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Rated: E · Fiction · Children's · #757211
A family of monsters celebrate their favorite holiday
A Family Halloween

There is a time that comes once a year,
A time when the living dead appear.
The veil of Death, that stands between,
Is torn asunder on Halloween.

Do you know where they come from,
Or where do they go when done?
All the ghosts and ghoulies are rarely seen,
That only come out on Halloween!

Well, hello there, and Happy Halloween.

My name is Jack-O-Lantern; I guess you can say I’m a filthy old ghoul. Believe me, I've been called worse. My wife's name is Trisha, she just happens to be a blood-sucking vampire, but that doesn't matter because I do love her so. In fact, she can suck my blood any time she wants, if I had any that is. And then there're my kids, of course . . . they're all goblins, ghosts, or monsters of one kind or another, you know, we're just your average Halloween family.

We live in the haunted house not too far from where you live. Our place is the one right next to the old cemetery. You've probably seen it, the one with all the broken windows and scary noises coming from inside. But don't worry; we only come out once a year. The rest of the time we stay hidden at home, where it's safe.

But on Halloween, we love to take a family walk down the streets of the old run-down neighborhood and dig up some tricks or treats. You may have seen us before; we’re the ones without a costume or a mask. We really don’t go in for that sort of thing because sometimes people can be so cruel and poke fun at you. So, we don't wear the pointy witch hats and fake blood and vampire teeth. We're really very sensitive about the way we look. Hey, you wouldn’t want people making fun of you, would you?

Anyway, Trisha jumps out of her coffin just about midnight every Halloween and mixes up some nice warm witch’s brew that we take with us during our walk. She also makes a diabolical thirst-quenching potion for the kids. It’s kind of a Gatorade drink for people like us, filled with the blood of a bat and the eye of a newt. Umm...umm, mighty tasty.

As we walk we let the kids dazzle and amaze all the folks we meet with the spells they’ve been practicing all year. They have a great time turning little trick-or-treaters into frogs and other such slimy creatures. But it’s all in good fun, and besides, the spells wear off after a little while anyway.

Most folks just assume we’re regular trick-or-treaters. We like it that way. It gives us a chance to mingle with everybody without causing too much panic or hysteria. We walk right up to the houses just like you do and knock on the door, maybe it’s your door, and we say, “Happy Halloween!"

I remember one year, it was deathly cold outside and raining black cats and dead dogs. We were just about to call it a night when we spotted a house that was decorated all in black and orange with little gravestones in the front yard, paper ghosts hanging from the trees, and loud music blasting from the inside. There was a big sign by the front door painted in what appeared to be blood, which read, “The Neighborhood Halloween Party! Come One, Come All!”

My kids went crazy. “Can we go, huh, huh, can we?”

“I guess it’ll be all right,” I said. “Just remember, no eating anybody until we get home. I don’t want you spoiling your appetite before dinner.”

“Yea!” they yelled enthusiastically and then dashed inside.

“Well, my dear?” I asked my wife, smiling. “Shall we see if we can find some fat little dessert for after dinner?”

“Yes, darlink, that would be delightfully gruesome.”

I offered her my rotting arm, and together we entered the house.

A little girl dressed as a witch ran up to me, “Eww, you look gross!”

My wife saw the hurt look on my face. “It’s all right, darlink. She doesn’t know you like I do.” Trisha patted my arm reassuringly, and then we continued to mingle with the crowd.

We danced to The Monster Mash Song, laughing and having a great time when that same little girl came up to me again dragging her mom with her this time.

“Mommy, Mommy, here he is!” she yelled pointing at me. “Here’s that stinky man I told you about. He smells really bad, doesn’t he, Mommy? Really, really, bad!”

My mouth fell open, and one of my rotting teeth hit the floor. I felt devastated.

“I’m so sorry,” the mother apologized. “It’s past her bedtime, and she’s had way too much chocolate.”

My wife’s eyes turned blood red, and with a sharp hiss, she bared her fangs at the little girl. The child screamed that high-pitched little girl scream and ran behind the safety of her mother’s leg. The woman, trying to protect her daughter, backed up slowly with a terrified look on her face.

Suddenly, the music stopped, and every head turned and stared at us. I looked down to see my kids surrounding me in a protective circle. They knew what these small-minded people were thinking. We had all seen those same looks before. We were different and didn’t fit in, even on Halloween.

You could’ve heard a pin drop as we headed for the door. I turned at the last minute and in my most ghoulish voice said, “Happy Halloween!”

The air smelt good outside, fresh and clean from the rain. The black clouds had blown over, and a full moon shone brightly in the sky. We made our way back home and were greeted by the howl of our pet wolf waiting for us in the front yard.

Once inside, I sat down in my evening chair and Trisha brought me a steaming hot cup of witch’s brew. Smiling at her, I kissed her cold hand, knowing that she would have to return to her coffin soon. The kids all came down and hugged me goodnight, trying to cheer me up.

“Happy Halloween, Dad!”

I hugged them back as hard as I could. Told them how much I loved them and how proud I was of every one of them for coming to my rescue at the party. You know, I wouldn’t trade them for the world. They're the best darn bunch of kids a parent could ever want. Sure, we’re a little different. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Happy Halloween, kids,” I said with gooey tears welling up in my eyes. “Happy Halloween.”

© Copyright 2003 W.D.Wilcox (billywilcox at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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