Challenge (Scarab Dynasty): "Snyder must be in charge of the volunteer safety program for Halloween this year" - Buffy, word: "ultimatum" and "Dream"
A/N: Originally intended to be a drabble, became full-blown ficlet. Reposted.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
It was a dream, he said to himself, caught inside it, but it was dark and he was alone and his parents were about to die. He instinctively aimed his wrist cannon, but it wasn't on his wrist after all. His phone was in his pocket, and he desperately flipped it open; the batteries were dead and nobody would know he needed someone. He screamed for help then, but nobody came.
And then, he woke up.
--
The ghost costume was huge, little more than an oversized bedsheet wrapped around him and pinned to his palest pair of jeans. Mark had wanted to dig out the knight costume and use that again, but he'd grown too much for that, and his mother had helped him create the replacement at the very last minute.
High-voiced giggles surrounded him.
"Okay," he said, trying to calm them down, "okay, we've got Ashley—" he knew her, jumping around in the fairy costume, "Emily…" A blonde girl dressed as an unusually stylish witch waved. "Nicole, Taylor, Andrea, and…" What was the last one called again? "Kristen." He did a head count again, just to make sure he had them all. He may have battled minions and saved the world, but a group of giggling little girls trick-o'-treating was just a little bit much for a teenage boy to handle. He looked around one last time—a fairy in a pink tutu, three witches, what looked like a pumpkin, and a skeleton he told himself didn't remind him of anything else. "Are we all ready to go?"
"Trick-or-treat!" the red-haired witch called, twirling around on one foot. They all started giggling again, and Mark sighed inwardly. "Great, we're all ready. Let's go. Just stay close."
Why couldn't any of his so-called friends have been around to help? Mark wondered bitterly as he slowed down his walking speed so the children could keep up. Chuck deserting him to go trick-o'-treating with Jessica in her hometown, Brett at Heather's oh-so-exclusive Halloween party, and Kat. The worst betrayal of all. Granted, not many girls would rather spend time helping their boyfriend babysit a tween brigade than go to the so-called party of the year, especially if they'd volunteered to write a neutral perspective on it for the school paper, but she could still have shown some loyalty, Mark thought.
They were loud, and giggly; the adults seemed to love it, giving them rich hauls of candy, and Mark started regretted not bringing a bag himself; it had been a while since he'd eaten.
"Want a toffee apple, Marky?" Ashley asked, waving it in front of him.
"Mark," he corrected her, too late.
"Marky, can we go over there next?" Taylor-or-Andrea said, tugging at his arm and pointing to a house with a pumpkin-shaped window decoration.
"Mark," he said, not as firmly as he'd have liked, and took the toffee apple. "Thanks, Ash."
She only giggled, and Mark ushered the group over to yet another house, making sure he hadn't lost any of them.
"Okay," he said, after what felt like the fiftieth time they'd rung a doorbell and been rewarded for it with candy and exclamations of "such nice costumes, girls". "I think we've had enough, haven't we? It's time to go home, isn't it?"
"No!" Andrea-or-Taylor squealed. "We're not going home 'till we finish filling these!" She showed him her bag, which was around three-quarters full.
"That's enough candy for one night," Mark said. He'd never gotten that much as a kid. He'd never have been able to eat that much, either.
Their faces fell.
Mark couldn't handle this.
"Just one more," he said in resignation. "Or…two. Or three. Okay?"
"Yay!" the pumpkin cheered, waving her candy bag in the air with enthusiasm that would have given Mark a severe bruise on his cheek if he hadn't ducked.
Ashley took his hand. "Good, Marky. Let's go."
He took them in the right direction to get back home, stopping in as few places as he could get away with. Mark would have sworn, though, that Ashley and her friends possessed some supernatural ability to spot the few remaining houses they hadn't visited.
They finally reached the Thompson place, their last stop. Mrs Thompson offered him some cocoa, too, and it almost seemed that he was actually going to get a chance to sit down, if one of the witches hadn't pointed out that his house had gone completely dark since they'd left.
Mark's throat suddenly went dry, and he couldn't force down his mouthful of cocoa.
And his wrist cannon was in the garage, wasn't it?
And his parents had been at home waiting for some friends to arrive, hadn't they?
Crap.
"Look, I'm just going to…check that out," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound too shaky. "Just in case. Sorry, ma'am," he said to Mrs Thompson. "I'll be right back. I promise."
He ran out of the house, distracted from the impracticability of his costume by bigger problems.
There weren't any audible sounds coming from his home; that might have been a good thing, or it might have been very bad. On the alert for any enemies, he crept into his garden, trying not to attract any attention. The ghost costume would only make him more visible; ripping it off himself as quickly as he could—it didn't matter if he ruined it, not with this going on—he deposited it in the middle of a bush.
The garage had to be unlocked, didn't it?
He reached a hand for the knob on the door, and twisted it. It'd have to work, please work…
It wouldn't budge.
He applied more pressure to it; his father rarely locked the garage, it was just stuck…
It creaked, but otherwise refused to move. He could try to break open the door, but that'd mean noise that would attract attention, the wrong kind and the right kind that would see the wrong kind. Or he could find out exactly what was going on, call Ace…
He reached for his phone in his pocket, and then realized that he'd left it in the pants he'd changed for the costume.
Nothing for it, then, but to go in with what he had. He wasn't going to leave his parents with whatever evils had come.
He cautiously approached the house, to try to hear what was going on inside. It was almost completely silent in the darkness.
There was some faint noise, though, coming from the dining room; Mark pressed an ear to the wall and froze.
"…ultimatum," he heard a man muttering.
A reply, in an unintelligible female voice.
It was the dream, he thought wildly, Ace not here and my parents in danger...
There was a sudden light on him, and he turned to see a pair of car headlights. If it was the ice cream truck, he was dead.
"Who's there?" he called, as bravely as he could. They'd already spotted him; there wasn't a point in trying to hide. He'd just have to fight this as best he could.
There was silence. The car lights switched off, and there was the sound of the car door opening.
"Excuse me," Mark heard. He blinked twice to help his eyes get used to the darkness, and saw a male figure in a coat walking along the path. "Excuse me, is this the Hollander house?"
One of Dad's party guests. He can't come in here.
"No!" Mark said in a fierce whisper. "No, it's not! Sorry!"
It didn't seem to stop the man. "But I'm sure this is the address. And I saw Elizabeth's car further up the road," he said.
His voice sounded horribly loud, and his bumbling innocence was more than Mark could bear.
"It's dangerous, you can't come in here!" he called.
"Is this a Halloween prank?" the man asked. He walked closer to Mark. "You're Simon's son, aren't you? I'm Toby Halligan. I think I met you at the office picnic in July." He laughed, too loudly for Mark's tastes. "Halloween prank, eh? Not a bad idea, but I don't think your father would be too pleased. Where's the front door?"
"Something's wrong," Mark said, running to him. He tripped over in the darkness, and couldn't restrain a curse word as his elbow scraped over something hard. "Don't knock on it, don't…"
Toby simply reached over him, and knocked loudly on the door.
"It's dark!" Mark said. "I think there might be…strange people in there!"
Toby shook his head. "I honestly don't think so."
"Toby, it's…"
The door opened.
"Come in," he heard his mother say.
Mark gasped. "You're…real?" he demanded. She could be Lady Illusion, laying some sort of trap…
The hall light shone from the doorway, lighting her from behind; everything inside was normal, as far as Mark could tell, though the windows had been blocked up with something.
"Mark. Are you all right?" she asked. "Come in, Toby. Sorry to keep you waiting like this in the dark." She turned. "Simon!" she called. "I told you to put the light out! You already know our son Mark," she added to Toby, fixing Mark with a gimlet stare. "Simon's in the dining room, with Coleman and Elizabeth. Our little niece has friends over, but they shouldn't be any trouble."
She sounded perfectly herself.
"Thank you, Fiona," Toby said. "I think I'll show myself through, thank you…" His voice faded away down the hallway.
He could still be going to face carnival-freaks, Mark thought, and raised a hand as though to summon him back.
His father came walking out then, a lamp in his hand. "Sorry, darling," he said. "I completely forgot to bring this out…my word, it's dark. Apropos for Halloween, though, isn't it?"
Relief flooded through Mark.
"Where are the girls?" his mother asked, no mercy in her tone.
"The Thompsons'," Mark said. This did not seem to appease her. "I just left them there for a second, the house was all dark and I thought…"
"Go back and get them, Mark," she said. "Now."
It was enough to send him running, for a better reason this time.
His father was still there on the doorstep when he returned with six still-giggling girls; did they ever stop? Thank Zoar for Mrs Thompson.
"Mark, stay back for a minute, Fiona will look after the girls," his father said. "I just can't get this blasted thing to light."
"Why not just leave the curtains open?" Mark said, examining the lantern's bulb.
His father looked shocked. "It's the atmosphere, son. Darkened house, one old lantern on the steps—it's a real American Halloween."
"So you blocked up all the windows after we left?" Mark flicked the switch on and off. "Great idea. Real safe for harmless visitors. What kind of safety approach were you hoping to take, Snyder's?" His elbow hurt, he realized; he reached a hand to it and noticed it was bleeding.
"Well. It was a sort of spur-of-the-moment idea," his father said. "You were gone quite a while; your mother was starting to worry."
"They didn't want to go home." Mark shuddered slightly. "Did you plug this in? And switch it on?"
"Not sure." Simon popped his head back into the hallway to check. "Yes."
Mark passed him the lamp. "Then I'll get a new bulb," he said tersely, stepping into the light.
"Son," his father said, "is there anything you want to tell me?"
Mark sighed. "I thought…something had happened to you two. I couldn't see any lights on. I left Ashley and her friends at the Thompson place so I could find out what it was. And I was a bit rude to Toby. Sorry." He couldn't let it all out, but it was something of a relief to be able to say something to his father.
Simon's eyes widened. "Oh. I'm sorry about the lights. And about your elbow. Go put something on that."
It was a lot easier searching than the time he'd been alone at home when the villains attacked, Mark reflected as he rummaged through the laundry cupboard to find the bulb. Much better lit, for one. And he guessed it wasn't so bad, after all, aside from the still-hurting elbow.
"You locked the garage. You never lock the garage," Mark said to his father, screwing the bulb into the lamp.
"Your mother reminded me. Safety. Just in case. You get some strange people around on Halloween." Simon tapped the side of his nose. "Never be too careful."
"Okay. So who was discussing 'ultimatum'?" Mark asked. The lamp worked as he switched it on this time; placed on the little table put outside the door it highlighted their sign reading "Trick Or Treaters Welcome" with light turned pale blue by the lampshade.
It's a villain word! "Ace Lightning, this is my ultimatum: surrender or die." Everyone knows that!
Simon looked confused for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Oh. That'd be our ultimatum for the upcoming merger with Hankarde Systems. We offered them two hundred k plus expanded premises, the best deal we can give them…Anyway, what did you think we were saying?"
Mark sagged. "Never mind, Dad. I just got worried."
As they walked inside together, into a warm kitchen inhabited by loud children, Simon gave him a pat on the back. "Never mind, son. You did the right thing to keep the girls out of the way. If something had been really wrong, you'd have handled it well. I'm proud of you."
Tell that to my elbow, Mark thought, but he managed a smile at his father. "Thanks, Dad."
Ashley grinned at him. "You were silly," she said. "There wasn't anything to be scared of."
Mark sighed. "I know. It just…made me think of a dream I had. Like the time you met the Radioactive Guy, remember?"
She tapped him on the nose with her wand. "Well, I'm the Dream Fairy, and you're going to have better dreams tonight," she said.
"The Dream Fairy's not real," one of the witches said. "C'mon, Ashley. Let's finish the marshmallows before our parents come."
It was a relief to have the children off in the lounge with his mother, Mark thought, and went outside to retrieve his costume. The house did look spooky, he noticed, one single pale lamp shining from his doorstep while the other windows were dark.
Perfect for Halloween.