Storytellersunplugged

by John B. Rosenman

October – my favorite month. And Halloween, grisly, gruesome, ghastly Halloween – my favorite holiday. Growing up, I sometimes wished it would last 365 days a year.

In honor of the Old Druid god Samhain and the Day of the Dead, here’s a little treat I wrote 25 years ago. It was the beginning of a 62 page novella, The Lazarus Trick, which was about a boy with extraordinary powers. As a kid, there was nothing I enjoyed more than the excitement of trick or treating. It was magical and scary, filled with infinite possibilities that embodied the essence of Halloween. Oh sure, I knew that at the best, I’d only get a candy bar, perhaps a Mars or Hershey’s with almonds. But you never knew for sure. Perhaps at the next house, or the one after that, when someone answered the door and you shouted, “Trick or Treat,” you’d REALLY get a surprise.

Okay, let’s rev up our chainsaws!

TRICK OR TREAT

“Wanna see somethin’ scary?” Mark said.

Tommy looked at Mark, who like himself was carrying a bag stuffed with candy, the reward of visiting 59 houses this Halloween night.

“Like what?”

“Like somethin’ so scary it’ll make the hair stand up on your head, that’s what!”

“That depends,” Tommy said cautiously. Mark was spooky, unpredictable, and had a tendency to get into trouble, yet he felt perversely attracted to him. His father, who did not share his fascination, had warned him to stay away from Mark. Why, if he knew . . .

“Shhh,” Mark whispered. “Just watch!”

Nervously, he followed Mark up yet another walk and watched while he pressed the 60th doorbell of the night. Mark’s impish face glistened expectantly in the moonlight.

The door opened and a kindly white-haired woman gazed at them. Somebody’s grandmother, Tommy thought in disappointment. Probably gab our ears off and give us a piece of gum. Or even worse, Sour Tarts.

“Well, what do we have here? Two boys, is it?” She beamed, and Tommy could see her pink, vacant gums. “And what can I do for you?”

Tommy adjusted his Batman cape and raised his bag. “Trick or treat!”

“Trick or treat, you say?” The old bitty practically went into conniptions at that, hugging herself and doing a little jig. Then she pointed a finger at them.

“You just wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Tommy watched her fade down the hallway and nudged Mark. “C’mon, let’s split. We ain’t gettin’ nothin’ out of her.”

“Oh, yes, we will.” Mark winked at him and Tommy thought of witches and goblins. Come to think of it, when Mark had first come here, he’d been quite popular. Now for some reason kids avoided him.

Footsteps. The old lady was coming back. Tommy saw a chipped bowl full of peaches thrust forward. Half of them looked rotten. Disgusted, he reached to take one.

She snatched it away. “Nooooo, you don’t!”

“Ma’m?”

“Do a trick first. That’s the rule! Least it was when I was a little girl.”

“A trick?” He looked at Mark in confusion.

Mark smiled. “What kind of trick would you like, lady?” he asked politely.

“Oh, something clever. Surprise me!”

“With the greatest of pleasure.” Mark grinned and something happened in his dark eyes. He pointed at the bowl. “Hershey bars!”

Tommy blinked. The old woman’s bowl was filled to the top with Hershey bars, the half-pound size that cost two bucks.

“How did you do that?” he gasped.

Mark shrugged.

The old woman looked at the bowl in disbelief. “Now where did they come from? I could have sworn I brought peaches.”

“You want trick or treat?” said Mark. “Lady, you got it.”

Sores appeared on the old woman’s face. Some of them suppurated and began to run. She dropped the Hershey bars and clamped shriveled hands to her face. One of the fingers fell off. . . .

“How about flying, lady?” Mark said. “Like to be a bird?”

Screaming, she rose and shot through a doorway. Through the front window, Tommy could see her whirling about the living room, occasionally banging into walls.

Mark turned and smirked. “Scary enough?”

Tommy tried to speak but he couldn’t. Horror filled him like ice water, and he wanted only to be back home. Why hadn’t he listened to his father and stayed away from Mark?

“How . . .”

“It’s a knack,” Mark said. “I don’t use it much ’cause I’ll get caught. But now and then . . .”

In the house the woman’s screams rose and fell. Tommy heard a thud. Then more screams.

He swallowed, surprised he could. “What – what are you going to do?”

“Do?” Mark contemplated the moon. “You know, maybe I’ll turn her into an animal next. A skunk maybe, or a pig. I never tried that before.”

Now the hair rose on his scalp just as Mark said it would. “No! Stop it, please!”

“Oh, all right. If you insist.” Mark pouted and looked at the house. The woman swooped out of one of the rooms and for a moment was just as Tommy had last seen her: disease-ridden and terrified. Then she was standing before them with a bowl of overripe peaches again.

“Thank you.” Mark picked one, rubbed it on his sleeve, and took a bite. The old woman started to collapse.

“Hey, lady,” said Mark, “you don’t remember a thing.”

The old woman blinked, straightened, and held out the bowl. “Have another, son.” She smiled. “Take all you want.”

“No thanks.” Mark tossed the pit over his shoulder and hooked Tommy’s arm. He felt himself being escorted back to the sidewalk. He looked down at his bag, surprised he was carrying it. It was filled to the brim with half-pound Hershey bars.

“Now,” said Mark, giving him a wink. “Would you like to see something really scary?”