The lights were twinkling, and several bats flew above the building occasionally. The main structure of the Dressrious Salon was wreathed in mist. Vampires, monsters, killer clowns, and all different kinds of macabre creatures surged inside. It was finally Halloween party time.
This year, thanks to the shocking death of the Ambassador of the Frankish Kingdom, the event attracted more guests than usual. The sensational news of the murderer, Snow White’s dramatic suicide, also helped attendance. A memory board dedicated to Snow White stood in the lobby, covered with flowers offered by customers and staff who appreciated her service.
Trevor, wearing silver-colored armor, offered a bouquet of white chrysanthemums. He had avoided her actual funeral, afraid he might accidentally leak their secret.
“Thank you,” a tall, thin man in a glow-in-the-dark skeleton costume stood beside him. “Did you know her?”
Trevor looked at him. The man wore a glowing Dressrious flower badge on the left chest of his costume, identifying him as a Salon clerk. “She serviced me several times. She was so kind,” Trevor tried to look sad.
“Gods are unfair,” the clerk said, sincerely mourning, tears in his eyes. “Those FBI agents pushed her; they wanted to end the case in a hurry, so they pinned the blame on her.” His words were choking with tears.
Trevor, feeling uncomfortable at keeping such a painful secret, was relieved when Ali arrived. “Mr. Edson, welcome, please go inside,” he said, then turned to the clerk. “Go get a rest, John. Let me handle the door.”
“He seems truly sad,” Trevor observed, uncomfortable that John was kept in the dark.
“Little John is from the same orphanage as Snow, and she introduced him to work here,” Ali said, measuring Trevor with his eye. “I see you’re dressed as a Murder-bot.”
“Yeah, I even have the mask. Check this out.” Trevor pressed a button on his smartwatch; a soft, silver-colored face mask popped up from the back of his collar. He pulled it over his head. He was now a fully armored murder-bot.
“Envy you. I only got this silly costume because Mr. Dressrious insisted it be easy for guests to see in the darkness,” Ali grinned. “We have a special game after the dancing. You’ll see. Go on, your friends are all inside.”
Trevor nodded and entered the party hall. The entire room was decorated with Jack-o’-lanterns and packed with costumed guests, making it hard to find a familiar face. Trevor took his mask off. A bearded pirate in a shabby 17th-century military uniform walked up to him.
“Gotcha,” it was Spion. “Are you an armored knight?”
“Murder-bot. Have you watched the TV show?”
“No, too busy for school. I have a paper on deadline.”
“Poor pirate, you should be working on your paper, not out here,” Trevor joked.
“How could I miss a Halloween party? Come on, Lady News booked a booth. We have some bloody dessert.” Spion led the way.
“Did you really use the money you earned on the stock market to buy the party ticket? Which stock did you buy?”
“I don’t give advice about the market, because I can’t guarantee success. I don’t want to lose a friendship over a bad stock tip.”
“I won’t blame anything, I promise.”
They arrived at the booth. Lady News and Report Man were already seated. On the table were three plates of bloody dessert: a big-eyed, cute baby cake, which had already lost two arms; one plate of seven red eyeballs; and one plate of arms and legs shaped like fries with, hopefully, ketchup.
“Ew, that looks yummy and delicious,” Trevor said ironically.
“It is, indeed. Try the baby; the skin is white chocolate,” Lady News suggested.
“You’re a knight? I’m not familiar with the armor. Which country, which era?” Report Man looked over Trevor’s costume.
“Murder-bot. I’m a murder-bot from the future.” Trevor looked at Report Man in a dark brown inverness cape, a deerstalker hat resting on the table. “You’re a detective from the 19th century?”
“Sherlock Holmes. The case we solved woke my detective dream.”
“Guess who I am; neither of them guessed right,” Lady News asked eagerly.
She was wearing a dusty blue vintage dress with several blood stains. “I don’t know,” Trevor shook his head.
“Elizabeth Bennet, the most famous zombie hunter in the 18th century,” Lady News said proudly.
“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of zombies and monsters you can hunt tonight,” Trevor grinned.
“Let’s get some food first, then we can have some fun. Hope no one gets killed tonight,” Spion said, cutting off one of the baby cake’s legs, letting the red sauce flow out.
Trevor forked an eyeball, chewing. “Sweet, like sticky rice. I think the dark red part is pudding.”
“No, it’s real blood,” Report Man said, smiling as he saw Trevor’s eyes suddenly widen. “But chicken’s.” Everyone laughed, revealing teeth stained crimson. Blood-red juice dripped from their knives and forks. This night was definitely going to be creepy fun.