Yellow Post-it Note

How long can someone live in a costume? 

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The screen is the only light in the car. The boy and girl, immortalized through pixels and high-definition color, laugh and play. The boy, with his bright blue eyes, made you believe he was a pirate about to be mutinied, a scientist examining the stars, a British teacher admonishing his students for believing in ghost stories.  

 

He had a good British accent.  

 

“Cheer up, fellow – ”  

 

I jump from the sharp tap on the passenger window. Sean smiles and holds up two packages of Nutter Butters. I silence the video.  

 

“Hey partner. Brought you these.” 

 

He tosses me one package and it slips through my fingers. The phone falls and lands near my shoes. My uniform feels stiff. I haven’t worn it in yet.  

 

Sean rips open his package and I start the car.  

 

“Chief wants us to oversee the off-campus residence at the university tonight,” Sean says.  

 

“Wonderful,” I reply.  

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It’s Halloween. The sky is quiet, dark. The streetlights guide us to the apartment complex.  

 

Once, he stood under a streetlight in his vampire costume and pretended it was a spotlight. I laughed, unaware of how much the costume was ripping him from his identity, fragments of him buried underneath different characters for years. I didn’t see it because I was the one who introduced him to costumes and spotlights and scripts long ago.  

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Autumn, it’s just acting, he said.  

 

He tried to bite someone’s neck that same night.  

 

I park the car at the far end of the complex. It’s not large. I’ve been here before to quiet some parties.  

 

There’s five buildings, 2 floors each. Each floor holds about seven apartments. Most of them will be open so students can have one giant party like last year.  

 

The silence rests in my ears and creates whispers of what once was for him. He encouraged me to attend college. I decided on a different route.  

 

The darkness settles far below the clouds. The nearest streetlight is a speck. A car screeches by. A quiet tickle enters the center of my back.  

 

“Check this out.” 

 

Sean hands me a yellow post-it note with neat handwriting.  

 

“A ghost is here to claim what he used to say,” I read. 

 

“Neat, right?” he asks.  

 

I crumple the note and stuff it in my pocket.  

 

Sean and I split up. I’m responsible for buildings 3 and 5. It’s 10:30. One minute before the party begins. 10:31 on 10-31.  

 

I got the calm side. A woman enters the outside hallway on the opposite side, groceries in one hand and keys jangling in the other. She waves.  

 

“Love your costume! The party’s that way.” 

 

She gestures to the left. 

 

“No, ma’am. I’m a real officer.” I say.  

 

She pauses and laughs.  

 

“Sorry! A lot of the costumes look so real tonight. You should see this one guy! He looks really creepy. But he’s really hot.”  

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“The party’s already started? I thought 10:31 on 10-31.” 

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“Oh, no. They wanted to do something different this year.” 

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She waves and steps through the door.  

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I continue my rounds. I feel the cold, rough breeze through the thick fabric of my uniform. Thunder rumbles from a distance. I rest my hand on my weapon.  

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The call comes quietly, vibrating gently in my pocket. I move the crumpled note aside to answer.  

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“Autumn?” Sean whispers.  

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“Yeah?”  

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“Come to building 2. Be careful.” 

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“Should I call for backup?” I ask.  

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“Freeze! Put your – ”  

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The phone clatters to the ground. 

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I hear screaming. I take out my weapon and run. An outpour of costumes and glow necklaces rush my way. Someone grabs my arm.  

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“Officer!” 

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He’s wearing bloody scrubs.  

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“This is real. It’s real blood,” he breathes.  

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“What does he look like?” 

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The nurse shakes his head and breathes heavily.  

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“What does he look like?!” I shout.  

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“Tall. Long blond hair.”  

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“Which apartment were you in?”  

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“208.” 

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I enter slowly. Plastic cups and headphones litter the hardwood floor. A silent party. Furry spiders with red eyes hang from the ceiling and cobwebs hang loosely on the walls.  

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Thunder rumbles loudly. Lightning flashes through the window. My boots clank on the floor. I remove them. My uniform crumples in tightly as I bring my weapon closer. I remove the top and leave my black tank top on.  

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I enter the bedroom. A woman lies on the bed, ears beside her hand. Her fingers beside her arm. Her blood has soaked the bedsheets and pooled on the floor. Her eyes are open in fear, lined heavily with black eyeliner. She’s dressed as a pirate. I gag and exit the room.  

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I search the entire apartment. No one else.  

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I enter the outside hallway and am pushed to the ground. His screaming leaves my ears ringing. His hands grab my throat and I hit his jugular. It gives me a second to break free.  

We stand and I look in his blue eyes.  

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“Leo,” I whisper.  

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He cocks his head to the side, eyes wide. He lunges.  

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I scream and run into the next open apartment. I shut the door and lock it.  

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I scream again when I feel a hand on my shoulder.  

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“Shh, it’s me.” Sean whispers.  

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There’s thin scratches on his face. Blood trickles from one wound and has dried underneath his nose. 

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“Leo,” I say.  

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“Who?” he asks.  

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Tears fill my eyes. The rain hits the window hard and fast. I reach for my phone and feel the post-it note.  

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When I find a pen, I write out my idea as I tell Sean. 

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“He was my best friend. He lost himself.” 

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“Lost himself?” he asks.  

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“He was a theatre major. He took his roles too far,” I explain. 

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When I finish, I read over it quickly. I hope Leo can read my writing.  

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Sean calls for backup. I grab my gun and head for the door.  

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“Wait! I’m coming with you.” 

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I shake my head.  

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“I need to do this.” 

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I unlock the door.  

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“Autumn? What was his last role?” 

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“A killer at a party,” I reply.  

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I search for Leo. Everyone’s cleared the complex or locked their doors. The raindrops slide down my face and pile on my shoulders.   

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He’s on the second floor of the first building, rummaging through food. His long blond hair is streaked with blood. His fingers are dark red. A man dressed as a scientist slumps against the wall. His eyeball sockets are empty and his jaw hangs open, broken.  

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“Leo?”  

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He turns around and screams. He rushes at me. I read from the post-it note, my voice shaky.  

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“Scene. Police cars surround the party. The killer stands still.” 

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He stops.  

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I want to test something. How long can Leo live in a costume? Can he change characters?  

Sirens blare through the storm. I hand him the post-it note.  

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“It’s your next line,” I say.  

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He reads it. He pushes the hair from his face and clears his throat. His bright blue eyes regain the shine they had when we were young.  

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He smiles and touches my shoulder. And I know.  

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He’s become the character I invented for him long ago. I wanted to prove he wasn’t as good an actor as he said he was. But he proved me wrong. He hasn’t lost his talent for a good British accent. He, the teacher, chuckles and admonishes me, the student, for believing in ghost stories.  ​

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“Cheer up, fellow. It’s not real after all.”