FSF, September-October 2010

by Spilogale, Inc

  "I look forward to it. It will be an artistic surprise."

  "You don't have to be sarcastic,” Barb said. “Not all the time. Or is it just with Hobe? And me?"

  "I'm willing to be surprised,” Daddy said. He smiled at his children.

  * * * *

  5

  The carving did not go as planned. Claudia had carefully cut from the grocery-bag paper three faces—two that she had drawn and one of Jasper's—and applied them to the pumpkins with duct tape. “These are to go by,” she explained. She slit through the paper at intervals to make the outlines. Barb had given her a dull small knife, which made the task awkward.

  Daddy had prepared the pumpkins, opening the stem ends and reaching down with an ice-cream scoop and tearing out balls of seeds and stringy pulp and plopping the mess onto newspapers. Then Claudia had followed, as faithfully as the little knife permitted, the outlines she and Jasper had drawn. But the finished visages looked nothing like what they had designed.

  "Now that's more like it,” Daddy said. He had come to inspect, handing out tangerines from the pockets of his woolen jacket. He was going outside to rake leaves, but first he wanted to see. “These are real Halloween faces."

  Sadly, they were. They looked just like the moon face in The Moonlight Robbers with its lopsided grin and eyes filled with sneaky mischief. How did that happen, after all the planning? It seemed that the more Claudia planned things, the more they turned awry. She had tried to think why Grammer had gone to her better place after they had so valiantly defended her. Now it was the same thing again, all gone wrong.

  She looked at these traitorous faces and went upstairs and got the book and brought it to show Jasper. “See,” she said, opening to the customary page. “It's just the same.” Idly she turned back to the title page. “The Moonlight Robbers by Maurice Knight,” she read. “Ill-you-strations by H. B. Jackson."

  "Illyou—?"

  "That means he drew the pictures, Mr. H. B. Jackson."

  "Did he draw that picture?"

  "I guess."

  "Does he know Uncle Moon? If he drew his picture—"

  "I don't know,” Claudia said. Then: “Maybe he is Uncle Moon. H. B. might stand for his name. Ho Bart."

  "Uncle Moon is Swine."

  "Swain,” she said. “Hobart Swain. But he would use a different name for the book. A lot of writers use different names."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know, but it's the way they do."

  "His mean face is everywhere. On our jack-o'-lanterns too. Tomorrow night is Halloween."

  "I will be dressed as the Princess of Thieves, like before. And you can dress as my Sturdy Helper. I will tell people who we are."

  "No, not Sturdy Helper,” Jasper said. “Not no more."

  "Of course you are. Why not?"

  He stared sorrowfully into her eyes, then turned and walked out of the living room. As she heard him open the back door in the kitchen, she said, “Of course you are my Sturdy Helper.” Then the door closed sharply and he was out into the mysterious October dusk.

  * * * *

  6

  In three nights it would be Halloween for real. The neighborhood lisped and fluttered with whispers and secret signals as the Horde spread the word that this was to be the best ever. Most of the members of the Horde were kids aged seventeen or younger, most of them much younger, but there were also young parents scattered among them to keep things from getting out of hand. They too were costumed and the pulchritudinous wives favored warrior queen outfits that showed their figures bountifully, unless the weather was inclement and they had to shroud themselves in unsexy overcoats. A Halloween Troll was chosen with whom to engage in fairly harmless but embarrassing foolery and the choice was kept covert until the occasion burst into a riot of fireworks and garage-band amplifiers and chanting and who-could-tell-what-all.

  But on this unholy night before the Most Unholy Night, Claudia and Jasper had dressed as Princess and Helper and had stolen over to the maple tree by the garage of Grammer's house. There Jaz shut his eyes tight and Claudia pulled his wizardly hat low on his brow and he visioned Uncle Moon, visioned him sitting in the house in front of the TV set, watching the final baseball game of the year, maybe the last one ever. He concentrated with all his might and visioned inside Uncle Moon and perceived—yes, just as Claudia had told him that he would—the Raptor Spirit, coming into Uncle the way it had come into Grammer, at first a glow pearly and pink, and then by little and little and little—Jasper held his breath—a great, bright light that signaled the advent of the Spirit, itself invisible, as it would take Uncle Moon away from Raintree Hills for good and all—but not tonight, no, three nights from now on Halloween Eve when he and Claudia would stand here again, just under the maple, and feel and know how it would be happening.

  He whispered his visioning and Claudia took his hand to lend him courage.

  "What else?” she asked. “What else?"

  He tried to vision more.

  "Will he go away to his better place like Grammer did?"

  Sssshhh.

  Before Jaz could speak they heard a fizzly expulsion of breath coming from nowhere, or so it seemed until a piece of orange plastic fluttered down at their feet. It had slipped from the maple branches above, sighing sorrowfully as it descended. Deflated, the balloon wrinkled Uncle Moon's face into a silly lump, squashed together so that the grin and the eyes were one thing.

  Jasper began to tremble violently and Claudia hugged him for a moment. “Yes,” she said aloud, “he has been listening to us from up in the tree. But the air leaked out and this one foozled away and is helpless on the ground.” She stepped on the scrap with the heel of her sneaker and ground down. “I don't care if he did hear us talking. The Raptor Spirit is inside him now and you have visioned it. That means he is in a sorry pickle. We will come back on Halloween, the Most Unholy Night of all, and you cannot stop us, Uncle Moon, and that will be your undoing."

  * * * *

  In the end, neither wore a costume. Barb painted their faces, making perfunctory swipes to indicate cat whiskers beneath Jasper's nose and drawing red lipstick-stars on Claudia's cheeks and forehead, but she would not let them carry the Guardian Spear to put someone's eye out. They were ready to go, in their everyday clothes and toting a large grocery bag to gather Claudia's treats and a smaller one for Jasper. The witches and warlocks, hags and haunts, demons and Draculas of Raintree Hills looked at them disdainfully. A tall Darth Vader asked Claudia why she was not in costume. She said that costumes were silly, but Jaz told him that Barb wouldn't let them dress up.

  "Who's Barb?” asked the Empire warrior.

  "She lives at our house now,” Jasper said.

  "She is a witch of the worsest kind,” Claudia said. “She might be out tonight, riding her broomstick. And her brother is worster. Everybody has set out jack-o'-lanterns that look exactly like him. He is everywhere."

  This was true. It was not quite dark yet, but the squat stoops and modest bay windows and narrow porches of the houses sported rotund jacks, all smiling crookedly and leering with slant cat eyes. Some had triangular pupils like those of adders; some displayed a fang or two. The small ones looked as menacing as the larger ones—as if they were henchmen to the bigger, and more conniving than they.

  Jasper did not like to go among them. He told Claudia he wondered if some of them had followed Daddy's car from the pumpkin patch at the farm and he clung to her side. She kept close to the other kids, tolerating their teasing for the comfort of their company. She and Jasper had no interest in amassing candy corn and chocolate kisses; they wanted to accompany the part of the crowd that bloated as it went toward the eastern lanes, trampling across the asphalt past the Morton house, still dark except for the dim yellow upstairs window, past the house where old Miz Gratz lived and where none of the kids would knock, past the Sanfords’ house where the roses stood gray-black under the huge mottled moon that now had settled just above the roofs, almost touching. It seemed
to have come suddenly from nowhere, this moon; it seemed to have bounced up from behind the horizon of house-rows, then stopped its motion, looming huger than any moon that had ever been seen before. Its aspect was patchy with shadows astronomers could name, all scattered or mingled, but Claudia and Jasper knew that these soon would coalesce to form the Uncle Moon expression, the one he had drawn in the book.

  Now here they were with the crowd in the lane before Grammer's house. There was a hurly-burly of witches and sorcerers, cowgirls and space pilots and bloody one-eyed pirates and princesses in white silk and one Mickey Mouse and others Claudia could not identify.

  Above them all towered Uncle Moon, dressed as a raggedy scarecrow and wobbling back and forth on his unsteady legs in the farmer overalls. In his left hand he held a stick like a mop handle which impaled a jack-o'-lantern. The expression of the jack matched his own. “I see the moon, the moon sees you,” he sang. His voice was a dry crickle-crackle, a sound like a crookback dwarf jumping up and down on a bed of straw. “The moon sees everything you do."

  That sentence made them all go silent for a moment. Then one of the Wicked Witches of the West screeched: “Ho ho ho. Pay him no mind, my pretties. He is drunk, drunk, drunk—drunk as a funky skunk."

  A Batman offered his stern opinion: “Let him sing his stupid song. Up on stilts he won't last long.” He was a plump kid and pointed a finger like a licorice stick at the scarecrow.

  His taunt proved accurate. Uncle Moon began to teeter and to totter and to wobble and then over he went backward. His jack-o'-lantern bounced into the sky like a booted soccer ball, spinning till its candle twinkled like a saucy star. “Whoopsy-do!” he shouted. “Poor old Hobart is taking a fall. Don't let me bust to pieces like Humpty-Dumpty. Hump was a friend of mine and look what happened."

  Heeding his plea, a quartet of pirates caught him in midair. “Oof,” they said. “This uncle is a heavy booger. Give us a hand, me hearties."

  Four Boy Wonders rushed to their aid. Eight revelers lifted Uncle Moon above their heads and bore him to an armchair set on the curb. It was a pitiable piece of furniture, its beige cushions all stained with wine and beer and probably pee. Claudia and Jasper recognized it as the TV-baseball seat Uncle Moon inhabited like he was a lumpy cushion himself. Barb had threatened to get rid of it, saying it was unsanitary, like so many of Grammer's things. Maybe she had taken it to the curb for the garbage men to abduct. Or maybe Uncle Moon had toted it here to imbibe his alcohols under the Halloween stars. Maybe the Halloween Horde had brought it out to seat him in. What a mysterious night, this night.

  Four of the strongest hoisted it to their shoulders and off they marched, Uncle Moon aloft and singing words Claudia could not hear as he was borne along the lane and then around the curve. The second-story window of the Morton house was dark now; whoever had kept the long vigil there had turned out the lamp to observe the spectacle from within their cozy darkness.

  Jaz squeezed Claudia's hand and she rewarded him with an approving gaze. “Yes, Sturdy Helper, it is as you said. The Raptor Spirit is getting bigger inside Uncle Moon. Soon he will be gone away."

  "Where?” Jasper asked.

  "The Halloweeners will block the street off with trash cans; they will make a circle of them and put him in the middle in his TV chair. The police persons will come and put him away for being a hopeless case. I would not like to be in such a sorry pickle like that."

  "Where?"

  "Not here but in the big traffic circle at the front where everybody can see. Look—they are carrying him away already."

  The crowd followed after Uncle Moon in his Boy Wonder-borne chair. He was singing something about the secrets he knew. The revelers were singing a different song, a temperance ditty about the evils of drink, and making a cheerful, loud job of it. Uncle Moon countered at the top of his range: “The moon, the moon has not yet set. I'll get the better of you yet.” Then the crowd turned into Cherry Lane, headed toward the traffic circle, and their music trailed away.

  Claudia and Jasper watched them out of sight, then turned to look at Grammer's house. The eight front windows on the two stories exhibited big round jacks glowing and grimacing, but they did not look so menacing now. The grins were still crooked but not so mean-looking as before.

  "Let's go in and see,” Claudia said.

  The front hall was full of jacks and balloons with the ugly faces. There must have been scores of them, all crowded together, and there were scattered jacks in the other rooms too. “Let us go see the baseball-TV room,” Claudia said and, sure enough, Uncle Moon's usual chair was missing.

  In its place was a high stool and on the stool was set the biggest pumpkin the children had ever seen. It was carved, but its expression was different. The eyes were small round holes; the nose was but a single narrow slit; and the mouth was a large mournful O. There was a drip-cloaked yellow candle inside, but its flame was out and the shell all around it was blackened.

  "The Raptor Spirit has taken over,” Claudia said. “This is the last Halloween for Uncle Moon. It is just like you visioned."

  Jasper did not reply because he had visioned a different story, a tale in which Uncle Moon ascended to the moon over the rooftops and sat there at ease in a filthy crater to inspect the world below, every inch of it, and making Jaz and Claudia the particular targets of his unwavering attention. He had visioned his sister too and observed how the Raptor Spirit was making its way within her, a pearly soft glow at first, but nascent with the searing dark of full advent. He did not reply because he knew he must act alone to save her as they had labored to save Grammer. Last night he had prepared the Golden Net, folding once and thrice and then seven times, and now he was ready.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Department: FANTASY & SCIENCE FICTION MARKET PLACE

  BOOKS-MAGAZINES

  S-F FANTASY MAGAZINES, pulps, books, fanzines. 96 page catalog. $5.00. Robert Madle, 4406 Bestor Dr., Rockville, MD 20853

  * * * *

  20-time Hugo nominee. The New York Review of Science Fiction. www.nyrsf.com Reviews and essays. $4.00 or $40 for 12 issues, checks only. Dragon Press, PO Box 78, Pleasantville, NY 10570.

  * * * *

  Spiffy, jammy, deluxy, bouncy—subscribe to Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet. $20/4 issues. Small Beer Press, 176 Prospect Ave., Northampton, MA 01060.

  * * * *

  Winner of the 2009 National Indie Excellence Award for best S.F.! In Memory of Central Park, a green novel set in N.Y.C. circa 2050, is as bleakly terrifying as George Orwell's 1984. www.CentralParkNovel.com

  * * * *

  The Visitors. $14.95 Check/MO

  OhlmBooks Publications

  Box 125

  Walsenburg CO 81089

  * * * *

  The Star Sailors (Gary L. Bennett). Prometheus Award nominee. “Highly recommended”—Library Journal. $15.95 trade ppb. Major bookstores or 1-800-AUTHORS (www.iuniverse.com).

  * * * *

  C.M. KORNBLUTH major new biography; 439 pages; photos. $44.95 postpaid. McFarland Publishers, 800-253-2187, www.mcfarlandpub.com

  * * * *

  Dancing Tuatara Press supernatural series, hard-to-find titles introduced by John Pelan. www.ramblehouse.com

  * * * *

  Autographed New and Used First Edition Speculative Fiction, Fantasy, Murder/Mystery/Thriller, Action/Adventure, Horror. Plus Audio Books and Ephemera. See my site—www.ABNormalBooks.com or email to info@ABNormalBooks.com or write to PO Box 414, Groton, MA 01450 USA.

  * * * *

  AVRAM DAVIDSON'S GREATEST MASTERPIECE, The Adventures of Dr. Eszterhazy. Owlswick Press, 1990. 1st ed. Fword by Gene Wolfe. Hc in DJ. As-new still in shrinkwrap. $10 + postage. (US $3.00, Can. $11.50, elsewhere $13.50.) Darrell Schweitzer, 6644 Rutland St., Philadelphia PA 19149.

  * * * *

  New! BEST OF F&SF VOL 42! Contains “Unstrung,” “The Mouse King's Motorcade,” “A Day At Crater Park,” “The Lifeguard at Cassy Beach,” “Uncle Morris,” and “The
Patient Dragon.” Order now! Available in 2026!

  * * * *

  BIRTH OF A CHILD

  FATE OF A WORLD

  Think You've Heard Before...?

  Think Again!

  THEDA-MAISAGA.WEBS.COM

  Or Place Orders At

  THEDAMAISAGA@YAHOO.COM

  Book 1: The End of All Peace

  * * * *

  MISCELLANEOUS

  If stress can change the brain, all experience can change the brain. www.undoingstress.com

  * * * *

  Space Studies Masters degree. Accredited University program. Campus and distance classes. For details visit www.space.edu.

  * * * *

  Dragon, Fairy & Medieval decor and collectibles. Huge selection of statues, swords, wall plaques and more. www.paperstreetgiftco.com

  * * * *

  F&SF classifieds work because the cost is low: only $2.00 per word (minimum of 10 words). 10% discount for 6 consecutive insertions, 15% for 12. You'll reach 100,000 high-income, highly educated readers each of whom spends hundreds of dollars a year on books, magazines, games, collectibles, audio and video tapes. Send copy and remittance to: F&SF Market Place, PO Box 3447, Hoboken, NJ 07030.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Department: CURIOSITIES: TRUE HISTORY, BY LUCIAN OF SAMOSATA (CA. 160 A.D.) by F. Gwynplaine MacIntyre

  The narrator is captain of a Greek sloop caught in a water spout; he and his crew are sent skyward to land on the Moon, where they find themselves in the midst of a war between the Moonites and the Sun People. The narrator encounters a series of weird life-forms, explicitly described as natives to diverse stars in the heavens. Also described is a remarkable well: by gazing into its waters, an observer can view any desired location anywhere in the universe. After the Moonites surrender to the Sun People, the narrator and his crew develop a method of traveling from one island in the sky to the next, encountering fresh marvels on each world.