories! Let’s see, there was the FBI agent who posed as a sex slave to solve a murder...well, whatever. I’ll come up with something.

Happy Halloween, everyone!

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Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil and the power of love. To learn more, go to leahstjames.com. For more on "Mysteries of the Macabre" go here:

Full Moon Madness-Truth or Fiction? by Leah St. James

I’ve always been intrigued by the moon. Maybe my fascination comes from one too many viewings at too young an age of reruns of Lon Cheney’s The Wolfman. 

I remember being petrified that I’d stumble across a wolfman in my own neighborhood, some poor, tormented soul who’d lost his mind. (Okay, so even then my imagination got the better of me.)

Like most people, I’d heard the stories about strange behavior taking place around the full moon, and like most people, I never believed them. Then I started a job at the local newspaper answering the news “tip line.”

I quickly realized that there would be days that would stretch the limits of my patience, days where people would exhibit strange behavior (stranger than usual) – cranky, mean, downright miserable people complaining about things completely out of my control, or my employer’s control for that matter.  

At first I attributed these odd periodic incidents to simple chance, until one day, in the midst of one such episode, I threw up my hands and said, “What is going on today?! This is crazy!” The response to me from a veteran? “It’s a full moon,” as if that explained it all.

I laughed to myself and quietly pitied the poor sucker who actually bought that theory. Still, never one to discount the voice of experience, I began to pay attention. And I began to realize...they were on to something!

Like the woman who called near the full moon in July a few years back. She spoke with a tone that put me on alert, her voice crisp and full of an authority that she at least believed she had. “I need the number to CNN,” she said, as if it were a perfectly reasonable request. (I don’t work for CNN. And I’m not in Atlanta.) Seemed she wanted to check on what fireworks the network would be broadcasting.

Normally I try to help people, figuring it take longer to turn them away than it does to just get them what they want, when I can.  So I said, “We’re not affiliated with CNN, but I’ll be happy to look up them up for you.”

When I related the number to her, she said, “What’s the 4-0-4 number you said?”

I looked at the screen where I’d Googled CNN’s contact page. “That’s their area code. They’re in Atlanta. Georgia.”

“Oh.”  She paused, apparently thinking for a moment, then said, “ Patch me through.”

That stopped me, and I actually shook my head, wondering if I’d heard her correctly. “Patch you through?” I said. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You know, transfer me. To CNN.”

Now I was trying not to laugh, because she was so obviously serious. “I’m sorry, ma’am. This isn’t the phone company. I can’t transfer you.” (Actually, I’m not even sure there is a “phone company” these days!)

She wasn’t happy with my response, but she happily let me off the hook. :-)

Then there was the woman who called, very excited to report that she witnessed an “anchor” in the sky next to the image of a soldier saluting the U.S.S. Yorktown. So I wouldn’t think she was crazy, she explained the anchor was a reverse image, the blue left from the silhouettes of the clouds. (You can’t make this stuff up.)

Each time I take a call like this, in the back of my mind I hear the howl of that poor tormented werewolf, searching for his sanity.

Speaking of full moons, I’m excited to announce the release of a new short story—Blood Moon. It appears in MYSTERIES OF THE MACABRE, A Halloween Anthology –six unique stories, six unique voices. (Our own Alicia Dean has a story in there as well!)

Here’s an excerpt from mine:

     On the beach, two lovers kissed. Behind them, the moon—hanging giant and hazy red in the sky—dripped feathery tendrils into the sea, painting crimson tips on the dancing waves.

Its raw beauty was lost on the two, engrossed as they were in each other, entwined so closely, they appeared from a distance as one. They never heard my approach. Never knew I'd been observing them earlier while they joined their friends around a bonfire.

I moved closer, my steps inaudible over the crashing surf. Something about the woman—girl really—called to me. More than that...vexed me.
     Maybe it was her waist-length hair the color of coal. Most of the girls teased their hair into those ugly beehives, but she’d let hers flow free, like a curtain of silk. She reminded me of...

     I forced that image from my mind. Maybe it was the way her date, a handsome young man, brought her hand to his mouth for a kiss. He pressed his lips not to the back of her hand, like a gentleman would, but to the center of her palm. I imagined their eyes making love as surely as if they lay together, unclothed, in bed.

     Maybe it was her response, a trill of sensuous laughter, carried by the sea-scented breezes to my ears.

     My stomach stormed. What made her boy-man so special? Why did he deserve her love?

     A need to make her suffer, just as I had suffered, rose and filled my soul with hate. Despite that, my hands flexed with the urge to touch, to sample the woman's lushness, the curves so happily on display in the indecently short dress with fanciful red polka dots that looked eerily like that moon.

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Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil, and the redeeming power of love. To learn more about “Blood Moon” and the other anthology stories, please go here.To learn more about Leah, please go to leahstjames.com.