Happy Halloween! 3: Chapter 1

The story continues as we step away from Armenor and reunite with the Legcheeses and their friends.

A poor sketch of mine from 2013, to give you a rough idea of what the Halloween Friends look like.

Chapter 1

The Mash Next Door

Jonathan Legcheese yawned and stared at the screen, waiting for a response.  He still did not understand this whole “Skype” thingamajig, but when his only semi-sane human friend in town insisted upon using it, he had little choice but to agree.  At least his friend was getting better at saving his daily “It’s a Small World” number (sung in continuous, window-shattering, and unskilled falsetto) for occasions outside of their video chats.

“That Thanta sure thounds like one big thilly gooth!” Stanley Pharmacist lisped, almost spilling Dennis’s bowl and thereby causing three seconds of unparalleled chaos for his pet goldfish.  “But at leatht you met that Rudolph! Jonathan, why haven’t you told me thith thtory before?”

“I have, Stanley,” Jonathan remarked.  “I’ve told you this story once a month for the past ten months.  You were part of it, remember? Your mom chasing Santa out of your house with a rolling pin? The news calling it the ‘Great Christmas Incident of 2005’? Does any of this ring a bell?”

“I’m not ath young as I uthed to be,” said Stanley mournfully, placing a hand on his forehead.

“You’re 15,” Jonathan pointed out.

“And you’re thicthteen now! You got your lithenth and everything. You can drive me and Dennith to Petco!” The boy, his eyes all aglow, lifted the fishbowl to eye level.  “Doth my Dennith want a little girlfriend guppy to keep him company?” He listened intently for a moment, then appeared shocked.  “Three guppieth? You want a fish-harem? Oh, no….”

Jonathan, knowing that Stanley would need to have a serious talk with his pet goldfish about the importance of monogamy, pressed the power button on his computer and sat back in his chair.  Unintentionally, his eyes wandered to the side table next to his bed where Ms. Unicorn had once rested, rearing up triumphantly on her hind legs.  She was not there anymore, and he had decided to leave her spot blank rather than replace her with those shoddy plastic horses he saw at Target, or even with one of his five dozen toy ponies that lined the shelves on his scintillating wall.  She was an irreplaceable testament of courage, strength, and majesty.  Surely, her resplendence and countless victories over malevolence would be memorialized through songs all across the West for years to come.  “Happy Halloween, Ms. Unicorn!” said the boy, standing and sauntering to the dresser on the opposite side of his room.  “I hope you’re enjoying the holiday up there in unicorn heaven.”

On top of his dresser was the notebook that Santa had given him, and the white pencil lying beside it; they sat there alone, dusty with ten months of disuse.  For a moment he considered pocketing the notebook, perhaps to pencil an account of the day’s activities—but he told himself that he probably would not write anything.  He never did.  Even when he cleared his desk and his mind of all distractions, and opened to the first blank page of the booklet, nothing noteworthy came to him.  I’ve granted you a gift for good; may you write for goodness’ sake, he recalled Santa’s message to him, which had accompanied the gift.  Writing is a blessing; its power none can see.  Now write in your own ending; make it a victory.  Life and death are in your hand.  Maybe Santa’s tonic had left residual effects of madness, evident in the plump man’s cryptic words.  Or perhaps Jonathan would find the ability to write when there was something worth writing.

After donning an orange shirt and black pants, he left his room and found everyone and his mother standing around doing absolutely nothing in the family room.  Except for his father, of course.  Mr. Legcheese was swaying to music in his head and whipping up his famous “Annual Pumpkin Muffins” for the fortieth consecutive year.  This was some feat, as he was forty-three.

“‘ey, Johnny boy!” the man shouted, holding a tray of muffins in either hand.  The apron with Cat’s head emblazoned on it seemed a bit out of place but extravagant nonetheless.  “So you finally decided to leave your room. What in your great uncle Horace’s name could have kept you in there so long on the morning of Halloween?”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” agreed Shameka with a scowl.  “Ghost over here was getting antsy and was about to dump a bucket of ice on you to get you up.  Isn’t that right, Ghost?”

“That’s right.” Ghost was fuming.  “Jonathan, why would you invite us over for a ‘groovy shindig’—your words—at noon and decide to come out at 12:30? Do you know how long we stood out here? What do you expect your guests to do? I’ve been twiddling my thumbs for over half an hour.”

“Ghost, you don’t even have fingers!” Pumpkin threw an exasperated stem to where his forehead might have been.  “You don’t have thumbs to twiddle!”

“Firstly, that’s racist,” said his ethereal companion.  “Secondly, what’s with the outburst?”

“I’m sick and tired of you blaming others for your problems,” muttered the squash, “especially when you don’t have problems.”

Ghost shook his head.  “I know what this is about.  This is about me getting mad at you for misplacing the floss at our apartment, isn’t it?”

Pumpkin stared at him.  “You. Don’t. Have. Teeth.”

Ghost glared back at him.  “Mr. Cornelius is going to hear about this.”

Jonathan was about to provide his wise input on the subject when his ears caught the sound of what was presumably some sort of wild animal moaning, or perhaps the whine of a neighbor’s dog beleaguered by a severe flea problem.  But when this unearthly squeal was followed by the unmistakable voice that exclaimed “Johnny boyfriend!” he turned with excitement toward the hallway.  There she was, Awana Humphfree, charging toward him like a rhino that had spent years in captivity and was only recently granted its freedom.  Each spike of her sanguine hair was a foot long, held intact by the finest and strongest beeswax that China had to offer; her green left eye was particularly viridescent today, while her black-hazel eye looked no different than usual; she wore leggings that depicted several key scenes from the movie Casper (which resulted in an expression of total revulsion from Ghost), along with a custom gray sweater inscribed with the glittery verse, Mark 14:51-52; on her feet were black, lacy heels, and from her earlobes swung two absurdly detailed turkey earrings.

“Awana!” Jonathan cried.  “I’m so glad you made it, turtledove!”

“Oh. My. Gosh.” Awana stopped and turned to look at Witch, who was picking splinters from her flying broom.  “He called me ‘turtledove!’”

The hag shook her head.

“Thank you for making it to the party on time,” said Jonathan, toeing the carpet nervously.  “Your hair looks really red today.”

“Johnny boyfriend, you sure know how to make a girl blush,” said Awana, clasping her hands behind her back.  “I’ve been here since six this morning.  I was watching you sleep until your parents asked me to help them put up the Halloween decorations out front…two hours ago?”

“Biggest mistake of my life,” lamented Mr. Legcheese.  “Girl has no notion of product placement.  She used every last square yard of our spiderwebs to cover the mummy.  How are any of our trick-or-treaters going to see our mummy now? Riddle me that, Humphfree!” He set down the trays of muffins, tore off his oven mitts, stormed off, and slammed a door behind him.

“Hold on a second,” said Pumpkin to Awana. “Are you telling me that you got here at six and watched Jonathan sleep until ten-thirty?”

“That’s right, Pumpkin,” answered the girl, staring at her boyfriend with admiring eyes.  “I love how he sort of chirps like a bird when he has happy dreams.”

“Oh, that’s…wow.” Pumpkin shook his entire body and sighed long.  “I need to go back to Armenor.”

“So what’s the plan for today, Jonathan?” Bat screeched, flapping his wings desperately to keep himself in the air.

Jonathan gave Awana a hug and seized a muffin.  “First, we’ll eat lunch and have storytime.  Frankenstein’s monster is going to read that book about himself….What was that one called again, Frankie?”

The monster rubbed his chin.  “Dear Jonathan, while it is indeed true (how difficult it was to avoid employing the word ‘veritable’) that I am improving in my knowledge of everyday speech (not ‘colloquialism,’ as I formerly would have uttered), societal mores, and social queues, I am unable to determine if your question was proposed in jest.  It is called Frankenstein by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley.”

“That’s right, Frankenstein! It totally slipped my mind.  Anyway, after we hear the story, we’ll get our costumes ready.  Then we get candy.”

“Yeah!” cheered Awana, raising an exultant hand toward the ceiling.  But after a moment, her smile fell and her lips trembled.  Tears began to well in her eyes. 

Everyone proceeded to mingle, but Jonathan took Awana’s hand and stared at her.  “What’s wrong, sugarplum?”

She looked intently at his face.  “One year ago today, I didn’t even know what Halloween was, because Apo wiped away everyone’s memory of the holiday.  Almost a month after that, we had the incident on Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday ever!  Even Christmas was affected by the schemes of that evil professor.  Now it’s the holiday season again, and we’re all here together, fully aware of what day it is.  Our enemies are gone, and nothing—no one—can stop us from celebrating.  Sometimes I’m just overwhelmed with thankfulness that it’s all over.”

Jonathan smiled at her and kissed the top of her head.  It was all over.  Mr. Cornelius had created such realistic characters that they had materialized in time and space, and had taken on lives of their own.  Professor Aponowatsomidichloron and his mother, M.D., were two of these characters.  They had devised ways of ruining the holidays for the people of Vacaville through the use of potions: one to erase the memory of Halloween, one to resurrect the dead, one to turn goodness to blight, one to erase the memory of Thanksgiving, one to erase the memory of Christmas, and one to create portals between earth and Armenor.  Jonathan and his friends had destroyed the first potion when they had defeated Apo, and had thereby ensured that the other potions to erase the memory of Thanksgiving and Christmas were never created.  M.D. had used the sixth potion to open a portal between earth and Armenor, but Super Pumpkin had cast the portal potion off Melonir—right after Jonathan had defeated her and broken the vial of the resurrection potion.  Apo and M.D. had preemptively sent the concoction of “goodness to blight” to Santa and corrupted him with it…but the Halloween Friends had overcome him and cast the potion into the Arctic’s bowels.  That was the end of it, thought Jonathan.  We destroyed all the potions.  We defeated Apo and M.D.  Nothing crazy happened on Valentine’s Day, Saint Patrick’s Day, or Easter.  The holidays are safe, and so are we.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road!” Bat demanded.  “I can’t wait to hear about old Frankie’s origins.  I’m sure it’s a short and sweet tale. Then we can get candy, and Cat and I can return to the mansion.  Right, Cat?”

“Meow,” said Cat.

“Speaking of the mansion, how is the Man With the Green Toe these days?” inquired Jonathan.  “It feels as if I haven’t talked to him in approximately fourteen years.”

“He’s been depressed, moping around the mansion lately,” said Ghost, drifting over to the kitchen.  He tried really hard to pick up a muffin, looking at Pumpkin the entire time.  Even though his incorporeal body failed to touch the physical object, the appearance of rage on Pumpkin’s face (as the squash wondered which relative of his had been slaughtered to sate the partygoers’ appetites) was almost visible.

“What?” asked Awana.  “Why is poor Mr. Cornelius depressed?”

Pumpkin averted his attention from Ghost’s attempted betrayal.  “That lousy excuse for a writer has been referring constantly to the conclusion of one of his stories.  It’s the end of a series, he has told us, but he won’t go into any detail about it.  He said he has a feeling he’ll soon have to say goodbye to some of his characters.”

Jonathan’s heart sank.  He told me that I’m one of his characters.  “Did he—did he happen to mention which story this is? Or which characters he might have to say goodbye to?”

“Afraid not, kid,” said Pumpkin.  “It seems to be a sensitive subject for him.  And he doesn’t tell me anything, anyway.  He never has.”

“Perhaps, dearies, we should bring a plate of these gingerbread cupcakes to him,” suggested Witch, taking two muffins from one of the trays.

“Those are pumpkin muffins, Witch,” Awana pointed out.

The old hag wrinkled her nose as she consumed one of the morsels whole.  “On Christmas of all days? I detest pumpkin! No offense, Pumpkin.”

The squash shrugged. 

Just at that moment, there was a loud boom that reverberated through the building, causing a clock to plunge from the wall to the floor.  The sound was gone in an instant, and those present glanced around the room with inquisitive expressions.  Another boom blasted through the residence, lasting a couple of seconds before fading.  Everyone held their breaths in anticipation.  Then the house began to shake violently.  Ghost, stunned, fell dramatically to the carpet, cursing like a sailor.  Frankenstein’s monster and Witch dropped into battle stances.  Jonathan and Awana closed in together and wondered what evil could possibly be visiting them now.  Bat alighted upon a recliner and stuck out his chest threateningly.  Pumpkin drew his sword, which he always kept at his side—even when sleeping or bathing.  Cat, her fur on end, let out a slow and admonishing hiss.

The violent shaking did not fade within seconds, or even after a minute.  Jonathan looked at his mother.  “What is this? If it’s an earthquake, it must be the longest one in history!”

“It’s not an earthquake, Johnny,” she said, her voice composed.  “Strain your ears, son! It’s not the quaking of earth, but the sound of music that I hear!”

Jonathan realized that he did hear music accompanying the tremors.  He dashed to the front door and swung it open.  The entire street seemed to be shaking, but indeed, an earthquake was not the culprit.  He gazed across the front lawn and noticed that their next-door neighbor’s house seemed almost ready to burst with a heavily amplified and undeniably charming “Monster Mash.”  The windows of the house shone with an orange, enticing glow, and he thought he could see black and orange streamers hanging from the ceiling inside.  Above the front door was a sign with the large and sparkly words, “Happy Halloween!”  Four bowls brimming with candy, their exteriors covered in googly eyes, rested on stools in the patio area.  The property was decorated to perfection: tombstones with silly names (Al B. Bach, for example), skeletons taking baths in cauldrons, black tarps concealing frightening mummies, malicious scarecrows shouldering undead crows, and of course spiderwebs everywhere (Mr. Legcheese would have been envious to see that not a single tapestry of web hid the mummies from view).  Jonathan’s mouth nearly dropped open in amazement.

“Johnny boyfriend, what do your elf eyes see?” asked Awana.

“He can’t hear you!” shouted Shameka.  “It’s our neighbor, Watson. Usually he is more considerate than this.  I think I need to go have a word with him!  There is no reason for anyone to be playing their music this loudly at such a late hour.”

“But it’s noon,” said Pumpkin, “and didn’t I hear that you were blasting music and doing the Carlton around Christmastime last year?”

Shameka grunted.  “No comparison, Mr. Squash.” She marched to the other side of the room, clearly seething.  “Johnny, move out of the way.  And take your pill! I’m going to give Watson a piece of my mind.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jonathan volunteered, completely ignoring her command about the pill.  “I thought Watson was that weird next-door neighbor that everyone has, but his taste for music is impeccable.  And look at his lawn! I might make a new friend.”

“Fine, let’s go,” beckoned his mother, “before our windows start shattering.”

She trudged across the yard, weaving around the poorly positioned decorations.  The others followed closely, curious to experience the outpouring of her wrath.  As Jonathan drew nearer to his neighbor’s house, he was increasingly impressed by the meticulousness in every item that garnished the property.  There were even holographic stickers on the front door: cartoonish pumpkins, ghosts, witches, bats, cats, vampires, skeletons, and other figures that were commonly displayed on Halloween.  I haven’t seen this man decorate his house once the entire time he has lived here, thought Jonathan, rubbing his chin.  I know he was just getting moved in last November, but you’d think a man this excited about holidays would have made Christmas decorations a priority.  Or maybe he just really likes Halloween.  Can’t blame him.

Along the way, he could not help but look over his shoulder at what was clearly the most beautiful vehicle to ever have graced the streets of Vacaville.  Parked beside the curb and shining in its retro glory was an orange 1976 Volvo Station Wagon.  Its right mirror was cracked and its left mirror was partially detached from the door; its windshield wipers had been stripped of their rubber, leaving nothing but a couple of lethal metal blades; both of the back doors had been bereaved of their handles; the door to the trunk was smashed and its window completely missing after someone had backed into a fire hydrant at thirty-five miles per hour; sometimes the headlights worked.  Most importantly, the car was property of one Jonathan Legcheese, and he had loved few things on earth as much as he loved that vehicle.  He would often drive to Awana’s house around the corner, pick her up, and drive her back to his house.  If he was feeling especially dangerous, he would take the car to get some food.  Freeways were avoided at all costs, because he was a nonconformist (that’s what he told people, at least) and hopelessly afraid of driving fast (which was the truth).  He had named the car “Pumpkin on Wheels” –POW—after a close friend of his, and he regularly boasted about the letters of his unique and widely-recognized license plate: UNICORN.

By some miracle, he managed to wrench his eyes from the glorious metal specimen and turn his attention to the matter at hand.  Shameka ascended the steps to their neighbor’s patio and rapped on the door while the others stayed several feet behind.  A cool autumn breeze flicked Jonathan’s hair to and fro and tickled his skin, covering his arms in goosebumps.  Bat attempted to have a conversation with Cat, but the blaring music instantly drowned out his words.  Awana tapped her foot to the beat.

“Clearly, no one’s home!” Ghost yelled after about five whole seconds.

“I am afraid that logic eludes you, mine ectoplasmic companion,” boomed the voice of Frankenstein’s monster.  “It is perfectly rational to presume that the ear-flattering—albeit far too clamorous—song we hear must have commenced upon an external impetus.”

Ghost looked at Pumpkin helplessly.  Before the squash could decode the verbose statement, the door cracked open and a wave of warmth blanketed the group.  Orange light, exceedingly bright even at midday, spilled across the patio and onto the walkway where the Halloween Friends stood.  Watson appeared at the door, but Jonathan looked past him into the house; there was a table bearing at least a dozen pumpkin pies, another table laden with bowls of snacks and punch, orange and black confetti on the floor, and trays overflowing with various tantalizing meats (their aroma nearly irresistible) on the kitchen counters.  The voices of people talking inside were barely audible above “Monster Mash.”

Their neighbor wore a sable wide-brimmed hat, a brown trench coat, black pants, and weatherworn boots.  His mustache was dark, thick and unkempt, and his spectacles darker and perfectly circular.  It was unclear if he was aiming to look like a detective or a Nazi military officer.

“Shameka!” exclaimed the man, giving her a hug.  He reached over his shoulder with a remote and turned down the volume of the music.  “What brings you here this fine holiday?”

“Um...hi, Watson,” she answered, obviously surprised by his friendliness.  “Uh....Happy Halloween!”

“And the same to you, neighbor!” He noticed the others standing in the background.  “Hey, kids, awesome costumes! Feel free to grab some candy; I think I have enough here for every child in Vacaville, Solano County, and probably all states adjacent to California.”

“Candy!” squeaked Bat, almost knocking over Witch as he flapped his way to the porch.  The old hag muttered something about being tired of getting knocked down and tripping over pumpkins.  Ghost went to one of the bowls and reached for a candy bar, but returned to the group empty-handed and forlorn.

“That’s really kind of you, Watson,” said Jonathan’s mother, pocketing twelve miniature peanut butter cups.  “Gee whiz, now I feel bad about my reason for coming over here.”

“What’s that, now? Don’t worry, you can be frank.”

“With all due respect, I’d prefer to be Shameka,” said the woman, snorting with laugher and seizing ten Kit-Kats.

The man slapped his knee and chuckled.  “You Legcheeses and your sense of humor! Oh, goodness me, I’ll have to remember that one.” He looked at the others, his face flushed from laughter.  Awana was the only one who ventured a giggle in response to the lame joke.  “But seriously, what can I do for you?”

“It’s just...too loud, neighbor.” Jonathan’s mother pointed to the living room.  “This song is probably one of the top five songs ever written, but you’re shaking the neighborhood.  You broke my husband’s favorite clock, and I think you injured Ghost’s hip.  So can I please ask you to turn it down?”

The shame was immediately evident on Watson’s face, and he lifted the remote over his shoulder again to turn the volume down several more clicks.  “Oh dear, I am so sorry.  I didn’t realize I was disturbing the neighborhood.  Honestly, I don’t know the first thing about raves.  All I’ve seen from the movies is loud music and dancing, so that’s kind of what I was going for.  But yes, of course, I’ll keep it down.”

“That’s all I ask,” said Shameka, assuaged.  She snatched seven bags of gummies.  “Honestly, it’s nice to see some activity going on over here.  Most of the time, we don’t even know you’re alive.”

“Oh, I am very much alive,” the man replied, winking at the group.  “Especially on my favorite holiday.”

“Mr. Watson sir, your decorations are elegant but terrifying, like an angry ostrich,” Awana informed him.  “And from what I can see, you did a great job decorating the inside of your house, too!”

“Why thank you, young lady! And I must say, I love the punk rocker costume you have there.”

She grabbed Jonathan’s arm and whispered to him, “This isn’t a costume.  I don’t know how much I like this man, Johnny boyfriend.  In fact, I’m having some strong hate-related feelings in my heart right now.  Pray for me.”

Jonathan touched her cheek reassuringly and turned his attention back to the man.  “Watson, I didn’t know Halloween was your favorite holiday! What the smell? It’s my favorite holiday, too!”

“Well, now that’s something, young Jonathan.” The man scratched his head and studied the group for several seconds.  “You know, I’m selfish.  When I came up with the idea for this party, I just thought about inviting all of my friends.  It didn’t occur to me that I should invite my neighbors!  I hope you don’t mind, and I know it’s a little delayed...but would you all like to join the party?”

A few members of the group chattered excitedly, especially Bat and Ghost.  Jonathan imagined listening to spooky songs, consuming an abundance of candy, playing games, and eating so much food that his friends would need to roll him out the front door.  Perhaps he was overdue to listen to Frankenstein, but there would be many opportunities to do that in the future.  His parents never put this much work into celebrating Halloween.  Sure, his dad baked, his mom cooked, and they had always mottled the front lawn with passable décor over the years.  But this was the proper way to celebrate, and he did not think he wanted to miss out.  After all, he thought to himself, everyone here has had some terrible holiday experiences.  And who knows what will happen in the future? We may not always be together on Halloween.

“Let’s do it, guys,” he told them.  “Come on, we can hang out here for a while, and we’ll go trick-or-treating afterwards.  It’ll be the perfect Halloween!”

“Candy now and more candy later?” exclaimed Bat.  “Come on, Cat, let’s stop wasting time!”

“Meow,” said Cat, following him to the door.

Awana furrowed her eyebrows with contemplation and pulled Jonathan toward her as the others moved toward the house.  She looked at him, then at the man, and then at her boyfriend again.  “I don’t know about this, muffin,” she muttered.  “My spidey sense is tingling right now.  I don’t think we should go inside.”

“What do you mean?” Jonathan asked, shocked.  “You’re all about holidays, remember? I clearly remember you saying that in part two of this story.”

“I don’t know....Something is off about this entire situation.  We should go back to your house and listen to Frankenstein, instead.  Maybe we can spoon!”

Jonathan shook his head.  “Awana, you are the wisest human female I have ever met.  But we’ll have plenty of time for spooning later.  All I want to do right now is eat too much candy and do the electric slide to ‘Monster Mash.’ Will you join me?”

“But I never learned the electric slide!” She breathed quickly, panicking.

“Just wiggle your hips and you’ll be good.” He dodged one of her hair spikes to kiss her forehead.  “Now are you with me, or not?”

She sighed resignedly.  “I’m always with you, Johnny boyfriend.  OK, let’s go.”

He led her toward the door, and along the way, Shameka addressed the group: “You all have fun, now! I need to get back home for my bi-annual hopscotch competition with Mr. Legcheese.  Just be back before midnight, got it, Johnny? OK, everyone, be good! Don’t talk to strangers! Dance like no one’s watching!”

Jonathan and Awana were the last of the group to enter the house.  They lingered near the doorway and marveled at the sundry adornments and festoons on the walls.  The colors of Halloween and the catchy music were every bit as enticing as the scent of meat that permeated the building.  Their host shut the door behind them, and he encouraged them to take their time “getting settled in” before joining the party proper.  As they explored the festive entryway, all were far too busy to notice when the man hung his trench coat and hat on a nearby hook; they were far too mesmerized to see him remove his glasses, slip goggles over his bald head, and don an all-too-familiar lab coat.