The glamour faded.
The runes blazed red.
The little girl stretched six, seven feet tall, costume vanishing although the horse ears remained, curved fangs protruding from her lower jaw, oversized hands scraping at the bricks on either side of the door.
Daddy breathed fire.
Claire and Dean together slammed the door.
“That was close,” Claire said with feeling as the latch finally caught.
Shoulders against the wood, Dean let out a breath he couldn’t remember taking. “Do you always keep salt in your pocket?”
“Strange question from a man carrying a brown’n’serve.”
“Aren’t you guys a little old to be out tonight?”
One of the three identical junior skinheads scowled, differentiating himself momentarily from the other two. “Aren’t you a little ugly to be passin’ judgment?”
“Yeah. Just give over the fuckin’ candy.”
The teenager in the middle elbowed them both hard in the ribs. “What we meant to say, ma’am, was trick or treat.”
Claire thought about it a moment as the boys postured. “Trick,” she said at last and closed the door.
The boy with his boot thrust in on the threshold got a nasty surprise. They could hear his shriek even through the heavy wood.
“I think the bitch broke my fuckin’ foot, man.”
“They were going to egg us anyway,” Claire explained. “I figured, why waste the candy.”
“Egg us?” Dean repeated.
She grabbed his arm, stopping his charge. “Don’t worry about it.”
“These guys won’t stop with eggs!”
“I think they will.” A few minutes later, watching out the window as the last of the thrown eggs paused inches from the hotel and swept back, like all the rest to smash on the now dripping and furious thrower, she sighed. “I guess I was wrong.”
The hunk of broken concrete followed the same path as the eggs.
“Tricky downdrafts. That had to hurt.”
Claire put herself bodily between Dean and the door as he tried to follow the will-o’-the-wisp dancing up and down the stairs. She allowed herself one small thought about the firm resilience of his stomach, then dug her shoulder in and shoved him far enough into the lobby to be able to close the door.
“That’s it,” she said when he was safely behind the counter. “It’s ten o’clock. There won’t be any more kids. I think we can blow out the candle and turn off the outside lights, honor intact.”
The pumpkin lid refused to lift and all the air blown in through the carved face wouldn’t put out the candle.
“Oh, nuts.”
Two of the remaining four chocolate bars acquired almonds. Two didn’t.
“Granddad?”
“No tricks, Dean, I promise. Come on out we have a lot to say to each other.”
“But you’re dead.”
“Never said I wasn’t, but this is the night the dead walk.”
“The restless dead.”
“You think I’m not restless after what you did? Think again!”
“But Aunt Carol loves the house.”
“I left it to you, you ungrateful whelp.”
“Granddad, let me explain.” One foot lifted to clear the threshold, Dean felt something crunch in his pocket and shoved a hand in to feel what it was.
The fairy bun.
The steps were empty.
“I thought I told you not to open that while I was gone.” Claire stepped out of her sitting room as he jerked back and closed the door. “What was out there?”
“The ghost of my granddad.”
“He’s dead? Sorry, stupid question.” She went out into the lobby and searched his face. “It wasn’t actually him, you know.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“You don’t look so good. Maybe you should go to bed.”
“Will they keep coming?”
“Yes. Probably until dawn.”
He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. “Then I’ll stay.”
“What was that?”
“Fachan. They’ve gone back to the classics.”
“That roast was for tomorrow’s supper.”
“Trust me, he wouldn’t have been happy with candy.”
Dawn seemed a long time coming.
“Any candy left?”
Claire tipped the bowl up on its side and tried to focus on the contents. Half a dozen empty wrappers fell out. “Looks like I’ve finished it.”
“What were those last two things again.”
“An ogre and a Duergar. Why?” She blew a weary bubble.
Dean pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Did you really spin straw into gold?”
“It was going around in a circle, so technically it was spinning.” The Duergar hadn’t been entirely happy, but since it had the treat, it couldn’t trick. The ogre, on the other hand, had ripped the railing out around the area and tossed it and the hotel sign out into the street. Treating an ogre meant feeding it dinner.
Ogres were man-eaters. The trick was knowing that.
Austin lifted his head off his paws and yawned. “Sun’s up. And the candle just went out.” He leaped off the windowsill as the pumpkin collapsed in on itself, smoking slightly.
Shoving his glasses back on approximately where they belonged, Dean stood and headed for the door. “I think I’ll get that stuff off the road before there’s an accident.”
Dragging herself up onto her feet Claire waited a moment until the world stopped spinning. “I think I’ll go throw up.”
THAT’S IT? YOU SCARED THEM A TIME OR TWO AND YOU DID A LITTLE DAMAGE AND YOU TIRED THEM OUT, BIG DEAL. THE KEEPER FIELDED EVERYTHING YOU THREW AT HER AND NEVER ONCE DREW POWER FROM LOWER THAN THE MIDDLE OF THE POSSIBILITIES.
SO LET’S SEE YOU DO BETTER. The rest of Hell sounded miffed.
BETTER?
OKAY. FINE. WORSE.
WAIT FOR IT….
Down on one knee, the police constable poked at the hole torn in the concrete setting and shook his head. “When exactly did this happen?”
“About four A.M.”
“Four-twelve,” Mrs. Abrams corrected. “I know because when I heard the noise, and it was a terrible noise, I looked at my alarm clock and even though I bought it before Mr. Abrams died, God bless the man, it still keeps perfect time.”
“Four-twelve,” the constable repeated. “Did you happen to see who did it?”
“Oh, no! I wasn’t going to expose myself to that
