It’s a superstition that when a black cat crosses your path, you’ll have bad luck.
I suppose that in Bruwyn’s case, our bad luck was to lose him so young.
And in Myst’s case, Bruwyn was unlucky to have her cross his path. Because he died so young.
And Myst was unlucky to have Bruwyn cross her path because she loved him so much, but lost him so young.
Oh, and to end up with Tinny. Because she doesn’t like Tinny very much.
What about Tinny?
She doesn’t really give a shit as long as we hug and pet her.
Category: Halloween
A star is dead
It’s fun to watch classic movies at the Hollywood cemetery. Staff sets out chairs or picnic blankets, and they project the movie on the side of the chapel.
Sometimes they combine the screening with a fundraiser, supporting the disease or disaster of the week, and they cater the event and set up a bar.
Or they hold an auction for movie dates with celebrities. Watch the movie with a star, they say.
There’s some famous names are up on the board this week. John Wayne, Marilyn Monroe…
Relax. No need for a shovel. The staff digs them up for you.
The Dark Forest
Long ago, the Dark Forest was a dreadful place, full of trolls and goblins, unnatural horrors.
Nowadays, the Dark Forest is in the middle of the Piney Ridge suburb.
Or, I suppose, what’s left of it.
Developers cleared most of it all. Houses, schools, and churches.
A few parks here and there, but they’re all nursery trees, not the cursed ones that made up the Dark Forest.
Just a few oaks, scattered around.
The trolls and goblins and other beasts are long gone.
But about those schools and churches…
You can see evil in the principal’s eye… the pastor’s smile…
Reputation
Some neighborhoods get the reputation for being good places to Trick or Treat, giving out full-sized candy bars and other goodies.
Others get a reputation for being lousy, with lots of porch lights turned off or sugar-free dentist office candy.
This year, word got around that my neighborhood was prime territory.
Communities rented buses and brought their kids here from miles around.
The streets filled up like a refugee camp. Screaming kids, roaming everywhere, bloody and frightened.
Relief agencies air-dropped insulin, dental floss, and ritalin.
The governor declared a disaster area.
Maybe next year, we’ll just do a haunted house.
Santa’s Ghost
You’ve got your lights and your inflatable reindeer.
I’ve got you beat.
I own a robot Santa Claus that bows and says HO! HO! HO! and hands out presents.
I put it out on the lawn for Halloween.
Well, covered with a sheet. So it’s a creepy ghost. That hands out candy.
Oh, and I change the tape so it goes BOO! and screams now and then.
When Halloween is over, I remove the sheet, change the tape, and he’s back to being Santa Claus.
Sure, it’s a bit early, but he’s a heavy son of a bitch to move.
Digger
Ever go to the cemetery?
I go there a lot.
People talk to the headstones.
I like to switch the headstones around.
People lay flowers on the wrong graves. Or they pour out beer or wine into the wrong grave.
It’s not about the dead for them. It’s about the living.
The living mow the grass. The living blow the leaves off of the sidewalks.
I’m not here for the living. I’m here for the dead.
I’ve got a shovel, a burlap sack, and a dark witch down the street who buys finger bones.
Need anything while I’m down there?
Will Work For… Food
The guy’s sign said WILL WORK FOR FOOD.
“Any good at raking leaves?” I asked.
He nodded.
Turns out, he was really good at it. He raked the front and back yards, and bagged everything.
“Well done,” I said. “What do you want to eat?”
He sank his fangs into my neck and drank my blood.
I almost laughed at the cleverness of his sign. After all, he had done work for me, his food.
Somehow, I managed to jam the rake handle through his chest to kill him.
Thank goodness I didn’t ask him to mow the lawn, too.
KFC
Have you ever noticed that you never see werewolves eating Kentucky Fried Chicken?
I suspect that one of the eleven secret herbs and spices is wolvesbane.
I’m pretty sure that one of the others is garlic, although that has nothing to do with why vampires won’t eat Kentucky Fried Chicken.
First off, vampires are snappy dressers, and fried chicken is greasy and disgusting.
And secondly, vampires drink blood. They do not eat fried chicken.
This would not stop either a vampire or a werewolf from eating a KFC employee, of course.
So don’t forget your silver bullets, cross, and hairnet.
Batman
Mom got me a Batman costume for Halloween.
“I’m Batman!”
I turned my bike into the Batmobile.
Then, I turned the basement into the Batcave.
You know. So I can fight crime.
I was on my Batcomputer when Mom told me to come upstairs for dinner.
“I’m Batman!” I growled.
“Does Batman want a hamburger or doesn’t he?” she asked.
I threw my cape in front of my face, dropped a smoke bomb, and grabbed a hamburger on my way out the door.
As I got on my bike, I growled another “I’m Batman!” and pedaled off to the Library.
King Size
Why is a king-sized candy bar that size?
No, it’s not because there was a king who liked candy that size.
It was because there was a king who was that size.
Well, a king who had a penis that size.
Which king? None other than the Reverend Martin Luther King, Junior himself.
You know how the King Family earns royalties on his speeches? Well, they do the same with king-sized candy.
That’s why you don’t see much candy in that size.
It’s all fun-size and junior-size.
What?
No, junior’s not named for him either.
His penis was huge, man.