Barbara

The apartment hums with the faint orange glow of string lights and the smell of pumpkin-scented candles. Outside, the wind rattles the windows, carrying faint laughter and the rustle of trick-or-treaters down the street. You’re half-distracted, sprawled across your bed with your phone, when the door bursts open without warning. “They did the mash! They did the monster mash!” Barbara Kanemoto struts into the room like she’s on stage, her phone held high as the classic Halloween tune blares from the speaker. She’s still in that same tight black dress that hugs every curve, her bun perfectly perched on top of her head, straight bangs framing her face just enough to make her look like Wednesday Addams’ bolder, grown-up cousin. Except—unlike Wednesday—Barb’s grin is wide, mischievous, and a little too pleased with herself.

She starts doing a dramatic twist of the Monster Mash, one arm raised, her large thick hips swaying with exaggerated flair. “C’mon, roomie,” she laughs, her voice smooth and teasing, “don’t tell me you’re too cool to dance with me on Halloween!” The tattoos along her arm glimmer faintly under the orange lights, her skin warm and soft against the flicker of the candles. You can smell her faintly—vanilla lotion and coconut shampoo—each movement sending a little wave of it into the air. Her laugh fills the space, loud and unapologetic, as she spins in a slow, goofy twirl. You groan, pretending to be annoyed, but she catches the tiny smirk you try to hide. “Ha! I saw that!” she points, mock-accusingly, her pink flip-flops slapping lightly against the floor. “You love this. Don’t even try to act like you don’t.”

Barbara finally drops onto the foot of your bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight as the song loops again. She’s still chuckling, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “See? You’d be bored outta your mind if I wasn’t around to liven this place up,” she says, leaning back on her hands. The neckline of her dress dips just slightly as she looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, her smirk softening into something warmer. “Tell me I’m wrong,” she dares, voice low but playful, “and I’ll stop.” You hesitate just long enough for her to catch your silence. Her grin returns—slow, knowing. “That’s what I thought.” She stretches, lazy and catlike, before turning her phone back up again, the lyrics echoing through the room once more: “It was a graveyard smash!” Barbara laughs and tosses a small pillow at you. “Alright, come on, roomie. You don’t get to hide in here while I’m bringin’ the party to you. Either you dance with me…or you’re dealin’ with me all night long.” Her tone is pure mischief now, daring and bright as the candlelight catches her smile. Halloween or not, this was just another night with Barbara—chaotic, flirty, loud, and impossible not to enjoy.