Treats

He’d begged them to let him go out on his own this year. He wasn’t a baby any more. He didn’t need

them standing near the curb while he went to each door. He definitely didn’t need their escort through the streets. Eventually they relented.

“No candy until we’ve had a chance to look it all over,” his mother reminded as he set off down the street. “You’ll probably just want the good stuff for yourself,” he mumbled. Did people really do bad things to their treats? His parents were just being paranoid.

He made a beeline for the first house, treat bag in hand. He’d decided against carrying his usual pumpkin bucket. He’d pulled the pillowcase off of his bed instead. He was determined to fill it, even if he could hardly carry it home. He fantasized about all the candy he’d get.

Then he lost it all. Actually, he’d dropped it when a big guy in the werewolf mask came after him. He’d been running toward his next stop, a block beyond the boundary he’d agreed to. Before he reached the walkway, there was a snarl from the bushes and out jumped Teen Wolf.

He might have screamed. All that he knew for certain was that he ran, as fast as he could; feet pounding and arms pumping. When he could run no further, he stopped and looked around. Thankfully his attacker hadn’t come after him, but now he was even further from home. He started heading back, keeping an eye out for the other guy.

He mourned the loss of his loot bag. There’d been some good stuff in it. He’d been keeping track. Whenever there was enough light to see, he’d sneak a peek. He’d been trying to decide what he would eat first. Now it was all gone.

He considered heading home empty handed. But wanted his candy. He wondered whether the bag might still be where he’d dropped it. Maybe the guy only wanted to scare him. Nah, who’s gonna leave a perfectly good bag of candy behind?

He’d decided to continue on without his sack. My jacket pockets were pretty big. And there were two even deeper ones in his baggy trousers. He’d just stash everything in them. He wouldn’t be returning home with the large haul he’d hoped for, but it would be something.

Eventually he returned to his street, and his home. The porch light was on, and all three jack o’ lanterns still burned on the railing. He thought he could even make out the blue glow of the television in the front room.

With pockets bulging and no idea what to tell his parents about what had happened, he decided he needed time to think. So he headed to the place behind the garage where his dad stacked the firewood. He’d have a few treats three and work on an excuse.

The back of the house was dark except for the light over the kitchen sink. He would have no problem hiding away for a while. He sat down on the cut logs, and began digging into his small stash. In the blackness, he could go only by feel, and perhaps smell, to make his choice. The first piece was easy. It had to be a Reese’s cup.

He tore into the wrapper, and was rewarded with a mouthful of chocolate and peanut butter. Next to Snickers, Reese’s were his favorites. When he’d finished it, he stuffed the wrapper into a space between logs. He’d back another time to dispose of them.

He wanted more. A small box yielded crunchy coated licorice candies which he spit back into the container. Yuck, Good ‘n‘ Plenty! He added them to the log pile, and dug into a coat pocket for something to get rid of the licorice taste. He found a full size Tootsie Roll. That’s better.

One more piece and then I’ll head inside.

He found an odd feeling packet. He knew immediately that it was from the weird squatty house in the cul de sac. He’d debated stopping there at all, but the light was on, and he wanted as much candy as he could get. The bowl on the chair on the porch said, “Take Only One.” He taken at least two.

His fingers felt something like a waxed paper packet. The top flap had been folded over and stapled shut. Inside it there seemed to be a selection of gummy candies. Packaged as it was, he knew it was suspect, and destined for the garbage once he got inside. No way Mom would let him eat something not store bought.

He was about to return it to his pocket but changed his mind. He loved gummys, especially ones that looked like worms, roaches and other creepy crawlies. These felt promising.

Just one. If he opened the packet carefully, he thought he could slip one out. He found a long thin tidbit, and pulled it from the package. He held it to his nose. No detectable aroma. Maybe they were really old. It felt fresh though. It was soft and spongy, like good jelly candies. He popped it into his mouth.

At first there was nothing to it. Then his taste buds were hit with intense flavor. It was like no gummy candy he’d ever had. He sucked on it, savoring the peculiar but pleasant sweet and sour quality.

It slid around his mouth and across his tongue, getting more and more slippery. A few times he thought he might accidentally swallow it whole, or spit it out.

With the first bite, his teeth clamped together, but the worm remained intact. He bit down again, and could have sworn the worm moved, like it was trying to avoid being eaten. He was finally able to take off a piece of the tail.

Finally he bit the worm in two. The sour sensation increased. His mouth felt especially juicy, and he had to swallow repeatedly as the candy filling mixed with his own saliva.

It felt like he’d taken too large a drink of something. He wasn’t sure he could hold it all in his mouth. A little dribbled down his chin. He tilted his head back and increased his effort to get it all down. When his lips parted slightly, he felt a piece of the worm try to escape. It flicked his upper lip before slipping back into his open mouth.

He continued chewing, breaking the candy into smaller pieces so it would be easier to get down. This is the weirdest candy I’ve ever eaten. His tongue was feeling a little bit numb. Must be from the sour filling. He squinted at the intensity of the tang. His eyes watering a bit.

Finally he cleared his mouth. Licking his lips, he noticed a tingling sensation in them. The roof of his mouth, and the insides of his cheeks felt like they were coated in something oily and thick. He thought he detected a few bumps or small sores forming there as well. He needed a drink of water.

All thoughts of making excuses to his parents were forgotten. He rushed to the back door. His stomach began to cramp and clench. Something must have been wrong with the gummys. He was glad that he’d eaten only one.

Unsteady on his feet, he tripped going up the steps. He clung to the railing to stay upright. Almost there. As he reached for the door knob, his gut made an unsettling gurgling noise. He wondered if he was going to throw up. He stood at the door, and waited When it seemed he was going to keep everything down, he let himself inside.

His was mouth feeling all wrong. The sores were larger, and had developed hard sharp centers that caught on his tongue. He tried to call out to his parent, but all he could do was make a few pathetic clicking sounds.

His stomach clenched so strongly he was forced to his knees. Down on all fours, he started to crawling toward the front room where he could hear parents.

He managed a few lurches in that direction when a slithering sensation in his belly stopped him cold.

His discomfort was more than just an upset stomach. What he was experiencing wasn’t just a reaction to some bad candy.

There was something moving around inside of him.

Tricks

Jenna found her first on the doormat.

The second was waiting when she took her seat on the bus. No one claimed responsibility, but that was the tradition. It was anonymous.

It was no surprise to find another in her locker. It was startling to find three.
In previous years, she might have gotten three in total. She’d accumulated so many so early in the day.

She made it to study hall, her last period of the day, before she found two more in her book bag. "Who did this?" Everyone looked at her like she was crazy. The teacher in charge told her to sit down and be quiet.

There are many stories about how and when the tradition of gifting Coblins began. They’re meant to ensure a scary Halloween to the person who receives them.

Coblins are small ears of dried, colored corn fashioned to look like people. They appeared at stands and markets in the middle of September. Children and adults enjoy the tradition.

When she got home, she found another in the mailbox. She began to worry. If one guaranteed a scary Halloween, what did more than a half dozen mean? She was afraid to go into the house.

"You're being stupid. It’s just a prank."

Getting ready for a night out kept her mind occupied. By the time she was ready to get dressed, she'd nearly forgotten about the “Invasion of the Coblins.”

Then she found four additional Coblins under the costume lying on her bed. That brought the total to twelve. Her heart raced.

"This isn't funny," she yelled to no one in particular. Where had these come from? She was the only one at home.

Jenna tossed the latest on her desk with the others, when the phone rang.

"Hey Baby. You 'bout ready?"

"I just have to finish getting dressed."

"You okay? You sound weird."

"Did you get any Coblins today?"

 "Yeah, the usual one from my parents. And the one from you of course. Why?"

"I got twelve Karl!" Jenna could feel her face redden.

"Twelve? Holy crap! I don't think I've heard of anyone getting more than like six."

"I know."

"Why’d you get so many?"

"I have no idea but it's pissing me off."

"Relax, it's harmless."

"Huh," Jenna pouted.

"I’ll be there in ten. We’ll get rid of them, and then we’ll go have fun."

Before leaving the room, Jenna brushed the dolls into the wastebasket, and carried it downstairs. She glanced at them, jumbled on a bed of crumpled paper. A shiver ran through her. She felt ridiculous.
“You don’t scare me,” she lied.

She didn’t want to be in the house with them, so she set the basket on the back porch. As she closed the door, putting a barrier between them, she felt some relief. She’d feel even better when Karl disposed of them.

The headlights from Karl’s truck flashed at the end of the driveway. Jenna, went to the door to meet him. He was out of the driver’s door almost before the truck had come to a complete stop. Jenna smiled guiltily.

“So where are the nasty little guys that have been giving you such a hard time?”

“I put them out back.”

As she followed him around the side of the house, she noticed a figure in the cab of the truck. 

“Who...”

“My Mom made me bring Kurt. He’s been begging to go to the haunted house all week. Sorry, I thought we’d be alone.”

 “It’s okay.” She couldn’t deny feeling a little disappointed. “The two of us can go back there for a movie later. Mom and Dad are going out, so we’ll have the house to ourselves.”

“That’d be awesome. We’ll ditch the kid as soon as we can.”

As the porch came into view, Jenna again felt herself tense.

“So what should we do with these little nasties?” Jenna thought she detected a hint of humor in Karl’s voice.

“I’d like to burn the bastards.”

“Let’s do it then.”

“But where?”

Karl cocked his head toward the gas grill nearby. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

Karl fired up the elements, and cranked the dials to high. When it had heated up, he started tossing the Coblins onto the grate. Immediately they began to darken, smoke and then alight. Before her eyes all tweleve became harmless bits charred pieces of nothing. Now she could enjoy the rest of the evening.

Situated between the brothers Jenna felt cozy, but the silence became awkward. Jenna decided to say something to break the tension. "I'm gonna put my purse in your glove compartment. I don't want to carry it through the haunted house."

She leaned over, and popped the door in the dash near Kurt's knees. She had trouble stashing the small bag. Putting the purse in her lap she explored the compartment to move what was in the way.
She pricked her finger, she shrieked and jumped back. Karl quickly curbed the truck. Assuming his brother has done something to Jenna, he was prepared to make him regret it.

"What happened?"

"I jabbed myself on something. She held her hand up to her face and thought she could see blood.

"Let me see." Karl turned on the dome light.

Jenna could see she was indeed bleeding, but not much. A small bead bloomed where she'd been wounded.

"What have you got in there?"

Kurt leaned forward and carefully removed the culprit.

Jenna felt her whole body go numb. It couldn't be. Another Coblin. Her thirteenth. It was most definitely for her. Even without confirmation, she knew it.

"I thought I left that at home." She turned to Karl in disbelief.

"That's from you?"

 "I wasn't going to give it to you. When I heard how upset you were, I changed my mind."
Karl looked at his brother suspiciously. Kurt held up his hands as if in surrender.

"I swear, it wasn't me."

"I don’t care who it was. It’s too late to for that. It’s the thirteenth.

"What’s that got to do with anything? It’s just a number. Thirteen isn’t good or bad.”

"I just have a feeling. I think you should take me home.”
\
"Jenna, come on. You’re being silly.”

"Am I? Can you guarantee that nothing bad is going to happen tonight?”

 "The tradition says you’ll have a scary Halloween, not a deadly one.” "Yeah, well the tradition refers to a single Coblin. I’ve gotten way more than that.” "Sweetie...”

"Don’t Sweetie me. I’m scared.”

"Nothing’s going to happen. I’ll be with you the whole time. I promise to keep you safe.”

"You can’t promise that. It’s like I’ve been cursed.”

"What can I do to make you feel better?”

"Since you can’t make me “un-get” a basket full of Coblins, you can get me through this night in one piece.” "Done. You’ll see. Nothing’s going to happen. We’ll have fun, eat pizza and way too much candy. Before you know it, Halloween will be over.” Jenna glanced at the clock on the dash. 6:00. It was going to be a long night.


... To be continued.

There you go folks. It's a few days late, but here is post two of my Halloween challenge. Please let me know your thoughts. I'll be back next week with my third offering.

Rotten

In the dark place, beyond the garden fence, it was perfectly concealed. It hid among tall grasses and low hanging branches, and rested against the cold, flat stone. It suffered little in its exile.

As summer days ticked by, on the good side of the pickets, the others grew and matured. It lagged slightly behind its kin, but when the others reached their apex, it continued to even greater proportions.

Lack of sunlight deprived it of the opportunity to change hue as it should. Instead of the expected orange, it remained an immature green. That is, until “something” beneath the soil gave it a push in the other direction. Shades of green took on a deeper tone, until finally it resembled onyx. Blackness suited the wayward gourd.

Unlike the others, leisuring beneath flouncy foliage, it rebelled against an unblemished countenance. At first it favored random bumps and dimples. Unable to stop there, it grew larger protrusion until there was no hint of the earlier smooth complexion. It was a warty one.

Before it depleted all the sustenance the withering vine could provide, it stole from the others. They unwillingly gave up their fair share of nourishment that was left. When that was no longer enough, it was given its first taste of something even more satisfying.

The small gray mouse rejoiced in it’s good fortune. It eagerly gnawed at the blistered flesh, ignoring the peculiar taste. Promise of tender seeds inside seduced it to press on. When it breached the pulpy barrier, it wriggled inside to what was sure to be a sumptuous feast.

The bright eyed rodent found the going harder than anticipated. The mass of stringy sinew supporting those scrumptious seeds, stuck to its small feet and fur until it became so mired it could go no further and could not retreat. The little heart beat in triple time. Panic set in.

The more it struggled for freedom, the more entangled it became. Eventually, the thready flesh took it over, wrapping up the twitching body, like a spider bundling its prey. The hapless mouse was completely cocooned, crushed and then devoured. The outcast savored the essence it absorbed. It throbbed with stolen life. And it wanted more.

It had an idea, if that was possible for a squash. Choosing a most tempting seed, it wriggled the connecting strands until it was able to push it out into the open. There it might entice another scavenging creature. It didn’t have to wait long.

A sparrow, hunting for ripened berries in the surrounding bramble, took the bait. A peck to test whether the item was edible. Then it snatched up the seed and prepared to fly away with it. Ordinarily it would have split it open, savored the tender center on the spot. Something about the place made its tiny brain tingle with warning.

Before it could take to the air, it felt a tug on the seed. Reluctant to let a meal go, the bird held tight. A stronger yank and the sparrow slammed up against the hole in the pumpkin shell. Mustard colored tentacles fluttered out and enveloped the feathered body. There was a single peep, a series of snaps. The tangled corpse was then reeled inside and eagerly consumed.

That was how things went in the final weeks leading up to Halloween. The pumpkin ate, and grew, and waited. The thing beneath the soil, the one long buried and forgotten, whispered and promised. “The day is coming.”

The pumpkin moaned with anticipation. Or was it hunger?

I hope you enjoyed the first entry in my month long series of short fiction celebrating autumn and Halloween. Please leave you comments to let me know your thoughts. See you in a week, with entry number two!

Blogtoberfest

Happy Fall y'all! 

After a long, hot summer, we've finally set foot into my favorite time of year. I'm not sure what I like most about the months of September, October and November. There's so much to choose from amongst the sights, sounds, smells, tastes and outdoor activities.

For as long as I can remember, I've had a thing about fall, especially October, and the weeks leading up to my favorite holiday, Halloween. Besides spending at least a week designing the face for my jack o' lantern, and deciding what my costume would be, I loved drawing spooky pictures, creating window decorations from construction paper and coming up with stories to celebrate the holiday.

I feel a tremendous pull from those things again this year, and Monkey Pants will play a major role. I have decided that each week in the month of October, I will post a short piece of original horror fiction here. If time allows, I'll also put up a drawing that may or may not accompany that week's story.

I'm really excited (and a little nervous) about the possibilities. I've already got a few story ideas floating around in my noggin, and I'll be starting on the first one in the next day or so.

Check back here after the first, and let me know your thoughts about what you see and read. In the mean time, as the chilling wind blows the fall leaves against the windows and down the street outside you home, snuggle in with a steaming cup of cider, and handful of fun-size Snickers and a good scary book or movie. That's what I plan to do.

The horror

I've been thinking a lot about horror.

It's probably the best category for what I write, but when I compare my work to titles at the book store, or reviewed in articles on horror fiction, I wonder. My books and stories don't have vampires, werewolves, zombies or psychopathic killers in them. Does that mean they're not horror (or horrific)?

I remember when my fascination with horror stories began. I was in 7th grade, and my school bus drive leant me her copy of Stephen King's Salem's Lot. It was dogeared and missing the cover, and I didn't care. I devoured it. I still remember how chilling some of the scenes were and how brilliant I thought the writing was.

From there, I moved on to the other Stephen King books. Then I discovered Dean Koontz, Robert R. McCammon, John Skipp & Craig Spector, Peter Straub, John Saul, and Lisa Cantrell. I was a slow reader, but I couldn't get enough.

I liked my horror creepy, supernatural, and just slightly on the messy side. I still do. The spooky stuff that inhabits the dark (and sometimes brilliantly lit) parts of our lives, captured my heart, and my imagination. I began to formulate stories of my own. For years, none of then ever made it onto a page. I was either intimidated or unmotivated to write, so I let the ideas come and then go.

Now, here I am, actively writing, with the hope of being published. I've returned to the stories inspired by the authors I read and loved all those years ago, but I worry about whether there's a place for them in today's world of over-the-top, gross out terror?

I've gotten used to marching to my own beat, but wonder if there's an audience with the same taste and aesthetic? I guess only time will tell. In the mean time, I will continue to write what I "see", and hope I have my chance to entertain and inspire someone like the authors who did it for me.

Where has the time gone?

This blog is suffering from severe neglect (as you can see by the date of my last post). I think it's also suffering from something of an identity crisis. When I began this project years back, it was with the purpose of highlighting my artwork, and chronically my journey as I rediscovered being an artists Since then my focus has changed. Instead of being an artist who likes to write, I've discovered that what I really am is a writer, who loves to make art.

Now the question is, what to do about things here at Monkey Pants. Physically you will see a slight alteration to the header. I plan to drop the "Designs" portion, which was intended for my artwork only. I've also changed up the tag line and description to reflect where things are going. Aside from that, the look of things should remain much the same for now. I'm incubating future alterations in the look of this blog, and will begin rolling that out as it becomes more clear for me.

The content of the posts will see the most notable change. Whereas artwork, and discussion of things happening in the studio (though I admit there was never a whole lot of that), was to be the primary purpose of Monkey Pants, discussion of my life as a writer, and what I am working on in that regard will be what you'll find here now. From time to time, I'll also be putting up posts on things that I've discovered that excite and inspire me in my creative life.

Now, I'm not saying I'm be packing away my paper clay, brushes and paints. I still intend to mess around in my little studio. You'll see just what comes out of those moments from time to time. As soon as I can figure out just how it will work, the blog will evolve again as a hybrid of my two creative worlds. Art features prominently in the world I've created for my books, and the hope is to eventually make the art that shows up in my books, and share it will all of you. I'm excited about the possibilities.

I never had a lot of regular followers, but I hope that those I do have will hang in here with me. I may need your help and suggestions to make Monkey Pants into a worthwhile place to stop by for a visit! I hope too that I can eventually attract the attention of new readers. (Maybe when my books get published!) I'll be back with a new post in about a week. Still some things to figure out at this end regarding the shift. In the mean time, stay cool (if you're dealing with the current heat wave), and I see you back here very soon!

A Little Magic in the Mix

Well, it's February, and though we have had a very mild winter (little snow and above average temps), I am done feeling the need to hibernate, and am ready to be inspired and motivated to take on some new projects.

I have been writing regularly, having given myself the challenge of writing at least 30 minutes a day for the next 30 days. The idea is to have writing be something that I do every day, especially as I finish the first draft of my book and begin the revision and editing process. I really enjoy starting my day with time spent writing. It set a good tone, and I find it to be a good companion to my morning mediation practice.

As a supplement to the monthly writer's group I am a part of, I have begun scheduling write-in session once a month. The first one, held at a local coffee shop, brought three other writers out for some co-creative energy swapping. It was a positive experience for all of us, so I am doing it again this coming weekend. It is my hope that we can get to know each other better, continue to offer support and suggestions when needed, and create an even stronger community to inspire and keep us on track.

Harry Houdini

As for art, I am still working on a few commissions, and putting together ideas for some new multi media paintings, and dimensional pieces. My wife, daughter and I attended a new art gallery show in Madison yesterday called "Houdini: Art and Magic." It featured props and memorabilia from Houdini's career in addition to video footage and artwork inspired by Houdini and his illusions. My mind is swimming with ideas for artwork that uses magic, and vaudevillian style entertainment as a focus. I am excited to get started. Expect to see some pics of works in progress here very soon.

As always, thanks for following me here at Monkey Pants. Stay warm and take care of yourselves.