Happy Halloween! 3: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The Battle for Halloween

Driving back to the suburbs was no easy task.  It was not the country roads that were inundated with the professor’s minions, but many residential streets were now impassable.  Jack-o'-lanterns, turkeys, Christmas trees, rodents, large spiders, insects, and a variety of other critters were more prevalent than the people who fled from them.  Birds of all feathers littered the sky and searched the ground below.  One bittersweet fact was that the undead were so busy pursuing others, they tended to ignore POW; the few that were drawn to it found themselves victims of Pumpkin’s sword, which struck here and there with greater speed and force than before.  To Jonathan’s surprise, the squash’s anger seemed more focused and controlled rather than explosive and unruly.  He wondered if his orange ally was already coming to terms with the realization that the old author would never send him home.

“I just want to let you know that I don’t agree with Cornelius,” said Pumpkin at length.  “That guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Jonathan’s lower lip curled into a pout.  “I know, buddy.  I overhead what he said to you.”

“No, Jonathan, I don’t agree with what Cornelius said about you.” The squash turned to him, ignoring the dozens of yellow jackets that splattered against his window.  “He said you were never special, and that was wrong.  I don’t want you thinking that about yourself.  I know I haven’t always been kind to you, and there were quite a few times when I questioned your intelligence and sexuality, and when I doubted your leadership....”

“Please tell me this is going somewhere positive,” Jonathan said dryly.

“But not once did I think to myself, ‘Jonathan is just like every other average Joe out there,’” the squash continued.  “Because you’re not.  You’re very special, and I think it makes perfect sense that you’re the one who has to save the world.  Who says that the mighty and the powerful, the strong and capable, have to be the heroes? Why can’t it be the small-town citizen who saves the day? The one who enjoys the simple things such as holidays, candy, and the color pink?”

The boy laughed.  “Don’t forget one very majestic unicorn (bless her heart).  Thank you, Pumpkin.  That means a lot coming from you, and I’ll never forget it.  Unless I get dementia.” He winced when he saw three jack-o'-lanterns tackle a man to the ground.  Fortunately, the man’s pet Labrador jumped into the fray and knocked the squashes here and there like ragdolls.  “It’s getting really bad out there.  And I’m sure it’s even worse on my street, since Apo will be on the lookout for us.  We need some sort of game plan.”

“A game plan to get into your house?”

“No.  Well, yes, but that’s just the half of it.” He pursed his lips.  “What if I write Apo and his potions out of existence, but our friends stay paralyzed forever?”

Pumpkin tapped the pommel of his sheathed sword.  “Can’t you just write them out of their paralysis?”

“I have no idea.  I don’t know what works and what doesn’t.”

“Understood.” The squash was silent for several seconds.  “What if we split up?”

“You want to split up?” His incredulousness was obvious.  “When does that ever work?”

“Sometimes it works.”

“Name one movie or show in which that worked.”

“Jonathan, I don’t watch TV!” Pumpkin threw his arms in the air.  “I’m just going with my guts.  Trust me on this one.”

“Fine,” answered the boy, “but let the record show that I think we’re stronger together than apart.  We’ll do things your way.  So what’re you thinking?”

Pumpkin attempted to draw out the plan with his green, stemmy hands.  “I sneak into Apo’s house and find a way to free our friends.  You go home and get your notebook.  Once you’re in your room, listen closely to what’s going on next door.  If you don’t hear anything after fifteen minutes, it means Apo has captured me, and you should try to start writing something that will save our friends.  But if you hear Awana bark seven times before the fifteen minutes is up, it means everyone is free, and you can write Apo out of existence.”

“Awana’s going to bark? Why?”

He could have sworn that the squash managed to give him a blank stare.  “It just—seems fitting.  Jonathan, the girl looks like a cocker-spaniel!”

“Since when?”

“Oh, come on.  This can’t be news to you!”

“I’m afraid I don’t pay much attention to current events.”

The squash grunted.  “Clearly.”

“Fine,” said the boy, “when Awana has barked seven times, I’ll start writing.  If she doesn’t bark, I’ll see if I can write our friends out of their paralysis.  That sounds good to me.”

“Then we’re on the same page.” Pumpkin gazed out his window and gave a start.  “Oh, we’re almost there already!  OK, let’s review: I’ll sneak into Apo’s house, and you’ll sneak into your own house.  I guess the only part that’s missing is some sort of distraction that actually allows us to sneak past Apo and his fiends.  I’m at a loss, there.”

A lightbulb switched on in Jonathan’s head, and he smiled deviously.  “Leave that part to me.”

The car turned down the street in full view of at least a hundred roaming monsters.  Even in the dull lighting, its orange paint scintillated with a brilliance that would have made Ms. Unicorn neigh with approval.  It moved at Jonathan’s preferred speed: a crawl, no more than five measly miles per hour.  The windows were down, the trunk was up, and Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” was blasting at maximum volume.  Moaning, squawking, and buzzing, the hordes moved in on POW with ambitions of tearing apart its two companions.  They proceeded to bang and pound on the doors and tires; the car jolted in response, but refused to slow down.  Soon every creature on the street was drawn to the spectacle, and only then was it evident that the car was bereft of all passengers.  Jonathan had placed a very heavy box of ponies against the gas pedal, forcing POW through the neighborhood at a steady speed.

He leapt from the fence and rolled into his back yard, undetected and feeling somewhat like a secret agent.  His parents were playing hopscotch with invisible lines that they had drawn on the concrete with their minds, apparently oblivious to the chaos that had exploded across the town.  If they were surprised in the least by the sudden appearance of their son, they did a superb job of hiding it.

“Johnny boy!” exclaimed Shameka, bouncing up and down on one foot.  “Are you guys all done with the party? How’s Ghost feeling?”

“He’s seen better days,” said the boy.  “And no, the party isn’t over; it’s just getting started.”

“Johnny, why don’t you take some of my muffins over there?” asked his dad.  “I accidentally dectupled my recipe, and now we have trays of muffins all over the floor.  It’s the best kind of disaster.”

“Apo--I mean Watson already has enough treats for us over there, believe me.  I just need to run inside and get something really fast.  I’ll be back in a second!”

“The front door also works,” Shameka reminded him.  “But you would know that if you had taken your pill this morning, wouldn’t you?”

Jonathan opened the sliding glass door and stepped into the house.  He could hear sundry Halloween-themed songs playing at Apo’s house, and “Thriller” fading as his car made its way farther down the street.  But a few moments later it became quiet, almost eerily so.  The clock, which normally ticked and tocked rhythmically in the family room, still lay shattered on the floor.  Gone were the moans and groans of the creatures outside.  Apo’s music abruptly stopped.  Jonathan wondered if Pumpkin had already been discovered, and if the professor was, as Mr. Cornelius had warned, preparing to turn him into a pie.  He felt and heard his heart thudding against his chest.  No, just stick to the plan, he told himself.  Pumpkin is a perfectly capable squash and doesn’t need to be rescued.  He’s going to find a way to help our friends and bring them over here, and we’ll have a perfectly normal and safe Halloween.  But even as he strove to remain optimistic, he could sense that his thoughts were growing as dark as the clouds outside.

Due to these clouds, the Legcheese household was hardly more illuminated than the hilltop mansion had been.  His parents had turned off all the lights in their home, forcing him to walk across the room and dodge trays of muffins to reach the nearest light switch.  All he could hear were the drip drip of the kitchen sink and the occasional howl of wind that tickled the windchimes of a nearby house.  When he had managed to turn on the light, he looked around the room and was flooded with memories: his mom had been sitting in the recliner near the TV, and his dad had walked out of the kitchen bemoaning a misplaced apron, when he had left his room on Halloween morning one year ago; the Halloween Friends had gathered awkwardly in this room while he and Pumpkin had gone to his bedroom to retrieve weapons (not a euphemism); that was where they had been standing when the resurrected turkey and Super Pumpkin had emerged from the kitchen; there they had experienced the corrupted Santa, there the pieces of Ms. Unicorn had fallen, and there he and Awana had kissed for the first time.  A pang of sadness ran through his heart as he asked himself if they would be able to add to the list of memories.  Or was their time up? Would they be experience more memorable moments, or was this the day that they would face defeat?

Morosely, he sauntered toward his bedroom and entered a short hallway.  On the walls there were numerous frames packed with pictures of his family on the holidays.  He chuckled to himself as he examined pictures from his childhood, when he had wanted every holiday to be like Halloween: on Christmas of 1997 he had dressed like a rat, tail and all (those were the “dark years,” as he called them, when he had still been trying to find himself); on Saint Patrick’s Day of 1998 he had dressed like a watering can (he had been flirting with the abstract at the tender age of seven); on Independence Day of 1999 he had dressed like a cherry bomb (and had gone around telling every man, woman, and plant that he was “the bomb”); on New Year’s Day of 2000 he had, at Awana’s behest, worn a costume that personified the events of Revelation 16.  That last picture warmed his heart, and not only because he had come to believe that everything in the chapter was true.  He realized that Awana had been by his side for so long, always cheering him on, always supporting him, and always being patient with him—even if it took him forever to grow up and grow out of certain ways of thinking.  She had loved him in all his wackiness and uniqueness, even when everyone else had called him weird or crazy.  His heart dropped when he recalled her in her paralyzed state, trapped in a cellar, away from him.  Just a little bit longer, my peach, he said to himself.  Just a bit longer, and we’ll be together again.

He pressed open his door and found that the room was darker and more silent than the house had been upon his entry.  Not a single sparkle emanated from the glittery walls.  He went to his dresser and remembered the time that he had rummaged through the drawers and found his sword, a “useless relic” that he had handed over to Pumpkin without a second thought.  The squash had jumped around, spinning and slashing as if he had been familiar with swordplay since his early days as a seedling.  He sure has put it to good use, the boy thought fondly.  But this time, I’m here for a different weapon.  He looked to the top of the dresser and saw them once again—the black notebook and white pencil, waiting to be used for their intended purpose.  I sure hope Mr. Cornelius is right about this.  He took them and turned back around, deciding that he would start another video chat with Stanley to make sure that he was safe.

After booting up his computer and initiating the call, he sat on his bed and waited for it to connect.  He also listened intently to what was going on outside, hoping that he would soon hear his girlfriend.  But to his dread, it was neither her voice nor Stanley’s that reached his ears.

“So this is where it ends,” said the professor, standing in his doorway.

Jonathan froze and nearly snapped the pencil in half.  “Apo!”

The man took a few steps forward.  He was still garbed in his lab coat and goggles, but he now wore aquamarine gloves on his hands; they were pasted with the residue of chemicals.  “Why are you so surprised? Really, you make me feel like the most unpredictable man in the world.  But...well, I guess it is still a shock to you that I managed to live next-door for so long without you knowing.” He leaned against the nearest wall and crossed his arms.  “So you escaped my little dungeon and fled to our odious creator, only to discover what I discovered many months ago: that he is powerless to stop me.  What were you thinking, that he would end it all with a snap of his fingers or a clack of his keyboard? I’m afraid the story won’t end that way, you pathetic, weak creature.  That would be much too easy.”

Jonathan swallowed the lump in his throat.  What can I do? If I call for help, he’ll kill me without a second thought.  I need to delay him somehow.  “What--what did you do to my friends?”

The professor scoffed.  “Oh, don’t worry.  They’re right where you left them! But I have to say, child, that was perfectly selfish of you to flee and leave them in such a sorry state.  If I were them, I would seriously second-guess the depth of your love.”

Jonathan, his hands shaking, opened the notebook and began to write.

“But what’s your little orange buddy up to? Did he run away when he saw my beautiful children swarm over the town? Or did he give up on the quest once he realized that our author is useless? Not that it matters.  Either way, the victory tastes just as sweet.”

The boy continued to write.  “How--how did you know I would go back home?”

“I made an educated guess,” said the man.  “I knew your trip to Cornelius would prove fruitless, so you would go home to check on your parents.  It’s what any average child would do.”

“I’m not average,” replied Jonathan, his voice trembling.  Please let this work. “And I’m not a child.”

The professor rolled his eyes.  “Oh, don’t you know it’s disrespectful to avoid eye contact while your elder is speaking to you? Back in my mother’s day, elders were looked up to, like they were something special.”

“Your mother is gone, Apo.  I kicked her off a cliff in Armenor to save the world.”

“What?” The man’s eyebrows furrowed.  “You did what?”

“I did what I had to,” Jonathan continued.  “I’m sorry it turned out that way, but I didn’t see any other option.”

“Are you kidding me?” Apo’s face reddened.  “You killed her?”

“I don’t like violence anymore,” answered the boy, “but the world’s future was at stake.  I couldn’t just stand there and let her do whatever she wanted.”

“Do you know--” The man began to pace, seething.  “Do you know the brilliant mind that you destroyed? Do you know the gravity of what you’ve done?  Child, you damn well better be writing your last words, ‘cause I’m going to show you no mercy.”

“I’m not writing my last words,” said Jonathan.  “I’m writing yours.”

Apo flung back his lab coat to reveal his belt of potions.  He seized a vial of deep brown liquid and, with a mortifying roar, hurled it at Jonathan.  The boy slammed his notebook shut and dove behind his bed; the vial exploded against his wall, and he narrowly avoided its contents by crawling under his mattress.  The professor breathed quickly, seeming quite ready to burst himself.  He reached down to the bed and lifted it from the floor—frame and all—then tossed it to the side as if it was the size of a pillow.  Jonathan knelt there, the notebook still closed in his hand, with nothing to protect him from his enemy’s wrath.  He shouted a desperate “Please don’t!” with tears in his eyes, but it was clear that there would be no appeasement.  The time for talking was over.  Jonathan could tell that the eyes looking down at him were intent on one thing: murder.  Without another word, the professor tugged another vial from his belt and lifted it toward the ceiling.

A muffin pegged him in the side of the head.  He grunted, staggered, and shook away the pain of the blow.  Then a second muffin hit him in the same spot.  Clearly irritated, he swung toward the entrance to Jonathan’s room and gnashed his teeth.

“You get him, Tom!” cried Shameka in the background.  “You show that bald nerd who’s boss!”

Mr. Legcheese stood in the doorway with a tray of muffins, his countenance fierce and his arm cocked and ready to unleash another scrumptious dessert.  He stared down the man unflinchingly.  “YOU DON’T KNOW ME!  I’LL STRAIGHT UP SHANK A SCIENTIST.  LEAVE MY SON ALONE AND COME AT ME, BRO!”

“Dad!” Jonathan cried, leaping to his feet.  “Your name is Tom?”

Tom Legcheese winked at him.  “Just don’t tell your mother.”

Outside there was the sound of barking.  It seemed so authentic that Jonathan figured it was just some stray dog.  But then he remembered his talk with Pumpkin.  Awana, he thought.  My girl.  Pumpkin did it! We need to get back to our friends.  There’s safety in numbers.

“Come on!” he yelled to his parents.  “He’s too strong; he’ll kill us.  We have to run! Go!”

“Johnny boy, why does this random mad scientist look like Watson?” asked Shameka, now in a battle stance.  “Is this another one of his costumes?”

“It is Watson, in his true form! This is how he dresses every day.  Now let’s get out of here!”

Tom chucked another muffin at Apo, but the professor dodged it with ease.  The vial he threw in return would have hit its target if Jonathan had not rammed the man in the back on his way to the door; the potion crashed into a nearby wall, inutile.  The trio exited the room, and as Jonathan slammed the door behind him, he heard another vial explode against it.  They jumped and twisted and spun around the trays of muffins covering the floor, and along the way, Mr. Legcheese openly mourned the clock that had fallen as a casualty of his secretly evil neighbor's schemes.  He declared that there was no clock like it, that its wood had originated from the elegant oaks of Bashan, that he truly doubted if the world would ever see its like again, and that the memorial service would be held the next day.  Then, remembering that he was fleeing, and perhaps understanding that his life was marginally more significant than that of an antique, he followed his other two family members out of the house.

POW had smashed softly into a fence at the end of the street, its music now a distant and catchy hum; the creatures that had followed it were moseying back toward the Legcheese household.  Dots of rain began to spatter on hard surfaces and dampen the ground as the clouds created a darkness nearly as deep as night.  Mailboxes were overturned, a fire hydrant had been toppled (resulting in a geyser that gave Wyoming’s Old Faithful a run for its money), one property was nothing but ashes, several cars were on fire, undead crows were perching in the trees, and resurrected spiders had draped many windows and porches with thick webs.

“Our neighbors really outdid themselves with the decorations this year!” Tom exclaimed with a hint of pride in his voice.  He gestured toward the decayed, groaning horde that approached.  “Friends of yours, Johnny?”

“Exact opposite, Dad!” the boy replied.  “That’s Apo who’s after us, and he’s resurrected and corrupted a bunch of creatures! But I think I can stop him.  I just need about thirty seconds of not being pursued.”

“Good golly, son!” said Shameka.  “What should we do?”

“You should come over here and join us, my sweets,” broke in the voice of an old hag.

Jonathan turned his attention to Apo’s house and saw the Halloween Friends standing at the edge of the lawn.  Pumpkin stood before the group, his sword at the ready; Ghost looked livelier than ever, twirling here and there and amping himself up to face any enemy that came his way; Frankenstein’s monster loomed there stoically, studying the area and the situation at hand; Witch mixed different ingredients in a jiffy, occasionally reaching down for a few blades of grass or fur from Cat’s rear; Bat flapped his wings in place as he mugged some of the nearby crows; Cat gave herself a bath and coughed up a furball.  Awana was not among them, for she was so overjoyed at the sight of the Legcheeses (and of one pale-skinned, beak-nosed boy in particular) that she abandoned her group and dashed impulsively across the lawn.  Along the way she tripped on a root that anyone with two eyes would have seen, and this propelled her into a roll (though if we are being honest, most would have called it a fall) that resulted in thirteen bruises and one bloody nose.  Nonetheless, she shrugged it off and limped over to the Legcheeses, nursing her now-damaged left arm and smiling as if she had never been happier in her life.

“Awana, my chipmunk!” said Jonathan, hurrying over and embracing her.  “That looked really painful.  Do you need some ice? Maybe a cast?”

“Wowzers, that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever asked me!” It appeared that she had stars in her eyes, but it was unclear if those were a result of Jonathan’s thoughtfulness or her unfortunate tumble.  “I have a feeling we don’t have time for any of that, though.  Look!”

The Legcheese family did not need to follow her instruction.  They hastened away from the doorway a second before Apo erupted from it; the man was red with fury, appearing more brutish than ever.  He stomped toward his fleeing neighbors, but after observing that his captives—who now loitered liberally on his property—had been freed, he turned away without explanation and went to the center of the street.  Meanwhile, Jonathan’s group merged with the Halloween Friends on the professor’s lawn.  Shameka immediately tended to Ghost, asking him various questions to assess the seriousness of his hip injury.  Tom gushed over Cat and offered her a muffin, but the feline promptly refused.  Jonathan took Awana’s hand and felt a strong sense of relief to have her beside him once again.

The professor faced the group, put his fingers in his mouth, and whistled loudly enough that any fiend within earshot turned its attention to him.  They headed toward the street without hesitation.  Between yards, over fences and cars, up from sewers, through the skies, and down from trees they came, ready to do their master’s bidding.  Any gaps that could have been potential escape routes for Jonathan and his friends were closed in an instant.  They were trapped, and the only solace was that the monsters seemed more intent on rallying to their creator than harming his enemies.

“I’m sorry I was rude to you earlier, Witch,” said Pumpkin.  “One of your potions ended up being useful, after all.”

“Eh, it’s more than fine, dearie,” the hag replied.  “I’m just glad there don’t seem to be any uncanny side effects.  That’s the first time I’ve seen the muscle-loosening tonic in action.  Who knew it could cure paralysis?”

Pumpkin then turned to his ethereal companion, who had been trying (unsuccessfully) to convince Shameka that he miraculously felt no pain.  “Ghost,” said the squash, “I’ve been very impatient with you, and I haven’t been kind.  You’re my best friend.  I’m so sorry.”

“You’re my best friend, too,” returned Ghost, “and there’s nothing to forgive.  I struggle with determining what’s real and what’s not.  Just the other day, I poured myself a nice cup of iced tea and sat down to drink it.  You’ll never believe what happened next!”

“There was no iced tea,” guessed Pumpkin, “and you were sitting in the middle of the air?”

“That was a really good guess,” Ghost declared, rubbing his transparent chin.  “Like, really good.”

“Where’s all this coming from, Pumpkin?” asked Jonathan.

Pumpkin patted his sheathed sword.  “Just look around.  I believe in you, Jonathan, but we might not get out of this alive.”

“What kind of talk is that?” asked Awana indignantly.  “We are getting out of this alive, or my name isn’t Suzanne Somers.”

Jonathan gritted his teeth.  “Awana, we need to have a talk about these similes of ours.” He opened his notebook again and put his pencil to paper.  “Almost there....”

“What are you writing, Johnny boyfriend? A new limerick?”

“When have I ever written a limerick? Do you know anyone who writes limericks nowadays?” He shook his head, embarrassed by her ignorance of literary genres.  “No, my delightful otter.  Mr. Cornelius told me I need to write Apo out of existence.  All I have to do is finish this sentence, and—”

At that very moment, one of Apo’s undead crows swooped down and closed its talons around the edges of the notebook.  The bird tugged the book from his hands and winged away from him, getting lost for a moment in the dark sky.  He cried out, and Bat, seeing his distress, went after the perpetrator—only to be thwarted and pursued back to the group by a murder of crows.  Jonathan looked at his hands, which were empty except for the white pencil.  No.  That couldn’t have just happened.  That’s not the way this is supposed to go! His heart sank when he saw the crow reappear from the sky and drop the notebook into the open hands of the professor.  The Halloween Friends did not have any time to react as resurrected pumpkins, turkeys, Christmas trees, rodents, and other creatures pressed in upon then, forcing them into the street.  Nearer and nearer to the professor they pushed them.  Lightning struck and thunder boomed, mixing with the chorus of the fiends' moans, the cold wind, and the crackling of car fires.

Apo turned over the notebook in his hands and flipped to the first page.  He smirked, then laughed maniacally.  “Oh, this is too good! So that lousy writer told you it was just a matter of writing me out of the story, is that what you’re saying? I guess he did have one last trick up his sleeve.” The man tsked Jonathan, hardly able to contain his amusement.  “But he didn’t account for my superior strength, speed, resources and power—did he? What a shame.”

There was a jingle on the air.

“All this fighting, all this resisting, and for what? You were doomed before you stepped foot outside your house.  You never should have come to my lab that day; your fate was sealed when you cast me into that cauldron.  And now you’re here, surrounded, impossibly outmatched, without anyone to save you, and ripe to receive justice for killing my mother.”

“This lunatic really loved his mom, didn’t he?” said Ghost.

““’tis not implausible, mine dearest friends,” put in Frankenstein’s monster, “for the creation to bear overflowing love for the one who bore him into this world.  In contrast, it is also plausible that the creation detest and rage against the one who brought him forth.  Have we not witnessed both truths from our nemesis...and within our very selves?”

Another jingle could be heard, now closer.

Apo waved the book tauntingly in Jonathan’s sight, then discarded it over his shoulder with a laugh.  It skipped across the ground and landed among a few leaves tinged with the colors of fall.  “The day is mine!” exclaimed the man, lifting both hands toward the sky.  “O glorious, glorious retribution at last!

My potions done, no more to come;

The end is now in sight.

They cannot run; this time I’ve won.

We’ll celebrate tonight!

Created things will all decay

Upon my every word,

And soon will fade the holidays.

Their names shall be no more.

The dead now rule, and none can stand

Before this mighty throng.

Each one will obey my command

And make every right wrong.

My creatures, feast! My minions, taste!

We must avenge M.D.

Now tear away, for none shall save

The Friends of Halloween!

Turkeys began to peck Pumpkin, creating dents in his slick surface.  Several dozen spiders surrounded Ghost and caused him to wail.  Christmas trees pressed in on Frankenstein’s monster, scraping him with their jagged leaves and broken ornaments.  Squashes swarmed all over Witch, weighing her down so that she was unable to fly away on her broom.  Crows, blue jays, and vultures came at Bat from every angle with their razor-sharp talons.  Mice leapt onto Cat’s back and nibbled at her.  Awana and the Legcheeses reeled as various creatures tore at their clothes and scratched their skin.  Try as they might to retaliate, the companions were overwhelmed by the sheer number of their enemies.  There was nothing they could do.

It appeared that it was all over when, suddenly, the sound of jingling was everywhere.  Then there was the shout of “Hey, Legcheese!” and Jonathan gazed toward the sky.  The heavens were specked with hundreds of little sleighs that were guided by reindeer.  In the sleighs there were elves, some of whom quite familiar; there was Dale, there was Phil, and there were many others from the North Pole.  St. Nick himself descended upon the town, guided by Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donder and Blitzen.  But most amazing of all was that Rudolph, his nose aglow, led the charge at the head of Santa’s sleigh—and standing on his head, holding onto his antlers, was Super Pumpkin.

“Gourdo!” cried Pumpkin.  “Gourdo, you’re alive!”

The caped squash waved at him.  “Yes, I am here, cousin.  Professor Apo is not the only one who gets to cheat death.  It is not over yet!”

Apo turned his eyes to the sky.  “Oh, what is this now? Can’t I just savor a moment of victory?  Well, no matter.  These fools will fall by my hand like all the rest.”

“Remember what Santa told us, everyone!” Rudolph announced to his allies.  “Protect Legcheese at all costs, because he’s the only one who can save the world!  Still not sure why he would even try to do that without his faithful reindeer companion, but whatevs.  I’m here now, aren’t I? And they sure look like they’re taking a beating! There’s a cute, innocent pumpkin getting all scratched up, and big Frankie looks like he’s struggling, and—oh gosh, what in Dale’s tiny beard is that?! A ghost?! I told Frosty they were real, but he said they were myths, the lying oaf.”

“Yer talkin’ too darn much, Rudolph, an’ I won’ have it,” grumbled one of Santa’s reindeer.

“Blitzen, I’ll lace your kibbles with rat poison if you don’t shut your maw,” Rudolph replied.

Super Pumpkin leapt down from the reindeer’s head and landed in the midst of the Halloween Friends.  He disappeared among them for a moment, and Apo already began to laugh at what appeared to have been a poorly judged move.  But there was an orange glow, faint at first, shining in the center of the group.  Then it brightened, and brightened, and exploded with a crack louder than thunder.  Light burst from Super Pumpkin’s hands and sent every nearby enemy flying ten yards.  Creatures of all kinds plummeted to the earth like rain while the professor watched helplessly, his mouth ajar.  Seconds later, elves, reindeer, and Santa alighted upon the ground in the space that the caped squash had created.  The tables had turned.

“How in the world are you here right now?” Pumpkin asked his cousin, turning to him.  “I saw you fall.  I saw the turkeys swarm over you.  No one could have survived that.”

“A tale for another time, dear cousin,” replied the caped squash.  “This does not seem like the ideal location for such a dialogue; we have other matters to attend to.  Let us take advantage of this element of surprise.”

“Of course, that’s the best strategy,” concurred Pumpkin.  He turned back toward Apo and drew his sword.  “Listen, all! Rudolph is right: Jonathan is the only one who can save the world.  He knows what he must do—and we must guard him with our lives.” He looked at his closest comrades.  “Halloween Friends, one year ago, Cornelius summoned us to help this young man stop an evil professor.  Our mission is not complete until that happens, once and for all.  We’ve been outmaneuvered and outsmarted today, but no longer.  Now is our chance.  We must fight! Not to satisfy an imperfect creator, who is just a creation himself—but to protect our most cherished friend.  Let's give it everything we’ve got!” Finally, he turned to Jonathan.  “Are you ready, my fearless leader?”

Tears sprang to Jonathan’s eyes.  “I’m ready, Pumpkin.  That is—as long as Awana is with me.”

The girl put a hand on his face and kissed him.  “I told you, Johnny boyfriend.  I’m always with you.  I’ve been stalking you since I was in diapers.”

He looked forward, his heart soaring as he realized that his friends and family were willing to give their lives to protect him and the world.  The hands of his mother and father fell on his shoulders to remind him that they were right behind him.  The Halloween Friends formed a semicircle around him and Awana.  The Fellowship of Halloween is larger than Mr. Cornelius ever could have guessed, thought the boy.  I’m not going to let him down.  We’re going to give it everything we’ve got!

“If I don’t kick someone with these hooves in ten seconds, I’m going to friggin’ lose my antlers,” said Rudolph.  “Enough standing around, peoples.  For Halloween!”

The group burst forward with a great battle cry.  Urged on by their elven drivers, the hundreds of reindeer mowed through the undead that surrounded them.  Dale the elf started a fad by lifting presents from the back of his sleigh and pegging enemies with them one at a time; Phil the elf followed his example.  St. Nick (with many a “Ho ho ho!”) drove his team of reindeer through the circle of enemies, waving around his famous red sack of Christmas toys and knocking over dozens of attackers with each swing.  Rudolph broke free of the other “incompetent dirtbags,” as he audibly called the team of reindeer that he led, and shot through the hordes with his head down; one foe after another was catapulted into the air, stomped, blinded by the animal’s flashing nose, or kicked into oblivion by his powerful back legs.  Shameka busted out some dance moves that had to be seen to be believed, all the while launching her fists and knees into any unfortunate creature that crossed her path.  Tom took his position at the top of a nearby transformer box and proceeded to throw his muffins at every opponent within range, occasionally heading back into the house for additional ammo.

Pumpkin was the first of the Halloween Friends to clash with the enemy.  Out struck his sword, through the body of one squash and across the neck of a particularly annoying turkey.  He charged through the ranks without a hint of fear, for the lust of battle was upon him again.  Creatures of all kinds were sent staggering in his wake or felled by his blade.  Once he had reached a wall of his enemies, he began to leap and spin and slash with fervor until the wall had weakened.  At times he would join forces with his cousin, jumping off the pumpkin’s crest and then raining down upon an enemy with his blade, or allowing Super Pumpkin to take hold of him and fly him around with sword drawn.  The original leader of the Halloween Friends seemed unstoppable.

When Super Pumpkin was not fighting side-by-side with his cousin, he was racing around and punching monsters into the atmosphere.  His cape flapped in the wind as he ran and leapt and soared through the area.  He would quit his assault only now and then to rescue an elf from being pinned down by adversaries, or to assist one of the Halloween Friends who was finding him-or-herself outnumbered.  If he came face-to-face with an especially large group, he would thrust forth his hands and send out a flattening blast of light and wind.  At one point, he jumped back onto Rudolph’s head and used the height advantage to release more effective streams of magic into the undead crowd.

Ghost finally managed to overcome his fears of absolutely everything and generated a dozen ethereal, caerulescent ballistae that automatically fired bolts at enemies every few seconds.  He also summoned blue, transparent tentacles from the ground, which sought out his opponents and constricted their bodies; those who were on his side found the creatures’ restricted movement quite helpful.  At one point, Witch threw a sizable vial of chemicals toward an approaching flock of birds, and Ghost used a spectral bow to shoot it mid-flight.  The glass burst and its innards splashed the flock, causing the birds to attack each other until none remained.

Frankenstein’s monster stormed across the street, roaring and shaking the asphalt with every step.  He threw forth his gigantic fists and crushed his foes into the ground like a child playing whack-a-mole.  If a few creatures leapt onto him, he would throw them off and knock down other nearby enemies with a single motion.  Apo noticed the level of destruction that the monster left in his path, so he commanded every minion on the north side of the street to attend to him; but Frankenstein’s monster, undaunted, plucked a small tree from someone’s front yard (for him it was small, but any average human would have considered it a decent size) and used it to knock the incoming fiends out of the area.

Witch proved to be among the most lethal of the group, spurred on by the success of her “limb-loosening” potion in reversing Apo’s stasis concoction.  She went about on her broom at breakneck speed, holding out a vial now and then and smashing it against her adversaries at random.  A vicious possum managed to leap on to her and send her careening into some bushes; but she rose, dusted herself off, and beat the critter in the skull with the end of her broom.  There was also a moment when she encouraged Shameka to join her temporarily in flying around the street, which the woman accepted with utmost enthusiasm.  Jonathan’s mother, clutching the broom with her legs, flailed her arms about wildly and felled her foes as a bowling ball might fell a cluster of pins.

Bat twisted, zipped, dove, and ascended, toppling any beast that got in his way.  He occasionally latched on to Cat’s fur and lifted the feline high into the air, then released her in a strategic location where she could do the most damage.  In a matter of minutes, he knocked over four turkeys, created a whirlwind with his wings that ended the flight of several dozen honeybees, lifted and dropped five rabid rats to their (second) deaths, and carved seven small pumpkins to ribbons.  At one point, a heavy raccoon stood on its hind legs and prepared to attack Super Pumpkin from behind, but Bat zoomed over to the creature and flapped his wings in its face as a distraction until Frankenstein’s monster punted it into the sky.

Cat dashed here and there, sometimes ducking behind her larger and unaware foes when hunting a different target (usually a mouse).  Then she would leap out and claw her enemy before it could react.  Seeing that she was causing trouble, a gaggle of Christmas trees hobbled over and surrounded her.  Cat was not idle.  She released a loud and haunting hiss, which forced the trees to run for their lives—directly into a barrage of bolts from Ghost’s ballistae.  After she had caused significant damage in the enemy’s ranks, she set her sights upon Professor Apo and prowled toward him.

“Awana, watch out!” cried Jonathan, sidestepping an incoming pigeon.

Awana, who had been running by his side the entire time, dove and just barely managed to avoid a falling Christmas tree.  The Halloween Friends and their allies had done an amazing job of clearing the way for the couple, but every now and then a straggler got through and momentarily hindered their procession.  After Jonathan saw that Awana had safely bypassed the Christmas tree, he turned his attention to the notebook nestled in the bed of leaves.  It was so close now.  He had just to weave through this final line of enemies, avoid detection by the professor, take up the book, and write.

Apo did not let his improved strength, reflexes, and potions go to waste.  He stepped toward every elf that drew near and backhanded each one off his sleigh and onto the street.  He tripped the reindeer, forcing them to fall face-first to the ground.  He even kicked Rudolph so hard that the red-nosed reindeer decided to stay away from him for the remainder of the battle.  He tossed potions in every direction, turning many of his enemies into frogs, butterflies, baby rabbits, or other harmless animals.  When Frankenstein’s monster closed in on him, Apo emptied one potion into his eyes and caused them to burn; the poor monster hurried into the Legcheese household, hoping to wash away the painful sensation.  When Witch came soaring toward the professor, he dodged her, pulled her broom from out under her (she went flying and rolled across a patch of grass as a result), and broke it in two.  Tom and Shameka closed in on the man as they launched a volley of muffins, but he reflected the morsels back and knocked the two unconscious.  With a single strike, he punched Pumpkin clear to the other side of the street.  And just as Jonathan thought that he was going to sneak past Apo and retrieve the notebook, the man whipped toward him and grabbed him by the neck.

The hand that grasped him seemed stronger than steel, able to break bones without much effort.  Never had he felt that death was just seconds away.  No, he thought.  No! I’m so close.  The notebook is right there.  I can do this! He tried to wiggle free, but it was useless.  He also reached for the book (which was still several feet away), hoping that it would somehow fly to him like a magnet to iron; but nothing happened.  He was locked in a vice whose grip could only tighten—never loosen.

The professor turned the boy until they were eye-to-eye, then smirked.  “Wow! The child got so far! It looked like victory was so near, didn’t it? I’m afraid not.  Perhaps our dear creator will write a sequel and resurrect you to witness the havoc that I will wreak...but in this story, you die by my hand.  I suppose some things are better done the old-fashioned way.  Farewell, little one!”

The strength of the man’s grip increased on Jonathan’s neck —but only for a second.  There was a brisk movement nearby, then the cry of “Let go of my Johnny boy!” before Apo fell back with a squawk.  Awana had charged toward the man, dropped to the street, and kicked the professor’s legs out from under him.  Jonathan, released from the hand of his nemesis, landed on his feet and sprinted toward the book beyond.  Awana leapt onto the professor.  He attempted to push her away, but she averted his blow and wrapped her legs around his.  Before he knew it, he was tied up like a pretzel, as the girl also pinned his wrists together behind his back.  To make matters worse for him, Cat shot up from a huddle of nearby enemies and alighted upon his chest.  She unleashed a fury of vicious swipes upon his face.

Jonathan seized the book and pressed the cold lead against the first page. 

“Professor Aponowatsomidichloron, his minions, and his potions....”

Apo grabbed Cat and threw her against a tree, and she struggled to rise.  Super Pumpkin, Ghost, and Bat shouted at the sight and began to hurry toward the pair who wrestled on the street.  The professor wrenched one of his hands free and used it to seize Awana’s waist, pushing her against the road’s uneven, gravelly surface.

“...vanished from existence....”

Awana yelled as her body was forced against the asphalt.  Overwhelmed by her enemy’s strength and the pain that emanated from her side, she lessened her grip on his arm.  He immediately tore a vial from his belt; it contained a viscous liquid as black as death.

“...neither they nor their effects to be seen....”

Super Pumpkin, Bat, and Cat were just a few feet away, and it seemed that Apo knew it.  He used one arm to push himself into the air, high above the group, and he prepared to hurl the deadly poison directly at Awana.  She raised her hands in front her face, trying to shield herself from the impact.

“... felt, or heard from ever again.”

Jonathan lifted his eyes, apprehensively, from the open book.  There had been a small part of him that had doubted Mr. Cornelius’s words, especially since the man had inadvertently led him astray once before.  But when he surveyed the area, he found that the author appeared to have spoken truthfully.  The professor, who had caused him and thousands of others such immense suffering, had disappeared completely; the potion he had planned to use was also nowhere to be seen.  The hordes that had infested the area—even after the allies’ courageous stand—were gone.  But there were other changes, as well.  Broken fences were now repaired; toppled fire hydrants were now replaced; flame-engulfed cars now gleamed in the dull light; displaced homes stood once again; uprooted lawns were now restored. 

Pumpkin rose to his feet and observed that his surface was slick rather than pockmarked.  Witch, not feeling the slightest ache from her tumble, took up her mended broom.  Frankenstein’s monster exited the Legcheese home, blinking at the sudden lack of pain in his eyes.  Cat hopped around ecstatically.  Mr. And Mrs. Legcheese helped each other up, their eyebrows furrowed in total confusion.  A group of elves that had been turned into other creatures found their bodies back to normal, and they tittered joyfully.

He's gone….Jonathan continued to look around, hardly able to believe what he was seeing—or rather, what he wasn’t seeing.  He’s…really gone.  They’re all gone!

“Oh my Bob!” shouted Rudolph, standing beside St. Nick.  “He did it! Legcheese really did it!”

Everyone on the street looked here and there, as if they could not believe their eyes.  But when they discovered that the battle was over, the crowd went wild.  After several seconds they closed in around Jonathan; some clapped, some leapt with exuberance, some hugged, some cheered, and some (OK, it was just Ghost) cried openly with thankfulness.  Jonathan did not know how most of them had been alerted to this near-apocalypse, and there was much that he did not understand; but what he did understand was that they were apparently victorious, and the world was safe from the man who had haunted him for so long.  A sense of peace coursed through his body as he observed the pure elation that filled the street.  Bat and Cat proceeded to play pattycakes, ignoring everyone around them for about ten minutes.  Witch reached into her satchel and started throwing all sorts of the things into the air in celebration—grass, dirt, rice, moldy chicken, flakes of melted ice cream, Jonathan’s pet lizard Steve, written correspondence between her and an old boyfriend, and mud dauber larvae.  Tom and Shameka retrieved POW and pulled it up to the group, then blasted “Thriller” again on the radio.  They remained there in the car, watching the laudation of their son and the honoring of his accomplishments while feasting on leftover muffins.

Awana pushed up to her feet, and her eyes met with Jonathan’s.  They did not have to say a word to each other, for their stare spoke volumes.  Jonathan dashed over to her, and they engaged in one of the longest and most endearing hugs of all time.  Many hearts were melted, but some in the crowd blanched.

“He has sort of a birdish look to him,” commented one especially judgmental elf who inexplicably spoke with an English accent.

“She reminds me of a certain type of dog, the name of which presently eludes me,” announced a second elf with burly chest hair tumbling out of his tunic.

Super Pumpkin, Rudolph, and Santa pressed through the throng and reached the couple just as their embrace was coming to an end.  By that time the Halloween Friends were in the center of the crowd, being thanked, applauded, and marveled at.  Rudolph had no qualms about practically knocking over Witch on his way to Jonathan.  The hag muttered seven curses and tagged the animal in the rear with her broom.

“You saved the world, Legcheese!” the reindeer exclaimed, prancing and whinnying with glee (like a horse).

“We saved the world,” Jonathan replied, beaming.  He lifted his right hand for a high-five.  “Good game, dude!”

“I still can’t bend that way,” the reindeer told him, staring at him blankly.

“Oh, right.” Jonathan closed the book and slipped it into his pocket.  “But what the smell, Rudy? How in Dale’s tiny beard did you know we were in trouble?”

“That question, I am certain, is also on Pumpkin’s mind,” said Super Pumpkin, stepping forward.  “And I must say, it is quite...providential that we arrived when we did.  I feared we would be too late.”

Pumpkin sheathed his sword and put his hands where his hips might have been.  “I’ve never been happier to see anyone, Gourdo.  I really mean that.  You don’t know how much I’ve grieved over you…but I’ve had quite enough suspense for one day.  You were dead; please explain what happened.”

The caped squash moved his body in a nod.  “You have waited long enough, dear cousin.  When I cast that cauldron off Melonir last year, its contents were destroyed.  As a result, the turkeys ceased to attack me.  I do not understand how that could be, but my assumption is that the potion had a threefold effect: to create a portal between Earth and Armenor, to resurrect the dead (albeit focused specifically on turkeys), and to turn their innate goodness to blight.  We were already aware that Apo had perfected the latter two potions, yes? And that he had given the portal portion to M.D.? Perhaps she mixed all three together that Thanksgiving day.  But I digress.  Once you had disappeared into the portal, I lost consciousness.  When I awoke, the creatures were nowhere to be seen, and only Melhrir remained.

“I recalled that M.D. had commented about the professor’s ashes, and how you should have properly disposed of them.  I feared that this world would soon suffer, so after walking a very long way in hopes of finding a way to Earth, I accepted the aid of a young man named Hargolan.”

“You walked?” asked Pumpkin.  “When your strength returned, why didn’t you just fly?”

“I would have, had I been permitted,” answered his cousin.  “Alas, all power had left me.  Until today, that is.  When I leapt off Rudolph’s head and landed among you, I merely planned to fight by your side.  I was delighted when magic sprang from my hands once again.”

Jonathan looked at the caped squash, then at the reindeer.  “So how did you two meet?” he asked, his voice coated with jealousy.  “You look like best pals already! How could you, Rudy?”

Rudolph appeared very ashamed.

“Hargolan used magic to create a portal, which sent me to Earth,” said Super Pumpkin.  “It was initially regrettable that (quite by accident, I am sure) he sent me to your North Pole.  I plummeted into some powdery snow far from civilization and continued my quest; but to my great distress, I did not know which direction I should take, and there was no path in sight.”

“Plus, you’re in the North Pole, so everything is north,” Jonathan educated him.

“I am not sure that is accurate, my hook-nosed ally,” replied the squash.  “But I wandered for many days—until I could wander no more.  I collapsed, thinking that I had met my demise.  Again.”

“Abominable’s wife let her hubby-boo out of the cave for an extra fifteen minutes that day,” Rudolph continued, “so he and I were playing hide-and-seek together.  I was searching everywhere for that furry champion, but being white, he’s pretty much impossible to find in the snow.  Come to think of it, I don’t know why I agreed to play that game with him in the first place.  I should have realized he had the advantage! I’ll have to sit down and have a chat with him when I get home....

“Anyway, while I was gallivanting about the frosty dunes, I saw this orange thing just lying there in the ground.  I thought Donder had the runs again, but upon closer inspection, I saw that it was a pumpkin! So I kicked it all the way to Santa’s estate, screaming my head off for someone with hands to help me.  That’s when Dale showed up, bless his beard.”

The elf pushed himself into view and jumped on Rudolph’s back.  “We found Gourdo on the fifth of October, twenty-six days ago.  He was nearly a block of ice at that point, so I rushed him into the workshop.  Santa’s quick thinking saved him, I think.  He suggested that we give Gourdo a nice, hot bath.”

“It took me two weeks to recover,” said Gourdo.  “As soon as I was able to speak, I warned everyone about the impending doom.  But they did not believe me...and I do not blame them.  That is, they did not believe me until I mentioned Jonathan Legcheese.”

“Ho ho ho!” St. Nick exclaimed.  “That was just a few days ago.  When I heard that name, I realized that the time had come for young Jonathan to use the gift I gave him.  The only problem is that, while I have been granted a certain degree of foreknowledge and intuition, I hadn’t the faintest notion as to what the boy would face.  But I pieced some information together and feared that the professor who had corrupted me would make his reappearance.  Just today, I looked into my seeing glass and found that this town was under attack.  So I mustered every male elf and reindeer in the estate, and with Super Pumpkin we flew on over here.  I do not make a habit of leaving the North Pole on any day other than Christmas Eve, but I thought that helping save the world would, perhaps, begin to make reparations for the harm I caused last year.”

“It did, Mr. Santa, sir!” Awana told the jolly man.  “If it wasn’t for you and your people, we would have been turkey chow.  Or pumpkin chow.  Or Christmas tree chow.” She rubbed her chin.  “We would have been chow.”

“I am certainly happy you are not chow, dear Humphfree,” chortled the man.  “Jonathan was the only one who could save the world—or at least that was what I was told.  But I am also thankful for Gourdo’s perseverance.  His love for you all, and especially for his cousin, is a rare treasure in this dark world.”

“Yes,” said Pumpkin, staring at the caped squash with the deepest admiration, “it is.”

Ghost, who had stopped his joyful weeping and listened intently to the dialogue, let out a loud groan.  “Yes, we’re all very thankful for the great acts of heroism today.  Blah blah blah blah.  Has everyone forgotten that today is Halloween? We’re wasting precious daylight by just standing around here!”

“That’s true!” Jonathan declared.  He turned to Rudolph.  “Rudy, do you want to join us for some good old Halloween festivities?”

“That sounds like a truly miserable time,” the reindeer told him.  “Legcheese, I love you more than Santa loves sugar cookies, but this isn’t my holiday.”

“Indeed, Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer speaks truthfully,” St. Nick agreed.  “Christmas is just around the corner, and we have much to do.  There are presents to build and wrap, and Mrs. Claus is waiting.  This is the busiest, most wonderful time of the year! We must away, my friends!”

Jonathan petted Rudolph, and the reindeer whinnied again.  The elves in their sleighs started ascending into the sky one at a time.  Santa’s was the last in the air, and he waited for his lead reindeer before heading home.  The Fellowship of Halloween gazed upward, their eyes reflecting the sparkling sleighs, which were bathed in the light of the sun as it neared the western mountains.

“Rudolph, you did me a great service by saving me from that frozen wasteland,” Super Pumpkin told the reindeer.  “I am grateful for you, and I owe you a tremendous debt.  I can only pray that I will be permitted to pay it some day.”

Rudolph seemed angry.  “Yeah, you’re welcome.  But don’t ever call my home a frozen wasteland again.  If you do, I will never forgive you, and I won’t even let you pay the tremendous debt you owe me.  That’ll show you.” 

“And I have to extend an even more heartfelt thanks,” said Jonathan, feeling a great sense of fondness for his fur-laden friend, and also wanting to compete with Super Pumpkin for the reindeer’s affections.  “I look forward to hearing the jingle of your bells in two months.”

“Really weird thing to say, Legcheese,” Rudolph responded, “but I think I catch your drift.” He looked at Jonathan and Awana.  “Goodbye for now, dude and dudette! You’re both the coolest people I know, and you should be together forever.  Everyone loves a good romance story.  Not that we’re in a story.  Anyway…I guess I should get going.  I’ll catch you all on the flippity-flip!” Then he, Santa, and the other inhabitants left as quickly as they had appeared.

Everyone was silent for several seconds before Bat finally asked, “So what’s the plan now, Jonathan?”

The young man smirked.  “What else? Come on, guys.  Let’s go trick-or-treating.”