It was a cool October 31st afternoon; the newsies were in the Lodging House busily readying themselves for the night's festivities.
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Jack spun the knife between his fingers and leaned back in his chair, letting the blade clatter loudly on the table. Warm conversation circled the room as he studied his work. He smiled, contented with what he saw, and brushed a few pumpkin innards off its top. Hefting it into his arms, he carried it to Kloppman's desk.
The old man smiled kindly, looking over the gourd with care. Squinting at it, he held up a thumb approvingly.
Jack grabbed his prize again tightly, whispering "thanks" as he strolled out the door. The October air hit him hard as he stepped outside. He glanced down at the stoop and the pumpkins littering it. Breathing deeply, his throat began to burn from the crisp, fresh air. He bent down and placed his pumpkin inbetween two smaller ones. Stepping back, one foot inside the doorway, he caressed it lovingly, then turned and closed the door.
-----
The boys didn't have much money, especially around this time of the year, but they tried their hardest to create costumes. Especially for the younger ones.
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Race turned Snipeshooter around, looking him over thoughtfully. "Ya need somethin' more . . . " He told the sheet-clad boy. Race turned his hand over, and grabbed a square of make-up seemingly out of mid-air. Crouching low, he drew two thin red lines from the boy's mouth to his chin. He stood again, the make-up disappearing. "There."
Spot snuck up behind the two and scowled. "What's he s'ppossed ta be?"
Race shrugged. "A ghost?"
"It's all wrong, Race."
"Don't start wid me, Conlon." He called back, half in jest.
Spot glared at his friend, then removed himself from the bunkroom.
Race pulled a cigar from his pocket.
"Need a light?" Snipes asked.
Race shook his head, and placed the butt of the cigar in his mouth. "I got it covahed." He said.
The cigar began to smoke.
-----
"Lame ghost costume . . . " Spot muttered under his breath. He slid down the banister and landed soundly. Sauntering over to the ratty couch, he sat, still fuming.
A few of the youngest newsies pranced by, proudly displaying their costumes. One stopped in front of him. "Not goin' out, Spot?" He asked shyly.
Spot shook his head. "Halloween ain't me thing. Got it? I'se a rep ta protect." 'Sides, I get Halloween every day 'a da yeah.
The young kid blinked, confused, then nodded happily and skipped out the door.
Spot watched the kid leave, then sunk lower into the cushions, practically melding with them.
-----
Mush grabbed a hand full of candy and filled his pockets.
"Mush!" Kloppman called from his desk.
Mush winced, knowing instantly that he was caught. "Yes sih?"
"Put it back." The man said, not looking up from his paper.
"I dunno what yer talkin' about." He insisted lamely.
Kloppman dropped his newspaper and came out from behind the counter. He grabbed Mush by the hair and twisted the bolt on the side of his neck. "Mush. I'm only gonna tell you one more time. Put it back."
Mush was paralyzed.
Kloppman let go of him.
Mush shook his head as if clearing it. "Yes sih." He replied. He put the candies back one-by-one into the bowl by the front.
Kloppman patted him on his fuzzy head. "That's my boy."
-----
Kid Blink scoured his face like mad, just daring a blemish to even think about popping up. Smiling like a fool, for he found no imperfections, he did an about-face, preparing to leave the washroom. That was when he caught sight of the back of his hand. "No, no, no, no, no!!" He sprinted to the window and cursed loudly, banging his head against the glass. "Why now? Why wuddn't I payin' attention? She'll never wanna see me again." He thought for a second, there against the pane. "Maybe I should cancel."
"Youse gonna let a little thing like dat stop ya?" Came Jack's voice from the doorway.
"Yeah. I mean, what else can I do?" Blink asked, turning and slouching against the pane.
"Why'd ya make a date wid a goil on Halloween anyway? What kinda bone-headed move was dat?" Jack laughed.
Blink growled under his breath. "Watch it. I'm in a bad mood as it is."
"Look, Blink. Don't cancel. Jus' . . . can'tcha do somethin' about it?"
"I've tried everythin'!" He exclaimed dramatically, falling onto a nearby bunk.
Jack gazed out into the night thoughtfully. A smile soon crossed his face. "It's pretty dark out dere."
Blink sulkily drew a heart in the dust on the floor with his nail. "Yeah . . . "
"'Prolly can't even see ya hand in front 'a ya own face."
He wiped the dust-heart away. "Yeah . . . "
Jack reached down and smacked his friend on the back of the head.
"Ow!" He cried out. "What was dat for?!"
Jack remained silent: he knew Blink would figure it out on his own if given the chance.
"Oh!"
Cowboy grinned toothily.
-----
Kloppman brushed a piece of lint off his long white coat and adjusted his wireframes. "Well boys, I guess ya off." He snapped open his paper again and settled into his chair. He lifted a hand in a slight wave as they left the Lodging House. The boys were halfway down the street before they felt the sensation that they had forgotten something.
Mush turned stiffly. "No, dere he is." He grunted drearily.
Spot appeared on the stairs in front of the closed door and caught up with the group quickly. "So, where's dis goil live, Blink?"
Kid Blink motioned with his velvety hands and spoke hesitantly; his mouth feeling as if he had his cheeks stuffed with cotton balls. "Jus' up heah an' around da corner." He replied thickly.
Mush tilted his head painfully, wincing. "Is it ya time, Blink?" He asked, sans emotion.
Blink nodded, puppy-dog eyes mournful.
Racetrack sidled up next to his friend sympathetically. "Ya know – for a price – I might be able ta fix dat for ya . . . "
Blink narrowed his eyes and a low growl escaped from his throat. "You know dat don't woik, Race."
"Yeah, quit makin' fun 'a him!" Jack pulled his friend under his cloaked arm.
Race held up his hand defensively. "Woah, woah, dere Fido. You know I was jus' tryin' ta help out."
Spot rolled his eyes and disappeared into the shadows. "Latah." He mumbled coldly.
-----
As soon as he was sure that everyone was gone, Kloppman threw down his paper and leapt over the counter. Watching his back every step of the way, he snuck over to a corner of the room, his back to the wall. Sensing no one, he turned and found the hidden handle. He pulled gently. No luck. The hinge was old and wouldn't budge. "Oh, c'mon . . . " He muttered, giving it a harder tug.
"Kloppman?" A pre-pubescent voice fell upon his aged ears.
He whirled, clutching the knob tightly between his wrinkled hands. "Yes?"
A boy of seven – Pickett, if he remembered correctly – gazed up at him. "Kloppman?"
His hands began to itch, and he wished the kid would hurry along so he could be alone again.
"Ain't ya gonna take me out?"
Kloppman breathed a mental sigh of relief. He pulled one hand away from the door and scratched his head. "I thought one 'a da boys was gonna take ya."
Pickett shifted his gaze to the floor sadly. "No . . . dey'se all busy . . . "
Oh, great! He groaned inwardly. "Yeah, shoah. I'll take ya." He reluctantly let go of the handle, letting it drop haltingly back into place. Maybe latah, he promised himself. He took the child's hand and smiled warmly. "Let's go."
-----
Blink strained to see over his shoulder. Whispers and childish giggles could be heard in the bushes behind him. He whined low, signaling a warning. Turning back, facing a large oak door, he held up a hairy hand and rapped on it softly.
"C'mon ya goil!" Shouted a hoity-toity voice.
Racetrack, I swear . . . if I live t'rough dis, I'll kill ya . . . The door swung open, and Blink lowered the degree of his threat, settling on merely maiming his friend. He again lifted his hand and knocked louder this time. Happy? He swore at his friends, stepping inside as he knocked. "Dunno why you guys insisted on comin' along anyway! I don't come on your da--" He blinked unsteadily, then shrank back into the comforting shadows of outside the building.
A cocky dark-haired girl leaned one arm against the doorframe, amused by this dark intruder and his musings to himself. "Can I help ya?" She asked.
"I'm heah for Elle." He told her gruffly. He cleared his throat. "Is – is she ready?"
The girl neither moved nor dropped the smile from her face. "Yeah. I'll go get huh." Shaking her head to herself, she left and galloped up the set of stairs to the right.
Blink paced the stoop restlessly, his hands clasped behind his back. He was still pacing when Elle came to the door. With dirty blond hair and soulful brown eyes, she was just what the doctor ordered. He looked at her, a sappy grin on his face. And to the untrained ear, his happy whimper sounded just like a sigh.
-----
After dropping off Blink - okay, so after harassing Blink and his date until he chased them off - the rest of the crew began the treatin'. And the trickin'.
"Run, Mush! Run!" Racetrack screamed, Snipeshooter in tow.
Jack was stumbling over everything in sight, laughing himself out of breath. He finally collapsed on a bench in the Park, Mush tripping and falling down next to him.
Mush let out a low moan, then lay still, his back rising up and down silently: laughter.
Race and Snipes heard their friend fall and paused, turning and heading back to the Park. "Dat was great!"
Race pushed Jack's feet off the bench and plopped down, instructing Snipeshooter to sit to the side. He clapped Mush on the back, grinning proudly. "Ya done good kid. We'll make a man outta you yet!"
Snipeshooter lay in front of Mush's face and beamed. "Didju see da look on dat guy's face?! Priceless!" He squealed.
Jack sat up, breathing heavily and swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He glanced down at it quickly, then licked it.
Race grimaced. "Cowboy, dat's so gross. Can'tchu do dat on ya own time or somethin'?" He suggested, grossed out.
Jack grinned, showing his canines. "For you, ya highness? Anyt'ing!"
-----
Mush stiffly climbed the stairs of the last house on the street and rapped on the door loudly. He tromped heavily back down the stair and turned, waiting for the owner of the house to answer. Five minutes passed, and no one had come to the door.
Race tapped his foot impatiently. "Mush, go knock again." He said roughly.
"Make me."
Race raised a finger and an eyebrow. "You really want me to?"
Mush's eyes opened as wide as they could. "Eep! I take it back! I take it back!" He said, with the most feeling he had had in his voice all night. He held up his large hands defensively.
Race rolled his eyes.
Jack uncrossed his arms and took the steps two at a time. He banged on the door sharply, then stood in front of it, upper lip twitching.
Snipes, Race, and Mush exchanged a gleeful look: whoever was on the other side of that door when it opened would be sorry they hadn't answered sooner. A light came on near the boys, drawing their eyes like moths to a flame. Their faces lit up as the door swung open and a grouchy old man stuck his wrinkly, night-capped head out to see what the ruckus was.
"Now see here, boys!" He began. "It's nearly one o'clock in the morning and I don't have the time or the patience to—" His speech broke off as Jack slapped a hand over his mouth. The man's eyes went wide.
Jack leaned in close and whispered something inaudible into the man's ear. Then he opened his mouth and leaned even closer.
"Jack!" Race called loudly. "Dat's enough!"
Jack halted and turned, growling. He backed off none-the-less, patting the old man on his cheek and sliding down the railing to his friends.
Race glared at his beneath his hat. "Take it to far, ya t'ink?"
Jack smiled and shook his head. A loud thud sounded behind them. They all turned back to see the man lying in his doorway.
Jack raised a brow at Race.
Race sighed, then nodded. "Might as well."
Jack smirked and returned to his place on the stairs.
-----
Spot shoved his hands in his pockets sulkily. Leaning just barely into the lamplight, he could see his friends on a stoop nearby, talking and laughing. He scowled and fell back hard agains the cold brick wall behind him. He coughed, then cleared his throat, and gazed up into the smoggy sky. He counted the stars directly overhead and wished as hard as he could for someone who could possibly understand how he felt. Day after day of cold, dark, emptiness was taxing. He had no point anymore. He began to wonder if he had ever had a point. Realizing that he was no longer grounded, he closed his eyes, letting his wishes lift him up and over the grimy city.
-----
Race shoved his hands into his pockets and watched his breath float away in tiny white wisps. He lifted a hand and made shapes out of the puffs: a duck, a pumpkin, Snipeshooter riding a horse.
The child smiled at up his friend as the last one appeared.
Jack wiped his lips with a swipe of his hand and rolled his eyes. "Quit showin' off, Race." He mumbled. He tilted his head at Mush and lifted a hand to touch his bristly curls softly. "Stressed out, pal?"
Mush jerked his head away and glared at his Lodging House leader, stomping down hard on the pavement with large, flat feet.
Jack smiled down sweetly at the cracks that formed below his friends angry steps. "Jus' askin'." He fingered the white streak of Mush's hair again, drawing a second warning look from his naïve friend.
"Cowboy." An icy voice came from around the corner. "Leave da kid alone. He don' like dat an' you know it."
Jack narrowed his eyes at the Brooklyn leader, his upper lip curling back to show his sharp canines.
"Go ahead an' try it, Kelly."
He blinked. "Oh . . . wuddn't thinkin', sorry." Jack dropped his gaze to the ground. "Where've you been Conlon? We was worried 'boutcha."
Spot raised an eyebrow.
"Okay so maybe we wasn't." He paused and repeated the question.
"Around."
"'Round wheah?" Snipes asked, glancing up at the thin leader with cautious eyes.
"Jus' around. Dat's awl ya need ta know." It was clearly all he would say on the matter, so the guys let the matter drop.
-----
Up jerked Kloppman's head, sparks flying in every direction from his table. He had finally gotten a minute to himself after taking—what was his name? Jimmy? Jeffy?—out for treats and tricking, and now another interruption was prohibiting his progress. Ripping his rubber gloves off violently and grabbing his vest on the way out, Kloppman snuck back out into the main part of the Lodging House. He winced as the light hit his eyes and realized that he still had his magnifying goggles on. Tossing them behind him and into the room, he set his spectacles back in their usual spot.
"Hiya Kloppman!" Four voices chorused as five boys stampeded up the staircase.
"Heya boys." He called nonchalantly, lifting a hand in greeting. Scowling, then checking left and right, he turned and slipped back through the door. His large rubber boots left strange prints on the floor.
-----
Blink lay with his hands behind his head, fingers interlaced. Heaving a heavy sigh as his friend came in the door to the bunkroom, he let his dark eyes roam over them as they entered.
"Heya Blink." Someone called out—he couldn't tell who.
The groups dispersed: Snipeshooter going to the bathroom to remove his ghostly make-up, Spot remaining in the doorway, Jack pushing Blink over and hopping up beside him, and Race and Mush piling onto Race's bed.
"Spill," Jack demanded as he leaned back on the metal bedframe.
Blink sat up on his elbows and twisted his face into a question.
"Don't make dat face." Race said, head bent down, untying his boots.
"Yeah Blink, jus' tell us." Mush mumbled, his eyelids growing heavy.
Blink hesitated, not wanting to talk about his date. "Awrite, fine."
A small cheer came from the three friends.
Spot pulled himself from the door and began to slowly near Blink's bunk. Not dat I care or anyt'ing, he managed to almost convinced himself.
-----
Jack Kelly grinned and shook his head, missing Sarah badly. He leapt down from the bunk, his vest spreading out behind him like a cape. Upon landing, he tossed his hair haughtily, catching his lack of reflection in the mirror.
Kid Blink sighed happily, just reminiscing – and nearly howling with content -- sharp canines sliding out over his bottom lip. His friends attempted to wipe the sappy grins off their faces and folded back the sheets on their small beds. They were all jealous, but wouldn't admit that fact for the world.
Racetrack Higgins shifted around beneath the cotton blanket that was draped over his legs. He eventually closed his eyes, and began to float upward.
Mush Meyers lay stiffly in his bed, sleep overcoming him in great waves. For him, lightning bolts jumped across lab tables in place of sheep and their fences.
The old man leaned around the corner of the entrance to the bunkroom, peering in on his 'children'. Smiling, almost sweetly, he turned off the light and retreated to his maddening project.
Spot was now the only newsie left awake, having decided to stay the night after some hard consideration. He sat with his back against the metal post to the unoccupied bed for which he was now giving purpose. Making a sudden swipe for his sheets, the bedspread fell through his fingers like sand through a sieve. After numerous tries – and numerous curses -- he finally managed to latch onto his covers.
The boys all reluctantly fell asleep, some dreaming of the previous night and some dreaming of the nights to come. All slept soundly: the undead and the dead, the creation and his creator, the wolfman, and the sorcerer.