Free Johnny Halloween by Norman Partridge Page B

without the ceremony. That was plain enough. Satan’s breath tore thatches of red-brown fur from their chests. Shingles of leathery flesh drifted over the cemetery like falling leaves. The bats’ anger was stirring the wind and speeding their destruction. It was a race they couldn’t win.
    Nardo bent down and helped his brother-in-law. A gray cloud mushroomed up from the cultist’s crumbling hand. Blinded, Nardo rubbed his eyes, but Bill pulled Nardo’s hands away.
    “Watch yourself. Here, use my bandana, but be careful.”
    Nardo cleaned his eyes and almost said something stupid and sentimental about blood being thicker than water.
    Bill beat him to it, then added, “I’m sorry about that Carl Williams crack. Really.”
    “If you treat me to a slice of peach pie when this is over, and maybe toss in some Häagen-Dazs and a couple bottles of good beer as an appetizer, I’ll think about forgiving you.”
    “Sure thing.” Bill coughed as he reinforced the circle. “Really, this ain’t so bad. Hell of a lot easier than installing a new sprinkler system.”
    “It shouldn’t be long now,” Nardo said. “When we make our break, do you want to take the knife or the chucks?”
    Bill thought it over as he powdered the cultist’s head and siphoned the dust through his fingers. “Shit, Nardo, how about you be a real sport and let me take the .357?”
    Shaking his head, Nardo handed over the gun.
    Headlights bloomed out on 63. The bats didn’t seem to notice. Nardo and Bill stepped to the center of the circle, back to back, and the chalky boundary dusted around their boots.
    Nardo brandished the chucks, stirring a breeze all his own, and cocked the weapon over his shoulder.
    “Batter up,” he said.
     
     

 
    TREATS
     
     
    Monsters stalked the supermarket aisles.
    Maddie pushed the squeaky-wheeled cart past a pack of werewolves, smiling when they growled at her because that was the polite thing to do. She couldn’t help staring at the bright eyes inside the plastic masks. Brown eyes, blue and green eyes. Human eyes. Not the eyes that she couldn’t see. Not the black eyes that stared at her from Jimmy’s face, so cold, ordering her here and there without a glint of compassion or love.
    “Jimmy, get away from that candy!”
    Maddie covered her mouth, fearful that she’d spoken. No, she hadn’t said anything. Besides, Jimmy was at home with them. He’d said that they were preparing for Operation Trojan Horse and he had to speak to them before—
    “Jimmy, I’m telling you for the last time….”
    A little ghoul clutching a trick-or-treat bag scampered down the aisle. He tore at the wrapping of a Snickers bar and gobbled a big bite before his mother caught his tattered collar.
    “I warned you, young man,” she said, snatching away the bright-orange treat sack. “You’re not going to eat this candy all at once and make yourself sick. You’re allowed one piece a day, remember? That way your treats will last for a long, long time.”
    Maddie saw the little boy’s shoulders slump. Her Jimmy had done the same thing last Halloween when Maddie had given him a similar speech, except her Jimmy had been a sad-faced clown, not a ghoul.
    And not a general. Not their general.
    Maddie raised her hand, as if she could wave off the boy’s mother before she made the same mistake Maddie had made a year earlier. She saw lipstick smears on her fingers and imagined what her face must look like. It had been so long since they’d allowed her to wear cosmetics that she’d made a mess of herself without realizing it. The boy’s mother would see that, and she wouldn’t listen. She’d rush away with her son before Maddie could warn her.
    Defeated, the boy stared down at his ghoul-face mirrored in the freshly waxed floor. His mother crumpled his trick-or-treat bag closed, and the moment slowed. Maddie saw herself reaching into her shopping cart, watched her lipstick-smeared fingers tear open a bag of Milk Duds and fling