Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Some information about Halloween's history is directly quoted from this website: http:/[dot]jeremiahproject[dot]com/culture/halloween[dot]html (source) I do not own content of this website and am simply borrowing the information of Halloween's history for this story. I've put extra quotation marks in those sections.

Author's Note: Reviews, feedback, comments and constructive criticism are welcome and appreciated. Thank you. :)

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Chapter Four: Someone Slipping In Through The Hidden Door

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# # #

Gus stared at Shawn on the way out the door, the double bell above the door chiming again. "How did you know that? And how do you know that—"

"Tut tut, my disbelieving, disapproving friend," Shawn cut in. "Quit staring at me like I'm really psychic and you had no idea! It's eerie."

"I can't help myself. You are kind of eerie today."

Shawn beamed. "That's what Halloween is for! Gus, we were in the Chief's office for at least five minutes. My eyes wandered, after, like, thirty-six seconds. It wasn't that hard to figure out why she let everyone dress up today."

Gus shrugged. "Lassiter's going to be mad when he finds out—"

"Tut tut tut!" Shawn tsked. "He's not going to find out—"

Gus raised an eyebrow. "Really? Really, Shawn, REALLY? How is he NOT going to find out?"

Shawn rocked back and forth on his heels, the reality seeming to sink in. "Oh. I see your point." He paused. "Oh, well." He raised both eyebrows, and speaking in a British accent, said, "Won't you join me for a goblet of blood?" He tried to cackle like Béla Lugosi.

As soon as the images connected in Gus's head, his cheeks puffed up like he was getting nauseated. "Why did you—?" Gus ran the rest of the way to the Echo. "I can't be sick in my company car!" He flailed as if he'd stepped on a bee.

Shawn watched him, calling out, "Does that mean you still want to get food? Gus? Gus?"

# # #

The day was still new, the autumn sun not yet a full blaze. Juliet lost herself staring out the window for a little while, holding her breath as if to ward off a batch of aggressive hiccups. She only breathed in again when she was dizzy enough to see spots.

Could he really find her here, get in, scratch his nails against her skin, go in deeper?

In spite of the softness of the many festive decorations from street to street—even the hint of a few costumed adults or children heading off for work or school—Juliet refused to let herself be tempted. Since the last bout of excited, tormented fear was spent—or sleeping—for now, Juliet had geared herself up to be alert, ready to go after the sharper edges of the holiday—whatever those might be.

Juliet turned from the window, looking ahead. Still, she could feel Lassiter eyeing her as he drove. It felt like a laser on skin. No matter what, she mused, he'd refused to let this go. Juliet's palms sweated. She had do something to banish the renewal of her panic so it didn't lead to trouble for either of them. She pressed air around in her mouth, little bubbles that might contain treasures if only she could open them, get them out. The radio crackled, making head her pound.

Instinctively, she reached for it. It was something, a crime, a perfect interruption. This was better. This was something she could handle. She grinned to herself when Lassiter swung the car around.

# # #

Shawn stood in front of a full length mirror in the Psych office, examining his costume again. He liked the way he looked in it, even though it was not what he'd intended to buy when he went to Halloween Costume Extravaganza!, a seasonal place that sprouted up across town in a vacant space that used to be a grocery store. Every year, the store name was different, but the product was essentially the same, with a few variations on the theme, due to pop culture or recent criminal infamy.

He hadn't even intended to dress up—not this much. Gus always liked to go all out, stating it was his right on Halloween to not dress the way he did the rest of the year. Shawn could be happy with a just a mask or some fake blood.

That's . . . that's what had gotten him into trouble.

Remembering it, Shawn winced at little, giving himself a sheepish look in the mirror. He was hardly one to be charmed—persuaded—into doing anything, unless he was somehow calling the shots. With bossy salespeople, Shawn was best when he was doing the charming, getting himself a great deal—or free samples—with his very special "gift". And those who didn't like his "gift" were more than eager to cut him free.

Gus had left him in an aisle, running off to examine something shiny. Something glittery enough to almost blind Shawn. He didn't listen when Shawn yelled after him that Gus would never be able to pull that off; Shawn grinned when he saw that the shiny was attached to a pretty girl. He hoped he'd long distance dissuaded her from letting Gus talk to her.

Turning away, Shawn wandered down the aisle, then down another. He'd stopped in front of a display, picked up a tube of blood and imagined all the ways he could torture Gus with it for abandoning him. He'd been so into the gross-out fantasies, snickering to himself, that he hadn't heard someone come up to stand next to him.

"Ah, you like vampires?"

Shawn dropped the tube in surprise, turning to see an old, shrunken bald headed Chinese man standing next to him. He bent to pick up the tube, setting it back on the display quickly as he scanned the man. He couldn't immediately tell if the old man was an employee, a friendly citizen or crazy. He was at a loss for words.

"You like vampires?" the old man said again, smiling, revealing a few missing teeth.

"Vampires," Shawn repeated. "I—"

The man gestured a gnarled finger towards the display—a fanciful mix of red body paint, fake blood—in tubes, jars, and packets, red and black nail polishes, false eyelashes, plastic fangs and various colored hair gels and sprays.

There was an off-color joke or two on his tongue about the discrimination against werewolves or serial killers, but Shawn was strangely transfixed. The aisle—holding just the two of them—felt stuffy and cramped. "Vampires . . . are all right," he heard himself saying, his own voice sounding distant.

"Hungry ghosts," the man said, though Shawn had no idea what he meant. He gestured towards the display, then retrieved the tube of blood Shawn had been holding. He pressed the tube into Shawn's hands. An electric chill shot up Shawn's back, but he just stared at the man, as if unable to move. "We celebrate. Some fear."

Shawn nodded, though he couldn't say why.

And he couldn't remember what he'd come in to buy. "You want costume?" the man asked him, smiling with friendly dark brown eyes. Shawn nodded. "I have costume for you."

"You do?" Shawn asked. "For me?"

"For you," the man assured him. His eyes twinkled. As he started walking, Shawn followed, unable to make out any faint voices behind the veil of curiosity that were telling him to run.

Gus caught up with him sometime later—after asking around and then finally having him paged. By then, it was too late. He'd gasped to see his friend decked out in full Vampire regalia, Béla Lugosi Dracula style.

"Shawn!" Gus stared at him, looking him up and down several times. "What . . . what the hell happened?"

Shawn, wearing the fake teeth, cackled. "Vow do I lvook?" He fanned out the cape, even pulling up across his eyes once. When Gus didn't answer, Shawn pointed to the top of his own head. "And myv hair iz verfect!"

Gus appeared behind him, still chewing the last of their recent meal. He rolled his eyes. "How long are you going to keep standing there?"

"Until I'm satisfied," Shawn blurted out, his grin fierce.

"You're unbelievable. I thought you wanted to hear about Halloween's history. Maybe get some insight into—" Gus sighed. "Maybe so I can get some insight as to why you and Juliet are acting nuts today." He pursed his lips. "You're not secretly dating, are you?"

He sounded so dejected that Shawn actually laughed. He let his reflection go, walking away from the mirror. "Gus, I would tell you if I were secretly dating Jules. . . . Eventually." He winked as Gus muttered under his breath.

He followed Gus back to their desks, but he kept standing while Gus said down in front of his laptop. "I still can't believe you bought that costume," Gus said, giving Shawn a semi-incredulous look.

"I still can't believe you bought that costume," Shawn counted, raising an eyebrow at the shiny material mostly concealed under the windbreaker. "Are you sure that you weren't the one getting hypnotized or whatever by that sweet space girl you were chatting up?"

Gus frowned. "She made a valid point—these colors bring out the softer tones in my eyes, Shawn."

"Really? Because they bring up my lunch." He smirked at Gus, who looked annoyed. "Admit it, you were trying to impress her and give her a big sale. Did you at least get her number?"

Gus frowned deeper. "What do you think I am, an amateur?"

Shawn laughed, then circled back. "That old dude didn't hypnotize me, Gus. He just . . . put a spell on me." He did his best impersonation of Screamin' Jay Hawkins. He frowned suddenly. "He made me spend my own money." But he brightened again. "But I look hot in it!"

Gus shook his head. He was still not sure what to make of any of it, but he couldn't put it past Shawn to shock him—even if it wasn't intended.

And by Juliet's reaction to the costume—Gus might even have to admit that it was a hit. If a hit could be counted by someone like Juliet fainting dead away as if she were a helpless victim in a Gothic novel. It all made Gus feel uneasy, though he couldn't easily say why. Even the way he'd found Shawn—when he'd finally strode to the front of the store—grinning and bouncing, he'd been already in costume, refusing to take it off.

That was five days ago—too soon for an adult to get away with putting on a Halloween costume. Still, Shawn had put on a good show on the way home—telling everyone in every public place they encountered that he was Spenzar, the mystic psychic vampire. His happiness had been kind of contagious, Gus had to admit. He'd warmed up to Shawn's odd behavior eventually, eagerly playing along with Shawn's parlor tricks, feeling in better spirits by the time they got back to the Psych office.

But he was grateful that the costume had not made its reappearance until today. Stealing glances at his friend, Gus had an odd sense that the costume was wearing Shawn, rather than the other way around.

"So, what kind of boring ancient history did you dig up?" Shawn asked.

Gus sighed. "Have you already started turning me out, or do you genuinely want to know?"

Shawn feigned a few seconds of distraction. His eyes twinkled. "Sorry, Gus, did you just say something important?"

"Do you want to know?"

"Should I want to know?" Shawn teased.

Ignoring him, Gus started, "Halloween is the time of year on the Celtic calendar linked to Samhain—meaning 'summer's end'—which was an Irish harvest festival held October 31-November 1. It was considered a time when the veils between the two worlds—"

"Veils?" Shawn broke in. "You mean scarves? Bride or belly dancers, Gus?"

Gus glared at him, and continued reading, "Veils or divisions—life and death, or the living world and the spiritual world—were the very thinnest. This is the time of year, the precise day to make wishes to usher in the good, and to honor the memories of those already passed on. 'The Celtics in Ireland believed Samhain was a time when hostile supernatural forces were active and ghosts and spirits were free to wander as they wished.'"

Gus read the next part, seemingly a passage from a Celtic Mythology book, to himself.

"During this interval the normal order of the universe is suspended, the barriers between the natural and the supernatural are temporarily removed, the sidh lies open and all divine beings and the spirits of the dead move freely among men and interfere sometimes violently, in their affairs."

Shawn interrupted him. "That's the exciting history you said I needed to know?"

Not wanting to be scoffed at, Gus found a section on the origins of Trick-or-Treating. "You'll like this, it's about candy and trick-or-treating." As he read, he heard Shawn protest about the little candy mentions, but he went on.

"'Some trace the origins of present day "trick-or-treat" to Samhain, when spirits of the dead would rise out of their graves and wander the countryside, trying to return to the homes where they formerly lived. Frightened villagers tried to appease these wandering spirits by offering them gifts of fruit and nuts. They began the tradition of placing plates of the finest food and bits of treats that the household had to offer on their doorsteps, as gifts, to appease the hunger of the ghostly wanderers. If not placated, villagers feared that the spirits would kill their flocks or destroy their property.'"

Shawn had only been partially listening, not quite engrossed until he heard 'appease the hunger of the ghostly wanderers.' He gasped softly to himself, scrolling back a few days, finding the old man's friendly smile—hearing him say something about "hungry ghosts". This still—almost meant nothing to him—and seemed to have little to do with making a sale at a Halloween costume store. Gulping, he focused all of his attention on Gus, and what he had to say.

"'The problem was,'" Gus continued, "'if the souls of dead loved ones could return that night, so could anything else, human or not, nice or not-so-nice. The only thing the superstitious people knew to do to protect themselves on such an occasion was to masquerade as one of the demonic hoard, and hopefully blend in unnoticed among them. Wearing masks and other disguises and blackening the face with soot were originally ways of hiding oneself from the spirits of the dead who might be roaming around. This is the origin of Halloween masquerading as devils, imps, ogres, and other demonic creatures.'"

Shawn felt around for his desk chair, not understanding his body's reaction. He just knew he had to sit. Something, maybe from the ground beneath him, was pulling him down.