Eye Candy

I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself, wishing I could unsee this shit. There are clowns cut out of wood and painted; mannequins dressed as clowns; stuffed clowns; blow-up-doll clowns . . . every size you can imagine, from one foot tall to ten feet tall. They’re scattered all around the yard. My dad is slightly obsessed with decorating for every holiday, which makes sense, I guess, since our last name is, literally, Holiday. When I brought Sam home for Christmas the year we met, he thought we were pulling up to an airport runway, with all the bright, flashing lights all over the yard. My father’s Valentine’s Day decorations cover every inch of the yard; all the red hearts make it look like the house is bleeding onto the grass. The entire state of Ohio went through a flag shortage the year he bought all the American flags that hang from the siding and porch railing on the Fourth of July.

But he has taken this year’s neighborhood Halloween decorating contest to a horrifying level. One I’ll never be able to erase from my mind; I’ll see it every time I close my eyes.

“It’s about time you got here!”

I turn to watch my dad jog down the front porch steps—which are littered with giant red clown shoes and jack-o’-lanterns—and hurry across the lawn toward us, dodging all the . . . clowns.

Jesus. I can’t even THINK that word without getting the chills.

Dad is practically bouncing with excitement by the time he gets to us, his feet crunching through the fallen leaves as he stands next to me and nods at the two of us with a huge smile on his face. At fifty-seven, my dad is a pretty handsome man, standing at just about my husband’s six-foot stature, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair.

“Hello darling Noel, hello Asshole - Who - Defiled - My - Daughter . . . so, what do you think of the yard?”

I let out a sigh and shake my head at him.

“Dad, for the hundredth time, Sam is my husband and did not defile me. Can’t you just be happy about being a grandfather again, like a normal human being?” My brother and his wife already had a baby, a girl named Holly, and neither one of them had to suffer through this kind of sarcastic abuse from my father. My poor husband deserves a medal.

He wraps his arm around my shoulder and kisses the side of my head.

“Of course I’m happy about becoming a grandfather again. But you’re my baby girl. And I’d prefer to think of this as an immaculate conception. Otherwise I will have a heart attack and die, picturing how it actually happened. Do you want me to die, Noel?” he demands in his usual, dramatic fashion. “Do you?!”

“Speaking of heart attacks,” I mutter, changing the subject before my dad really does kill himself thinking about how I got pregnant. “Why, for the love of God, did you decorate the yard with clowns? No one likes clowns, Dad. No one. You’re lucky your neighbors haven’t burned your house down in protest.”

Dad scoffs and rolls his eyes at me.

“Don’t be silly. Clowns are fun. Everyone loves clowns.”

A loud, bloodcurdling scream, followed by the most miserable-sounding wails, makes all three of us turn around to find a woman and a little boy standing a few feet away, on the sidewalk. The boy has his face pressed into the woman’s side as he continues crying, and they rush past my parents’ house.

“Clowns, Reggie? Really? You should be ashamed of yourself,” the woman mutters, hurrying down the sidewalk with her distraught child.

“YOU’RE JUST JEALOUS BECAUSE YOUR FRONT YARD LOOKS LIKE A MONKEY TOOK A SHIT ON IT, SUSAN!” my dad yells after her. “EVERYONE LOVES CLOWNS, AND I’M GOING TO PROVE IT WHEN I WIN THIS CONTEST FOR THE TENTH YEAR IN A ROW!”

I should probably be embarrassed that my dad is screaming at one of his poor neighbors, but I was raised by this man. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him turn into a raging lunatic in public, and it certainly won’t be the last. He takes every holiday decorating contest very seriously. He starts coming up with ideas and building things for his Halloween display in February. With all of the children on the street, he doesn’t like doing anything scary, and usually goes with something fun. One year it was a carnival theme, with a ticket booth and fun carnival games for kids. Another year it was a Charlie Brown theme. Last year, he went with a Mickey Mouse/Disney theme. All sweet and innocent fun. But clowns are anything but sweet and innocent, and clearly he’s lost his mind.

“I don’t know, Reggie. That house across the street might be giving you a run for your money,” Sam states.

My dad starts grumbling and cursing under his breath as I look over at the house Sam is talking about. I can’t help the dreamy sigh that escapes me. They’ve decorated in a Nightmare Before Christmas theme. It’s one of my absolute favorite movies, and the display is amazing.

There’s a huge Jack Skellington and Sally right in the middle of the yard, with a giant light-up moon behind them, and smaller wooden figurines of every other character are scattered all around the grass, from Doctor Finkelstein and the mayor of Halloween Town, to Oogie Boogie and the ghost dog, Zero. There are orange and white spotlights on every wooden character, and at least a hundred carved pumpkins distributed around the entire display.

My dreamy sigh doesn’t only have to do with the decorations, though. It also has to do with the house itself. I’ve loved that house since I was a little girl. It’s just a typical, two-story colonial, but the wraparound front porch, professional landscaping, and huge, fenced-in backyard made it my dream house. I always imagined that someday I’d get married, buy that house, and raise my family there.

“That yard looks like horseshit,” my father mutters in irritation. “They didn’t even put any work into it. They just went out to the closest Halloween store and bought everything they could find. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into my display.”

“Clearly. The blood when all those creepy-ass clowns come to life and stab you in your sleep, the sweat when you’re trying to outrun them, and the tears when they murder your entire family,” I inform him.

My dad ignores me and continues to glare at the yard across the street.

“Did you know that house sold in less than two weeks? I haven’t even met the new owners yet, and they’ve been there for a month. What kind of people move into a neighborhood, try to end my reign as Halloween Decorator King, and don’t even come over and introduce themselves? Monsters, that’s who,” Dad complains.