Dad, Where’s Your Cape?
Brian Armer
Dad had the Halloween box halfway back onto the garage shelf when Owen called from the driveway. “Where’s your cape?” Two of his basketball teammates stood behind him. Dad lowered the box. “Thought you had plans.” “I do,” Owen said. “Where’s your cape?”
For years, Owen had helped turn their garage into a haunted passage. He had once needed a step stool to hang the rubber spider. Now he could reach the ceiling without trying, and Dad had quietly decided that this was probably the year their ridiculous little tradition ended. He hadn’t wanted to make his son explain it.
Owen took the box from him and set it on the workbench. Max peered inside. “Is this the spider?” “Show some respect,” Owen said. “He’s been doing this longer than you’ve been playing basketball.” Dad unfolded the purple cape. Owen grinned at the sight of it, and suddenly Dad was glad he hadn’t thrown away the bent collar.
By dusk, the garage glowed green. Max had appointed himself chief monster, Eli was welcoming visitors, and Owen kept finding reasons to send Dad behind the last curtain. The first family made it through with delighted shrieks. Then a small astronaut stopped directly in front of Dad, looked him up and down, and asked whether vampires wore slippers. Dad looked at his feet. From behind the curtain, Owen made a sound he was trying very hard to swallow.
The astronaut wasn’t finished. “My grandpa has those.” Dad lifted his cape and attempted a dignified retreat. Owen had to sit on the workbench. For the next three visitors, Dad refused to look in his direction, which only made it worse.
Later, Max insisted on going through himself. He had spent the evening announcing that nothing scared him. Owen disappeared behind the curtain with Dad, whispering something neither of the others could hear. When Max rounded the final corner, he found two vampires standing perfectly still in identical slippers. “We’ve been expecting you,” they said together. Max made a noise so extraordinary that Eli abandoned his post to investigate. Dad and Owen held their expressions for almost a second before collapsing against each other.
By the time the last family left, Dad’s cheeks hurt. The garage was littered with sweet wrappers, the spider hung sideways, and his son was still there, retelling Max’s entrance with unnecessary accuracy. Dad had spent the afternoon imagining a quiet evening putting things away. Instead, Owen had brought people home to meet the version of his father he’d been telling them about.
They sat on the front step while Max and Eli debated who would drive. Owen held out the last chocolate bar, and Dad broke it in half. “You could’ve gone out with them tonight,” Dad said. Owen looked at him. “I wanted to do this.” There was no speech after it. They ate their chocolate, listening to the boys argue beside the car.
When Owen finally stood, he glanced back into the garage. “Don’t pack it yet. We’re coming back tomorrow.” Dad nodded. He stayed on the step until the car turned the corner, then went inside to hang both pairs of slippers beside the capes.
Who still brings out the ridiculous side of you? Before practice gives way to an evening with your people, bring Zombie Infusion into the body wash you already love, mixed as directed for after-training skin care. Come home ready for whatever Dad’s wearing.