The stars were beginning their nightly show, and Izzy counted them as they arrived; a dim one winking to life above the sickle moon, then three more in the sky ahead, and over the horizon of pines, a fiery one, hazy and red. Beside her, behind the steering wheel, Cromwell was ridiculous in his silver-painted tin man costume. And Zeke in her lap, purring away. The car zagged and zigged the roads, careening around corners, zipping down shortcuts, it was always a bit of a wild ride with Cromwell helming the vessel. Houses flickered with orange and purple bulbs. Yards were haunted by plastic ghouls and makeshift, battered scarecrows. Shock-faced pumpkins lined every walkway and porch, grinning with candlelight. Girls and boys hidden behind masks and makeup rang doorbells and demanded candies… or else.
Izzy watched the cold moon hover. A shadow, just barely there, passed through the blinding whiteness.
‘I think I just saw a witch fly by the moon,’ said Izzy.
Zeke lifted his head and meowed.
Cromwell glanced at Izzy. ‘Probably a UFO, actually.’
‘Actually,’ she repeated, mocking his condescension.
They both started laughing. Zeke tensed at the sudden sound. Izzy stroked his black fur until his body went slack and his purring resumed.
More blue stars and red stars and far off planets dotted the night sky for Izzy to count.
Cromwell’s family held a Hallowe’en party every year. This would be Izzy’s first. She had met Cromwell in January, liked him by February, loved him by March. They lived together by May and were married in July. Their families got along well. Cromwell loved Zeke. They didn’t plan to move so fast, but being in their late-thirties, they didn’t want to wait to learn if they actually hated one another. Better to get married, find out you hate everything about the person you love, and spend the next four decades staring at each other across the dinner table every evening until resentment consumes you and you both die of sepsis and rabies.
‘What are you supposed to be?’ Cromwell asked.
Izzy patted her blue gingham dress. ‘I don’t know. What are you?’
‘Not sure,’ he replied. ‘What’s Zeke’s costume?’
‘He’s Toto.’ She scratched under the cat’s chin.
‘Well, then,’ said Cromwell. ‘That must make me the Tin Woodman.’ He smiled in Izzy’s direction, the car zooming through a yellow light. ‘And you’re the loveliest Dorothy I’ve ever seen.’
‘You might see a cuter one. You never know.’
Cromwell honked the horn. ‘Impossible.’ He honked the horn again for emphasis. ‘Won’t happen.’
Izzy rolled down the window. Zeke raised his eyes at the gust of wind rushing into the car. He stood up and went to the open window, sticking his head out while Izzy held onto his elastic feline frame. Zeke’s black fur tussled in the October wind, which smelled like so many long dead leaves and infinite unpicked apples. When they came to a stop sign, he meowed at two other cats on a lawn, one orange and one black like him. The car began to move again, with Zeke still watching the two lawn cats. The orange cat nodded and turned back to its companion. Izzy noticed the interaction but said nothing. She pet Zeke’s back, admiring his coat, so shimmery and hypnotic, like waves of midnight wheat fields. His whiskers danced in the wind.
They were almost at the Hallowe’en party. Izzy rolled up the window. Zeke rested back in her lap, his favorite place. Cromwell pulled into the driveway of his sister’s house, blocking in a couple other cars. There were a lot of cars, actually, a good turnout for the party this year. Izzy stepped out, with Zeke draped over her right shoulder. She heard him meow again. She turned and there she faced three cats. They were milling about, meowing up at Zeke. Zeke meowed something in reply. One of the cats shook its head. Another cat meowed several times, each meow with a different inflection and unique note to it. Zeke gave a short meow. One of the cats, quite chubby, appeared to shrug.
‘You coming?’
Izzy lifted her head from the cat conversation, turning to her husband’s voice. Cromwell was crossing the front lawn backward, gazing at her. He stepped on a small pumpkin, squashing it.
‘Yeah, sorry,’ Izzy said, following Cromwell. On her shoulder, Zeke stared at the three cats. They stared at him.
Cromwell bounded up the steps and opened the door. He put one foot into the house… and tripped the rest of the way. ‘What the hell?’ There was a gush of laughter from inside.
Izzy stopped short. She was at the bottom of the front steps. She was looking at the door’s threshold. Zeke shifted his body to see what had stolen her attention. His pupils grew ten times over, his golden eyes eclipsed and flooded with black.
Cromwell followed their eyes. There was a broom lying across the doorway. He muttered to himself and called out, ‘Who the hell put a broom there?’
Cromwell’s sister met him at the door. She was stifling her laughter. ‘I put that there.’ She was made up like a witch, her skin painted green, pointed hat standing tall, a billowy, violet cloak stitched with shooting stars.
‘I almost cracked my head,’ Cromwell told her.
‘I know,’ she replied, laughing again. ‘I saw. That was great.’
Cromwell looked out at Izzy. She was frozen in place. He gestured at her with his hand to come inside. He asked his sister, ‘Okay, but why did you put a broom across the doorway?’ Cromwell was starting to laugh despite nearly breaking his skull open.
His sister wiggled her fingers in his face, pretending to cast a spell. ‘To keep out witches,’ she told him.
Cromwell nodded and sighed. ‘That makes a lot of sense,’ he said, disappearing into the party.
His sister spotted Izzy at the bottom of the steps and waved. ‘Hey, Iz.’
Zeke hissed at her. Cromwell’s sister laughed. ‘Friendly cat.’
‘Um… sorry,’ Izzy mumbled, running her hands over Zeke’s fur. ‘He’s… good… he’s a good… cat.’
‘If you say so.’ Cromwell’s sister shook her head. ‘You coming in? You were invited.’
Izzy nodded. ‘Yeah… I’ll be right in…’
Cromwell’s sister stared at Izzy.
Izzy pointed back at the car. ‘I just forgot something. I have to grab it.’ She smiled, weak, unconvincing.
‘Okay,’ said Cromwell’s sister, turning away. ‘We’ll just be inside when you’re ready to come in.’ And, with that, she went back to the party.
Izzy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her vision blurred for a moment. Zeke meowed in her ear.
‘I’m okay,’ she whispered.
He meowed again.
‘I know,’ said Izzy. ‘I am. I’m… composed. I’m okay.’
Izzy glanced back. The three cats were still there by the car, still watching her and Zeke.
Zeke meowed a few times to Izzy.
‘Everyone will notice,’ Izzy said to him. ‘They’ll think I’m nuts.’
Zeke meowed.
‘I could just sit in the car. I could tell Crom I’m feeling sick.’
Zeke shook his head and meowed.
Izzy bit her lip again and again. She looked up at the stars, at the scythe moon slicing the sky. She cursed.
Zeke meowed, and it was a quiet melody in the Hallowe’en night.
Izzy nodded. ‘I’ll try to do it fast.’
Zeke purred.
She crept up the front steps and kneeled in front of the doorway. Izzy frowned at the broom lying there. She listened to the soft purr in her ear, the sweet comfort of the witch’s feline breaths.
Izzy bent down, touching each bristle of the broom, counting, counting, counting. Counting every bristle, doing this for the witch on her shoulder, the black cat who couldn’t do it himself.
Zeke meowed to his familiar. No one inside is noticing.
‘Eighty-eight, eighty-nine,’ Izzy counted, faintly. ‘Ninety, ninety-one, good, ninety-two, it’s good they don’t see, ninety-three, they can’t, ninety-four, ninety-five, they can’t see this, ninety-six, ninety-seven…’
The stars arced across the sky, the procession of planets.
The three cats by the car searched the air with their noses, flicked their tails back and forth, watched the witch’s familiar hunched over the broom.
When she was done counting, all four hundred and seventy-three bristles, Izzy pushed herself up, her back creaking. She was too old to be counting bristles. She said something to Zeke, he meowed something back, and together they stepped over the broom and into the party.
They were just in time for cake and cat nip.
seanpatrickwhiteley 