Halloween often reminds us that the line between the living and the dead can blur in unexpected ways. This story explores grief, longing, and what might wait beyond that line.
A Visit from Her Father
Copyright 2015 by Abbie Johnson Taylor
In the high school library, Carrie watched the wall clock tick toward five, Halloween evening. The building would soon close. Across the room, the librarian reshelved books and nudged chairs back under tables.
As usual, Carrie had stayed after classes to study where it was warm. She knew she should leave but dreaded the empty, cold apartment. Her mother would still be at the Baptist church, working late again. Since Carrie’s father—an alcoholic—was hit by a bus and killed the year before, her mother seemed more devoted to church charity drives than to her own daughter.
With a sigh, Carrie slipped her books into her backpack and zipped her thin jacket all the way up, pulling the hood tight around her face. Outside, in the gathering dusk, a raw, cold wind slapped her cheeks. She caught the bus just as it hissed to a stop, climbing aboard, thankful for the blanket-like warmth enveloping her. After inserting her coins into the slot,,relieved that she had just enough, she sank into a back seat.
As the bus rattled along, she stared out the window at shops, costumed children, and orange lights. She thought of her father and smiled. When she was little, before the drinking, he met her after school and took her to the park. He pushed her on swings, caught her at the bottom of the slide, and taught her to throw a softball. He sometimes bought her ice cream, grinning when it melted down her chin.
Someone slid into the seat beside her. A hand rested on her knee.
“Hey sweet pea.”
Her heart lurched.
That voice, it couldn’t be. She turned.
The man beside her looked exactly like her father—same baggy jeans, same plaid shirt, even the scuffed boots he wore the day he died. She smelled no whiskey, just the faint aroma of his cologne.
He was probably another pervert, someone who looked like her father, smelled like her father, and sounded like her father. She turned toward the window.
“I know you don’t believe it’s me, princess, but it is.” He took her hand.
Princess was one of his many nicknames for her.
“Leave me alone!” She jerked her hand away and scooted closer to the window. A few passengers turned to look. Why?
“Honey, nobody can see me.”
“You’re crazy,” she muttered.
“So are you!” a man across the aisle said, laughing.
Her face burned. She gripped the edge of her seat, refusing to look at the man beside her.
“Carrie, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
She needed to get off this bus now. She reached for the bell cord, but his hand caught hers.
“You’ll have a long walk home if you get off here, bug-a-boo.”
Her chest tightened. He used to call her Bug-a-boo when she was little.
“Besides, you don’t really want to go back to that damn apartment with the roaches and the leaking roof, do you?”
So he did know where she lived now. Despite herself, Carrie smiled. He always had a way of swearing that made her laugh when she was small.
“That’s better,” he said, his eyes softening. “A smile from my little girl.”
She glanced down the aisle, hoping to move to a different seat, but they were all taken.
“Honey, I know I haven’t been the best father, but I haven’t touched a drop of liquor since last year, and I never will again. I’m gonna make it up to you. From now on, we’ll have the best of times, just you and me.”
Just you and me? What did he mean by that?
“No,” she screamed, remembering her mother’s words. “I don’t want to go to Hell!”
People turned again, eyes narrowing.
“Honey, your mom’s preacher doesn’t know a damn thing about death. There’s no Hell, just a beautiful place with grass, trees, flowers—you can play softball again. You’ll never be cold, never hungry. We’ll be together forever. You’ll meet your grandparents, too.”
She’d always wondered what kind of people her grandparents had been. Maybe he was right. Maybe death was better than this lonely, half-frozen life—her mother gone most nights, no friends.
He squeezed her hand. “It’s gonna be okay, honey. Daddy’s right here.”
The words echoed from years ago—when she’d been seven, in the emergency room with a nearly ruptured appendix, trembling, tears streaming down her face, as pain gripped her. He’d given the same promise. Then, he’d been right.
A shriek of brakes jolted her back to the present. She felt a jarring crash and heard people and metal screaming and glass shattering, then nothing.
Back Story
This story came to me in a dream years ago and was first published in Magnets and Ladders in 2015. Since then, I’ve revised it.
The original version told too much and didn’t show enough. It opened with several paragraphs of exposition describing how Carrie’s life declined over the years because of her father’s drinking. I cut all that and began with the heart of the story instead. I also changed the ending, adding the father’s description of death, to give it a more hopeful tone.
I hope you enjoyed it, and as always, thank you for reading. Have a happy and safe Halloween!
Photo Courtesy of Tess Anderson Photography
Photo Resize and Description
by Two Pentacles Publishing
New! Living Vicariously in Wyoming: Stories
Copyright 2025 by Abbie Johnson Taylor
Published independently with the help of DLD Books.
Image Description written by Leonore Dvorkin of DLD Books.
As defined in the first story, living vicariously means living your life through someone else’s. You’re invited to live vicariously through the lives of the people in these stories. There’s the lawyer who catches his wife in the act with a nun. A college student identifies with a character in a play. A young woman loses her mother and finds her father. And a high school student’s prudish English teacher strenuously objects to a single word in her paper.
In Wyoming, as in any other state, people fall in love, and sometimes relationships are shattered. Accidents, domestic violence, prejudice, and crimes all occur. Lives are torn apart, and people are reunited. Ordinary people deal with everyday and not–so–everyday situations.
The 25 stories in this collection, most of which are set in Wyoming, are about how the various characters resolve their conflicts—or not.
Click here for more information and ordering links.
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