Category: Halloween

We call Derringer’s gun a derringer.
We call Zomboni’s ice resurfacer a Zamboni.
Why not call the monster a Frankenstein?
It’s all about branding, right?
Besides, why would he call it “The Creature?”
You can’t trademark “The Creature.”
If cheap Chinese knock-off creatures flooded the market, wouldn’t you hold out for a true Frankenstein?
I remember getting a build-your-own Frankenstein kit for Hanukkah one year.
Spread out over eight days.
But there was a misprint in the scroll, and we had to send it back.
After that, I got socks and underwear.

After the angry mob burned down Victor Frankenstein’s castle and lab, Igor the lab assistant was left homeless and unemployed.
Despite years of job experience, he had no formal training or academic credentials.
And his only reference died in the fire. Not that he could have used that reference anyway.
He got a job at the church as a gravedigger’s assistant.
Old habits die hard. Igor kept digging up fresh graves instead of digging new ones.
“Put them back,” said Father Gunther.
Igor started a flower garden, and he sells flowers to mourners.
“Yes, master,” he says, wrapping some lilies.

The vampire who lives next door is kind of an asshole.
So, I fucked with him all the time.
I gorilla glued his coffin shut.
I surrounded his room with mirrors.
I filled his air vents with garlic.
And hung crucifixes all over his place.
Then I ordered ten pizzas.
Oh, and let my dog crap all over his grass.
I let the air out of his tires.
And knocked over his mailbox.
It was while I was burning his house down when I realized something important.
That I was the asshole?
No. That I needed to stake his heart.

Do witches fly on broomsticks?
Yes. Yes, they do.
And they can be the traditional sweeping broom, or those squarish push-brooms.
Those push-brooms don’t fly as well, though.
What about brushes or dusters?
No. Because those have handles, not sticks.
When was the last time you saw a witch on a toilet brush?
That would be silly.
Nor can they fly on vacuum cleaners. Or dustbusters.
Those are machines. Because they may have handles, but they’re not natural wood.
This includes Swiffers. Because those don’t have natural handles.
And besides, they’re actually disposable mops, and witches don’t ride mops.

This year, Halloween is on a Saturday.
No wretched school lunch to throw up to make room for candy.
No hourlong bus ride home. No rushing your costume together.
No homework to get done for tomorrow.
And then… the doorbell rings?
It’s too early. Who can it be?
It’s Grandma, coming to visit.
They’ve been planning this for weeks.
No, you’re not going out.
Your mom made her tuna noodle casserole.
Worse than a barfed-up school lunch.
So, you whine. You yell.
You get sent to your room.
Good, you think, as you get dressed and sneak out the window.

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.

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.

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…

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.

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.