I know you. You hear a spooky tale and say to yourself, “That would never be me! I would never buy that obviously haunted mansion! I would never get off the highway at that clearly cursed exit! I could outwit anything Halloween threw at me!”

Well, below is your chance to prove it. This spooky season, can you escape without incident?

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again!

for The Washington Post

Michelle Kondrich

Yawn! Stretch! You wake up. It is a beautiful October day. And this year, you are going to be completely safe from Halloween! You will do your best to avoid Halloween dangers and pitfalls, won’t you? Now, let’s contemplate your options for today!

Maybe this is the perfect time of year to buy a new house outside the city. Or, wait, you could go on a normal car ride! Or perhaps you should visit Scandinavia! Or open your mail, where you see a mysterious envelope, covered in writing in an unfamiliar hand!

The Washington Post

Yikes, really? You did see that there were other options, didn’t you? Okay. You and your family are going to buy a new house, I guess. You tell your real estate agent, a charming if confusing person who signs all his emails with “HOORAY!” that you want to pull the trigger on a house this month.

“The trigger,” he says, getting a glassy, far-off look. “That reminds me. There is one house I haven’t shown you. From Redrum.”

“Redrum?” you ask. “Don’t you mean Redfin?”

“No,” he says. “I mean Redrum. It’s a whole app only of houses that are going way below market rate because of — well, it’s not important why.”

“Sounds great! I would love to see it, and I have no further questions!”

“Actually, I would like to look at another house I saw on Redfin.”

“Wonderful!” He claps his hands together in glee. “I can assure you, you will not regret this!”

You drive with him to the house in question. It is indeed beautiful. It has exposed brick. It has stainless steel appliances. It has southern exposure! The sun pours through big windows, but one part of the room remains in shadow, even though you could swear it shouldn’t be. When you stand on that spot, it feels a good 20 degrees colder than the rest of the room. Also, there is a big stain on the wood floor there.

Your real estate agent comes up suddenly from behind, causing you to jump. “Ah,” he says. “You have seen the Ax Room!”

“Why is it called the Ax Room?” you ask.

Your child and spouse (I should have mentioned that you have a child and spouse!) come bounding in before you can inquire further. “I love it here!” your daughter says. “I made a new friend! I can’t wait for this to be our new home!” They beam at you. “Look,” your daughter adds. “I drew a picture of my friend!”

You look at the picture. It shows your daughter, labeled ME, next to what appears to be a giant, ominous cloud of bats, under which is written MY NEW FRIEND in sharp, Gothic script.

“Sure,” you say. “We will take it.”

Maybe it will be nice for her to be friends with a big cloud of bats. Did I mention how reasonably priced this house is? It just seems irresponsible not to buy it, in this market. Where is it written that a little girl can’t be friends with a big cloud of bats? This probably won’t cause any problems — and you are going to get a 3,000-square-foot house!

“Want to celebrate with champagne?” you ask your realtor.

But he is scuttling off to his car. “No, no,” he says. “The sun is setting.”

He shrugs, but he keeps moving toward the car. “It’s not important.”

“What a normal interaction! I can’t wait to live in my new house.”

“Hmm, I feel a sense of foreboding. I’m not sure about this new house.”

Soon enough, you are moving all your possessions into the house. It is a crisp autumn day. Outside the window, a bird is singing. Then a shadow falls. A bat lands on the branch. The bird flies away. The wind moans — eerily? More bats arrive. The sky is getting dark now. But it’s only 4 p.m.

You squint. No, that isn’t night. It is bats. The sky is filling with bats! Bats are everywhere!

“My friend is here!” she cries, clapping her hands.

Well, what can you do? Not move into your house simply because your realtor seems frightened of it and there is something in it called the Ax Room? It’s not as though you can just get in your car and drive, drive away! On a normal, autumnal car ride, even!

That’s exactly what I will do! The road calls!

It’s always nice to have a friend, you decide. Especially if your friend consumes mosquitoes! Don’t bats consume mosquitoes? You read that somewhere. Bats are clustering against the windows now. You imagine that from the outside, the house would resemble a crumb of biscuit that was being swarmed with ants. But instead of ants, you have bats. You wish you hadn’t visualized that.

“You’re breathing very loudly,” your daughter says. “You’re not scared, are you?”

“No,” you say. “I am not the least bit scared. Will you help me get dinner ready? Let’s go into the brightly lit kitchen.”

“My friend says I have to stay in the Ax Room,” your daughter says.

“Fine. You stay in the Ax Room. But I, myself, am going to the brightly lit kitchen.”

“I will not abandon you in the Ax Room. That isn’t my parenting style.”

“You’re not afraid to be in the Ax Room, are you?” your daughter asks.

“Suppose I were a little afraid,” you say. “What impact would that have, from your friend’s perspective?”

“That would make my friend angry,” your daughter says. Outside, a bat thumps against the window. “Oh good,” your daughter says. “It’s beginning.”

“The Becoming,” your daughter says. Is it possible that she’s levitating off the floor an inch? No, no, that’s impossible.

“Frankly, this is not my favorite thing that has ever happened.”

“Tell me more about The Becoming, sweetheart!”

“MY FRIEND DOES NOT APPRECIATE YOUR HONESTY!” your daughter bellows, suddenly levitating six inches in the air and flapping large, leathery wings she did not have before.

The bats are banging against the windows now with loud thumps. Soon, they have broken in and filled the room.

“FRIENDS!” your daughter cries. “COME! IT IS TIME! TIME FOR THE BECOMING!” She extends a hand. “Join me.”

Oh no. It looks as though you are becoming a bat.

“Oh, The Becoming,” your daughter says. She laughs a high, tinkling laugh. “That’s where we all become bats.”

“Oh,” you say. “That’s pretty straightforward.”

“Wouldn’t you like to be a bat with me?” your daughter says. “I think it would be ever so nice to be a bat.”

“All the time?” you say. “Like, permanently? Would I still be able to type? I need to type for work.”

“I don’t know,” your daughter says. “But my friend is impatient.”

“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

OPINION

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