"He's probably a serial killer," I said, jokingly hiding my anxiety.

"Shut up!" Grace tried to kick me, but I caught her foot and tickled her, my fingers running up her leg.

"I'm serious! This is Florida. I don't think our life insurance covers a missing body or dismemberment."

"You're so stupid! I love it. Are you going to do it or not?"

I bit my lower lip. I had typed and deleted four messages.

'Hi am Dee. When is the best time for me to come by? I look forward to assisting you' was the first, but that felt too formal. 'Hey, it's Dee. I think tomorrow would be a good day. Does that work for you?' was the second, but I thought that was too direct. After the fourth, I finally decided to call. We agreed to connect the next day.

"There," I said, throwing my phone at Grace. She giggled and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek.

"You're so nice. A Rockstar in my book," Grace teased.

I arrived at the two-story brown stucco house around seven or eight the next morning. The Ram Truck on the deteriorated concrete driveway made me hesitant. The bumper sticker reading 'You make it, they take it,' made me think the vehicle's owner would not want me around his house. I snapped a photo of the bumper sticker and texted Grace to say if I went missing, tell the FBI to look for the sticker.

"Hey, man? I'm guessing your Dee?"

The tall white version of Bill Cosby, slumped over a cane, surprised me. His mannerisms clashed with my perceptions as he stuck out his fist.

"COVID." I deliberately sighed loudly, hoping not to offend him. He shrugged and left me in the doorway as he searched for his mask. I realized he was expecting me to follow him inside as I struggled to hear him talking from the kitchen, his back turned to me.

"You'd think I'd be more careful being high risk. This fake flu has killed plenty of people, and I'm not ready yet."

I stood still staring at him and chose not to respond verbally. He stood watching me expectantly before motioning for me to follow him into the garage.

"I wasn't sure when I posted that message if anyone was going to respond. I knew it sounded like a creeper. 'Hi. I'm an old, disable man that lives alone. I need someone to help me put up the Halloween decorations to attract the kids to my house for candy'. I'm surprised you responded," he said self-deprecatingly.

"Yeah," I said. "I assumed you were a serial killer."

My words brought a smile to his face as he tried to pull a gray container from the top rack of an old metal shelf.

"Who says I'm not?" he joked. "Shit. It sounds like a good Stephen King plot to me."

"You're right," I said. "Yeah, you're right. But you would be a bad criminal. Your entire life is on Facebook. I figured someone in physical therapy two days a week who couldn't keep up with his five-year-old grandson was no match for me".

The bin fell to the floor as it slipped from his grip.

"I've got it," I told him as I moved to pick up the plastic skull and black foam gravestone on the floor."

He tried his best to stand tall, the cane in his hand shaking as his back straightened. He had been breathing heavily, but I could hear the increased decibel of the next few breaths.

"Thank you," he finally said before asking me to open the garage door.

I spent the next few hours exploring the garage, looking for extension cords to power up creepy inflatables and lights. The fake cobweb drove me crazy as I was seemingly unable to get the perfect effect the next-door neighbors had on their hedges. After a trip to the home improvement store for more extension cords and other stuff we realized later we didn't need, I finished the front lawn's graveyard scene.

"It's perfect," Mike said. I realized the gentle nudge was meant to stop me from trying to do more as night quickly approached. We both stood across the street and marveled at the setup.

"Mikey will be so freaked out, he probably won't come in the house," Mike said, chuckling.

"Good," I mused as I extended my fist for a celebratory fist pump.

As I walked through my living room door feeling exhausted, I heard Grace's footsteps on the stairs.

"Oh my god. I was about to call the cops. I thought I would drive by and look for you, but I didn't want to end up a missing person too." She joked.

I told Grace about the day. The fact that Mike was the spitting image of her father and had the same mannerisms. She didn't believe me when I told her that he offered me a joint. She questioned whether medical marijuana was really a thing in Florida and suggested that if the cops rode by, they would have arrested me and claimed I was his dealer.

"We have to go!" Grace nearly scream when I told her that Mike invited us over for a Halloween party. After his son's death three years ago, Halloween became a family tradition. Mike's ex-wife and her husband, along with his widowed daughter-in-law and grandson Micheal III, celebrated Michael junior's favorite holiday together. Because of his hip replacement surgery, Mike could not put out the decorations himself, so he placed a note on the Next Door website asking for help.

'Can't pay ya. Just an old man that needs some help. I have to make sure the kids get their candy. Especially this year where the world's gone to Shit. They need a little light in the dark.' His message read. I don't know what it was, but something told me it was important to help Mike."He's probably a serial killer," I said, jokingly hiding my anxiety.

"Shut up!" Grace tried to kick me, but I caught her foot and tickled her, my fingers running up her leg.

"I'm serious! This is Florida. I don't think our life insurance covers a missing body or dismemberment."

"You're so stupid! I love it. Are you going to do it or not?"

I bit my lower lip. I had typed and deleted four messages.

'Hi am Dee. When is the best time for me to come by? I look forward to assisting you' was the first, but that felt too formal. 'Hey, it's Dee. I think tomorrow would be a good day. Does that work for you?' was the second, but I thought that was too direct. After the fourth, I finally decided to call. We agreed to connect the next day.

"There," I said, throwing my phone at Grace. She giggled and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek.

"You're so nice. A Rockstar in my book," Grace teased.

I arrived at the two-story brown stucco house around seven or eight the next morning. The Ram Truck on the deteriorated concrete driveway made me hesitant. The bumper sticker reading 'You make it, they take it,' made me think the vehicle's owner would not want me around his house. I snapped a photo of the bumper sticker and texted Grace to say if I went missing, tell the FBI to look for the sticker.

"Hey, man? I'm guessing your Dee?"

The tall white version of Bill Cosby, slumped over a cane, surprised me. His mannerisms clashed with my perceptions as he stuck out his fist.

"COVID." I deliberately sighed loudly, hoping not to offend him. He shrugged and left me in the doorway as he searched for his mask. I realized he was expecting me to follow him inside as I struggled to hear him talking from the kitchen, his back turned to me.

"You'd think I'd be more careful being high risk. This fake flu has killed plenty of people, and I'm not ready yet."

I stood still staring at him and chose not to respond verbally. He stood watching me expectantly before motioning for me to follow him into the garage.

"I wasn't sure when I posted that message if anyone was going to respond. I knew it sounded like a creeper. 'Hi. I'm an old, disable man that lives alone. I need someone to help me put up the Halloween decorations to attract the kids to my house for candy'. I'm surprised you responded," he said self-deprecatingly.

"Yeah," I said. "I assumed you were a serial killer."

My words brought a smile to his face as he tried to pull a gray container from the top rack of an old metal shelf.

"Who says I'm not?" he joked. "Shit. It sounds like a good Stephen King plot to me."

"You're right," I said. "Yeah, you're right. But you would be a bad criminal. Your entire life is on Facebook. I figured someone in physical therapy two days a week who couldn't keep up with his five-year-old grandson was no match for me".

The bin fell to the floor as it slipped from his grip.

"I've got it," I told him as I moved to pick up the plastic skull and black foam gravestone on the floor."

He tried his best to stand tall, the cane in his hand shaking as his back straightened. He had been breathing heavily, but I could hear the increased decibel of the next few breaths.

"Thank you," he finally said before asking me to open the garage door.

I spent the next few hours exploring the garage, looking for extension cords to power up creepy inflatables and lights. The fake cobweb drove me crazy as I was seemingly unable to get the perfect effect the next-door neighbors had on their hedges. After a trip to the home improvement store for more extension cords and other stuff we realized later we didn't need, I finished the front lawn's graveyard scene.

"It's perfect," Mike said. I realized the gentle nudge was meant to stop me from trying to do more as night quickly approached. We both stood across the street and marveled at the setup.

"Mikey will be so freaked out, he probably won't come in the house," Mike said, chuckling.

"Good," I mused as I extended my fist for a celebratory fist pump.

As I walked through my living room door feeling exhausted, I heard Grace's footsteps on the stairs.

"Oh my god. I was about to call the cops. I thought I would drive by and look for you, but I didn't want to end up a missing person too." She joked.

I told Grace about the day. The fact that Mike was the spitting image of her father and had the same mannerisms. She didn't believe me when I told her that he offered me a joint. She questioned whether medical marijuana was really a thing in Florida and suggested that if the cops rode by, they would have arrested me and claimed I was his dealer.

"We have to go!" Grace nearly scream when I told her that Mike invited us over for a Halloween party. After his son's death three years ago, Halloween became a family tradition. Mike's ex-wife and her husband, along with his widowed daughter-in-law and grandson Micheal III, celebrated Michael junior's favorite holiday together. Because of his hip replacement surgery, Mike could not put out the decorations himself, so he placed a note on the Next Door website asking for help.

'Can't pay ya. Just an old man that needs some help. I have to make sure the kids get their candy. Especially this year where the world's gone to Shit. They need a little light in the dark.' His message read. I don't know what it was, but something told me it was important to help Mike.