“Serves him right.” The skeleton closed the sack and stepped over Charlie.
The mummy followed after the skeleton. “You should have just given us the candy, kid.”
“It does appear that way,” the ghoul added with a shrug.
“What’s a little kid doing out here by himself, anyway? You should try to get some friends next year!” the skeleton called back to Charlie.
“And go trick-or-treating!” the ghoul shouted.
“Ah, leave him alone,” the mummy said, having grown bored with the whole ordeal.
“Leave him alone? But it’s Halloween. Ooooo, scary!” the skeleton taunted. “Hey, kid, it’s gonna be a long night. Hope the ghosts don’t get you!” His voice echoed behind him as the boys ran away from the armory.
Charlie sat up and watched them leave—with his candy. The candy he was taking to the barn to share with Old Joe. It was dark now, but he could hear the jingle of the chain-link when they climbed through the hole in the fence, laughing their way back to the road.
Charlie pulled himself to his feet. If Billy were here, he thought, they would be sorry. He was sure of that. But as he stood, Charlie felt dizzy and stumbled out of the armory. A dull ache from the throbbing lump on his forehead was spreading rapidly through the rest of his body and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. It was colder now and the trees overhead seemed more sinister, prompting Charlie to pull the hood of his sweatshirt back over his werewolf mask. When he did, the Hershey’s bar from Ms. Hatchet fell out and landed with a thud in the road.
At least they didn’t get all of it, Charlie thought. He picked up the chocolate, shoved it into his pocket with his photograph and plastic fangs, and walked slowly back to the road that led down to Old Joe’s barn.
— chapter 4 —
Old Joe’s Haunted Barn
THE PUMPKIN PATCH was already packed when Charlie came down the hill to the haunted barn. Despite the weather, it looked like the entire town was there. Young and old alike, a variety of witches, other werewolves, and tutued princesses milled about with ghosts, goblins, and all kinds of ghouls. The crowds would continue like this in steady waves, starting with the younger children and their parents, gradually building in age to the older kids. The evening usually wrapped up with Old Joe reminding them to go home, as the event officially ended with the ringing of a bell at the twelfth stroke of midnight.
Charlie pushed open the big bay doors of the haunted barn. Old Joe was up on a ladder near the doorway making a last-minute adjustment to the “spooky pirate” that swung down from a rafter above the exit. He was whistling and singing a song to himself, which he often did.
Though the worst of the throbbing had stopped, Charlie considered showing Old Joe the lump on his head. It felt like it was still swelling against the side of his mask, and he was suddenly so tired that all he really wanted to do was just go lie down somewhere. Charlie tried to duck past the ladder, but Old Joe stopped singing as soon as he spotted his grandson, whom he recognized immediately, even with the werewolf mask.
“Hold the ladder there, will you, Charlie?” Old Joe called down to him. “This is all fun for the kiddos, you know, but tonight of all nights it pays to be careful.”
Charlie steadied the ladder, although with the pounding in his head, he felt that the ladder was really steadying him.
“They say that the ghouls and goblins like to get out tonight and move around among us,” Old Joe said with a glimmer in his eye. He was wearing his old military uniform, a mainstay of his famous Halloween celebrations. As the “host of the haunt,” he felt that, while he needed to stay on theme, he should still appear as one of the living to serve as guide and gatekeeper to this realm of the unknown.
“But your parents don’t like me talking like that,” Old Joe continued as he hid the ladder behind one of the plywood partitions that divided the barn into a tight, disorienting maze. “My guess is that it scares them.”
Old Joe dropped to a knee and put his big hands on Charlie’s shoulders. “How you doing under there, buddy?”
“I’m okay,” Charlie mumbled through his werewolf mask.
“Just okay?”
Charlie did not answer. He looked down at his feet instead.
“It won’t be the same for any of us tonight, you know.” Old Joe threw his arm around his grandson. “But we trudge on, right? Chin up. We’ve talked about this.”
Charlie nodded as Old Joe stood.
“And we have this storm to worry about, right? Should keep things interesting.”
“You need a hand?” Charlie asked, fighting back a yawn. “Dad said you might need some help tying things down.”
“Naw, we’re good until it all really gets going. Run off. Scare some folks in the pumpkin patch. But be careful. Strange goings-on tonight to be sure . . . strange indeed.”
“I’ll be all right,” Charlie said.
“Of course you will, boy,” Old Joe stated proudly, punching his grandson in the shoulder. “Now, come on. Remember, chin up.”
“Yes, sir. Chin up.”
Charlie adjusted his mask as he stepped out of the darkness of the haunted barn and into the shuffle of the lantern-lit pumpkin patch. Still dizzy, he stumbled forward, knocking over a toddler dressed as a bear cub and a scarecrow, before remembering that he had to be careful with his mask on to avoid the pumpkins that dotted his path.
“Get a load of that. It doesn’t look like a real gravestone to me,” Charlie heard when he stopped to help the bear cub back to its feet. “Just looks like an old piece of plywood.”
Despite his aching head, Charlie instantly recognized the voice. It was the older boy in the skeleton mask. There he was, entering the pumpkin patch with the ghoul and the makeshift mummy, the boys who had stolen his candy.
“And what about that Old Joe geezer?” The skeleton went on, “What’s so scary about Mr. Grandpa Army Man?”
The idiot doesn’t get it. Old Joe isn’t supposed to be scary. He’s the gatekeeper, the master of ceremonies, Charlie thought, ducking behind the largest pumpkin he could find. When he was crouched down, the pumpkin was almost as big as he was.
“Oooo, scary, the headless horseman. Same old fake horse that used to sit in front of the feed store. Remember that thing?”
Charlie sat down with his back against the pumpkin and closed his eyes. Old Joe said that when he was in the army, they were told that it was harder for people to see your hiding place if you avoided direct eye contact with them—a practice that Charlie and Billy put to the test in their frequent games of hide-and-seek.
“With this fog, it’s so dark out here I can’t see a thing,” the ghoul grumbled as they passed Charlie’s pumpkin.
“Oh yeah?” the mummy said. “Put your hand in front of your face.”
Charlie heard a loud slap.
“Hey!” the ghoul cried. “You hit my hand.”
“I was giving you a high five.”
“But you told me to put my hand in front of my face—”
“Come on,” the skeleton broke in. “This sucks. Let’s go check out the stupid barn again.”
Charlie waited until their voices faded, and pulled off his rubber werewolf mask. Compared to the inside of the mask, the night air felt cool on his face. His head was hurting again and felt heavy, so he closed his eyes and listened to Old Joe fumbling with the “scary sounds” record that was playing over the loudspeakers. He was tired, as tired as he ever remembered being, and soon, to the scratchy chorus of howling wolves, rattling chains, and distant screams, Charlie fell into a deep, deep sleep.
— chapter 5 —
Into the Pumpkin Patch
HE WAS BACK there—out on the vast, empty plain. There were birds now too, clouds of them, swirling and screeching just above his head. As always, Charlie could see Billy there in the distance, walking alone in the shadows toward the
setting sun. He called to him, shouting to be heard over the screeching birds, but Billy did not answer. He never did. Even so, there was something besides the birds that was different. Charlie could hear the sound of a heavy bell ringing somewhere close by, and this time in his dream, Charlie started to walk. This time, Charlie followed Billy.
The bell was still ringing when Charlie woke. He could still see the place, hear the birds, almost feel the strange sand and jagged rocks under his feet. But he knew he wasn’t there. It was cold, much colder than it had been earlier, and the blanket of fog that hung over the pumpkin patch was wet with the coming rain. Charlie sat up; there were a few costumed witches and ghosts left milling about on their way to the exit, and he wondered how long he had been asleep.
I missed it, Charlie realized, feeling the lump on his forehead. The blood had dried and the throbbing had become a dull headache. I slept through Halloween. But then he paused, his thoughts interrupted by the trail of a long black cape sweeping over him in the fog. The cold seemed to follow the shadow, and Charlie shuddered when it passed.
It was hard to tell with the mist, but it appeared as though the hooded cape was part of a vampire costume worn by a tall, slender figure.
“Billy?” Charlie was dizzy and had to lean against the pumpkin to stand. It can’t be, can it?
Charlie looked toward the barn. Billy, he thought. Billy was here. Charlie’s mind started to race.
Billy was back; Old Joe must have known and sent him through the woods to scare the last of the crowd as they made their way home, just like he used to. Charlie looked around the pumpkin patch and saw the cloaked figure slowly making its way toward the trees at the top of the hill.
“Hey, Billy,” Charlie called. “Billy, is that you?”
But the cloaked figure continued on its way.
“Billy, over here!” Charlie shouted, stumbling out of the pumpkin patch to follow the figure. “Billy, where are you going? Wait for me, Billy, wait!”
It grew darker as he entered the woods, and with the heavy mist, it was even more difficult for Charlie to see.
“Billy!” Charlie called out, catching a glimpse of a shadow moving ahead of him in the fog. “Billy, is that you?”
There was still no answer. Charlie followed anyway, running after the figure through the brush and trees as best he could. It seemed like they ran this way for hours. Charlie wondered where Billy was going and why he wouldn’t wait for him, or at least answer his calls.
They continued deeper and deeper into the woods, and Charlie noticed that the forest floor had become wet and marshy. He slowed as his feet sank into the cold mire and soon realized that he was in a part of the woods that he no longer recognized. He stopped, glancing at the gnarled branches overhead to try to get his bearings. When he looked down again, the shadow was gone.
“Billy! Billy, where did you go?” Charlie called out to the thunder and croaking moans of the swamp, but still no one answered.
Counting out a hundred paces at a time, Charlie moved forward, looking for signs of the shadowy figure. The muck turned to a cold, watery slough, which slowly rose almost up to his waist the farther he went. I can’t be by the river. Charlie shuddered, retracing their steps in his mind. We came into the woods from the hill, and the river is in the opposite direction. Maybe this is the back of the old army base? The thunder was getting closer now, and Charlie could no longer tell if his shivering was from the cold or the fear that he was lost.
“Billy!” Charlie cried out in a panic. A wolf howled from somewhere over the mountains. “Where are you?”
The thunder brought rain, which blinded Charlie, but he felt a sandbar underfoot, so he waded in that direction until he was able to pull himself up onto a low bank at the edge of the bog.
“Hello?” Charlie called. “Anybody out there?”
He was alone in a small ring of trees. On the other side, there was a low, rusted wrought-iron gate, but the rain and thick gray mist prevented him from seeing much farther.
“Hello?” he whispered again, and then, almost in response to Charlie’s hushed tone, the swamp went briefly silent. Charlie turned back around to the bog. “Billy?”
Charlie froze. With a splash, the swamp was suddenly alive again. Something large was running directly at him from the thick underbrush along the bank. Charlie let out a loud yelping sound that was a shock even to him. He backpedaled as fast as he could, but slipped in the mud.
“Help!” he cried before recognizing the big, wet dog running up the bank. “Ringo!”
The dog jumped on Charlie, pinning him to the muddy ground—but Charlie was too happy to care.
“Am I glad to see you! Where’ve you been? I figured you would have made it back to the barn hours ago.”
Ringo whimpered, and his eyes shot from side to side with every sound that rose from the bog behind them.
“What’s wrong, boy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You can get us home now, though, can’t you? Or are you lost too?”
Ringo’s ears shot up and he turned in a circle.
“What is it? Did you see Billy?”
A cold gust ripped through the trees. Ringo barked.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Charlie reached to grab him, but he was too late. Ringo ran toward the rusted gate, which left Charlie with little choice but to follow.
— chapter 6 —
Here Be Monsters
APPROACHING THE GATE, Charlie noticed that there were faces twisted into the wrought iron. They looked like ghouls and hobgoblins. Beyond them, he could just make out the start of a cemetery that seemed to be more trees and vegetation than actual graves. He thought about leaving, but what about Billy? Where did he go? Besides, he wasn’t even sure of how he’d gotten here, let alone how to get back.
Charlie heard the creak of the rusted gate before he even realized he had opened it.
“Ringo?”
He entered the graveyard. The rainy mist was so thick that he could barely see. He took another step, and another, and then, just like that, Ringo was back at his feet.
“What are you doing?” Charlie scolded. “Stay close.”
He looked around again, but after just a few paces, he had already lost sight of the cemetery gate. The one he had just entered.
“Billy!” Charlie cried. “Where are you?”
With Ringo by his side, Charlie crept forward, moving deeper into the fog, fighting past the brambles, fallen headstones, and broken statuary. When they emerged from the mist, they found themselves in a sloped area where the headstones continued up toward the base of the mountains above them.
“I’ve never seen this back here, you?” Charlie whispered. Ringo replied with a sharp turn of his head.
“What is it?” Charlie’s eyes followed Ringo’s gaze. Something was moving ahead of them in the dark.
He ducked down behind a crumbled statue of an angel and peered out over its broken wing. Through the rain, Charlie could see the cloaked shadow that he had been following. The shadow was stooped and struggled to remove a heavy stone door from the front of an overgrown mausoleum.
“Billy!” Charlie shouted. He stood and took a few steps, stopping short when the shadow entered the mausoleum and disappeared into the darkness.
“Billy! Is that you? It’s me!” Charlie yelled, sloshing through the mud toward the crypt. “Please, Billy! You can’t just leave me here! I’m scared!” But his words faded.
“I don’t understand,” Charlie said to Ringo. His voice now quivering, he stared at the open doorway. “Where is he going?”
Charlie tilted his head back to the falling rain just as a loud crack of lightning lit up the sky. He knew that it could be dangerous to be out, cold and wet, for this long, so he forced his feet forward. With Ringo at his heels, Charlie stepped through the stone door frame and felt his way along the uneven steps that led down into the
mausoleum.
“Billy, you here?” Charlie called when they reached the bottom. His voice sounded hollow as it echoed through the small room. The fire of a lone torch crackled and danced in the far corner, casting animated shadows on the stacked-stone walls. “I guess we’re out of the rain at least, right, Ringo? We can wait it out here and find our way back after the storm if we have to.”
A loud thunderclap spilled down the stairs, almost, it seemed, in agreement.
Charlie crept forward but paused when he heard the sound of grinding stone. He turned back to the stairs of the crypt.
“You hear that?”
Ringo cocked his head and howled; the crypt’s heavy rock door was closing behind them.
“No, no, no!” Charlie cried, running up the steps and throwing his hands onto the cold stone. He tried to push the door, but his effort had little effect. Ringo looked up at Charlie, his howl turning to a whining whimper as the echo of the sealed stone faded to an uncomfortable silence.
“Believe me,” Charlie said to the big dog, “I don’t like this either.”
Charlie dropped back down into the tomb and noticed that there were intricate carvings of ghouls, goblins, and other monsters cut deep into the walls. The creatures looked to be engaged in battle, and one featured a fierce monster on a large horse. The monster was enormous, wearing armor and holding a heavy battle-ax in one hand. Charlie left the gruesome image and went farther, stopping at a huge sarcophagus that was laid out in the center of the room. Beyond that, there was a tunnel with a sign carved into the stone above the entrance that read in large block letters, HERE BE MONSTERS.
“‘Here be monsters’?” Charlie read aloud. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ringo barked at the open passage.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be all right,” Charlie said, trying to reassure him through his chattering teeth. “I-I-I think.”
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