Halloween Carnival Volume 4

by Brian James Freeman (ed)

  Mortimer had gone through a number of flunkies over the years, but Spinoza was the most faithful. He had been on hand behind the strip mall to hold JayJay down as Mortimer shouted, “This is probably the best food you’ve had all week, huh, Trailer Trash?” while shoving dog shit in his mouth. Then they had thrown him into the canal. JayJay could not swim and had a powerful fear of the water. A homeless man found him flailing and screaming in the water and helped him out of the canal.

  Kenny, who had bright red hair and freckles and effeminate mannerisms, had received the most relentless attention from Mortimer over the years. One day in the fifth grade, he had made the mistake of walking home alone and taking the shortcut through the woods behind the school. Mortimer must have seen him going in that direction and he and Spinoza had followed. Afterward, Kenny had a black eye and a swollen lip, and he let his friends think that the beating was all that had happened. He did not tell them that Mortimer had pulled down his pants and roughly shoved something sharp and angular up his ass. After they had run away laughing, leaving Kenny on the muddy ground with his pants down, he had pulled it out and found that it was an old and broken Power Rangers action figure caked with dirt and now smeared with his blood. Mortimer had apparently found it lying on the ground there in the woods and was inspired to incorporate it into his little project. He was a bully with a flair for improvisation. Kenny took pride in the fact that in spite of the pain, he had not given them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out and had remained silent with teeth clenched. He did not tell his friends or his mother or his older brother, who probably would have laughed and told him it was his own fault. His parents had just gotten divorced then, so Dad was not around, but that was hardly anything new.

  Those were merely three examples from years of having to live their lives around the menacing presence of Ed Mortimer. The black eyes and bruises faded, the swollen lips shrank, but the invisible scars remained. The physical injuries did not have the lasting power of, say, having to walk through the cafeteria while Mortimer and his pals bellowed, “Gingerfag! Trailer Trash! Jabba the Scrote!”

  Kenny and his friends were not Mortimer’s only targets, of course. Everyone gave him a wide berth for fear of getting his attention and inadvertently setting him off. He had an innate talent for spotting weakness in others, an eye for sensitive spots such as unusual facial features, weight, a unique name—anything he could use to hurt someone. Politically incorrect targets such as ethnicity and sexuality were not beneath him. Even teachers were not immune to Ed Mortimer’s torments.

  The previous year, a new art teacher named Mrs. Nussbaum had begun working at the school and quickly won over all of her students. She was a plump, happy-faced woman with long, graying black hair, a contagious laugh, and a kind word for everyone, and by the end of that year she was the most beloved teacher at the school. On the first day of the new school year, Mrs. Nussbaum came to work to find the art room vandalized. Sculptures and paintings had been destroyed and her paints had been used on the walls. A swastika, a star of David, a large and artless depiction of male genitalia, and one enormous word in dripping black paint: KIKE. What no one knew about Mrs. Nussbaum, who was always so happy and pleasant, was that her husband, an alcoholic, was having an affair, her son was dying of cancer, and medical bills, which had already required the Nussbaums to give up their house, were crushing her family. The vandalism in the art room was the last straw for Mrs. Nussbaum, and she began screaming as she ran from her room, then from the school, still screaming as she ran into the street. Police later found her in a grocery store parking lot, sobbing as she tried to vomit into a garbage can. She never returned to the school after that.

  The culprit was never identified, but no one had any doubt that it was Ed Mortimer, and everyone knew that nothing would be done about it. Even if Mortimer had been caught in the act, they knew there would be little in the way of consequences. There never were for Ed Mortimer because his father was the meanest and most litigious attorney in the small city of Granite Falls, maybe in the entire county. His tan face grinned around his expensive, white teeth from advertisements on sidewalk benches and city buses, and his obnoxious commercials played often on local TV and radio. He was Jack Mortimer—the Justice Specialist! And no son of the Justice Specialist would ever be a bully, especially not a studious boy like Edward, who kept his grades up and mowed lawns during the summer for a little spending money, and who one day, his father hoped, would follow in Dad’s footsteps and become a brilliant attorney with commercials even louder and more obnoxious than Dad’s. Everyone was scared to death of the Justice Specialist, so his son had thus far faced no consequences for his behavior, which was consistently egregious.

  Whenever they witnessed or heard of some new offense of Mortimer’s, the boys engaged in a little ritual.

  “The day is coming,” Kenny said.

  “And when it comes,” Sam said.

  “It’s gonna come really hard,” JayJay said.

  Then, together: “Right in Ed Mortimer’s face.”

  Now Kenny’s eyes darted around nervously, looking for any sign of Mortimer. He did not feel self-conscious about it because Sam and JayJay did the same thing. He considered suggesting that they cut the night short and go straight home.

  As if reading his mind, Sam said, “If we see him anywhere, I say we just go home.”

  “That works for me,” JayJay said.

  “Why wait?” Kenny said.

  “One word,” Sam said. “Candy. If we’re gonna stay up all night watching horror movies, I’m gonna need energy.”

  The next house was dark, although light seeped through the sliver gap between the draperies.

  “They should be egged,” JayJay said. “Goddamned Jehovah’s Witnesses, or whatever their problem is. We should’ve brought eggs. Because they should be egged.”

  The most delicious aromas came from inside the next house when the door was opened by a pot-bellied bald man who gave them M&M’S. Agonizing screams came from inside the house.

  “Either that’s a horror movie playing in there or he’s killing somebody,” Sam said.

  JayJay said, “I’m gonna go with a horror movie.”

  The house after that was filled with screaming kids who were loud enough to make the boys wince on the porch. The harried woman gave them bags of nuts.

  “Nuts,” Sam said on the sidewalk. “The hell is the world coming to?”

  “Are you going to complain about everything that isn’t candy?” Kenny said.

  “That’s what I mean, there shouldn’t be anything in our bags that isn’t candy. Handing out nuts on Halloween is like handing out chocolate eggs on Christmas.”

  JayJay said, “There are no trick-or-treaters on Christmas.”

  “You’re just trying to piss me off now, aren’t you?”

  All through their banter, their eyes darted around, cautious and watchful.

  Kenny looked down a narrow, dark alley between houses and saw a rush of movement in the darkness, movement that was on them in an instant. Before he knew what was happening, Kenny was dragged by the hair into the alley. His right hand closed in a fist around the handle of his brown paper trick-or-treat bag as he flailed his arms and uselessly tried to kick someone, anyone, tried to gain his footing, but he was dragged until he was dropped to the pavement. The side of his face hit the ground so hard, he saw a flash of white inside his head and heard a loud ringing in his ears. Through the ringing, he heard JayJay scream and Sam spew a storm of obscenities at their captors.

  Then the kicking started. Kenny thought he might die there in an alley between houses in one of the nicer neighborhoods in west Granite Falls while costumed kids gathered candy all around them. When the kicking stopped, his ribs still throbbed with stabbing pain as if they were still coming. Someone grabbed him by the waist of his pants and lifted him partway off the pavement.

  “Hey, Gingerfag,” Mortimer said. “You like stuff in your butt, don’t you? I remember.” He laughed a we
t, gurgly laugh as he began to pull at Kenny’s pants, trying to get them off.

  Bright light passed over the pavement around Kenny’s face as a man called out, “Hey, you guys knock it off! Right now! You hear me? I’ll call the police!”

  At the word police, Mortimer released Kenny’s pants and dropped him to the ground.

  Whispered voices faded with rapid footsteps.

  “Motherfuckers!” Sam shouted a moment before Kenny felt a hand on his shoulder.

  He rolled onto his side and let Sam help him to his feet. He swayed as he was hit by a wave of dizziness, and Sam steadied him, saying, “You gonna be okay, Kenny?”

  “Yeah, I think I’ll be okay,” he said, but his weak voice quaked with pain.

  “You don’t sound too good,” Sam said.

  “You want us to call somebody?” JayJay said.

  Kenny’s face burned. Sam and JayJay were both back on their feet and sounded like themselves, while he was wincing with every movement and felt like crawling into bed.

  “Didn’t those guys kick you, too?” Kenny asked them.

  “Yeah, the motherfuckers,” Sam said.

  They’re just tougher than you, Sweet Cheeks, Kenny thought.

  “They wanted dick.”

  Sam turned to JayJay. “What?”

  “Yeah, they were lookin’ for dick. Buncha dickhunters.”

  Kenny said, “You guys should have gone after them.”

  “No, you looked hurt,” Sam said. “And I’m not interested in any more of what they’re givin’.”

  I’m such a pussy, Kenny thought.

  JayJay said, “Where’d they get you?”

  Some of Kenny’s ribs felt like they had blades lodged between them. “I think I can walk it off,” he said. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Who chased them away?”

  “Somebody passing by,” JayJay said. “A guy with some little trick-or-treaters. Somebody’s dad, I guess. I don’t even know which way Mortimer and his minions ran.”

  “Let’s go,” Kenny said. “I’m okay.” He did not feel okay, but he was too embarrassed to let it show. He straightened his back and kept up with Sam and JayJay as they headed to Amelia Way. Once again, even though they knew Mortimer and friends had been chased off, they looked for them in both directions before continuing on their route. It had become a habit.

  They passed other trick-or-treaters on the sidewalk, most of whom were much younger, small children with their parents, even toddlers.

  “We’re getting too old for this,” Kenny said, trying to keep the pain out of his voice.

  “I didn’t know there was an age limit,” Sam said.

  “There’s not, but, y’know, we’re gonna be in high school next year. Look around. They’re all little kids. If we keep trick-or-treating, people are going to think we’re weird.”

  JayJay laughed. “Are you new here? People already think we’re weird. What difference is trick-or-treating gonna make?”

  After a moment, Kenny said, “Yeah. You’ve got a point.”

  Their bags grew heavier as they walked among the skeletons and ghosts and superheroes, among the blinking orange and purple lights and bubbling witches’ cauldrons and the low, milky mists created by fog machines on porches.

  As they neared the well-lit intersection of Amelia Way and Jervik Road, JayJay pointed and said, “There. Is that him?”

  On the other side of the intersection, on their side of the street, a small clot of trick-or-treaters stood on the sidewalk and stared at them. Others passed by them in both directions, but they did not move and continued to stare at Kenny, Sam, and JayJay.

  “Yeah, that’s Mortimer and his buddies,” Kenny said. “Just letting us know they’re still watching.”

  “Let’s take Jervik and get the hell out of here,” Sam said.

  Kenny heard the fear in their voices. He felt it, too, as they hurried across a lawn to cut the corner and get onto Jervik. They walked fast for a while, trying not to be conspicuous in their flight, passing a couple houses without stopping for candy. Finally, with some distance behind them and with Sam gasping for breath, they slowed their pace.

  The houses on Jervik were spaced farther apart, as were the streetlights, which left dark gaps between them. Tall fences stretched between houses.

  “We should head back home,” JayJay said.

  “Yeah, we can stop at houses along the way,” Kenny said. “We’ll have plenty of candy by the time we get home, and we’ll each be in one piece.”

  They walked without stopping to Ebbings Road and turned right, heading back in the direction from which they had come.

  2. The Party

  They heard the party almost a block away, an odd, rapid beat, almost tribal, pounding relentlessly. Kenny expected to hear music as well, but he did not. There was only the frantic, throbbing beat. Cars were parked up and down the street and took up every inch of curb space.

  “That’s her car,” JayJay said, pointing at a gray Volvo in a driveway with four cars packed in around it and blocked by a circular driveway filled with parked cars.

  “Whose car?” Sam said.

  “Mrs. Castigare’s. That must be her house. The party house.”

  “You even know what car she drives? You got a thing for the art teacher?”

  “You’re saying you don’t?”

  “Well, let’s drop in on her.”

  “Come on, guys,” Kenny said, “I thought we were going to head home.”

  “We will, we will, but you know they gotta have some good candy here. You said they were rich, right, JayJay?

  “I said he’s got a lot of money and they’re well off,” JayJay corrected him sternly.

  “And they’re probably all drunk,” Sam went on, “so they’ll be really generous. Especially since we’re students of hers. Come on, let’s go.”

  Sam led Kenny and JayJay up the driveway.

  “This is a bad idea,” Kenny said.

  “It’s a great idea,” Sam said, “you’re just a fuckin’ pacifist. Or whatever it’s called when you think everything is a bad idea.”

  “The word is pessimist, Professor,” JayJay said.

  “You read too much.”

  They followed a flagstone path to the door of the house. Sam rang the doorbell, but Kenny doubted anyone could hear it over all that drumming.

  He said, “Nobody’s going to hear that. Let’s just go, okay? I’d really like to get out of this neighborhood before Mortimer and his friends find us.”

  “It’s Halloween,” Sam said. “They’ve gotta be ready for trick-or-treaters.”

  “They’re adults,” Kenny said. “Their lives don’t revolve around candy.”

  “No, their lives revolve around money, sex, and getting high, and since there’s no way they’re gonna be making money here tonight, that leaves sex and getting high, so they’re gonna be in a good mood.”

  As Sam rang the bell a second time, JayJay stepped away from the porch and disappeared for a moment. When he came back, he said, “Hey, you guys, there’s a gate over there, and I think they’re in the backyard. It sounds like that’s where the party is, not in the house.”

  “See?” Kenny said. “They’re ignoring trick-or-treaters. Let’s go.”

  “Just hang on a second,” Sam said. He turned the knob and all three boys gasped when the door opened.

  “Close that door,” Kenny hissed.

  Sam smiled and said, “Would you chill? It’s Halloween and they left the door unlocked with nobody to answer it for trick-or-treaters. How is this my fault?” He stepped inside.

  Kenny and JayJay had no choice but to follow, although JayJay did so with much more enthusiasm than Kenny, who was extremely uncomfortable with the idea of simply walking into Mrs. Castigare’s house as if they lived there. He followed last, with a loud, frustrated sigh, and closed the door behind them.

  The spacious foyer had an enormous painting on one wall and a high ceiling to accommodate it. It looked like the artist h
ad shot paint of several colors at the gigantic canvas from a cannon. A few coats hung from hooks on a long wooden rack on another wall, and a tall hat rack holding a fedora and a baseball cap stood in one corner beside a healthy rubber-tree plant in a green pot.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Kenny’s hissing whisper caught up with Sam, who had already moved into another room, and he tossed a look of annoyance over his shoulder. Kenny followed reluctantly.

  They stood in a large dining room with a long table of dark wood and matching red-cushioned chairs, all of which looked old and expensive.

  “Somebody’s gonna call the police,” Kenny said, and he could not keep the fearful tremble from his whisper.

  “They’re all out back,” Sam said. “Calm down, Kenny, you’re gonna have one of your panic attacks. Just breathe, nice and slow, okay?”

  “Quit being an asshole, Sam.”

  “I’m not. Look at you, you’re about to come apart.”

  “You’re shaking all over,” JayJay said. “Maybe just a few slow, deep breaths couldn’t hurt.”

  Sam pulled out a chair. “Here. Sit down for a second.”

  “Okay, okay,” Kenny said, breathing the words as he seated himself in the chair. “I’ll sit down for a minute, and then we’ll look around for candy. They must have a bowl of candy set out for trick-or-treaters. We’ll take our candy and go before they find us. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Sam said. “Unless we can’t find any.”

  “We’ll find it,” JayJay said impatiently. “How you feelin’?”

  “I’m fine,” Kenny said with a sigh as he stood. “C’mon. It’s probably by the door where we came in.”

  They returned to the foyer but found nothing containing candy, Halloween or otherwise.

  “I say we just go out back and crash the party,” Sam said. “I smell smoke. Maybe they’re cooking out there. Maybe we can get some food with our candy.”