Halloween

by Paula Guran

  They all laughed and pitched in to convince her.

  “All right,” she said, “but just once.”

  It was decided; Mark’s mom would drop them off and then the rest of them would all go together, even Peter and Sarah.

  The next morning Derek and Mark got on the bus together. Derek’s eye wasn’t as puffed up, but Philip Dawkins across the aisle wouldn’t stop looking at him.

  “What are you staring at?” Derek said.

  “You. Your eye.”

  And before he knew what he was doing, Mark shot across the aisle and was smashing Philip Dawkins in the face, driving his fist in again and again and growling as Philip’s friends tried to drag him off.

  “I’ll kill you,” Philip was saying, but now everyone was staring at him, then looking away, embarrassed for him because blood was coming from his lip and he was crying, even his ears red.

  Mark sat rigid in his seat, ready to hit him again if he didn’t shut up. He wouldn’t say anything, he’d just hit him. And when Philip said it again, Mark did. And then no one would look at him.

  “What are you doing?” Derek asked.

  “He was looking at you.”

  “Yeah, so? People are gonna look.”

  “I didn’t like what he said either.”

  “You didn’t have to hit him again,” Derek said, and the rest of the way they didn’t talk.

  “What’s this I hear about a fight on the bus?” his mom said when he got home.

  “Nothing,” Mark said. “Someone was making fun of Derek.”

  “So you split his lip, is that right?”

  “We got in a fight.”

  “That’s not the way I heard it. The way I heard it it sounds like you attacked him.”

  “It was a fight,” Mark said.

  “You make it sound like you’ve been in fights before. Have you?”

  “No.”

  “Then why now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well,” his mom said, “why don’t you go up to your room and think about it, and I’ll think about whether you should do your haunted house tonight.”

  He didn’t argue, he just went up and closed the door. It was starting to get dark, the sun behind the trees, turning the sky orange. He thought of the gun in pieces in Derek’s basement, in a plastic bag. He still wanted to hit Philip Dawkins, and he would tomorrow if he said anything, he didn’t care.

  “Well, have you thought about it?” his mom said when she looked in.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m sorry,” he said, and this really was a lie.

  “You should be,” his mom said, “and if you think you’re sorry now, you just wait till your father hears about this.” She told him to get ready, they were leaving in five minutes.

  Derek must have told on him, but on the way over neither of them mentioned the fight. They talked about the Ghost Mine at Kennywood and all the things that jumped out at you, the hiss of air that made your hair stand up just before the end. This was going to be better, Derek said, because there it was the same ride every time; here things could jump out at you from anywhere. Mark was on the side with his good eye but couldn’t stop thinking of the other, the wall of black there, not even blue stars, just nothing.

  The haunted house used to be the main building of the old hospital. There was already a long line outside, teenagers and parents with little kids. The fence around the parking lot was covered with giant spiders Mark’s mom made from black garbage bags and old socks. From the trees in front hung ghosts and grinning skeletons. The porch was done up in cobwebs, and speakers on the roof blasted out eerie laughter. Mr. Jenner waved them through to the back lot with a flashlight. Father Don’s mini-van was there, and a bunch of other cars. Mark’s mom got out and came in with them to check on her work.

  The hallways were wide but the ceilings were low, and they’d crammed in as much as they could. There were bats that flittered on nylon fishing line, and zombies that peered at you from the rooms, and a mummy who swung down from the ceiling. “Whoa!” Derek said. “Man!” There was an operating room in the real operating room where the doctor cut off the patient’s head, and a torture chamber with an iron maiden and a victim stretched hideously on the rack—all his mom’s work. She bent over the displays, straightening things, touching up. Right now it looked stupid, but in the dark with the dry ice fog sliding along the floor it would be scary, or that was the idea. Last year when they went through, Mark had stayed close to his dad, hoping he wouldn’t notice. None of it was really scary, it was all fake; it was just that he didn’t like being frightened. It was stupid to be frightened of that stuff, he thought; there were real things to be afraid of.

  Father Don was putting on his costume—the lab coat and wire glasses of Dr. Frankenstein. Mark’s mom told him everything looked okay and that she’d see them later and left them with him.

  “Let me show you where you are,” Father Don said, and took them upstairs.

  They had a room of their own, made up to look like the ocean, the walls covered in wavy, mirrored paper with a blue light shining on it, an inflatable shark in one corner, fake sea- weed and cardboard starfish everywhere. There were mossy papier-mâché rocks with a crack you had to squeeze through to get to the next room; that’s where they’d scare people.

  “Cool,” Derek said when he saw the suits, and Mark wished he’d stop being so stupid.

  “Okay, I’ll let you two get settled. We should be starting in about ten minutes. They’ll be an announcement on the PA.”

  “Wow,” Derek said, and looked around the room, turning in a circle. The foil and the blue light made the room seem bigger. He went to the stairs and then came back. “Check this out,” he whispered, and pulled a small white tube from his pocket and handed it to Mark.

  It was Vampire Blood, Mark had seen some in the novelty shop downtown, thin runny stuff the color of maraschino cherries.

  “What are you going to do with it?” Mark asked.

  “We’ll put it on, it’ll be scarier.”

  “You shouldn’t put it on the costumes.”

  “Look,” Derek said, and pointed to where it said Does Not Stain Clothing. “Okay?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Whatever,” Derek echoed him.

  “Shut up,” Mark said, and threw the tube at him.

  As soon as it left his hand, he was sure it would hit him in the other eye. He didn’t mean it; he didn’t know why he was angry. Everything.

  The tube flew past Derek and skittered under the shark.

  “What was that for?” Derek said.

  “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

  “You should be,” Derek said, and retrieved it.

  They didn’t say anything while they hauled their suits on.

  “Here,” Mark said, and zipped him up, helped him settle the head.

  “It’s heavy,” Derek said. “Can you see anything?”

  “Not much.”

  The announcement came over the PA and someone’s dad ran up the stairs and left a bucket with a chunk of dry ice steaming in the corner. Derek held up the Vampire Blood.

  “You want some?”

  “Sure,” Mark said, more to be nice than anything. It would probably look cheesy; all that stuff did.

  Derek held the front of the mask and for a minute all Mark could see were his hands and the tube. The lights flickered and finally stayed on, but just barely. With the blue light it almost looked liked they were underwater.

  “How about your claws?”

  “Why not,” Mark said, and held out his arms. He waited inside the suit and then Derek let go of one hand and took the other.

  “Well,” Mark said, “how’s it look?”

  “See for yourself.” Derek led him forward a few steps and then turned him toward the wall.

  There in the wavy mirror stood the Creature from the Black Lagoon, its lips bright with blood. Mark raised his claws and growled, then did it again, lea
ning closer, and again, till he was inches from it, his breath coming back off the wall. The foil distorted his face, made the Creature’s eyes bulge and slither, his fangs grow. Mark tilted his chin until he could see himself inside the mouth, his eyes looking back at the monster that had devoured him. In the mirror, in the dim light, with the fog rolling all around him, Mark thought it looked very real.

  :

  THE HALLOWEEN MAN

  William F. Nolan

  In his introduction to this story in his Dark Universe collection, William F. Nolan writes: “One of my earliest creative endeavors was a poem about Halloween, written when I was twelve. I’ve always looked forward to this holiday, with its ghosts-and-goblins tradition and its celebration of Dark and Terrible Things. And what could be more terrible than a demon-creature on the hunt—each Halloween night—for children’s souls?

  “When I finished this one, I realized that the Halloween Man might exist only in the mind of my character; maybe he was no more than a projection of Katie’s inflamed fears. But then again, maybe not. He might be as real and terrible as she believes him to be. Thus, the story can be read on two levels: Does he exist, or doesn’t he?”

  Oh, Katie believed in him for sure, the Halloween Man. Him with his long skinny-spindly arms and sharp-toothed mouth and eyes sunk deep in skull sockets like softly glowing embers, charcoal red. Him with his long coat of tatters, smelling of tombstones and grave dirt. All spider-hairy he was, the Halloween Man.

  “You made him up!” said Jan the first time Katie told her about him. Jan was nine, a year younger than Katie, but she could run faster and jump higher. “He isn’t real.”

  “Is so,”said Katie.

  “Is not.”

  “Is.”

  “Isn’t!”

  Jan slapped Katie. Hard. Hard enough to make her eyes sting.

  “You’re just mean,” Jan declared.“ Going around telling lies and scaring people.”

  “It’s true,” said Katie, trying not to cry. “He’s real and he could be coming here on Halloween night—right to this town. This could be the year he comes here.”

  The town was Center City, a small farming community in the Missouri heartland, brightened by fire-colored October trees, with a high courthouse clock (Little Ben) to chime the hour, with plowed fields to the east and a sweep of sun-glittered lake to the west.

  A neat little jewel of a town by day. By night, when the big oaks and maples bulked dark and the oozy lake water was tar-black and brooding, Center City could be scary for a ten-year-old who believed in demons.

  Especially on Halloween night.

  All month at school, all through October, Katie had been thinking about the Halloween Man, about what Todd Pepper had told her about him. Todd was very mature and very wise. And a lot older, too. Todd was thirteen. He came from a really big city, Cleveland, and knew a lot of things that only big-city kids know.

  He was visiting his grandparents for the summer (old Mr. and Mrs. Willard) and Katie met him in the town library late in August when he was looking through a book on demons.

  They got to talking, and Katie asked him if he’d ever seen a demon. He had narrow features with squinty eyes and a crooked grin that tucked up the left side of his face.

  “Sure, I seen one,” said Todd Pepper. “The old Halloween Man, I seen him. Wears a big pissy-smelling hat and carries a bag over one shoulder, like Santa. But he’s got no toys in it, no sir. Not in that bag!”

  “What’s he got in it?”

  “Souls. That’s what he collects. Human souls.”

  Katie swallowed. “Where . . . where does he get them from?”

  “From kids. Little kids. On Halloween night.”

  They were sitting at one of the big wooden library tables, and now he leaned across it, getting his narrow face closer to hers.

  “That’s the only time you’ll see him. It’s the only night he’s got power.” And he gave her his crooked grin. “He comes slidin’ along, in his rotty tattered coat, like a big scarecrow come alive, with those glowy red eyes of his, and the bag all ready. Steppin’ along the sidewalk in the dark easy as you please, the old Halloween Man.”

  “How does he do it?” Katie wanted to know. “How does he get a kid’s soul?”

  “Puts his big hairy hands on both sides of the kid’s head and gives it a terrible shake. Out pops the soul, like a cork out of a bottle. Bingo! And into the sack it goes.”

  Katie felt hot and excited. And shaky-scared. But she couldn’t stop asking questions. “What does he do with all the kids’ souls after he’s collected them?”

  Another crooked grin. “Eats ’em,” said Todd. “They’re his food for the year. Then, come Halloween, he gets hungry again and slinks out to collect a new batch—like a squirrel collecting nuts for the winter.”

  “And you—you saw him? Really saw him?”

  “Sure did. The old Halloween Man, he chased me once when I was your age. In Haversham, Texas. Little bitty town, like this one. He likes small towns.”

  “How come?”

  “Nowhere for kids to hide in a small town. Everything out in the open. He stays clear of the big cities.”

  Katie shifted on her chair. She bit her lower lip. “Did he catch you—that time in Texas?”

  “No sir, not me.” Todd squinched his eyes. “If he had of, I’d be dead—with my soul in his bag.”

  “How’d you get away?”

  “Outran him. He was pretty quick, ran like a big lizard he did, but I was quicker. Once I got shut of him, I hid out. Till after midnight. That’s when he loses his power. After midnight he’s just gone—like a puff of smoke.”

  “Well, I’ve never seen him, I know,” said Katie softly. “I’d remember if I’d seen him.”

  “You bet,” said Todd Pepper, nodding vigorously. “But then, he isn’t always so easy to spot.”

  “What d’ya mean?”

  “Magical, that old Halloween Man is. Can take over people. Big people, I mean. Just climbs right inside ’em, like steppin’ into another room. One step, and he’s inside lookin’ out.”

  “Then how can you tell if it’s him?” Katie asked.

  “Can’t,” said Todd Pepper. “Not till he jumps at you. But if you’re lookin’ sharp for him, and you know he’s around, then you can kind of spot him by instinct.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s like an animal’s got in the jungle when a hunter is after him. The animal gets an instinct about the hunter and knows when to run. It’s that way with the ole Halloween Man—you can sort of sniff him out when you’re sharp enough. He can’t fool you then. Not if you’re really concentrating. Then your instinct takes over.”

  “Is there a picture of him in that book?”

  Todd riffled the pages casually. “Nope. No kid’s ever lived long enough to take a picture of the Halloween Man. But I’ve described him to you—and unless he climbs inside somebody you’ll be able to spot him easy.”

  “Thanks,” said Katie. “I appreciate that.” She looked pensive. “But maybe he’ll never come to Center City.”

  “Maybe not.” Todd shut the book of demons with a snap. “Then again, you never know. Like I said, he favors small towns. If you want my opinion, I’d say he’s overdue in this one.”

  And that was the only talk she’d had with Todd Pepper. At summer’s end he went back to Cleveland to school, and Katie was left in Center City with a head full of new thoughts. About the Halloween Man.

  And then it was October, with the leaves blowing orange and yellow and red-gold over her shoes when she walked to school, and the lake getting colder and darker off beyond the trees, and the gusting wind tugging at her coat and fingering her hair. Sometimes it rained, a chill October drizzle that gave the streets a wet-cat shine and made the sodden leaves stick to her clothes like dead skin.

  Katie had never liked October, but this year was the worst, knowing about the Halloween Man, knowing that he could be walking through her town come Halloween n
ight, with his grimy soul-bag over one shoulder and his red-coal eyes penetrating the dark.

  Through the whole past week at school that was all Katie could think about and Miss Prentiss, her teacher, finally sent Katie home. With a note to her father that read:

  Katie is not her normal self. She is listless and inattentive in class. She does not respond to lessons, nor will she answer questions related to them. She has not been completing her homework. Since Katie is one of our brightest children, I suggest you have her examined for possible illness.

  “Are you sick, sugar?” her father had asked her. Her mother was dead and had been for as long as Katie could remember.

  “I don’t think so,” Katie had replied. “But I feel kind of funny. I’ll be all right after Halloween. I want to stay home from school till after Halloween.”

  Her father had been puzzled by this attitude. Katie had always loved Halloween. It had been her favorite holiday. Out trick or treating soon as it got dark with her best friend Jan. Now Jan never called the house anymore. Katie’s father wondered why.

  “I don’t like her,” Katie declared firmly. “She slapped me.”

  “Hey, that’s not nice,” said Katie’s father. “Why did she do that?”

  “She said I lied to her.”

  “About what?”

  “I can’t tell you.” Katie looked down at her hands.

  “Why not, sugar?”

  “Cuz.”

  “Cuz why?”

  “Cuz it’s something too scary to talk about.”

  “Are you sure you can’t tell your ole Daddy?”

  She looked up at him. “Maybe after Halloween. Then I’ll tell you.”

  “Okay, it’s a deal. Halloween’s just a few days off. So I guess I won’t have long to wait.”

  And he smiled, ruffling her hair.

  And now it was Halloween day and when it got dark it would be Halloween night.

  Katie had a sure feeling that this year he’d show up in Center City. Somehow, she knew this would be the year.

  That afternoon Katie moved through the town square in a kind of dazed fever. Her father had sent her downtown for some groceries and she had taken a long time getting them. It was so hard to remember what he wanted her to bring home. She had to keep checking the list in her purse. She just couldn’t keep her mind on shopping.