All Hallows Eve
By David Eveleigh
Copyright 2011 David Eveleigh
Smashwords Edition
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For Vincent and Celeste
This story is fictional, inspired by comic books and fairy-tales.
All Hallows Eve!
It is a night of magic and mystery. Yet, it is also so much more. It is the smell of a freshly carved pumpkin on a cool, Autumn dusk. It is the sight of red and orange leaves as they fall from bare branches and litter themselves across the Earth. It is the sound of children singing “Trick-or-Treat” while they travel from house to house and fill their bags with goodies. It is the feeling that there is something in the dark, something that might touch your shoulder as you pass it. But when you turn to look, it is gone and you are left wondering if your imagination is playing games with you.
All Hallows Eve!
Once, it was also the name of an extraordinary girl. All Hallows Eve. Who can forget that super-heroic sentinel of the Silver Age? A young lady in orange and black, armed with amazing powers from Beyond. A girl as magical and mysterious as the night after which she took her name. A girl so tough... it's scary!
But who was she and how did she come to be?
To answer those questions, we must go back many decades. Join us as we pull aside the veil of history in our search for the truth. Come with us to a bygone era filled with wonder and adventure.
The first true super-villain surfaced in 1911. After that, numerous other master criminals began to sprout up and challenge the forces of justice. To combat this ever-growing threat, some people began imitating the criminals' unusual methods, but using them for good. Heroes such as The Nyctalope, Atoman, and Commander Jack Steel; these were the original “mystery men”, who fought a never ending war on crime from within the shadows. By the start of World War 2, many of these costumed vigilantes began to demonstrate special powers and, in 1938, they were given a new title that would become legend...
Superheroes.
Thus, the Golden Age began. It is during this era that our story starts, ironically, when another story ends. The exact year is unknown (many records from that time period were lost or altered during the retconitis outbreak of the 80s and 90s). But, the day and month were never forgotten.
October 31st. Halloween night.
While soldiers in Europe were battling one kind of enemy, another kind was plotting something terrible in North America. An enemy named Jack-O-Ripper. He was a living image of crimson, dressed from head-to-toe in blood-red and hiding his face behind an eerily realistic devil mask. In the place where his right hand should be was a long sickle, which was sharp enough to cut through steel. No one knew where he came from. Some said he was a monster from outer space, others believed he was a German agent and others still thought that he was just some maniacal fiend who enjoyed watching people go “squish”. But the truth was that nobody had the faintest idea who or what he was. In fact, no one even knew if the person inside the suit was really a “Jack” or a “Jill”. “He” might have just as easily been a “she” and nobody would have ever known it. Neither could “he” be identified by his skin colour, since his uniform covered every inch of his body. On this particular night, he was hiding inside a darkened warehouse, with a collection of large, wooden crates surrounding him. But he was not standing by idly. No, he was waiting ever so patiently for his servant to return. He did not have to wait long. From somewhere in the shadows, a small creature emerged. It looked like a 3-foot-high Voodoo doll with a grinning pumpkin for a head. Without making a noise, it walked up to the Crimson Crook and tugged on his pant leg with long pins that it used for fingers.
“Is everything ready, Zepingles?” Jack-O-Ripper snarled in a voice that sounded halfway between a growl and a moan. The little creature he called “Zepingles” nodded silently. Jack reached down with his left hand and patted its leafy head.
“Good.” The Ripper said humorlessly. “Now take your place. The show's about to begin.”
Zepingles nodded and scampered off into the shadows. As soon as the little monster was gone, Jack started petting his sickle and whispering to it softly.
“Yes, my sharp, little friend.” He muttered. “I know you're thirsty, but we have to wait. Our work is almost done.”
He pointed to a huge clock which hung on the nearest wall.
“As soon as that clock strikes the witching hour, you can have all the blood you want.”
Without speaking, he tuned his special, telepathic powers so that he could sense if anyone was outside. Indeed, he found somebody. Whoever it was stalked carefully, waiting for the right moment to strike. Jack-O-Ripper never laughed, but he made an eerie groan which indicated that this discovery pleased him.
“Soon will our Winter of discontent be made glorious Summer by this daughter of Dublin.”
From out of the darkness came a sound, like the laugh of a young girl. It reverberated through the warehouse, causing the arch-criminal to shudder in anticipation. This was it. This was the moment he had planned for. The voice stopped laughing and uttered a carefully rehearsed phrase, like a battle cry.
“It's Harvest Time!”
Suddenly, the metal door of the warehouse was kicked down by a superhuman force. Behind that power was a willowy girl, who couldn't have been older than 19, with her blond hair tied back in a long braid. She was dressed in a tight, orange and black costume and had a little mask over her eyes. On her chest was a curious, pumpkin insignia which had become a symbol of hope during the Golden Age. One look at that orange face and criminals knew right away that they were dealing with...
“Teen Trickster!” Jack-O-Ripper exclaimed, pretending to be surprised. “How did you find me?”
“Too easy.” The young heroine said, tossing her braid behind her back. “Your last riddle said it was time we 'wrapped things up'. Well, where else would things get 'wrapped' than at Willy's Wrap Warehouse?”
She waved a taunting finger at him.
“You're getting sloppy, Jack.”
“Maybe.” The villain said. “But is the great Teen Trickster still agile enough to survive the 7 pendulums of death?”
He pointed his sickle at the ceiling and...
Swoosh!
A large blade, suspended by a sinister, black vine, fell from above. It swung at the teenaged heroine, who managed to dodge it effortlessly. However, another one swung at her from her left. She let out a tiny squeak as it missed her narrowly.
Swish!
A third blade fell from the ceiling, then a fourth, then a fifth. The Halloween Heroine held her ground. She stretched out her hand and concentrated for a moment. A mysterious, black energy began to crackle around her and...
Zap!
She unleashed her most potent weapon, the legendary Samhain Ray! Its power surrounded Teen Trickster and formed a grinning, pumpkin-shaped force field. The blades struck at the energy barrier, as though the vines they hung from had minds of their own, but they could not so much as dent the crackling, black shield. However, holding the force field up was obviously becoming a strain for the young heroine. So, she closed her eyes and called on the aid of her spirit guide.
Red Pumpkin, She thought. Are you there? I need you.
Somewhere inside her mind, a voice answered her.
“Don't let yourself be distracted by the vines.” The mysterious voice said. “Focus instead on the roots.”
Teen Trickster opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on the ceiling. She scanned it quickly for some sign of weakness in those deadly plants. She spied a dark spot in the corner where the vines all attached. That was her target.
Keeping her wits about her, Teen Trickster let her defences drop and focused the Samhain Ray's power in her right hand. She felt the energy build up and form a pumpkin-shaped ball of raw power. When it reached the right intensity, she flung the crackling energy at the ceiling.
Kaboom!
The ball exploded once it hit its target. However, the problem was not solved. As soon as the smoke cleared, Teen Trickster saw the terrible truth: Her powers had no effect on these vines! What was worse was now she was open to a fresh attack from Jack's deadly pendulums. The Halloween Heroine made a mad dash for the other side of the room. The razor-sharp blades followed her, but that was exactly what she wanted. When she came close enough to the wall, she jumped and, at just the right moment, kicked against it, sending herself soaring towards her lethal pursuers. The closest pendulum swung at her, but she spun in midair, dodging the attack. She stretched out her orange-gloved hand and grasped the vine with all her might. Summoning her superhuman strength, she swung the blade like a lasso and, timing herself perfectly, let go, so that the pendulum flew directly at the root of all her troubles.
Chop!
The weapon struck the dark spot and buried itself deep in the ceiling. Severed from their roots, the vines fell harmlessly to the ground.
Teen Trickster landed a few centimetres in front of Jack-O-Ripper. She looked him straight in his red-masked face and gave him a cocky grin. Something was wrong, though. He had said there were 7 pendulums, but she saw only 5!
Without a second to lose, she focused her energy and activated her famous Phanto-Power. In an instant, her whole body turned invisible, just as 2 more blades descended on her from behind. Had she waited 1 second longer, they would have surely turned her into hamburger meat. Now, however, they just passed through her harmlessly, as though she were a ghost and could walk through walls.
But the Ripper was not so lucky.
His own blades struck him in the chest, flung him backwards and pinned him to the wall. Teen Trickster squealed in shock and turned away, feeling a bit too squeamish to see her enemy receive that kind of punishment. She took a deep breath as she deactivated the Phanto-Power, then turned around slowly.
Was this truly the end of Jack-O-Ripper?
No. Such a wound would have killed anyone else, but not the Blood-Red Rogue. Kept alive by some unknown, supernatural force, he struggled to try and free himself from the vicious blades. Teen Trickster actually thought he looked kind of funny. It was always satisfying to see the bad guys getting their just desserts. Finally, the man in the devil mask roared in anger. He slashed at the steel blades with his sickle and cut them into strips of metal confetti. Now free, he gave his arch-nemesis a bitter snarl.
“You haven't beaten me yet.” He growled. Jack-O-Ripper pointed his sickle at the ceiling. Suddenly, the weapon fired from his wrist and planted itself high above. A long, vine-like line connected the blade to his arm and Teen Trickster figured out what he was going to do. He's going to use it as a grappling hook, she thought. And she was right! The Crimson Crook jumped in the air and swung away from her in the direction of a large window.
“Next time we meet, I'll make you wish you'd never even heard my name.” Jack-O-Ripper called.
“I already wish I'd never heard it.” Teen Trickster muttered. But she wasn't licked yet! Her eyes fell on one of the large pendulum blades which lay on the floor. Before you could say “buy war bonds”, she rushed forward and snatched it up. Then, sparing no time, she flung it at the Ripper's line.
Slice!
It cut the cord neatly and sent the Crimson Crook falling. He crashed into a large stack of wooden crates.
Bam!
The boxes broke open and several rolls of aluminum wrap fell out over the masked villain. The rolls seemed to unravel at his touch. Their contents caught onto him and made his escape difficult. The more he struggled, the more tied up he became. The metal sheets bound him, as if they wanted to capture him too. Finally, he lost his balance and fell flat on his face, wrapped up like a Christmas present. Caught at last.
“Curses!” Jack-O-Ripper exclaimed. “Foiled again. Blast you, Teen Trickster.”
The teenage heroine walked towards him smugly. When she was at his side, she knelt down, smiling. Her work here was almost done.
“Sticks and stones, Jack.” She said. “Nothing can spoil my mood right now, because I'm finally going to have something I've waited a long time for. Your true identity.”
She reached at his horned mask.
“No.” He cried. He struggled with his bonds and, with the Devil's own luck, was able to break free. But Teen Trickster was pretty lucky too. Before he could escape again, she grabbed hold of the back of his uniform. He tried to shake her off, but she managed to get her hand on his mask too.
Rip!
Both his mask and his shirt were torn away from his body. Jack-O-Ripper was sent stumbling into the shadows, while his arch-enemy scanned the darkness for some glimpse of him. All in all, Teen Trickster was feeling pretty pleased with herself. Any minute now she would finally see the true face of her mortal foe.
She spied a figure in the dark that approached her slowly. Her satisfaction changed to shock as it stepped forward into the light. Terror and recognition filled her eyes, followed shortly by betrayal. The torn shirt and mask slipped from her fingers and landed harmlessly on the warehouse floor. She pointed at the figure accusingly.
“You.” She stammered. “That's impossible! It can't be... You!”
October 31st, 1952...
In my dreams, I have wings. I soar through the open skies, a truly free spirit. There are no boundaries. No limits. I can fly as high as I please, even higher if I dare. In my dreams, I can touch the blue. Sadly, though, the time comes when everyone has to wake up. When that happens, I fall back to Earth and crash into reality.
That's what happened the morning it all started.
My alarm clock squawked at me from its little perch. Brrrriiiiing, it went, telling me to open my lazy eyes and move my tired carcass out of bed. I've always hated waking up. After a beautiful dream, reality is so disappointing. Then, I thought that, maybe, if I just rolled over and fell asleep again, I could pick the dream up where I left off. But, by then, it was too late. The dream was gone, never to be seen again. All I had to look forward to was breakfast, school, homework, a little bit of free time, then finally sleep again. I moved my lazy bones up, up and away from my mattress's comfort, preparing myself for the day ahead. I stretched as I walked to my window, then drew the curtain aside and let the light in. The sun's rays stung as they hit my eyes, blinding me. Once I adjusted to their glare, I could see that maybe today would be different from all the others. I opened the window and took a deep breath of the crisp Autumn air. The very scent of it filled me with a wonderful feeling that can't be described to anyone who has never stopped to smell the dry leaves and early frost. The road outside my house was a long, twisting snake that wound its coils through the countryside and finally disappeared into town. Little farms and cottages lined its sides like coloured spots. In the field across the street, a beautiful, white mare stood grazing with her herd. Meanwhile, in the pig-pen on our own farm, a large, black sow frolicked happily with her piglets. Her name was Molly and had a reputation for being the largest pig in 100 kilometres. I'm not sure if that's a reputation to be proud of, but she never seemed to mind. The birds didn't sing that day, they were all on their long journey South for the approaching Winter. On that particular morning, the yards of the surrounding farms were decorated richly with vibrant colours and strange characters. I was genuinely happy when I remembered what special day it was.
On the road out front of my house, a little boy passed by. He wore a white sheet over his head as he sauntered his way to the corner where the school bus picked up the local kids. He stopped when he noticed me looking at him and, for a brief moment, we made eye contact. He then raised his left hand and gave me a small salute.
“Happy Halloween.” He called out. I smiled and waved to him.
“Happy Halloween.” I called back and he went off on his merry little way. I was still smiling as I got dressed. I checked myself in the mirror to see how I looked. I had the body of a scarecrow; wiry and unusually tall for my age (6' 3” and still growing! Yikes!) and had an ugly, black mole on the left side of my neck. My height tended to put people off, since I towered over all the other kids in my class (and even a few of the teachers). I guess folks just don't like having someone looking down on them. But, it's even worse for a girl. For some reason, boys seem to have trouble accepting the idea of a tall girl. It makes them feel weird. My hair didn't help either, if you could really call it “hair”. Imagine having a pile of straw growing out of your scalp and you can guess what the unmanageable mess on top of my big, round head was like. However, my thoughts that morning were on neither my height nor my hair. I had thrown on a simple skirt and celebrated the holiday with the nice, orange sweater that I'd worn to last month's sock hop. It didn't look too shabby. I gave my reflection a playful wink and rushed downstairs, excited for once to be awake. I looked through one of the windows and saw my Mom working out in the field. She was busy gathering up the last pumpkins of the season and piling them in the back of her big, blue pickup truck. Later, she would drive that truck into town and sell those pumpkins to the supermarket. There would be a huge rush of last minute Halloween shoppers who'd just snatch them all up tonight and then we'd have no more work in the field until May (hooray!). To be fair, though, pumpkin farming isn't the same sweaty workout that you get on most other farms. Pumpkins are ridiculously easy to take care of. You start by clearing your field (or garden) and building the dirt into little mounds called “hills”. After Victoria Day, you plant your seeds in the “hills” and water them every other day (everyday during the hot season). You should start seeing the first sprouts after a couple of weeks. Now, the real magic comes with the flowers. Yeah, I bet you didn't know that pumpkins have flowers, did you? The “boy” flowers are on the ends of long stems, while the “girl” flowers are shy and like to stay close to the vine. They both open in the early morning and close again in the afternoon. In order for the vine to sprout fruit, you have to get the flowers to cross-pollinate. That means the pollen from the “boy” has to get into the “girl”. Usually bugs will do this for you, but the only way to be sure is get a “boy” and a “girl” while their open and, being careful not to break either the vine or the stem, bring the flowers together and make them “kiss”.
Blech! I hate mushy stuff.
If you did it right, the “girl” should grow into a pumpkin shortly afterwards. There, that's really all there is to pumpkin farming. It's easy, except when it gets hard (like when late August thunderstorms wipe out half of your crop).
Anyway, I opened the window and called to my Mom.
“'Morning.” I shouted. She wiped the sweat off of her brow and waved to me. She was built like a pussy-willow, with long blond hair, which she always tied back in a braid, and vibrant blue eyes. While our hair was the same colour, her's was much nicer than mine. Her hair was silky smooth while I had to hold mine down with a hairband to keep it from making me look like the Bride of Frankenstein.
“Good morning, Eve.” My Mom called back. “I think your father is in the kitchen.”
That got my attention. My Dad didn't get to help out with the farm too much, but that wasn't his fault. He ran a very successful art dealership and, as a result, he had to disappear from my life for weeks, sometimes even months at a time. I always missed him when he was gone. There was a void in the family without him. An empty seat at the table. A voice that couldn't be heard. He had always been very good to me and I cherished what little time we had together. A couple of weeks earlier, he had taken me out to see a new flick called Red Planet Mars (most of it was good, but I thought the ending ruined it). We spent a while gabbing after the show, then stopped by the newsstand. There, he let me have my allowance early so I could get the latest issue of The Haunt Of Fear, which is my favourite comic book (my Mom says it'll rot my brain, though). I may have my mother's blond hair, but I have my father's deep, dark eyes.
He was sitting in the kitchen that morning, the family cat resting quietly on his lap. He had a very “average” look about him. His black hair was arranged neatly and his slightly pale but otherwise plain features were calm and impassive as he read the morning paper. If you saw him in a crowd, you could blink and lose him altogether. He was just that ordinary.
Except for his eyes. They were deep-set and powerful, like a pair of magnets in his face. He was usually very calm, but on the rare occasions when he did get angry, those eyes felt like they could burn a hole right through you.
“Good morning.” He said as I raced past him. His electric eyes fell on me slyly as I tried to pick out something tasty from the fruit bowl on the table. On the newspaper's front, the headline screamed:
Blue Beetle smashes spy ring!
Famous costumed vigilante (who is rumoured to have ties to the police force) foils plot by foreign agents to rot our youths' brains through horror comics.
You'd hear these sorts of stories all the time. Whether it was in comic books, movies, matinee newsreels or plain, old, schoolyard gossip, everyone knew about superheroes. Some people said that the idea was just plain silly, but others claimed they were the modern versions of the classical hero myths, like Hercules or Odysseus. We all knew about people like The Blue Beetle, Commander Steel, The Black Cat, Phantom Lady and Mr. Monster. No one knew much about them, except that for whatever reason, these various characters chose to dedicate their powers to protecting Truth, Justice and, yeah, all that stuff. According to local rumour, our little town even used to have its own superhero. My Dad read through the page carefully, slowly petting the sleeping feline on his lap. He sighed longingly, folded up the paper and put it down. He turned his powerful eyes on me and his longing turned to disapproval when he saw that all I had scrounged for myself was an apple and a slice of rye from the breadbox.
“That's not all you're eating, young lady.” My Dad said as soon as he spied what I'd managed to forage for myself. There he went again. I was 13-years-old and he still called me “young lady”.
“Uh-huh.” I replied. “I'm trying to lose weight. I'm fat.”
He rolled his eyes.
“You're not fat.” He said. “You're probably the skinniest girl in this whole town. I'm afraid that if I hug you, you'll break.”
There he went lecturing me again. Whenever he gave me any fatherly advice, there was a certain note in his voice, like he was used to ordering people around and having his orders obeyed. It always made me nervous when I wanted to ask him something and, on that day, I had something really big to ask him. So, as I put my one slice of bread into the toaster, I decided to not-so-casually change the subject.
“It's a nice day out today.” I said, pretending to actually care about the weather.
“Yes, it is.” He said. “I bet you and Samantha have big plans tonight.”
Samantha was my best friend, even though she was 2 years older than me. Her Dad was the chief of police here in Summer's End. I think most of the teens her age held that against her. Even though our town wasn't segregated (or maybe because it wasn't segregated) they always picked on her for being Native. Being the tallest person in my grade, I got more than my share of taunts too. But she always got it worse. Her colour wasn't her fault any more than it was my fault for being big. Kids are just mean and they were upset that, despite people's prejudices, her father had actually managed to do quite well for himself. I always felt sad for Samantha. She looked so lonely. Still, a small group of our school's social outcasts had just started to accept her as one of their own, which brings me back to the subject of my really big question. You see, little did my Dad suspect, but he had just saved me the trouble of bringing it up. Now, I could just ask him. But...
What if he said “no”? That would be terrible. I needed him to say “yes”. My best friend needed me tonight. I gulped apprehensively and took a deep breath.
“Actually.” I said. I licked my lips nervously. “Samantha's gonna go to this really great party and there's gonna be lots of people there and we're all gonna go bowling after and it's gonna be great and I've never been to a real Halloween party before and can I go, Dad, please, Dad, please?”
I gave him my best sad puppy-dog eyes and waited for an answer. Nothing had the power to shock this guy, but I got the impression that I'd just totally overwhelmed him.
“Did you just say all that in one sentence?” He asked. “Young lady, you need to learn a thing or two about proper grammar.”
He was right too. My grades in English were always really lousy. Still, it wasn't my grades that were worrying me. Every cell in my body was shaking as I waited for his answer. He seemed to think it over for a really long time.
“Who's throwing this little party?” He asked.
“Jimmy Dewitt.” I said. “His folks work for Samantha's Dad and...”
“Yes, I know the Dewitts.” He interrupted. “They're good people.”
Time stood still as my Dad thought. The suspenseful look on my face seemed to give him an infinite amount of pleasure. Even now, I honestly think he stalled on purpose just to torture me before giving his answer.
“And you'll be sure to stick with Samantha?” He said. I nodded.
“And you promise me you'll be responsible?” He asked. I nodded twice.
“And you promise you'll be home by 8:00?”
I nodded thrice.
He took a long, thoughtful breath.
“Let's ask Scorpio.” He said. He lifted the sleeping, black cat from his lap and held her in front of his face. Groggily, Scorpio opened her eyes and looked at him inquisitively.
“Well, Scorpio, can Eve go to a party tonight?” He asked.
“Mew.” The animal said quietly. He set her back on his lap and pet her until she purred.
“That sounded like a 'yes' to me.” He said. My heart fluttered, I was so happy. I wanted to hug him. In fact, I decided to do just that. I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed with all my might.
“Thanks, Dad.” I said. I let go of him and tickled the black cat under her chin. “Thanks, Scorpio.”
My Dad gave me a mischievous wink.
“Now get going before your mother comes in and says 'no'.” He whispered.
“Before your mother says 'no' to what?” I heard my Mom's voice demand. I looked up and saw her standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and tapping her foot impatiently. I gulped.
“A Halloween party.” I whimpered. Her expression dropped to one of disapproval. Before she could say a word, though, my Dad leaped to my defence.
“Come on, Brigid.” He said. “The girl's 13. She needs to get out more and spend some time with people her own age.”
“That's funny advice, considering how you turned out.” My Mom replied. My Dad rose from his chair and was by her side in an instant. He cradled Scorpio in his left arm and, with his free hand, took hold of my mother's slender fingers. The man's swiftness and reflexes were uncanny. Gently, he placed a kiss on my Mom's wedding ring.
“You mean married to the most wonderful woman on Earth?” He said.
Gag! More mushy stuff.
“Well, yes.” She stammered. “But that's not what I mean, Ichabod. I mean...”
She tossed me a nervous glance, then lowered her voice.
“You know what I mean. And on Halloween of all nights.”
“Oh, but please, Mom.” I interrupted. “It's Friday. There's no school tomorrow. Please.”
“Calm down, Eve.” My Dad said. He turned back to my mother and looked her right in the eye. “Now, my dear, I'm sure you can find it in your heart to allow your daughter this small luxury... if your husband insists.”
My mother's disapproval melted into something else that I couldn't quite figure out. As for my father, his eyes had reached an intensity where they were almost like 2 glowing jack-o-lanterns. Finally, my Mom sighed in defeat.
“Alright.” She said. “But be home by 9:00.”
“8:00.” My Dad said. I nodded in agreement as my single slice of toast popped out of the toaster. I felt like popping too. I was so happy. I gave my Mom a big hug just to show her how much I appreciated this. When I finally let her go, I grabbed my toast from off the counter and stuffed it into my mouth.
“Will you be home for dinner at least?” My Mom asked.
“Nah.” I said, swallowing my breakfast. “Samantha's gonna meet me here right after school.”
I grabbed my lunch out of the ice box and raced for the front door. I forgot my apple in the kitchen, but I didn't care. I was soaring.
“Bye.” I shouted as I ran outside.
“What are you going to dress-up as?” I thought I heard my Mom call after me. To be perfectly honest, I had no idea how I'd dress. I figured that I could scrounge through her closet when I got home. Maybe I'd find something fancy that I could wear. There would be time for that later, though. For the moment, I was content to run through the fallen leaves and breathe the smell of Autumn. As I ran down the road to where the school bus stopped, the wind pushed at my back, creating a feeling of weightlessness. Perhaps tonight I would get to fly.
Generally speaking, Summer's End was a fairly quiet town. Located East of Gatineau, it was founded in 1877 by Col. Gordon Summer and built next to a cliff with a sharp drop into the Ottawa River. It's weird that anyone would want to build a town on a dead-end like that. But, I guess that described the place perfectly. A dead-end. The West side of town consisted mainly of farming and agriculture. However, the further East you went, the more suburban the town became, until you finally reached a collection of expensive cottages and mansions, which made up what we called the “Money Side”. Finally, unlike a lot of other towns, ours wasn't segregated (which means that people with different skin colours could live in the same neighbourhoods, go to the same schools, drink from the same water fountain and even eat at the same table in a restaurant). So, it didn't matter what colour your skin was. In Summer's End, you were a person and that's what counted. Now, what province we belonged to was something of a mystery. If you bought a map made in Ontario, it would naturally tell you that we were in Ontario. However, if you bought one made in Quebec, you would be told that Summer's End was part of La Belle Province. See, French does come in handy. The obvious answer to this riddle would've been to get a map from somewhere outside of these 2 provinces. But if you did that, you wouldn't be able to find us on it at all. In the spot where farmers, families, and workers all sweated to give you the best produce that could be grown out of the Earth, you would see only a great empty space. And my Geography teacher says I never pay attention in class. Ha!
Our population was 965, but we all tended to keep to ourselves. Crime was limited to the occasional speeding ticket and a few misdemeanour charges whenever any of the local teens decided to act tough and form a gang. Samantha's father did a pretty good job of keeping the peace, but even he was only human. Sometimes, crime slipped through. Legend had it, though, that things used to be a lot worse. If you listened to the voices whispering outside of open lockers and in the cold, quiet schoolyard, you would hear stories of a time when every imaginable evil converged on our little neighbourhood. When the shadow of World War 2 descended over Europe, evils that called themselves Jack-O-Ripper, Dr. Pumpkinstein and Hexia were unleashed to do as they pleased in Summer's End, turning it into a wasteland of terror. A time when horror was most free.
But then, so the story goes, a light appeared in the dark. She came from out of nowhere, casting the shadows aside and pushing back the darkness like the lit pumpkin that she used as her symbol.
She was called Teen Trickster.
Now, I know that there are supposed to be all sorts of superheroes out there. With all the different legends in the world, it's hard to tell what's real, what's myth and what's just a comic book fantasy. To us, though, she was really something special. No one knew who she was or why she liked pumpkins so much. However, it's because of her legend that Halloween was celebrated with such zeal in Summer's End. When I was little, I even used to have a poster of her on my bedroom wall. According to the story, she single-handedly fought back the evil. Thanks to her, Dr. Pumpkinstein was now in prison and Hexia was supposed to be dead. Jack-O-Ripper, on the other hand, was never caught. No one ever saw his face and folks say that neither him nor Teen Trickster were ever heard from after their final battle.
It had been on a Halloween night.
This story was never far from anyone's mind in our sleepy town. It certainly wasn't far from mine on that fateful afternoon. How could it be? As I walked past the local farms, the trees which lined the road were all dressed in their Fall colours. There was a jack-o-lantern on every doorstep, ghostly faces and ghoulish scenes in every yard, and the wonderful smell of Autumn in the air. If you believe in the old Celtic legends, the spirits were there too, drawn to the homes of the people they loved in life. The legends weren't just Celtic, either. In Mexico and South America, there is a pair of similar holidays called “The Days of the Dead”, that are celebrated on November 1st and 2nd. On those days, people leave out offerings of food for the ghosts of their loved ones in the hopes that they might come and visit. In fact, the holidays are so similar that some people have even started to regard Halloween as an extra Day of the Dead! And it doesn't stop there, either. Many Voodoo cultures believe that on October 31st, Baron Samedi, spirit of the graveyard, stands at the crossroads between this world and the next. There, he helps people who've passed on find their way over to the other side. If you look across the globe, you'll find all sorts of legends surrounding this peculiar time of year. Whether its called Halloween, Samhain, All Saints' Day, Nos Galan Gaeaf, Allan Day, Bonfire night, the Days of the Dead, Punkie Night, All Souls' Day or All Hallows Eve, it's the one season when the dead walk the Earth. Perhaps it was their otherworldly hands which guided me that day. For as I walked home from school, I felt a distinct chill. It could have been anything. It could have been the wind. It could have been my nervousness about not having a costume for the party yet. It could have even been that fall fashions for 13-year-old girls were never very warm. Seriously, when are they gonna make a top for young ladies that's actually practical in the cold weather? Maybe, just maybe, it could have also been a premonition. Borgo Pass was a fairly long road, but the walk from the school bus stop to my house was quite short. It was only a couple of minutes before I'd slipped through the front door and took off my shoes.
“Mom? Dad? You home?” I called out. I waited tensely for an answer. While I really did love my parents, I have to admit that it was nice to sometimes have the whole house to myself. I think every teen likes to be able to do whatever they want without any watchful eyes about. I waited a full 30 seconds before I decided that the coast was clear. The first place I went was the kitchen. 1 measly piece of toast and the slim pickings I'd had for lunch proved to have been not nearly enough. There, I found a note from my Mom on the table.
Eve,
There is a pan of funeral fudge for you and your friends in the ice box. Please remember to change the pig's water before you leave. Have fun at the party tonight.
Love,
-Mom
Gee, that was really sweet of her. What we called “funeral fudge” wasn't really fudge at all. It was actually these yummy, peanut-butter and marshmallow squares that her side of the family always used to serve at funerals (hence the name). To tell you the truth, though, I really didn't know much about my Mom's side of the family. I knew that she wasn't on good terms with her father. I'd never met the guy, but I knew that he was from Ireland. He would always send me a card and some money on my birthday. As for my Dad's side, I knew even less. Supposedly, I had an uncle out there somewhere. But, other than that, I knew nothing.
I fished a mango out of the fruit bowl and sank my teeth into it. The juices from it recharged my inner batteries and made me feel better.
Then I noticed the time...
It was 3:30. I panicked. Samantha would be at my front door in 10 minutes and I didn't even have an outfit yet. I finished my mango (I like mangoes) and rushed upstairs to my parents' room. The door was closed, so I knocked. When I didn't get an answer, I let myself in.
I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I'm not the kind of girl who usually goes snooping through her Mom's things. Okay, there was that one other time around Christmas, but the situation had been totally different and fully justified. My Dad had asked me to do it because he wanted to know if he was getting that fancy book he'd wanted. I think he got a lump of coal instead. Anyway, the point is that I really had not thought about dressing up that year. You have to remember that I was 12 the year before. When you're 12, it's cool to dress up and go trick-or-treating on Halloween. But, when you reach a certain age, there comes a time when you have to leave your childhood behind and grow up a little. That means no trick-or-treating and definitely no more candy. So, for my first Halloween as a teenager, I'd had to accept that I was not a kid anymore. Hardly any of the costumes ever fit me, anyway.
So, having said all that, I entered my parents' room and my eyes fell immediately on my Mom's closet. She always had such nice clothes and I was sure that she wouldn't mind if I borrowed something for just one night. My legs were way too long for most of her outfits, but I was skinny enough that I could fit into some if I tried. When I opened the closet door, my nose was struck by the wonderful smell of Autumn. I wasn't quite sure why at the time. I was far too busy looking at the selection of clothing that had been laid out before me. I was like a kid in a candy store picking up this top and trying on that skirt. Honestly though, I have no idea what my Mom was thinking when she bought that yellow jacket. Ugh! After a couple minutes of searching, I was able to narrow my list of potential outfits down to 2 possibilities. I could either go with one really cool black dress (with a little make-up, I could say I was a witch) or an neat, Eastern style, green one (with which I could say I was Myrna Loy). I was standing in the closet, holding both dresses in front of me and trying to choose which one to wear, when my decision crashed quite literally on my head. From high above me, a large metal box fell down and smashed into my skull. I gave a yell and dropped both of my choices as my head started to throb. My hands went instinctively for my scalp. It wasn't bleeding, but I was certain that it would leave a nasty bump.
I looked down at the source of my misery. The steel box lay closed on the carpeted floor. A busted lock was only a few inches in front of it. Either it had been broken in the fall or it had been slowly falling apart for years. Or maybe I just have a really thick skull, I don't know. Whatever the case, the sight of it piqued my curiosity. What secret could be so dark that my Mom had to keep it locked in a metal box?
Anxious, I knelt down and lifted the lid.
Inside was a bundled up mass of orange and black fabric. I lifted it out of its container and held it up. The shape in my hands unravelled itself, like a snake awakening from a long sleep. It took on the likeness of a human body. It was not long before I realized what it was. A costume, tight and black, with orange stripes on the legs and a curious, jack-o-lantern symbol on the chest. It was an exact copy of Teen Trickster's iconic outfit! There were accessories with it too; long orange gloves, matching, pointy-toed boots and a little black mask to go around your eyes. My jaw hung open as I looked it over. It was perfect! I had to try it on right away. As I did so, it almost seemed to change itself to fit my size. I felt like it had been made just for me. I slipped on the boots, then the gloves. Finally, I fitted the mask over my face. It rested neatly on the bridge of my nose and managed to be quite snug against my cheeks without being uncomfortable. There were even a pair of reflective lenses fitted in the eye-holes. That way, I could see out, but no one could identify this mysterious heroine by her eye-colour. It was exhilarating. My Mom had a full length mirror on her wall which I now ran to to check myself in. I looked myself over, scrutinizing every detail.
Not bad, I thought. I smiled and my reflection smiled back. I looked like a superhero. I felt like one too. From the moment after I put that costume on, I could feel a strange energy. It was as though some kind of otherworldly radiation had begun coursing through my body. I felt like I could take on the world. I looked at myself proudly in the mirror and thought the real Teen Trickster would have approved.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I knew instantly who it had to be and raced downstairs to meet her. I threw open the front door to see Samantha standing on the porch. She was already dressed for the party. Her wavy, dark hair was held back by a little black band with fuzzy cat ears on the top. She was dressed in a matching, skin-tight body suit with a tail coming out the back. On her wide cheeks, she had painted long lines to act as whiskers. You get 3 guesses to figure out what she was dressed as. Her expression fell to surprise and confusion at the sight of me. She didn't say anything, so I spoke for her.
“Tah-dah!” I said. “What do you think?”
She still said nothing. She looked me over from top to bottom in total silence. After a long period of trying to figure out what to say, she finally voiced her thoughts in the clearest and most polite way that she could.
“Um, what are you supposed to be?”
My shoulders fell as I sighed. What a way to “snuff out” a girl's confidence, eh?
“I'm a superhero.” I replied. She looked me over one more time.
“Uh-huh.” She said slowly. She seemed to think it over for a long time, then a smile spread across her face. “Yeah, I see it. Just like Teen Trickster.”
Yes, I thought. Success.
“Yeah.” I said. “Come on, I promised my Dad I'd be home by 8:00.”
Samantha nodded. It was getting late. She helped me give Molly and her piglets some fresh water (which involved hauling 15 buckets out to the pig-pen) and even agreed to carry the funeral fudge for me. But, by then, we knew that we probably wouldn't make it on time. Already the sky was turning orange as the bright, Halloween sun made its descent towards the west.
Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat
Not too big, not too small, just the size of Montreal
That familiar chant rang through the cold, night air, accompanied by the sounds of children's laughter in the streets and dead leaves crunching under my boots. All were music to my ears. I could have listened to them forever. The playful sounds, the crisp smells and the many ghoulish sights had a way of invigorating me. I love all this scary stuff. Halloween is probably my favourite night of the year. However, no matter how much fun you're having, it always seems like there's someone who wants to spoil it.
A shrill scream pierced the night. This was not the kind of good-natured scream that you always hear on this special occasion, nor was it even the sound of pretend fear used to lure candy seeking kids to their neighbours doorsteps. No, this was a scream of genuine terror.
I could never stand to see anyone get picked on, not even when I was little. Even now, seeing a bully prey on someone, just for being smaller, sickens me. But it's always worse when a group of bullies all gang up on one person, like a flock of vultures pecking at a tiny, defenceless rabbit. I could never stand to see that. So, you can understand my reaction when, as Samantha and I were just outside the picket fence of Jimmy Dewitt's house, a group of teenagers in skull masks ran by. They were chasing after a kid in a ghost costume. The poor little guy was running for his life, holding onto a bag full of candy as though it was his most precious possession. What made it even worse was that I recognized him as the same kid who had waved to me that morning. He looked so helpless and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what his skull-faced pursuers were after.
There were 3 bullies in all; 1 big, fat one and 2 shorter ones. The leader seemed to be the one in the middle. He talked in a mean, commanding tone that made me want to punch him.
“C'mon kid.” The pack leader shouted. “Just gimme the bag already.”
The kid was crying.
“No, it's mine.” He said through his tears.
“Pretty please?” The really big one said in a high, squeaky voice.
“No.” The kid said again.
“Pretty please with sugar on it?” The big one said again. At least one of them had manners.
“No.” The poor kid repeated.
I take it back, none of them had manners. As soon as his victim refused for a third time, the big one made a weird, squeaking noise and made a grab for the bag.
That settled it. I knew I had to put a stop to this. I looked to Samantha, who had turned pale with fright. You would think that a cop's daughter would be a lot harder to scare than her. But poor Samantha always had a problem with conflict. She couldn't stand fights and always tried not to get into an argument. The big scaredy-cat shook her head at me.
“Don't be crazy.” She said. “They could be dangerous.”
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, I heard a second voice. It didn't seem to come from anyplace I could see. It was as though it was coming from somewhere inside my mind. It was a hollow sound that echoed through my body.
“Don't listen to her.” It said. “You can stop it, if you only step forward and take action.”
It goes without saying that I was a little spooked. After all, how would you react to a ghostly, disembodied voice? Still, what it said resonated with me. It made me understand that the only thing holding me back was me. All I had to do was step forward...
Samantha's painted whiskers almost stood on end as I turned from her. I took a nervous step and walked slowly towards the gang. Their leader had just caught up with the tiny ghost kid and was trying to pry the bag away from his chubby little fingers.
“Leave him alone.” I shouted. All 3 skulls turned to look at me. I couldn't see any of their expressions, but I'd have to guess that they were all pretty surprised. Their leader let go of his target. The kid took advantage of the situation and scampered off into the ever lengthening shadows. The gang stood there in silence for a long time, sizing me up, trying to figure out if a pack of 3 boys could take on one girl. The leader tilted his head to the left, then to the right as though he wasn't sure what to make of me. Finally, he spoke.
“Uh, what are you supposed to be?”
I sighed.
“I'm a superhero.” I explained. Suddenly, they all burst out laughing. Then, the leader gave a signal and they all clammed up as quickly as they had begun.
“Go on, beat it, scarecrow.” He said. “Don't you know who we are?”
“Yeah.” Squeaked the big one. “Don't you know who we are?”
“Yeah, don't you know who we are?” The leftover one said in a whiny voice. He then leaned close to the leader and whispered. “Who are we, anyway?”
“A bunch of numbskulls by the look of it” I said. It served them right for calling me “scarecrow”. They didn't seem to appreciate it, though.
“Oh, wise-gal, eh?” The big one said. He gave me one of his weird squeaks.
“Are you gonna let her talk to you like that?” The leader asked him.
“Uh-uh.” The big one said, shaking his skull.
“Are you?” The leader asked the leftover one.
“Well...” Lefty replied. He stroked his chin indecisively and thought hard about his answer. The leader grew frustrated and pulled his cheekbone. That made him make up his mind.
“No.” The leftover one yelped in pain. “No, I won't.”
The leader let go and let him nurse his wound.
“So here's what we're gonna do.” Old bossy pants said. “I'll take her on the right side. You take her on the left side.”
He turned to the big one.
“Where'll you take her?”
“Dinner and a movie.” The big oaf replied. Gee, I must be the luckiest girl in the world. The boss crossed his arms and scowled at him.
“Oh.” The leader said sarcastically. “Lover's Lane isn't good enough for you, eh?”
“Please.” The big one said. “I never go that far on a first date.”
He gave his boss the evil eye.
“What kind of boy do you think I am?”
“The knuckle-headed kind.” The leader said. He grabbed his underling and positioned him in the middle of the group. “Okay, when I give the signal, we all get her. Got it?”
“Got it.” The big one squeaked.
“Got it.” The leftover one whined.
“Good.”
Now I was definitely regretting listening to the voices in my head. The 3 racketeers spread out and started walking towards me slowly. They inched closer and closer. As the space between us became smaller, the otherworldly voice chose that instant to return.
“Do you want them to hurt you?” It said. The skulls seemed to grow larger as they approached.
“No.” I said out loud.
“Then make them stop.”
I wasn't sure what the voice meant. So, I closed my eyes and stretched my arms forward in an effort to push the 3 boneheads back. I was not certain what I really expected to happen.
“All right.” I heard the leader say. “Grab her.”
Sha-zzatz!
I heard an unearthly sound as all the tiny hairs on my arms stood on end. I opened my eyes and saw the skull-faced villains lying on the ground. They scampered to their feet and began backing away, as though I was something terrifying. Without saying a word, they all turned and ran off into the night. I guess bullies are all really just a bunch of cowards.
Samantha's expression was priceless. Her jaw was hanging almost as low as her fuzzy tail. I really wish I'd had a camera and a flashbulb with me then. I went and joined her back on the sidewalk.
“How did you do that?” She asked.
“Um, I'm not sure.” I replied. “What'd I do?”
“There was all this black energy and it turned into like a...” She trailed off. “I don't know how to describe it. Like a force field or something. How did you do that?”
The truth was that I didn't know how I did that. I wasn't sure if I should tell her about the strange voice. I was afraid that she would think I had gone crazy. Still, I didn't really know what to say. I tried to think of a good fib, but could not come up with anything believable. Lucky for me, the voice knew what to do.
“Tell her you think it has something to do with the costume.” It suggested. “Then, tell her you found it at Lewis' Antiques.”
That made sense. Lewis' was always selling all sorts of things second hand. A mysterious Halloween costume that could turn you into a superhero for real certainly would not seem out of place on its shelves. I decided to go for it.
“I think it has something to do with this costume.” I said, doing my best to sound unsure. Samantha's brow furrowed.
“Where did you get it?” She asked. It felt bad to lie to her. My heart pounded so hard that it hurt.
“I found it at Lewis'.” I answered. The words tasted terrible as they left my mouth. Samantha was my friend, I was supposed to be able to trust her with the truth. But, she seemed to be content with the lie.
“In that case, who knows where it's from?” She said, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe the government built it to use against the Russians and the pumpkin is some kind of code.”
She appeared to be thinking very hard. She was really smart and was really good at figuring out stuff. I was sure that she could get to the bottom of this.
“Or maybe...” She said. “Maybe it used to be Teen Trickster's costume.”
I froze. I have to admit that I was dense enough that the idea had not occurred to me. But, I found the suit in my Mom's closet! Did that mean...?