Next to her on the couch, was a cheap plastic pitchfork. Tyler winked, behind an obviously home-made skull-face that took into consideration his goggle like glasses and said, “But the lady is simply too hot, to Count you in.” Jenny blushed and hearing the silence, Tyler looked over at the two men. “Get it? Vampire? Reflection? Count? Devil? Hot?”
Joe grinned past his Glow-in-The-Dark fangs and said, “Oh, we got it, but it wasn’t a tenth as funny as your face.”
Tyler opened his mouth, obviously ready to start the verbal boxing, when he finally noticed Mark. He shut his mouth and raised his eyebrows. Mark wore clothes that were ridiculously large, torn and patched everywhere. He’d shredded a plastic broom to get the bristles free and shoved them into the sleeves, waist, collar and pants cuffs of his clothes, making them look like straw leaking out. In addition, he had cut an old canvas out of its frame and, with careful cutting, made a passable mask, that covered his hair and ears, but left his face exposed. He colored his face to match the canvas and added dark shadows around his eyes and colored the scar on his face so that it looked like black thread closing a tear in the fabric. That completed his scarecrow outfit, when added to an old straw hat. He was very proud of his costume; it had taken him several hours to get it just the way he wanted.
Tyler looked him over, nodded, mumbled to himself and frowned slightly. “Not the best Frankenstein Monster I ever saw, but not the worst either,” he finally proclaimed. Then he looked at Mark’s hangdog face and burst out in laughter, which both Joe and Jenny joined in on. Mark had finally joined in on the laughter when Cassie peeked through the still open door.
She had put together a costume, composed primarily of black fur and a set of pointed ears, adding on the whiskers and tail made it obvious that she was a black cat. Mark felt like purring, himself. She was gorgeous. He grinned and howled, soon to be joined by Tyler, and Cassie blushed. After a few moments of conferring on meeting places and when to use them, the whole group slithered and stomped out to Joe’s van. The night was rich with promise.
2
The Summitville town square was garishly decorated in shades of black and orange, but was nowhere near as colorful as the denizens of the town, dressed in costumes that ranged from cheap homemade specials, to rentals and purchases that must have cost into the thousands. No one there intended anything but a good time.
And no one there looked better than P.J. Sanderson. P.J. had dedicated every book he wrote to a slew of people, and at least one make-up artist was mentioned in each case. He had received a dozen letters, thanking him for the consideration and, in one case, he received a tailor-made costume. It was the stony countenance of Sligis, the Gargoyle from Night Thunder, his first novel ever to sell. Alan “The Blood-letter” Tolliver had outdone himself in the creation and when he’d seen the costume, he practically shed tears of joy. He’d never received a finer compliment, a finer reply, to one of his stories. He turned his head and looked over at the podium, from which he, as the Guest of Honor, would make his speech.
Mayor Hollis had decided he was perfect for the part, seeing as he was also a fan of P.J.’s stories and the man didn’t charge anything for the speech. As he scanned the crowd his eyes ran across various famous monsters and ghosts of every description and he cringed ever so slightly at the clowns and cowboys and politicians that he saw among the crowd. It was P.J.’s firm belief that if you were going out on Halloween, you should go out as a monster, not as a politician. Not, now that he thought about it, there was much of a difference in the long run.
Finally, when he’d almost given up, he spotted Mark and his friends. He waved his taloned arms above his head and called out loudly, until they noticed him. As they came closer, he manipulated the wires that folded and unfolded the leathery wings on his back. Several people nearby stepped away and there was even some small applause for the spectacle. He took a small bow.
“Mark, introduce me to your friends, my boy,” he started and then spotting Mark’s mother, made another small bow. “And certainly you must introduce me to this bedeviling beauty before my slitted eyes.”
Mark made introductions all around and the group spent some time wandering around making comments about the various costumes around them. Mark also pointed out just how many people were looking forward to the story to be told by the guest of honor, some crazy writer that was coming into town just for the occasion. The comment was humorous, but it wouldn’t have been, if P.J. counted on his store to eke out a living. Looking at his watch, he begged off his conversation and stated honestly how much of a pleasure it was to meet them all.
With a mad flapping of his wings, he strutted towards the podium. It was Eight O’clock, time to tell a story, time to liven up the party. The halogen streetlights flickered several times and a spotlight was directed towards the evil form of Sligis. “Good evening, one and all! I’d like to tell you a story, if I may. A story about a night not so long ago, when the demons of Hell found their way to a small town, rather like the very town we find ourselves in. On this blustery night…” It took only moments for the street to drop into deathly silence and P.J. smiled to himself behind the scowling countenance he wore upon his brow.
3
Pete listened to the story, as mesmerized as everyone else in the crowd. The writer spoke with a deep voice, rich in timbre and thick with diabolical charm, masterfully weaving his tale of destruction and horror. No one there that night was unaffected. Pete felt Sandy shiver and pull closer to him, as the writer finished the story, telling of how most of the creatures had been destroyed, but a few had escaped and waited for the right time.
When the story was told and the applause surrendered to the craftsman eagerly, Pete stood and looked at his watch, peeling back the clawed glove on his wrist. “Geezus, he told all of that, in only forty minutes? C’mon, Red, let’s get our picture taken.”
Sandy reached for his hand and smiled a promise at him as she asked, “I don’t know…can I trust you, Mister Big Bad Wolf?” He looked over the body under her Little Red Riding Hood outfit and thought about it for a second.
“Not a chance in hell. So let’s go get the picture taken and then we can find Grandma’s house.” She laughed, swatting at him playfully, as they got into the sprawling line, leading to where photos could be taken with P.J. Sanderson.
As they waited, they talked about the haunted house that the fair offered and wondered how it would compare to last year’s. It was as they were considering whether or not to save the cost and buy a six-pack, that Pete noticed Howell and the little bitch that had Andy put in jail.
Once again, the uncanny mouth of Tyler Wilson was about to cause irreparable damage. Tyler had spread the story of Andy’s defeat far and wide with his usual enthusiasm. Unfortunately, his usual enthusiasm normally translated into gross exaggerations of the facts. By the time the story had reached Pete’s ears, Mark had practically dragged Andy all the way to the Sheriff with his own two hands.
The first side effect to make itself known was that Mark became something of an underground hero to many of the underclassmen, the second side effect, was that he became more of a target than ever before to the likes of Pete and his side-kicks. The only one who had never seemed to slander him in front of the entire school was Tony: That actually worried Pete to a certain extent, leading him to think that maybe Tony’d gone soft.
Also, Pete had honestly liked Andy, a great deal more than any of the other kids in the school. He’d grown up not far from where Andy lived and they had been friends since kindergarten. Andy was a little slow on the uptake, sure, but he was always there when Pete needed a friend.
He looked over towards where the scarecrow stood laughing with his friends and gritted his teeth. Thanks to dick-head over there, Andy had been arrested and Andy wouldn’t even talk to him. Whenever he went to the penitentiary to visit, Andy’d just sit there and shake, like he had a fever. He’d really been sick, looking at Andy, his brown hair had gone white and he had cuts and bruises
all over his fucking face. He also had a double splint on his right hand and tape on his nose, where Howell had apparently broken it.
He felt his fists clenching and almost let out a growl in public. He whirled suddenly, as a hand slapped him on the back.
Patrick Wilson stood before him, a grin splitting his angular face. “Say, wha’s happenin’, Pete?” Patrick was obviously sampling his own wares again, Pete thought to himself. “How you holdin’ up?” It took a second for Pete to realize he was asking about his supply of party-favors, and when he did, Pete just shrugged.
“I’m okay fer now, but check with me later in the week, okay?”
Patrick smiled like the Cheshire Cat and nodded his head very slowly, three times. “Sure, listen, you seen my little bro’? I’m s’posed to see how he’s doin’ check up on him, y’know, for the old man.” Pete pointed to where Tyler and Mark stood, getting their photograph taken with the rest of their little group and Patrick nodded his head again, three times, slowly, before staggering off in that direction.
He started thinking about Mark again, when Sandy interrupted him. “Why do you hang around with that loser? He’s almost as bad as Andy.” She shivered dramatically, as she mentioned the latter and Pete frowned under his mask. “God, when I think what he did to Tanya…”
Pete grabbed her by the arm, fed up with hearing all the bullshit about how horrible Andy was. “Why don’t you get off of Andy’s back?! I’m sick of everybody always ragging on him.” He glared at the girl in front of him, enjoying the way the skin of her lean arm shivered beneath his grip. He almost said what was on his mind: Andy didn’t do shit to Tanya, that she didn’t deserve. She was a teasing little slut. Instead, he amended the thought and blurted out, “Besides, I think Howell over there is the one that killed her.”
Sandy looked at him, as if he’d lost his mind. “That’s crazy! Andy confessed to killing her. Anyway, she disappeared, before Mark came to town. He wasn’t even around, when Tanya was killed.”
“Garbage. I say Howell killed her and that bitch Cassie helped him come up with an alibi. Shit, she probably paid him to kill Tanya. They were always competing for damn near everything.”
Sandy pulled her arm out of Pete’s grasp and stepped away from him, disgusted with his attitude. He had definitely been playing in Patrick’s Pharmacy too much. He’d gone off the deep end, as far as she was concerned. Plus, she and Cassie were good friends and she knew that Cassie had never been jealous of Tanya. The other way around was more like it. “You’re crazy, Pete. I’m going home. If you feel like talking later give me a call.”
Before Pete could protest, she had merged with the crowd of people around them, disappearing from his sight. The world seemed determined to shit on him tonight. Well, he was damned if he was going to take it.
He spotted Howell and his group of butt-buddies, as they walked away from the photo booth. His eyes kept snapping from Mark to Cassie and he couldn’t decide who he should hurt first. In the long run, he decided he’d hurt them both.
4
Joe looked over at Tyler and had trouble accepting that the muscular young man next to him was his older brother. They looked nothing at all alike and their personalities were so radically different that he felt it had to be some kind of joke.
Patrick stood almost six feet tall and had the body of a professional athlete, where Tyler was lucky to have broken five and looked more like a scarecrow in his civvies, than Mark did in his costume. Patrick had clear skin and wore contact lenses, where Tyler was a text book example of acne run rampant and hid his owlish eyes behind inch thick lumps of plastic. And Tyler had a brain, while his brother seemed determined to burn his out with every illegal substance on the planet. He silently thanked God that Mark had never gotten involved with drugs. He couldn’t help but think that maybe Patrick sold more than he used. His body wasn’t wasted into a skeletal parody of a normal person, at least not yet, he added as Patrick nearly fell over himself while standing still.
Jenny had noticed too and sadly shook her head. He grasped her hand and gave her a peck on the cheek, as he pulled her closer. Cassie and Mark were next to them and at the same time, they called out, “Awww, that’s cu-ute.” Joe actually felt himself blush slightly, as he mock glared at the young couple. “Joe, if you and your date,” Mark started, “could unclench for a moment, we could all go to the Haunted House. We’re supposed to meet with P.J. in about ten minutes.”
He and his date could and the group went on their way—without Patrick, for which Joe was grateful. A moment before they got to their destination, Cassie called out to a friend and they were joined by a sixth person, a girl named Sandy, who was dressed in a Little Red Riding Hood outfit. The girl seemed upset, but soon agreed to join them. Moments after she’d met with them, Tyler had her laughing. Suddenly Tyler no longer seemed like a fifth wheel and Joe was very pleased about that.
The Haunted House was full of the normal badly constructed horrors, good more for laughs than anything else. The only redeeming quality about the monsters, were the tiny ones scattered all around the place that moved slightly and had burning red eyes. He wished they had been larger, so that he could have seen them in closer detail. Not the best of attractions at the fair, but they managed to enjoy themselves.
By the time they left, Joe understood why the scrawniest kid in the school never seemed worried about being on the outside of the established clicks. He and Sandy were holding hands and talking about everything under the moon. P.J. seemed to notice as well and he chuckled throatily, as the writer mumbled something about there being tigers, where young Tyler was headed.
He couldn’t have been more right, Joe realized, as he saw a young man heading their way. He was built like a linebacker and wore a Lon Chaney Jr.’s Wolfman mask over his head. By the clenched fists at his side and the tight, angry stride, he had to guess that this was Red Riding Hood’s beau. He looked ready to kill Tyler, and Joe had no doubt that this particular werewolf could. He was thinking about stepping in, when he heard Cassie call out, “Uh, Sandy? Guess who’s here.” She sounded nervous, and that worried Joe; she was too confident for the most part, too outspoken, for her to be easily worried.
Sandy turned her head and paled slightly. Joe decided that something would have to be done and soon. Sandy had started to speak, when the Wolfman interrupted her. “You bitch! I thought you said you were going home! You planning on having Howell frame me too? Is that what this is all about?”
Understandably, everyone was confused by the outcry. A sad side effect being that it gave Pete Larson a chance to plow into Tyler, who had turned decidedly green beneath his homemade skull mask upon viewing the boy advancing on them. Tyler went into the air, leaving his mask and glasses hanging comically for a moment before they fell to the ground. Even as Joe was starting forward, Pete rained blows down on Tyler as the boy tried feebly to defend himself. He had almost reached them when Mark landed squarely on Pete’s back, knocking the wind out of him.
Mark stepped away and looked warily at Pete, as he cursed through his mask and stood up.
“Let’s just all calm down,” P.J. started, as Pete advanced on Mark. “Peter Larson, isn’t it? Yes, you’re a friend of my nephew’s. I’m sure this can all be worked out, I’m sure it’s just a simple misunderstanding.” P.J.’s voice took on that mesmeric quality, as he stepped towards Pete. “Why don’t we all just talk, nice and friendly, before someone gets hurt.” Pete looked around himself, at the small crowd that had formed and thought carefully. Mark stood stock still, with a warning glare in his eyes, as Cassie helped Tyler to his feet. Jenny handed him his mask and magically produced a handkerchief from somewhere to clean the blood from his split lip. Joe stepped up to where P.J. was and stood beside the man, giving Pete his silent alternatives: talk, or get smeared into the ground.
Pete nodded his understanding of the situation and then turned to glare at Mark and Tyler. His eyes promised retribution at a later date. Without a backward glance, Pete t
ook off, moving like a stalking tiger.
Mark relaxed and the adrenaline in his system started producing quakes throughout his body. Joe was still taken aback by the sudden and savage assault he had thrown at Pete when he’d seen Tyler go down. A month ago, Mark had been beaten severely and Joe was beginning to wonder just what effects that had had on him.
Part of him was pleased by the change in his stepson, part of him deeply worried. The boy had looked ready to kill. Then again, maybe boy wasn’t the right term anymore. Since they’d arrived in Summitville, Mark had grown over two inches in height and lost a good fifteen pounds. Maybe he’d have to start thinking of him as a young man.
Tyler was the one who broke the sour mood, with several sharp comments about his clumsiness and vain attempts to kiss Mark on the face, all the while screeching “My Hero!” in a high falsetto voice. Most people trying a line that corny would have gotten a snicker or two at best. Tyler managed to pull it off with ease.
They had a good time for the rest of the night and had nearly forgotten the incident by the time they all headed home.
The Folk had not forgotten, nor did They forgive. There would be a reckoning. The threat in the voice of the One’s opponent had been clear, as had the threat in his parting glance. It was a threat that would never be carried out. They would make certain of that.
5
Patrick Wilson was busy making a deal with Dave Brundvandt around the same time his brother was getting jumped by the Big Bad Wolf. Dave was the only one of his customers who purchased painkillers and amphetamines almost daily.
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