Things That Go Bump In The Night

(This is an excerpt from a story I wrote. A detective has found a journal from a killer he's searching for. This is one of the entry's the detective reads.)

Excerpt from: Killing Time

Journal Entry for October 31st, 2000

The things that go bump in the night~
It seems to me that Halloween is the only day of the year where society’s true colors are donned for public view. I think the other 364 days of the year are the true days of dress-up and make-believe.
What makes a librarian— a conservative, proper, up-standing young woman—choose to dress-up as a stripper or a famous porn star? Is it that she fears social ridicule and rejection if she were to express her true feelings towards her own sexuality or inhibitions throughout the course of the year? Maybe daddy was a little too strict on the little catholic girl; not allowing her to explore her own body early on? Or maybe its because at this one particular point in time, this one-day of “consensus” people are “allowed” to exists as they truly are… as they were maybe truly meant to be?
The monsters, demons and recognizable T.V characters that roam these streets tonight don’t necessarily bother me or evoke these curiosities. Those people I feel are, normal—at least to some degree. It’s the people who dress up as other ‘types’ of people I’m afraid of.
A perfect example would be this gentleman I saw today who by profession is a doctor—a plastic surgeon to be exact. On this day, this ‘dia de los muertos’ he decides to dress up as a butcher— and a rather bloody one at that.
With a bowl of treats in one hand, a large butcher’s knife in the other, he greeted the children who came to his door. The surgeon’s gown he wore was covered quite generously in what I knew to be fake blood— yet still, I couldn’t help but wonder—was there someone in the tub, in pieces, in chunks? Maybe in the basement, or the attic? What better day than today, what better cover than Halloween? No need to hide, it would all look “normal”. But I digress.
Back to the man—the surgeon, the “butcher”. Is the subconscious contained in this man somehow expressing what he truly feels throughout the year? Does he secretly crave the ability to “carve” his patience into little pieces— to dissect them? Or is it just the opposite— his subconscious somehow dealing with an inner guilt he feels? Maybe it’s not an urge to kill, but more a guilt of “butchering” people all in the name of vanity and financial gain. I guess we’ll never know.
What would the world be like if everyone were able to be themselves all year round? What would the world be like if everyone was accepted for who they truly were? The adored butchers…the beautiful sluts…the beloved pedophiles?