Mischief Night (3 page)

Unavoidable. They nibbled at his consciousness, scurrying away and vanishing when he focused on better things, like friendly faces, or familiar surroundings. He missed his old home, the old school, the slumbering neighborhood with its comforting trees and neatly-trimmed lawns. The country was quiet -- too quiet. Its solitude amplified the worries within his head, and the last thing he needed was to dwell on dark thoughts.
Especially
in late October.

Sighing, he approached the mailbox; a miniature barn with a tiny flag on top. The flag was resting. The mail had already gone, and he propped open the red door, peering inside to rummage through the predictable offerings. Rusty noticed that the mail was shoved up against the back wall, and he reached inside, grabbing the small pile. His eyes adjusted to the preternatural gloom of the structure, and he immediately stiffened at the sight of the black object clinging to the top of the barn. But it wasn't an object at all. He gasped in fear.

Directly above his hand was an enormous spider. The biggest spider he'd ever seen. Furry legs waved menacingly, scant inches above the top of his hand. It was a wood spider, and they could grow to be quite large.

This one was a freak of nature.

It was easily bigger than his hand. It could have been mistaken for a large tarantula. He trembled with revulsion and fright. Rusty imagined the thing descending upon him and gouging a huge chunk of skin with its pincers. He hated spiders, and this thing was a monster. Dark brown, eight skittering legs, dead eyes. Staring at him. Waiting...

It was a terrible moment. Rusty shivered, feeling sweat dampen his forehead, slicking his back, dripping across his face. A drop slid over his upper lip, and he tasted the salt of his fear. The spider shifted, and he almost screamed.

Indecision. Should he try pulling his hand out now, or wait to see if the creature moved closer? He shuddered, feeling utterly horrible and disgusted. His spine was cold, and the flesh on his arms tingled at the thought of the hideous spider brushing against his skin, crawling along his hand. The thought was unbearable. If he whipped his arm out, would the spider then pounce, sticking fast and biting him? Visions of the abominable creature wrapping its legs around his arm drove him nearly mad. In the span of mere seconds, Rusty's world had been transformed into a haven for nightmares and black possibilities. It might bite him, which would he terrible, but it wouldn't kill him. He tried to think positive. His parents would take him to Doctor Peterson's office, and he would be given medicine. No big deal. No worse than when he broke his arm two years ago.

Logic was a good thing. It showed maturity, intelligence.

Unfortunately, the sight of the huge, lurking spider, far surpassed sound reasoning. He needed to act, or go crazy. Regardless of the consequences, he had to do something.

Shouting, he snatched his hand from out of the mailbox, expecting to feel a sharp pain as the nasty creature scored him with its fangs. Banging the side of the barn in his haste, his momentum was so great that he lost his balance, and fell on his back.

The spider had not touched him.

Landing hard on the ground, he simply lay there, feeling a mix of shock and relief. He was all right. The thing had not bitten him after all. Rusty crab-walked backwards, keeping a wary eye on the sinister mailbox and its gruesome occupant. The door had slammed shut, sealing the spider inside.

Regaining his confidence, he stood up, scrambling back to the house, and around the side. Plunging into his dad's tool shed, he brought out a metal pole, pointed at one end for staking small holes. He hurried to the front lane, his heart pounding with adrenaline. That spider was monstrous, and he couldn't allow for it to live in the same world as he did. No more chance encounters, he thought grimly. Never again.

Rusty stood silently before the mailbox, prying the door open with the shaft. He kept a respectable distance away, not wanting to have the thing leap onto his shirt. Flipping it open, he bent down, looking for his enemy.

To his surprise, the barn was empty. The spider had disappeared.

That quickly? Where had it gone? And how did it get out again, for that matter? He prodded the mailbox, searching on every side for an opening, a crack, something he hadn't noticed.

Nothing. The mailbox was solid, the door opening and closing completely. Had the thing actually opened it, crawling in, then quickly out again? Rusty waited there, shaking his head in bewilderment. It was too weird.

The whole incident would be considered strange on any given day, but today in particular it appeared in a much more sinister light. For one year ago he and two of his friends had fallen victim to a malevolent dwarf and its bizarre master, old man Berger.
Exactly
one year from today.

And now, it was Halloween again.

~ * ~

Rusty didn't even look at his lunch, a bologna and cheese sandwich. His favorite. Not today though. His mom walked by, frowning. "It was just a spider, don't let it bother you. Aren't you going to eat?"

Just a spider
, he thought?
Bite your head off...

"I'm not hungry. Maybe later."

His mother bustled past him, sweeping the platter with one arm, pointing at the glass bowl on the counter. "A harvest trail mix. At least take a handful, Rusty. I made it for you."

The boy nodded. "I will. I'll have something later tonight, at the hay ride. When's Tommy coming over?" He smiled to himself at the thought of his best friend visiting overnight. He had not found anyone to replace the freckle-faced youth, his childhood companion and playmate. They didn't live that far apart, only a distance of ten miles, but it might have been a world away. Nothing could replace the nightly encounters, the waving to one another from their bedrooms, across the street. The phone calls at every hour of the day and night. And mostly, the pranks and adventures.

Rusty's face soured. They'd spent their last days of Halloween raiding together, on that fateful night one year ago. Rusty had tried to move on, but the harrowing events had never completely relinquished their grip on him. His family had relocated shortly after the New Year into a cozy stone house on the fringe of
Hareton
, closer to where his dad worked.

Family and friends were not that far away, they'd told him. And you'll make new ones. And although they never admitted it, Rusty thought they also wanted to put the strange experience behind him. Bury it a few miles away, and move on. But he couldn't. His sleep was plagued with nightmares. Rarely did he go to bed with the light off. He showed no real outward signs of problems, and his grades remained excellent.

But there were some things you could never forget.

"...over at seven-thirty. Did you hear me? Rusty?"

"Uh, yeah." He pushed up from the chair, heading for his bedroom. "Did dad call yet?" He looked back hopefully.

"Sorry, dear. Double shift. There's no chance of him getting off. He's supervisor now, and his responsibilities are greater. I don't like it very much either."

He hesitated on the first step. "Yeah, I know. Do I have to wear a costume tonight?"

His mother called back to him from the kitchen. "At least take a rubber mask along. I'm sure Tommy will be dressing up, and you don't want to be the only one without something to wear."

He groaned. Rusty trudged upstairs, whistling absently, the melody of a nonsensical rhyme. It had been stuck in his head for the past few days:

October is here and Halloween is coming,

Monsters will be coming after you.

Black and mean sneaks the witches' cat, gleaming eyes, a big dead rat.

Skeletons jump in a bony dance, goblins scream in an ugly prance.

Don't look now,

They're coming after you!

Rusty paused. What a horrible song for little kids, he thought. He shook his head, as if the action would knock the tune from his mind. No wonder some children were terrified of Halloween.

And worse yet, he knew some of it was true.

~ * ~

Rusty lay on his bed, tilting his head and staring out the window, watching the lavender curtains swaying gently, disturbed by a teasing
 
wind. The afternoon was passing swiftly, giving way to a premature twilight, gray clouds choking the last cracks of the orange sunset. He rested there, dreamily looking across the fading autumn landscape, the distant hills a memory until the next sunrise. Neighboring farms gradually disappeared, leaving only a few gnarled trees and stale rows of corn visible.

He yawned. Tommy would soon be there, and they were going out to a local bonfire, the festivities including a hay ride and other harvest happenings.

Your turn is coming soon.

The words were sinister and alien, spoken by his old schoolmate and fellow prankster Jimmy, while under a hypnotic trance, held by the power of old man Berger. He didn't think he would ever forget that sentence. Many times he'd talked to Tommy about their harrowing experience, never coming up with a clear explanation. Their parents had believed only part of the story, knowing how active imaginations could create and expound on other fears.

But they knew better…

His mom was downstairs cleaning, and he waited patiently for his friend's arrival. Rusty hoped to bury some of his own demons by once again embracing the fall holiday and moving onward. It had been a long year, but the memories were still vivid in his mind. He needed a fresh start.

The wind hissed outside, and he jumped as a twig cracked against the side of the house. He stood up, going to the window and shutting it tight, snapping the latch. Rusty then paused as he heard a rustling sound overhead. Looking up, he stared at the ceiling, shivering. Above his room was a musty attic, unused except for storing old decorations. Many times he would hear small animals moving about, mice and an occasional squirrel. He had even spotted bats more than once, slipping through small crevices. He never went up there for anything. The idea of being alone in the creepy attic was an unpleasant one.

The noise was soft, a quiet scraping, and he frowned. He was constantly asking his dad to set more traps up there, although the last time his request had been answered only by a thoughtful silence, followed by a gentle chiding for him to do the act himself. Rusty hadn't taken up the offer.

He listened as the sound moved about, then changed. It was more a pattering, and he found himself straining to discover the exact source. It was located above his closet, and he walked to the door, now closed. The noise stopped, and he felt spider-chills crawl his spine. Hand on the closet door, he opened it, flicking on the light switch.

A small trapdoor sat above the single shelf, and he gazed at it apprehensively. He'd never really given it too much thought, the access to the attic from the closet. Now it appeared ominous. The notion of some critter plunging downwards was horrifying. He considered nailing it shut, but knew his dad would reprimand him if he were caught. No, that wasn't a good solution. He needed to start overcoming the little fears he carried around with him.

He stared at the trapdoor. Insignificant in itself, the object represented much more to him now. If he were able to open the door, scare away the bothersome critter, it would be an act of confidence. Like the first time he stood on the high dive at the swimming pool. He recalled looking down into the blue waters, willing himself to go off. It was a rite of passage, and after the first time, he'd felt a surge of exhilaration. He'd overcome a substantial obstacle, and moved onwards from there to more aggressive escapades.

Rusty reached for the trapdoor, his arm quivering just a bit. He pushed upwards, and the noise started again. The pattering moved further off, and for one second he thought he heard a soft gurgling, but a knock at his door drowned it out.

Surprised by the new intrusion, he jumped in fright.

"Rusty! Tommy's here early. What are you doing, sleeping?"

Breathing in relief, he looked up at the dark attic. "No, I'll be right down."

His heart thumping rapidly, he slid the panel back into place. Maybe I'll go over to the neighbor's farm this week, he thought, to see if they had any stray cats. That would take care of what hid up in the attic.

He hoped.

~ * ~

"Ten more minutes until the next hay ride."

The announcement blared over a loudspeaker, crackling and shrill in the brisk night. The theme park was crowded with bustling youths, some alone, others accompanied by parents. The cool air snaked its way across the grass field, scuttling dead leaves and prying into shirt sleeves and collars. The moon was hidden by high clouds, a few stars glittering faintly.

Rusty grinned as Tommy bit into a caramel apple, a big chunk breaking off and landing on his shirt. The boy mumbled something beneath his breath, his normally cheerful face twisted into a scowl. "Make these things cheaper every year, you know it? And the candy bars, smaller and more expensive." Tommy licked his fingers.

"Inflation, my dad says. Less for more." Rusty chuckled after replying, glad to be in his friend's company once again.

"Hey, this place is pretty neat. Except for that whirl ride, or whatever you call it -- makes me dizzy."

Rusty agreed. "Once, Nikki Rivers went on it five times in a row, and got sick. His face was so green he looked like a frog."