Trick or Treat
"You scared or what?"
"I ain't scared! I ain't scared of nothing!" snapped Tom Stoker, adjusting the mask on his Batman costume.
"So go do it," said his friend, dressed as Robin. They were standing in front of the gates to Arkham Asylum, and it was Halloween night. "Knock on the door and say trick or treat."
"They won't even have any candy in there," reasoned Tom. "It's like a hospital. Nobody gives sick people candy – it's not healthy."
"It's a hospital for crazy freaks and monsters," said his friend. "If they don't celebrate Halloween, no one should. And the worst the doctors can do is say no and slam the door in your face. You ain't scared of that, are ya?"
"I told you, I ain't scared of nothing!" repeated Tom, firmly.
"Then prove it," retorted his friend, folding his arms across his chest. "Go knock on the door."
"Don't do it, Tom," murmured another of his friends, a girl dressed as Batgirl. She gazed at him with pleading eyes. "You don't have to prove anything. Nobody thinks you're a coward."
"You don't, Amy, because you're in love with him," retorted his friend. "Bet you just wanna go somewhere where the two of you can smooch. Ok, Tom, don't do it – listen to your girlfriend."
"Cut it out, Danny," growled Tom. "She's not my girlfriend."
"No, but I'm the only one here talking any sense," snapped Amy. "You're both being a couple of stupid boys risking getting into trouble for no reason!"
"What kinda trouble could we get into?" demanded Danny. "Tom's just gonna go up there and knock on the door. They probably won't even answer – probably busy giving the Joker his medication."
"The rule with trick or treating is that if the lights are out, you're not supposed to knock," retorted Amy, matter-of-factly. "There's no lights on in there. So you shouldn't disturb the people working by knocking."
"Who do you think are the unlucky saps pulling the graveyard shift in there on Halloween?" asked Danny, whistling. "I reckon they could use some cheering up. C'mon, Tom, do it, or you're chicken."
"I'm not chicken!" snapped Tom.
"Tom, if you do it, you're an idiot," retorted Amy.
"Would you rather be chicken or an idiot?" asked Danny, smiling.
The lesser of two evils for Tom appeared to be being an idiot, for he pushed open the gates with an almighty screech, and slowly made his way up the steps. The huge, Victorian Gothic building loomed ahead of him, staring down at him and, to his imaginative mind stimulated by candy and adrenaline, frowning at him. The wind blew around him as he stood on the porch, seeming to whisper Go away! Get out of here! You're not welcome!
Tom gulped. There was no place scarier in all of Gotham City than Arkham Asylum. Besides containing some of the most dangerous criminal lunatics in the world, there were also rumors that it was haunted. Tom had never heard the whole story, but the older kids at school said it was, so that was enough to convince Tom. And as he stood in front of the huge, double doors, towering above him, he certainly believed it now. The large windows stared down at him like the eye sockets of a skeleton, empty and dark and vacant. "Just knock," whispered Tom to himself, raising his fist. "They'll just tell you to scram. Piece of cake."
He took a deep breath and struck his fist firmly against the wood. The door vibrated, and he heard the echo of the knock fade away into the distance. Suspense and terror gradually changed to relief. "Nobody's gonna answer," he whispered, a slow smile spreading across his face. "We can get outta here, and nobody can call me chicken…"
His smile dropped as the huge doors were slowly pulled open, and a man stared down at him. A short man, it had to be said, dressed in green and wearing a top hat with a card stuck in the ribbon. He looked at Tom in puzzlement, and Tom, stunned, just said the first thing that popped into his mind: "Uh…trick or treat?"
The small man eyed him curiously, and then shrugged. "All right, come in," he said, holding open the door. "I didn't know we were expecting children – curiouser and curiouser."
"Oh…no thanks," stammered Tom. "I mean, you can just bring the candy out…actually, on second thought, I don't really need any candy at all…I'm good…I'll just be going now…"
"What? You mean you haven't come for the party?" asked the small man, puzzled.
"Party?" repeated Tom. Then the realization struck him. "Oh, I get it! That's what you guys do for Halloween, huh? You dress up like…them? You're the Mad Hatter, right?"
"Indeed I am," said the small man, bowing and removing his hat. "And you are…?"
"Tom Stoker," said Tom.
"Very brave boy to come here on Halloween, of all places," said the Mad Hatter. "Although I assume you had an invitation. How else would you have found out about the party? Are you a relation of one of the inmates?"
"Uh…no. I'm Batman," said Tom, indicating the mask.
"Yes, that's very droll," sighed the Mad Hatter. "Come inside. The others have yet to arrive."
"Who is this?" asked Jonathan Crane, in a mixture of surprise and annoyance, as Jervis Tetch led a small boy in a Batman costume into the Rec Room.
"This is Tom Stoker," said the Mad Hatter nodding at him. "Tom, this is…"
"The Scarecrow," gasped Tom. The man standing in front of him could be no one else.
He was dressed in dark red and browns – perfect autumnal, Halloween colors. He was wearing a hat, and a mask that resembled more a jack o'lantern than a scarecrow – all teeth and eyes – bright, shining eyes, like a candle. A rope noose hung loosely around his neck, and his flaming eyes burned as they studied Tom.
"But who is he?" repeated the Scarecrow, turning to face the Mad Hatter again.
"Bother if I know," retorted the Mad Hatter, shrugging. "But he knew the password, so I let him in."
The Scarecrow frowned. "Perhaps it was rather foolish of me to choose 'trick or treat' as the password to enter, tonight of all nights," he muttered. "But I never could have imagined that any child would dare to…"
He trailed off. "Are you frightened, boy?" he asked, turning to Tom again.
Tom studied the strange man in front of him and nodded. "Yeah…you two have done a pretty convincing job with your costumes. I'm impressed."
"What…" began the Scarecrow, but there was another knock on the door at that moment, and the Mad Hatter hurried off to answer it. A moment later, two more strange figures entered the room. One was dressed as Robin, but she was clearly a woman, with blonde hair and pigtails, and her Robin costume had been modified to suit her figure. The other was dressed as Batman, but he didn't have the build to pull it off convincingly – he was tall and thin, with deathly pale skin, bright, red lips, and a huge, mocking smile.
"Johnny, where's your costume?" the man in the Batman suit demanded, frowning.
"I'm wearing it," retorted the Scarecrow, gesturing to himself.
"That's not a costume – that's just how you normally dress," retorted the Batman. "Only you've added a noose."
"Well, I thought, what could possibly be more terrifying for Halloween than the Scarecrow?" asked the Scarecrow. "Except perhaps an un-dead Scarecrow. So I've added the noose for that effect."
"Geez, Johnny, you think you could have made a little extra effort for your party," said the woman dressed up as Robin, hands on hips. "Jervis, you're not dressed up either!"
"I'm wearing a green suit for the occasion," retorted the Mad Hatter.
"And how is that any different to what you usually wear?" asked the Batman.
"I usually wear a blue suit," said the Mad Hatter. "And you may have noticed I had a new hat tailored specially for…"
"Seriously?" interrupted the Batman, ripping off his mask. "Seriously? That's the best you freaks can do?! You're pathetic, both of you!"
And Tom's breath caught in his throat as he recognized with horror the face of the Batman. It was not Batman at all. It was the Joker.
"Harley and I went through all this effort to authentically replicate a Batman and Robin costume, and you can't even be bothered thinking of a different figure to dress up as! That's just pure laziness, and that's the worst quality in a supervillain, aside from lack of fashion sense! If you weren't hosting a party, I'd beat the living crap outta ya!"
"Harley's outfit doesn't look particularly authentic," retorted Tetch.
"I wanted to come as something sexy, but Mr. J insisted that I be Robin," retorted the woman, Harley Quinn. "So I made a few modifications to try and make the outfit sexy. But it turns out it's actually impossible to make this costume look attractive."
"Oh, I…think you're doing rather an admirable job," murmured the Scarecrow, gazing at her. "Although why didn't you go as Batgirl if you wanted something more feminine?"
"Because I'm gonna beat her to death with a crowbar by the end of tonight!" chuckled the Joker, ruffling Harley's hair fondly.
"Aw, Mr. J, you're such a kidder!" sighed Harley, kissing his cheek.
"Wow…that's amazing Joker makeup!" gasped Tom, who was awestruck at how authentic it looked.
The Joker turned to look at him scornfully. "Makeup?" he repeated. "What do you think I am, kid, some kinda transvestite? Who is this kid, anyway? I've been seeing them all night wandering around town in stupid costumes – there were a couple more hanging around outside until they saw us, and then they ran off. Can't say that I blame them – Batman and Robin are a couple freaks you don't wanna run into in a dark alley!" he chuckled.
"Batman's a hero," spoke up Tom. "I dunno why anyone would be scared of him."
"Oh dear," sighed the Mad Hatter, rolling his eyes. "You're one of those."
"Jervis mistakenly let him in, thinking he was a party guest, since he said trick or treat," retorted the Scarecrow. "I admit it's partially my fault for making that the password, but he could have just used his own judgement and common sense."
"My dear Jonathan, common sense is one attribute I do not possess," retorted the Mad Hatter. "Because who is to say that nonsense is not common sense? A child being invited to the Arkham Halloween Party is nonsensical, but that does not mean it is impossible. I thought he might be a relation of someone here."
The Joker shrugged. "Well, sorry, kid, but I don't think we can let you live after what you've seen." He reached for his gun, and then began patting down his costume. "Oh, that's right, Bats don't use guns," he muttered. "He really needs to get over that. It would make his job so much easier if he just started killing people."
"I don't know that we have to kill him," said the Scarecrow, quietly. "What has he seen, after all? That we're having a party – there's no harm in that. We could just send him on his way…"
"He's seen that the inmates are hosting a party at Arkham Asylum," interrupted the Joker. "He's seen that the guards and the doctors are nowhere to be found, and the inmates have full run of the place. Speaking of which, where are the guards and the doctors?"
"Oh, I released fear toxin into the ventilation system – not enough to kill everyone, but enough to make them panic and flee the building," replied the Scarecrow. "It will have a twenty-four hour effect, so they'll probably return to work tomorrow, but it's ours for tonight. I trust we'll be gone by tomorrow."
"Oh yeah, definitely," said the Joker. "No offense, Johnny, but I sincerely doubt you can host a party that lasts until the next day. I sincerely doubt you can host a party that lasts an hour, I'll be honest, but I was excited about wearing my Batman costume. Still, if I had been in charge of the party, I'd have kept a couple of the employees around for decoration. Y'know, human jack o'lanterns with candles in their mouths, blood-stained walls with entrail writing and smiley faces – nothing else quite says party!"
"Wait…you guys are…are…you're the real supercriminals?" stammered Tom, the slow, horrific realization hitting him like a punch in the stomach. "I thought you were the employees just dressed in costumes…"
"You thought the employees of Arkham Asylum could afford a costume this authentic?" demanded the Scarecrow, rather insulted. "On their salary?"
"More to the point, you don't think they've had enough of us the rest of the year not to want to be us at Halloween?" chuckled the Joker.
Tom didn't know how to respond – he was too scared to even speak. Especially when the Joker pushed over the table and broke off a leg, patting it into his hand as he approached him. "Well, since I don't got a gun, guess I gotta do this the old fashioned way," he said. "I guess Bats is right – there is something almost transcendental about beating someone to death. It's kinda a personal bonding moment between you and the guy whose bones you're crushing…"
"Joker, it would be terribly rude to invite the child to the party and then kill him. That's appalling manners," sighed the Mad Hatter.
"He wasn't invited – he's a party crasher!" exclaimed the Joker.
"Aw, c'mon, Mr. J, ya gotta admire his guts," said Harley.
"I will, pooh, when I got them spread all over the floor," said the Joker, nodding.
"I mean he's got gumption, coming here on Halloween," said Harley. "It was pretty idiotic, of course, but ya gotta respect bravery. Let's not kill him. I like kids."
"So does Hatty, or so I hear!" chuckled the Joker. "Guess it's little girls you're into though, huh, Tetchy?"
"For the last time, I'm not a pedophile…" began the Mad Hatter, but a knock on the door interrupted what he was saying. He went off to answer it, and returned a moment later followed by a woman with green skin dressed in a witch's outfit, and a man dressed in half a black suit, and half a dark green suit. One side of his face was ugly and mangled, and he wore half a top hat, and half a cape.
"What have you come as, Harvey?" asked the Scarecrow of the man.
"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," said the man, who could only be Two-Face.
"Splendid!" exclaimed the Mad Hatter, clapping his hands. "Another literary character!"
"And Pammie, you're a witch again," said the Joker, nodding at her. "Still stuck in the last story, I see."
"What?" asked the woman, Poison Ivy, frowning. "What story?"
"Never mind," sighed the Joker. "I forget I'm the only one who knows the truth."
"Ya look great, Red!" exclaimed Harley, hugging her. "Maybe we can do a duet from Wicked later, huh?"
"Who's the kid?" asked Two-Face, noticing Tom.
"An uninvited guest. We're just figuring out what to do with him," said the Scarecrow.
"Why can't he stay for the party?" asked Harley. "It's not like he's gonna hurt anything, is he?"
"Because, pooh, if we leave him alive, he'll tell people what he saw…" explained the Joker.
"I won't!" objected Tom, desperately. "Honest, I won't!"
"Yeah? So explain the costume, kid," retorted the Joker, hands on hips. "Who are you supposed to be?"
"I'm Batman," replied Tom, quietly.
The Joker snorted. "You wish. And so do I, for that matter. But you're clearly a Bat fan, which means that once you get outta here, you'll go straight to your favorite hero and tattle on us. And FYI, Batman ain't eight. You should stick to dressing like Robin in the future."
"Well…you don't look much like Batman either," said Tom, slowly.
"Shut up!" snapped the Joker.
"You're dressed like him, but that don't mean you're on his side," continued Tom. "So how come it means that when I dress like him?"
"Kid's gotta point," said Two-Face, nodding.
"I mean, I read about you guys fighting Batman all the time," said Tom. "I know you're bad and all, but I've always been impressed that no matter how badly Batman beats you up, you always come back for more. My Mom says that if you got a dream, you gotta hang onto it and not let anyone stop you from reaching it. I guess that's true even if your dreams are evil, huh?"
"Aw, he's so clever, Mr. J!" exclaimed Harley, clapping her hands. "Let's let him stay for the party! Please? Please, please, please?"
"I am the host here!" snapped the Scarecrow. "And I suggest we have a little test for the child. If he manages to stay here for the whole party, and not flee in terror like the guards and the doctors, then he may remain alive. If he runs, we kill him."
"Why would the kid flee in terror?" asked the Joker, puzzled.
"Because of the nature of this particular party," murmured the Scarecrow. "Once all the guests have arrived, we will head up to the old attic at the top of the house, and I will read a story – a manuscript written in Amadeus Arkham's own hand. The nature of this particular story is so horrific that I imagine most of you will not be able to last to the end…"
"Read a story?" interrupted the Joker, frowning. "That's not a party!"
"I'm intending a more traditional Halloween celebration, where we reflect on our own mortality instead of stuffing our faces with sweets…"
"What, no candy?!" cried the Joker. "This is the worst party ever! You can't have Halloween without candy – it's un-American! Hell with this, Johnny, I'm outta here to go mug some trick-or-treaters!" he said, striding off.
"But Mr. J, who am I gonna cling onto if the story gets scary?" protested Harley, racing after him and catching his arm. "I need my big, strong puddin' to protect me from the ghosts and ghoulies!"
"Well, in that case, it's a good thing I'm leaving," said the Joker.
"But puddin', doncha wanna hang around in case we get to kill the kid?" pressed Harley. "It'll be so much fun – you don't wanna miss out on that, do ya?"
The Joker sighed heavily. "Well, what's Halloween without a little mutilation?" he said, turning back to smile at Tom. "I guess I'll stay…for now."
"Who else are we expecting?" asked Poison Ivy, looking around.
"Edward Nygma. I'm not sure what's keeping him," said the Scarecrow, checking his watch. "He's usually quite punctual…"
The Joker giggled. "Eddie might have had a little trick or treat from Batman and Robin," he said, indicating himself and Harley.
"Oh yes? What kind of trick or treat?" asked the Scarecrow, puzzled.
"Well, the treat was that he'll get to see the real Batman tonight," said Joker, beaming. "Thanks to the trick, which was hiding a bomb in a building and then tying Eddie up at the crime scene while the clock ticked down. Should keep Bats preoccupied for a while. I mean, the last thing we want is him dropping by and spoiling our fun, right? We've already had enough party crashers," he added, glaring at Tom.
"Is…Edward going to be all right?" asked the Mad Hatter, slowly.
"Oh yeah, I'm sure Bats'll get to him in plenty of time," said the Joker, waving his hand. "You know what the guy's like – got an excellent sense of timing. Or a terrible sense of timing, depending on your perspective. And even if he doesn't get to him in time, it's no loss."
"Well then, I suppose we should all adjourn to the attic," said the Scarecrow. "After you, Master Stoker. Are you any relation to Bram Stoker?" he asked as they walked.
"Uh…who?" asked Tom.
"Bram Stoker. Author of Dracula."
"Can't say I've read it," replied Tom.
The Scarecrow snorted. "When I was your age, I'd read it about six times," he muttered. "What do you read?"
"Comic books, mostly," said Tom.
The Scarecrow snorted again. "Comic books," he muttered, contemptuously. "Picture books for idiots with no imagination."
"Hey, don't knock comics, Craney – we owe our very existence to them," chuckled the Joker.
"What are you talking about?" asked the Scarecrow.
"I'm talking about thinking outside the Matrix, Johnny," said the Joker. "The DC Matrix, that is. It's kinda like the real Matrix, only without Keanu Reeves, which is always a good thing."
The Scarecrow just looked at the Joker as if he were crazy and continued on. Tom didn't need that last sentence to confirm that everyone here was crazy, and that he needed to get outta here quick. But if he did, he'd be killed. But maybe that was better than what was in store for him if he stayed.
As they climbed the stairs into the wing of Arkham that was used only for storage, the cobwebs and dust got heavier and thicker. The Victorian architecture of the building had mostly been fitted with modern technology and conveniences, like electricity, but the lightbulbs seemed to have burned out here, and nobody had bothered to fix them. Fortunately the Scarecrow had a candle as he led them up the narrow stairs to the trapdoor in the ceiling, which led to the attic.
The candle cast weird, flickering shadows on the walls, making the vast, hulking piles of junk seem like huge, quivering monsters, waiting to strike. There was a fireplace along one wall, and while everyone climbed into the room, the Scarecrow went over to light it. This only made more weird shadows dance and jump across the walls and the ceiling, and Tom saw Harley Quinn already begin to creep closer to the Joker.
"This is the room where it happened," murmured the Scarecrow, going over to an old chest and fiddling with the lock.
"Where what happened?" whispered Harley.
"The murders," said the Scarecrow, calmly, bending down to remove a handwritten manuscript from the chest. "Come, Harley, you must know the story of Amadeus Arkham."
"I've heard…uh…bits and pieces," said Harley, slowly. "But I don't do well with all the creepy, supernatural stuff…it gives me the heebie jeebies. You might find me curling up against you if the story gets too scary, Johnny."
"Oh, well, of course in that case, I wouldn't dream of frightening you," said the Scarecrow. "But it's not entirely up to me, you see, Harley. It's up to him."
"Him?" she repeated.
"Amadeus," he said, holding up the papers. "These are his notes in his own hand. It's rumored that his ghost still haunts this asylum, along with the ghosts of his family, horribly and brutally murdered on this very spot."
"Criminey, I'm getting spooked already," muttered Harley, cuddling closer to the Joker. "You ok, Tom?"
Tom nodded, his throat dry. He was terrified, but he didn't see any other choice. He would have to listen. He settled down in the circle with the Arkham inmates as the Scarecrow stoked the fire and began to read.