PART 1
For hours the woman next to me griped about my size, my snacks, and even my breathing. Once I switched seats I left her a small surprise that soon had the whole cabin wide awake.
At 61 I’d learned two things: life is too short to care about strangers’ opinions, and you’re never too old for a solid prank.
I was on an overnight flight. I’ve had type 2 diabetes for years and I’m overweight; I’ve accepted my body, though the occasional cruel comment still stings.
That October I was flying overnight to see my daughter and two grandchildren for Halloween. My eight-year-old granddaughter wanted a witch costume and her ten-year-old brother asked for a vampire outfit. I’d spent weeks sewing both, adding dramatic touches that would make a Hollywood designer jealous. My suitcase held candy and decorations. In my carry-on, wrapped in a blanket, was a special surprise for my grandson, who loves scary movies and Halloween pranks.
My daughter always said, “Mom, sometimes I think I’ve got three children instead of two.”
I boarded the plane in high spirits and took my usual aisle seat. It made standing easier and gave me room to shift without bothering anyone.
Unfortunately the woman by the window seemed set on spoiling my mood before takeoff. She looked about 40, thin, perfectly dressed, wearing an expensive watch. Her perfume was so strong I wondered if she’d poured the whole bottle on herself.
The moment I sat she looked me up and down and sighed.
I smiled politely. She didn’t smile back.
“Wonderful.”
Before takeoff a baby started fussing a few rows back.
“Wonderful. Six hours of listening to somebody else’s child.”
Then a man across the aisle opened a bag of chips.
“Does nobody understand basic manners anymore?” she muttered.
Finally she put on expensive-looking headphones. I hoped for quiet. Five minutes later she yanked them off.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! The battery’s dead!”
“Maybe the flight attendant could help you charge them?” I suggested.
“I don’t need your advice.”
I returned to my magazine. A minute later she tapped my arm.
“Could you stop making that noise?”
“What noise?”
“That awful breathing. It’s like sitting next to a broken vacuum cleaner.”
I blinked.
“Well, I could try holding my breath, but I don’t think I’d make it to landing.”
She glared at me. Humor clearly wasn’t her thing.
Trying to ease the mood, I mentioned I was visiting my grandchildren for Halloween.
She grimaced.
“I hate Halloween.”
“Ugh. I hate Halloween. Those disgusting decorations, creepy dolls, horrible masks. I can’t even watch horror movies without having nightmares.”
“My grandson loves all that stuff.”
“I don’t understand why people enjoy frightening each other. It’s sick.”
I pictured my grandson hearing that. He’d probably plan a dozen pranks before she finished. But I just smiled and went back to my magazine. I had no plan to scare anyone. At least not yet.
About twenty minutes in I took a snack bar from my purse. I needed steady blood sugar; my doctor had told me not to skip snacks.
My neighbor noticed at once.
“You’re eating that?”
“I need it,” I replied.
“Of course. Have you ever thought that maybe you should eat less? You’re already taking up part of my seat!”
I stared at her.
“Excuse me? I’m sitting in my own seat. I’m not taking up yours.”
She laughed.
“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? Your huge leg is spilling into my seat.”
I glanced down. Both legs stayed inside my seat, yet I pressed them together anyway.
Ten minutes later she said she needed the bathroom. I unbuckled and stood so she could pass.
“Why does it take you so long to get up?” she snapped. “People should know their size and think about the other passengers around them.”
My cheeks burned. Normally I’d have a reply ready, but after so many insults I found none.
When she returned she stopped a flight attendant.
“Excuse me! Aren’t people like her supposed to buy two tickets? I’m practically being crushed!”
The attendant checked our seats.
“Ma’am, she’s sitting entirely within her own space.”
“Are you blind? Look at her!”
I started to speak, but the attendant gently cut in.
“There’s another available seat farther back. Would you prefer to move?”
I hesitated. I’d paid for the aisle seat and hated rewarding the behavior, yet five more hours beside her sounded impossible.
“All right,” I sighed.
My neighbor smiled in triumph.
Then I reached for my carry-on and remembered my grandson’s special Halloween present. Suddenly I wasn’t embarrassed. I had to bite my lip to hide a smile. A wicked idea had just struck me.
I opened the carry-on and carefully unwrapped the present. It was a doll the size of a small child, with a cracked porcelain-looking face, tangled black hair, and a crooked smile showing two rows of yellowish teeth. Its tiny hands had unnaturally long fingers, and its Victorian dress looked as if it had been dragged through a cemetery. Absolutely hideous. My grandson would adore it.
The doll came with a remote, which I slipped into my cardigan pocket. I sat the doll in my old seat and tucked the travel blanket around her. Only a few strands of black hair showed. My neighbor barely noticed; she was scrolling on her phone, celebrating her win.
I gathered my things and walked to my new seat. I’d barely sat when a shriek rang through the cabin.
“WHAT IS THAT?!”
I looked up. The woman had pulled the blanket away and was staring into the doll’s horrible face.
“AAAAAH!”
Several passengers turned. I leaned forward.
“Oh, you found my grandson’s present!”
“YOUR WHAT?!”
“It’s a Halloween gift,” I explained cheerfully. “My grandson loves scary things. Isn’t she precious?”
“PRECIOUS?! THAT THING LOOKS POSSESSED!”
I pressed a hand to my chest.
“Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say about a lady.”
Someone across the aisle snorted.
“GET IT AWAY FROM ME!” the woman screamed, waving for the attendant.
The attendant hurried over.
“What’s the problem, ma’am?”
“THAT!” The woman pointed at the doll. “I want that disgusting thing removed immediately!”
The attendant looked at the doll, then at me.
“Is this yours?”
“Yes, and I’m happy to secure her properly.”
The attendant explained the toy wasn’t banned if safely secured. With permission I returned briefly and buckled the doll in.
“I can’t sit next to that horrible thing!” my neighbor protested.
“Ma’am,” the attendant replied patiently, “you requested that your previous seatmate move. She accommodated you.”
I smiled.
“Don’t worry. She’s much smaller than I am. You should have plenty of room now.”
Several passengers burst out laughing. The woman’s face turned scarlet.
I returned to my new seat, feeling pleased. Then my fingers brushed the remote in my pocket. I remembered the doll had more tricks.
Back in my seat I took the remote from my cardigan and examined it. Three small buttons, each with a different symbol. I recalled the shop assistant showing them when I bought the doll.
I pressed the first one.
“Khhhhhh… hhhhhh… khhhhh…”
The woman froze. Slowly she turned toward the doll. Its crooked smile hadn’t changed.
“Hhhhh… khhhh… haaaaa…”
“What was that?!”
I quickly switched off the sound. The woman waved frantically at the attendant.
“That thing is breathing!”
The attendant approached and glanced at the motionless doll.
“Ma’am, it’s a toy.”
“I know it’s a toy! But it’s making noises!”
The attendant leaned closer and listened. Nothing.
“Perhaps you heard something from another passenger. Please try to keep your voice down. People are resting.”
As soon as she left I waited a minute and pressed the button again.
“Khhhhhh… hhhhh…”
“Stop it!”
The woman grabbed both armrests. A man across the aisle lowered his book. I released the button.
“Excuse me, are you talking to the doll?”
“It’s making sounds!”
He tilted his head to listen. I released the button.
“Well,” he said, “right now, you’re making considerably more noise than it is.”
The woman shot him a murderous glare. I raised my magazine to hide my grin.
PART 2
Suddenly she twisted around and spotted me.
“You! You’re doing this!”
I lowered my magazine.
“Me? I’m sitting all the way back here.”
“You left that horrible thing beside me on purpose!”
“Well, you did say you were uncomfortable sitting next to me.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to sit next to a monster!”
I gave her my sweetest grandmotherly smile.
“I thought you wanted a smaller seatmate. I even found you one who doesn’t need snacks.”
The man across the aisle burst out laughing. The woman looked ready to explode. And I hadn’t touched the other two buttons yet.
Eventually the noise died down and the flight attendant made an announcement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, as this is an overnight flight, we’ll be dimming the cabin lights shortly. Please lower your window shades so everyone can get some rest.”
My former seatmate reluctantly pulled down her shade. The lights dimmed; one by one passengers switched off reading lamps. Blankets came out, seats reclined, and the cabin grew quiet. Even my former neighbor stopped complaining.
From my new seat I could just see the doll beside her, perfectly still.
Then I remembered the second button. I’d tested it at home before packing the doll. Pressing it made those horrible little eyes glow bright red, as if something evil had awakened inside. My grandson would go wild over that feature.
I touched the remote in my pocket. Perhaps I’d had enough fun. Then I remembered being told even my breathing was unbearable.
I pressed the button.
Two blood-red eyes suddenly lit up in the darkness.
The woman turned her head. For two glorious seconds she made no sound. Then she unleashed a scream so loud I thought the pilot might hear it through the cockpit door.
“It’s looking at me!”
The entire cabin erupted. A sleeping passenger jolted upright, knocking his pillow to the floor. Someone dropped their phone; another man struggled to untangle himself from his blanket.
“What’s happening? Are we landing?!” someone shouted.
Meanwhile my former seatmate had pressed herself against the window, pointing a trembling finger at the doll.
“Its eyes! They were red! I saw them!”
Naturally I’d already released the button. The flight attendant hurried over and switched on the overhead lights.
There sat my grandson’s doll, looking as innocent as a creature with cracked skin and rotten-looking teeth possibly could.
“Ma’am, what’s going on now?” the attendant asked.
“That thing’s eyes were glowing! Bright red! Like something from a horror movie!”
The attendant leaned closer to inspect it. The doll didn’t move.
“I’m not seeing anything unusual.”
“Because it stopped! I’m telling you, it was looking directly at me!”
From somewhere across the aisle a man muttered, “Maybe it doesn’t like your perfume.”
Several passengers laughed. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I nearly hurt myself.
Then the woman suddenly twisted around and pointed straight at me.
“She’s controlling it! I know she is!”
I looked up innocently.
“Controlling what?”
“The doll! She’s making it do things!”
“I’ve been sitting here quietly. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Get that thing out of here!” she demanded, turning back to the attendant. “I’m not spending another minute beside it!”
The attendant looked toward me.
“Ma’am, if your doll has electronic features, could you please make sure they’re switched off? We need to let everyone rest.”
“Of course,” I replied sweetly. “Wouldn’t dream of disturbing anyone.”
The woman gave an outraged gasp. I tucked the remote deeper into my pocket. But judging by the way she glared at the doll, my former neighbor wasn’t ready to drop it.
“I want that doll confiscated!” the woman demanded. “Put it somewhere I can’t see it!”
The flight attendant stayed remarkably patient.
“Ma’am, we can’t confiscate a permitted toy simply because you dislike its appearance. Its electronic features will remain switched off.”
“That’s ridiculous! She’s been tormenting me!”
The attendant folded her hands.
“Ma’am, this passenger gave up her seat because you said you were uncomfortable. Since then, we’ve received several complaints about your shouting.”
A man sitting behind her leaned forward.
“That lady hasn’t bothered anyone since she moved. You’re the one waking everybody up.”
Another passenger chuckled.
“At least the doll isn’t complaining about how much space it needs!”
Laughter rippled through the surrounding rows. The woman looked around, apparently expecting someone to defend her. Nobody did.
“Fine!” she snapped. “Then I’m moving!”
The attendant checked for another available seat and directed her farther down the cabin. My former neighbor snatched up her handbag and phone, muttering something about being trapped on an airplane full of lunatics.
As she passed my row she stopped and leaned toward me.
“You’re a horrible woman,” she hissed.
I gave her my warmest grandmotherly smile.
“And you have a wonderful Halloween.”
She marched away without another word. I watched her disappear behind the curtain separating the cabin sections. Then I looked toward my old seat. My little porcelain-faced friend was still sitting there, smiling. For once I couldn’t have agreed with her expression more.
Once the woman was gone I caught the flight attendant’s attention.
“Would it be possible for me to return to my original seat?”
“Of course, ma’am. Just please keep the doll’s electronic features switched off and put it away.”
“Absolutely. She’s caused enough excitement for one night.”
I retrieved my little monster, tucked her safely into my carry-on, and settled back into my aisle seat. For the first time since boarding I could actually relax.
A few minutes later the attendant brought me some water. She glanced at the tangled black hair sticking out of my bag.
“Your grandson must have quite a sense of humor.”
I grinned.
“Oh, he gets that from me.”
She laughed and continued down the aisle.
I leaned back, imagining my grandchildren’s faces when they saw their costumes and presents. I could practically feel their little arms wrapping around me. Then I patted my carry-on affectionately. I’d bought that doll to give my grandson the scare of his life. Turns out, it had already given me the best flight of mine.
