Arthur hated Halloween.

No words could describe how much the costume-dressing, the sugar-high kids, and the constant, unnecessary scaring pissed him off.

What was the purpose of this holiday? To answer this unanswerable question, Arthur had looked it up, and a fitting story came up that gave him a fitting answer: to make peace with the spirits of Halloween, lost souls and ghouls, bloody ghosts and demons.

Arthur had told many that's why he hated it, the fact that in his terms it meant he'd have to make peace with the crowds of kids running across his street, his sidewalk, knocking and yelling at his house even though he'd had his front porch light off for the past three days, and yet middle-schoolers still found it funny to throw candy wrappers and trash on his front yard. His father had asked him to even dress up once; the man had walked without some of his hair for quite a while.

It was even worse since he lived in the rich part of town. The part of town which kids would tell their friends that the adults there would give them jumbo-sized candy bars for dressing up as themselves, the part where one kid got a hundred dollars to make up for no candy.

He hated Halloween.

Arthur stared from his bedroom window, the white window sill tainted by dust and dirt. He lifted his hands from their place and stared disapprovingly at his palms, covered in brown-ish filth.

The blond-haired male huffed out a breath of air. He heard the sound of a doorbell downstairs, and another of his house's large wooden door opening. He'd cherished his father for his cleverness but couldn't help but judge him for bothering to open the door.

Arthur thought up a million and one ways he would do what his father did differently - maybe slam the door in their faces, watching with wide eyes as they skirted away, off to go wail on to their mothers. A dark shadow passed over the boy and he walked to turn on another light, though he knew that wouldn't help lighting up his almost enormous room.

His father called down to him, "Arthur, come here!"

And Arthur complied, though resenting every step he took. He skipped the last step on the staircase, jumping onto the ground and looking up at his grown father, a man with brown, slicked back hair and green eyes.

"I got a call from work," started his father, Richard Lexington. "Come here and take the candy bowl. You're giving it out tonight."

Arthur knew better than to throw tantrums now - he was a freshman in highschool, it was time for him to grow up and out of his first-grade tendencies. But the male shook his head firmly, giving a clear signal to his father that he wasn't going to take the bowl.

"Yes," his dad said. "Arthur, take it, I don't want more complaining. You're a young adult now" - Arthur noticed he said it with great uncertainty - "so act like it."

Richard shoved the bright orange pumpkin-themed bowl at his son, forcing Arthur to grab it with both hands.

Screw my life, thought Arthur, pushing his blond, curly bangs out of his face.

Time went by slowly the more candy Arthur gave out, a piece of his hatred lodged metaphorically in each one. He'd swore off having kids when he was young himself, and now he could see the reason why.

The children that came to his house were nice, but with a catch. Some demanded, others talked with a tone in their voice that Arthur would've gotten punished for, and a few even told Arthur that they'd shit on his front lawn.

Deep inside, Arthur kind of knew he acted the same way sometimes.

High schoolers (which, by all means, were way cooler than Arthur,) had passed the teen's house and actually laughed at him. They'd never say anything to his face but instead gave some nasty glares, ones that told Arthur he'd get beat up next Monday. Whatever - he could fend for himself anyways.

Arthur checked his silver watch, and in clear print the numbers 9:37 showed on the screen. Only a few older kids were out, though they weren't even trick-or-treating, just messing around and trading candy.

He was about to head inside and go to sleep for the night but footsteps on his stone-staircase up to his front porch made him whip his head around, thinking that this was some attempt to prank the male. Arthur clenched his fist, ready to throw a punch in case some of the teenagers that laughed at him earlier had come back for more.

Instead he was greeted with a friendly, smiling face - one too friendly, if you asked Arthur.

"Hey," said a messy-haired, darkly-tanned, puppy-eyed boy of somewhere around Arthur's age, perhaps a year or two younger than him. He looked down to the almost-empty candy bowl Arthur had in hand. "Trick-or-treat?"

Arthur noted his sentence sounded more like a question than a statement, and wondered if he almost felt intimidated by Arthur.

"Uh, yeah," Arthur managed to reply, "here's what we have left. Just take it all."

And the boy did, eagerly, at that. Arthur stared at his features, green eyes just like his dad, and sharp, canine-like teeth. Arthur thought over to himself about this boy, thoughts like this boy looks like he's too old to trick-or-treat swirling around in his mind.

"How old are you?" Arthur blurted out, causing a stare from the tanned stranger.

The other male answered, "Oh, I'm, uh, 14,"

Arthur looked to the boy with a perplexed expression. The oldest he'd seen around here was twelve, what was this boy thinking? If he was in his freshman year like Arthur, surely he'd get beaten to a pulp by the older boys. "Aren't you a little too old to be out trick-or-treating?"

"No?" said canine-like boy, again, answering with a question rather than a statement. He stared at Arthur, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion, cheek raised so that his eyelid raised up. "Why, are you the Halloween police?"

Arthur winced at the reply, thinking that it was something only twelve-year-olds said. "Dude, why are you out here so late anyways? What's your deal? Why are trick-or-treating at fourteen?"

"What's with all the questions, arsehole?" Canine-like boy answered. "I just want the candy, leave me alone, jeez,"

Finally, Arthur asked again, ignoring canine-like boy's rude tone, "What's your name?"

The boy tensed. "Romulus, what's yours?"

Arthur couldn't help but notice the boy's weird name. "I'm Arthur,"

"Hi, Arthur," said Romulus, a bit sarcastically. "Did you get all your answers yet?"

"No, because I still don't get why you're trick-or-treating at fourteen." Arthur crossed his arms, which was kind of hard to do as he was holding a pumpkin bowl. Romulus rolled his eyes, and said, "Because I want to. I want candy, mate, give me a break."

And Arthur replied, "Are you British?"

"Dude, stop. Stop with all the weird questions. I feel like you're a CIA member. I'm British, fourteen, and I'm trick-or-treating. My name is Romulus and I'm Italian. My dad is Leonardo Piazon and my mother is like a wolf." Romulus almost dropped his candy bag.

That was enough information to keep Arthur satisfied. "Oh - I'm British, part-British, too,"

Romulus nodded. "Can I go now?"

"Wait! Do you go to a high school? Which one?"

"Yeah. I go to Roman Academy,"

No more words were said as Romulus stuffed a few extra pieces in his candy bag from Arthur's orange bowl. He readjusted his costume, a discarded wolf mask, a plaid shirt, some fake fur, and jeans. Arthur could easily recognize what he was - a werewolf.

"Bye," said Arthur, who watched Romulus turned around, waving a tiny little goodbye.

"Bye," replied Romulus.

Arthur stared at Romulus' red converse while he walked. "I'll see you at school on Monday,"

Romulus smiled, clutching his wolf mask with a tight grip. "Yeah. And, just for your information, I'm not too old to trick-or-treat."

Arthur kept his mouth shut and grinned, thinking that next year he'd go trick-or-treating.