It was Devon, back at last from the house and the other kids.
Devon laughed, lifted up his Thor face and said, “Did I scare you?”
Andy turned, grabbed his little brother by the hand, and started speed walking down the sidewalk, literally dragging the kid along.
“Wha – Andy, stop. Ow, you’re hurting me – ”
But Andy wasn’t listening to his kid brother, he was listening to himself. Man, settle down, what got you so scared?
I’m not scared.
“Come on, Andy, lemme go. There’s more houses over there with—”
Bullshit you’re not scared. Thinking about your knife, what you going to do with it if you had it?
I don’t know…something…
Dude, it was just some guy in a yellow bathrobe with his face painted black. That’s it.
“I’m gonna tell mom!”
No, I felt it.
Felt what?
Felt it—
Him.
Whatever, felt him staring at me.
So?
It felt cold. His gaze was ice fucking cold.
That’s crazy.
No, it felt like—
“Ow!” Andy screamed as pain flared in his right calf. He looked back at his wide-eyed little brother, at the kid’s sneakered foot, then down at his leg as his brain put two and two together. “You kicked me, you little shit.”
“Well you were ripping my arm out of my socket,” Devon said and with a twist and a yank, pulled his left hand out of Andy’s sweaty grip. “What got into you? What’s wrong?”
Andy looked back down the block at where Mr. Yellow Robe had stood, and saw nothing. The freaky guy had vanished.
Devon followed Andy’s gaze and also saw nothing. “So, what was it?” the child asked.
“Nothing…”
“No you weren’t running like it was nothing.”
“I wasn’t running,” Andy began to protest.
Yes you were.
“Yes you were,” Devon said, “Like you were scared of something.”
“Shut up, forget it,” Andy said a little too forcefully. Are you talking to yourself or your brother? Andy chuckled at that, looked to both sides of the street to make sure the yellow guy was really gone, and then turned back to Devon. “Look it’s getting late—”
“Nu-uh, it’s only—”
“So get a move on.” Andy spun him around again and this time gave him a little kick in the pants to get him going. Devon rubbed his backside with one hand as he looked back at his big brother, still confused. Then he heard a merry chorus of “Trick or treat!” behind him, and he turned and ran off, putting his mask back in place as he went.
Things went back to normal for the rest of the block and most of the next one, too. Andy kept an eye to his back for a time, but there was no sign of the yellow-robed man. Just normal folks doing the normal Halloween stuff. The tightness in his chest that he hadn’t noticed before, but upon retrospect he guessed started when he saw that black face-hole in the yellow hood staring at him, loosened up and went away. He felt relieved, stupid for having scared himself over nothing, but mostly relieved. Snagging another piece of candy from him protesting little brother helped. And hey, he hadn’t even thought of the time or the party at Ashley’s place since –
The growing smile that was blooming on his face froze then disappeared altogether as he spotted another… something. This one wore another white sheet with two black eye holes, but it was a very big sheet. A long sheet. The sheet-ghost’s head was maybe four feet high, but it was very long, like Chinese dragon long. Andy pictured four or five kids under there, bent over after the first child, head to ass. Who would do that? Got to be uncomfortable as hell. But Andy knew that wasn’t it. He wished that’s all it was, but somehow he just knew it wasn’t; the last part of the thing was dragging thick and heavy on the ground. So if that’s a train of kids, then the last one is dead. So how are the rest dragging him? And why?
He turned to see where Devon was in his latest candy begging session, and his bladder let go. Just a little, he stopped himself by grabbing his crotch and squeezing, but he felt a warm trickle run down his left leg. Devon and three kids were at the door. Two were waiting anxiously for the candy giver to answer their summons, the third had its back to the door. It was staring back at him. It held no bag or plastic pumpkin to hold candy. It of course was dressed in a white sheet, one with a single eye hole on its lumpy, far-too-large shape of a head. And the white sheet was splattered, no, covered in red. Blood. Not fake blood, Andy could smell, he could taste the copper in it from where he stood.
Then there was a rustle of fabric and a flash of yellow to his left.
He turned to see what it was.
His bladder finished what it had started moments ago.
The Yellow man stood before him, over seven feet tall if he was an inch. He looked taller still, for he wore a spiked and spired crown of gold on his hooded head. Standing this close, Andy could see that the robe was in tatters but was immaculately clean, and that the copper stench of blood radiated from this crowned king in yellow. He could also see inside the folds on the hood. The king wore a cracked and pitted pale mask. It looked dull, like bone. Was it ivory? Its only feature was two eye holes and the two eyes beneath…
…Pain. Wounds. Blood. Loss. Tears. Sickness. Infection. Futility. Hopelessness. Meaninglessness. Despair. Desire. Time. Age. Rot. Rust. Decay. Stink. Entropy. Entirety. Cruelty. Savagery. Blackness. Void. War. Slaughter. Death. Death. Death…Truth.
Somehow Andy managed to tear his gaze away, his eyes blurry, wet, and leaking. The King reached out with a tawny-bandaged hand, yellowed and crusted, log-nailed and dripping, and oh so gently took Andy’s trembling hand. He spread the fingers and placed something it his palm: his knife, already locked in the T punch dagger position. The robed one then carefully closed Andy’s hand, making a fist, and patted his white knuckles. He then leaned in and whispered something in a voice of rusty coffin nails pulled free and the unsheathing of misericordes.
“Andy, you peed your pants!”
Andy turned around to a voice both familiar and not. He expected to see…something…someone? Instead he saw another sheet-clad monster, all lopsided and lumpy. Filthy, reeking, and… it wore a cheap, plastic, kiddy Halloween mask. Some superhero, blond hair, blue eyes, helmet…what was his name?
Andy turned to ask The King, he would know, he knew everything, but he was gone.
“Andy?” He felt a tug on his sleeve.
Andy turned and roared at the sheet-ghost-thing that clutched at his arm. Not with fear, not to frighten, it was communication at its most primaclass="underline" raw, savage, and so right. It felt so good. It felt true.
He knew what he had to do. What you always had to do with monsters. He punched out with his already clenched fist. And again. And again. And when the figure fell, he went down with it, mounted it, and punched and punched and punched…
Andy heard screams. He heard shouts of both fear and anger. He heard an “Oh my God!” and a “Stop it!” and a “…just a kid!” and laugher. That last sound came from him. And as he rose and looked at a half-dozen sheet-covered monsters, most running away, some staring at him, one filming him with an iPhone, he knew why he laughed. He knew why he was so filled with joy despite all the monsters in the world. At last, long, long last, his mask was off. This was him, the real him, his true face, and killing was as natural as breathing, blinking, or pissing. So he withdrew his fist from the warm, sticky mess beneath him, pulled his splattered arm back, ready to punch out again and again, and with a laugh he charged the nearest monster.