For some inexplicable reason, one section of the trail boasted porcelain renditions of fairy tale characters: Humpty Dumpty, Little Boy Blue, and even Bambi. Although "Bambi, A Life in the Woods" wasn't your typical fairy tale, it had found a place in the park.
The porcelain scene mirrored the movie, with Bambi sprawled out, slipping on the ice, while the little rabbit laughed with abandon.
As we approached, a strange ringing filled my ears. Before I could articulate it, the gleeful rabbit swiveled its head and locked eyes with me.
Frightfully clutching Yaj's wrist. "Did you see that?" I gasped.
“See what?” Yaj responded.
“That rabbit's head just turned.”
“It's always looked that way; it’s the drugs messing with you, my friend,” he responded.
“Think so, huh? Well, either way, I'm out of here.”
“We just got here,” Yaj said. “All right, I guess the walk's over,” he continued.
I felt he was condescending, oblivious to the chaos in my mind. Trying to make sense of it was tough, especially given my level of intoxication. It felt strange, that was for sure. "Probably not the ideal moment to start freaking,” I mused as the dull hum of my body was evolving into surreal hallucinations. Being here right now could turn into a ‘thing’ pretty quickly.
“Uhh, we have to go right now,” I said, hurrying back where we came.
We headed back up the path toward the entrance of Storybook Land. While returning, the door became more visible, as the trees had grown significantly on the other side. Its design resembled a stack of large books, with Humpty Dumpty sitting atop. Although faded and marked, he seemed to emit a faint glow at that moment. Beneath the tunnel, the rabbit sat, its unsettling smile and eyes fixated on me. I was convinced Yaj had noticed it this time. Just as the realization hit me, he shrieked at the top of his lungs and sprinted in the opposite direction.
"Absolutely not, this can't be happening!" Yaj's paranoia exclamation echoed as we dashed, frantically seeking an alternate route. I was sure that one of the pathways in this part of the trail would eventually lead to a parking lot, offering a direct way to Main St. Our focus was far from Yaj's bulging candy bag and my skateboard; escape was paramount.
As we entered one of the parking lots, I saw a trail veering left. Based on the sign, I assumed where it was heading; it looped back toward the park exit, potentially bringing us nearer our intended destination.
"Hey, look, I think that trail leads back over to the watchtower," I managed to gasp out to Yaj, my breath labored. Yaj stood frozen, his gaze fixed on the trail.
"What?" I asked, turning to look at the trail. It was the rabbit again.
As we hurried, my recollection blurred, but we sprinted towards the alternate exit from the parking lot and onto a brief street connected to one of the town's main roads. Internally, I chastised myself, trying to convince myself it was an overreaction, that none of it was genuine, and that I needed to compose myself. However, any thought of slowing down triggered a fresh wave of fear despite my legs growing more exhausted with every step.
"We should try to catch one of the buses on Main," Yaj suggested. While Main Street wasn't the primary street in town anymore, it had been once upon a time. The central hub now was PineCrest, our destination. Main Street extended into PineCrest and still adhered to an old bus schedule, running every 15 minutes until 11:00 PM. I glanced at my watch—it wasn't even 9:00 yet.
As we arrived at Main Street, the sight of civilization welcomed us: bustling businesses, apartments, the glow of streetlights, and a sheltered bench at a well-lit bus stop. The area buzzed with people closing out the pleasant evening as kids’ sugar-high faded from trick-or-treating—civilization, I thought, a sense of relief washing over me.
I hesitated to look behind me, but after I spotted the first signs of other people, I glanced, watching the rabbit bounce back and forth across the dark, empty street behind us. Given my current hallucination mode, encountering people in costumes was an eerie enough experience, so I just turned away, squinting. My only desire was to get home as quickly as possible.
After a few minutes, we left with the bus. I looked back again to find the rabbit sitting across from the bus stop, just sitting there, staring at me from a small grass patch on the far western corner. A little decorated area in front of a local dentist's office was overgrown, so I couldn't be sure if this one was real.
Yaj was still mumbling to himself, and rocking slightly back and forth required me to decide to disembark in PineCrest and try to catch a ride with his mom. I was sweating from the fear running, on top of the eyes bright as the moon. “This is going to be interesting,” I thought.
“I’m not entirely sure what the hell just happened, but I don't want it to happen again," Yaj said with a stony expression.
"I'm sorry, man. I don't know if I manifested that or what,"
"I don't even know what I saw. I don't think I saw it. I think I'm just falling into the trap of seeing what you are and then scaring the hell out of myself," Yaj said, his agitation evident. "Look, let's just get home.”
“It’s fine, everything's fine, no rabid fluffy bunny is trying to kill us,” I said.
The excitement had sobered me up quicker than I expected. I wasn't quite right yet, but I was starting to regain some composure.
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The bus stop was right in the center of the PineCrest shopping district. PineCrest was a picturesque town section filled with quaint shops, vintage-style lampposts, and great sidewalks: vibrant blossoms, comfortable benches, and strings of light and banners hanging overhead. While our island usually saw a fair amount of rain, this autumn had been unusually dry. The air was chilly, yet both sides of the streets were bustling with teens. Middle and high school kids are trying to enjoy the freedom of parent-free trick-or-treating. Costumed figures hurried back and forth across the streets while cars cautiously navigated through the lively scene.
The stark contrast between the solitude experienced at the old watchtower and this bustling chaos was profoundly unsettling. The bus stop drop point was in front of hulio, although it was closed for the party. The skate cafe was directly across from my grandmother, and Mom’s bakery also closed. Yaj’s mom, Jules, always kept her bookstore open. She'd prepared special trick-or-treat items—books from various authors accompanied by candy, of course.
Getting to Yaj’s mom's book store, “The Whispering Words” was down about a block and on PineCrest. But he had suggested we go down a block and take the alley with fewer people. I wholeheartedly agreed, as even the vibrations of people walking on the concrete were unnerving to my senses.
"Before we walk into my mom's bookstore, we need to get ourselves right," Yaj advised as we approached the alley.
He was right. The last thing I needed was for one of these parents to realize I was in this tripped-out. Most families on our island shared a similar mindset around not only drugs but any mischief. If one of your friends were in trouble, then you would, too, so that friend wasn't allowed to hang out anymore. So, we all did our best to cover for each other. I knew I could maintain my composure. I felt safer and calmer with other humans around. I had nothing to worry about at this moment. We could get to the shop, and then I could get home. That's all that mattered.
As we exited the alley, Jules's bookstore stood just two doors to the right. Its front was mostly made of windows, with a waist-high green wainscoting and a matching entry. This design allowed plenty of natural light to filter into the dusty rows of books inside. Across the alley and the street, on the opposite corner, sat my mom and grandma's delicatessen shop, now enveloped in darkness. I imagined all the treat bags they had prepared for passing kids had likely been claimed as soon as night fell.
When we were younger and not allowed to go trick-or-treating, I always found it amusing how they'd put together those little gift bags for trick-or-treaters at the store, even though we weren't allowed to join in.
Jules was already dimming the lights at the Whispering Words, preparing to close for the night. Most of the commotion now centered around kids loitering in PineCrest. Most knew they'd receive rides home from their parents after exploring the shops. PineCrest boasted about twenty different cafes, shops, and boutiques. The district stretched six blocks, with more stores packed down the side streets on both sides. The side streets were typically filled with more specialized shops. Several multipurpose houses featuring a front garage converted into a store were also sprinkled in.
Jules’s bookstore was housed in an old textile building adorned with a copper bell that emitted a pleasant chime upon entry. Even when sober, the sound resonated within me. The front of the store was lined with rows of books, flanked by two aisles. Walking in, a central pathway led to an open table area. Jules usually kept hot water and a variety of teas available, encouraging visitors to bring in their own refreshments. The Shimada family boasted an extensive book collection, housing some of the oldest books in town at Jules's shop. If you were searching for something or if a college student couldn't find a resource in the school library, chances were it could be found here. Jules had never run the bookstore for profit; the comfortable income was provided by Yaj’s dad, Frank Shimada, who worked as a college professor.
I have always admired the Shimada family's commitment to pursuing their passions. Frank's summer breaks allowed Nez and I to accompany them on vacations to other islands in pursuit of rare books. It was a cozy and inviting space, perfect for conducting research, even if you weren't planning to buy, as long as you handled the books carefully. Robbie would bring people’s orders from the skate cafe to the bookstore, a role filled by my older sister in the summer—most deliveries for friends and family. At the store’s far end, Jules stood behind the counter, tidying up the dimly lit space.
"Hey, I was wondering if you guys were going to show up," Jules greeted with an upbeat tone. "How did you fare?" she asked but stopped, noticing neither of us had trick-or-treat bags and looked somewhat disheveled. Mothers always had an uncanny ability to pick up on these things. "Are you boys okay?" she continued.
"Yeah, we're fine, Mom. This jerk over here scared the hell out of me at the park, so we started running. When we got to the street bridge, I realized I forgot my bag of candy," Yaj explained, fabricating the story.
"Yep, left mine behind as well. So, zero candies for me now," I added, sprinkling a bit of embellishment for authenticity. Yaj and I had a knack for this kind of dynamic. We could spin a wild tale, yet we were in sync enough that the other would seamlessly continue. Fooling Jules, Yaj's mom, was a more challenging task, but after years of practice, we were rather skilled at it.
"Oh crap, that's right, I forgot. Nez is going to be so mad at me," I lamented. I felt a pang of remorse; ”I’d yelled at my grandma and stormed out without regard for Nezami. I hope she isn’t mad at me.” I said, drifting visually into my thoughts. I could see her in that dress.
"Alright, let me wrap up a couple of things here, and then we'll get you guys home. Hun, can you start the car and warm it up for me?" Jules instructed, handing the keys to Yaj.
"I'll go with you," I volunteered, knowing I still wasn't in a condition for casual chitchat with a parent. The Shimada family had a burgundy four-door station wagon affectionately named “Mags” after their late dog, Maggie. Jules had purchased the dog shortly before Yaj was born, and he once confided in me that he suspected his mom made his dad train the puppy so he'd know how to parent.
Yaj’s history professor dad was exceptionally astute and known for his logical thinking and precision. So, it most likely gave him a lesson in patience and empathy. The whole family had loved that dog more than any animal I’d ever seen. We had spent at least a month of every summer since I was ten years old in the back seat of their car, or more accurately, in the trunk space, usually lying over the luggage with Maggie. I possessed the uncanny ability to sleep just about anywhere, given that I rarely slept much. So when sleep overtook me, I’d shut down wherever I was, often using it to pass the time.
Nez would sit in the back with Yaj, and even though it felt like he extended the invitation to join, I refrained from taking his seat. Nez was a girl, and it seemed impolite to displace her. At least, that's how I'd been brought up. Besides, I didn't mind. On the rare occasions I did sit in the back, I was always pleasantly surprised by how roomy it was.
The ride home was quiet, with everyone thoroughly exhausted. Jules had worked in the store all day, dealing with the chaotic swarm of zombies and creatures clamoring for candy. Just picturing it felt like a nightmare in itself. I was gradually coming down, and my body was growing weary. It wasn't particularly late, but I did feel a tad nostalgic as if I wished I'd run into my friends. Yet, I was also tired enough to be secretly relieved that I hadn't.
The ride wasn't long, just a few miles. After we passed the PineCrest light, the other cars disappeared. Everyone seemed parked in PineCrest or at home, guarding against teenage pranks.