&& | @constancexlangdon
October in Los Angeles is never TRULY cold. Even after dark on Halloween night there is barely a CHILL in the ocean & exhausted scented air. That is — - unless one finds themselves on or near 939 Berro Drive, the old house that emits its own kind of chill any day of the year but is INTENSIFIED on the night of All Hallows Eve – - perhaps because of the spirits who are ( FINALLY ) allowed to leave its hallowed walls…
& at approximately 5:17pm one such spirit left those walls & traveled approximately one yards length away, burdened down with a delicately covered cake tray & a MISSION.
A quick knock on the BACK DOOR ( it would be unseemly to go through the front ) & a cordial but not entirely warm smile settled plainly on unpainted lips – this is her TRUE form. No longer the siren but the truth of her soul. Seen by this woman. This murderer.
Strange perhaps that she would bring Constance Langdon ( of all people ) a BAKED GOOD. But the cake was not for her.
Not really.
“I know you are in there Mrs. Langdon,” clipped speech, raised slightly to be heard through the glass, “I can smell your cigarettes & self loathing.”
Goddamn trick-or-treaters.
She had left a bowl of candy on the front porch; such had become her way the past few years. Three Halloweens gone by since the older woman cared to uphold her own tradition and pass out full-sized chocolate bars---the bowl on the porch was filled with one of those assorted mixes, the cheap kind from the bottom shelf at the drug store. But some kid had been wise enough to come to the back door... hell, maybe she had left the gate open taking the dogs out.
Her cigarette is set in the ashtray to smolder; the small remainder of bourbon is drained from her glass before she gets up---but she freezes, startled some by the voice seemingly coming from outside the door. Not for the first time lately, Constance Langdon begins to wonder if she’s losing her mind.
The dead can walk freely on Halloween. Addie would have reminded her, if she were there, and Constance’s heart resumes its usual pattern after that momentary skip.
She opens the door, but does not invite Moira O’Hara inside. “---I’m here, but you must have the wrong house. I can’t imagine why you would choose to spend your only evening of freedom with me.”











