The muted sound of voices warned me of the approaching threat. I swiftly moved to the front hall, anticipating their next move. Sensing their presence, I grabbed my weapon and threw open the door.

“Trick or treat!” A mob of vampires, ghosts and princesses met my eyes.

Armed with a bowl of candy, I managed to ward off their attack. I dropped small bombs of chocolate into bulging bags, then watched as the laughing crowd moved off to descend on my neighbors. I love Halloween.

Smiling, I looked down at the miniature Darth Vader who was coming up my walk. Smaller than the other kids, he struggled with his overstuffed bag of candy, dropping it with a heavy thud as he got to the door.

“Trick or treat, Jackson,” a deep voice said. I looked around for the kid’s dad, but all I saw were the little monsters who had just left.

“Down here, big guy.” Looking down, I saw that Darth Vader was holding a distinctly 21st century revolver. And it was point right at my groin.

“Step inside,” he ordered, backing it up with a wave of the gun. I cautiously retreated into the house, closely followed by the Emperor’s right-hand man.

The lights in the hall revealed the dark five o’clock shadow on Darth’s chin. Slamming the door shut behind us, he tossed the trick-or-treat bag at my feet.

“Put this on. The Boss has a special party planned for you.”

I pulled out a tiny piece of red fabric covered with sequins.

“Thanks, Darth, but I already have a dishcloth.”

“Shut up and put on the dress, Jackson. You’re going to make a great Tina Turner.”

With a silent groan, I pulled out a massive wig and a pair of three-inch stiletto heels. Whoever the boss was, he had a twisted sense of humor.

I looked at the little person holding the big gun, then at the tiny dress, and weighed my options. Thankful that I didn’t have a mirror close by, I struggled into the undersized dress and the oversized wig. As I slipped into the heels, Darth gave a grunt of approval.

“Good move, Jackson. Now we’re going to take a little trip.”

He gestured towards the door.

“Open it up, real slow, and walk outside. Our ride is just down the block. Remember that I’m right behind you.

As I started walking towards the door, I realized the pure genius behind this clever plot. The heels, with their tiny points of contact, ensured that I couldn’t run away. The huge wig blocked all of my peripheral vision, and my hands were kept busy trying to keep the dress below my navel. With every step, my admiration for Tina Turner grew.

Slowly opening the door, I stepped outside. The neighborhood was still full of trick-or-treaters, and a he-Tina and mini-Darth fit right in. Only the blunt nose of the gun in my back reminded me that this wasn’t dress-up.

“Chase! Chase! Is that you, sweetie?” I watched as old Mrs. Hitchens descended from her porch. I should have known that the nosiest woman on the block wouldn’t let my appearance pass unnoticed. The gun dug into my back as she lumbered at us.

“Chase! Who is your little friend? He looks so cute! Is that your nephew? Or have you been hiding a son from us this whole time?” Prattling on, she hurried over and bent down to pinch his cheek.

“You’re such a cutie pie!” she exclaimed.

The pressure was suddenly removed from my back as Darth pointed the gun at Mrs. Hitchens.

“I’m not your – “

That was all the distraction that I needed. Pulling the wig from my head, I dropped it over Darth. The gun swung around at me as he struggled to extricate himself from a sea of golden curls. I quickly stepped to the side - forgetting about the heels. I fell to the ground as the gun fired in my ear.

I felt the hot flash of powder on my face. I quickly rolled to my knees, crawling for the safety of my house. But Darth had cleared the curls from his eyes and was running after me. I saw his arm rise as he leveled the gun for another shot. Suddenly, his feet became entangled in the wig and he fell to the ground.

He struggled with the curls like a fish in a net. I scrambled past the startled Mrs. Hitchens and tried to grab the gun from Darth’s hands. I was shocked by the strength that was hidden beneath his brown robe. We rolled over and over on the grass, each of us trying the wrest the gun from the other.

He was strong, but couldn’t match my endurance. As he felt the gun slip from his grasp, he threw the wig in my face and ran.

By the time I untangled myself, he was 15 feet away and running. Reaching for one of the heels, I hurled it at him. I watched as the stiletto flew through the air, then buried itself in his back. He dropped like a rock.

I stood up and pulled my dress back into place, then threw mini-Darth over my shoulder. I suddenly became aware of a strange silence, and the stares of dozens of trick-or-treaters.

“He didn’t say trick-or-treat,” I explained.

I love Halloween.

“Let her go!” Chase yelled authoritatively as he assumed the stance, the stance that said Don’t screw with me; I’m your worst nightmare. But in truth, Chase knew that it was PumpkinHead who qualified for most anyone’s worst nightmare. With a spindly, wire-like body, he could propel himself through the air with ease – and then knock you out with that big-ass pumpkin head of his! It was a head that glowed from within, lit by a fire that could not be extinguished by mere water. No. The only cure for PumpkinHead was apple juice, and Chase was all out!

“Nnnoooooo,” PumpkinHead uttered in low, guttural tones, pulling the pretty brunette closer to his fiery mouth. “Mmiiinnne!”

“Lookit, Pump! I know you’re here for only one night a year, and maybe I should be grateful for that, but as far as I’m concerned, one night a year is one night too many to put up with your big ole head of fire. It’s Halloween, and we’re supposed to be taking the kids to a party, so let go of my wife… now!”

Then the barrage started – hundreds upon hundreds of pumpkins fell from the sky, descending left and right, crashing all around him. And that was when he noticed the tiny little pumpkinettes scurrying all over the ground, running to and fro, biting and nibbling on his ankles. Annoyed, Chase pulled out his shiny black laser gun and started blasting everything orange in sight. But the more pumpkins Chase annihilated, the more missiles PumpkinHead conjured, and soon the sky was so orange that Chase would’ve sworn it was daytime, even though he knew it was night.

“Chase! Help me!”

He could barely hear Rachel’s cries above the loud thuds of crashing pumpkins, but when he looked towards the direction of her voice, she was gone, as was Mr. Big Head.

“Come on you coward! Show yourself! Fight like a man!”

But PumpkinHead was no man, and he reminded Chase of that as he lept through the air, barely containing Rachel within his scrawny arms. Chase ran after them, trying to get close enough that he could pry Rachel from the grasp of the maniacal lunatic that wreaked havoc on All Hallow’s Eve, this time specifically on Chase’s All Hallow’s Eve.

Finally, Chase was close enough to touch the creature and perhaps pry his beloved wife from the clutches of this vile, glowing beast.

“Chase…help me! You’ve got to help me!”

“I’m trying, Rachel!” he replied as he attempted to force open the thin strips of metal, just wishing that he had some apple juice, and then this could all be over.

“Chase!”

“What, Rachel?”

“You aren’t even trying! I’ve asked you to come help me at least half a dozen times now, and all you’re doing is sleeping? How am I supposed to get these pumpkin pies baked if I can’t even get this jar of filling open? And Joey has been asking you get him some apple juice now for at least ten minutes now. What are you doing out here, Chase? And why are you gripping the remote like that?”

Looking down by his feet, Chase saw little Joey running his toy car over daddy’s feet.

“Da da? Abble jus!”

Ah! Another exciting Halloween night in the Jackson household.

Although we had never met, I knew who he was the moment I spied him through the peephole. I was stunned. All our previous communication had been clandestine - delivery of secret packages; whispers from strangers on the train; or a message floating in my alphabet soup.

“Come on in, DeLany. Get out of the cold.” A stiff breeze and several autumn leaves followed him in.

I had been enjoying a bottle of scotch I had bought for my birthday - even though it wasn’t for a couple of months. I offered him a glass and he accepted it with a nod.

“I’m sorry, Chase, but we’re going to have to ask you to disappear for a couple of weeks.”

Now I’m not one to follow orders blindly, but something in the way he sipped his scotch made me believe I should take this one seriously.

“Where should I go?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t want to know,” he said. “But you’ll know when it’s safe to come back.”

After he left, I briefly considered finishing the bottle of scotch. Instead, I opted to pack my toothbrush and gun. Except for a destination, I was ready to go. I picked up a pen from my desk. With a deft flick of my wrist, the pen hurtled across the room towards the mural-sized map lining the back of my study. It stuck. And that’s where I decided to head.

Twenty-seven hours later, I was sitting in a bar just outside Centerville where a cutie named Rebecca was pouring me drinks for free. Three days later, I was waking up beside her and her eight-year-old daughter was calling me Uncle Chase. Go figure...

Halloween was really never my thing, but little Katie was truly excited. Rebecca had to work, so I agreed to take Katie trick-or-treating. They’ve got a tradition down there in Centerville. Kids can’t get their treats until they tell a riddle or joke.

“What do you call an over-weight jack-o-lantern?” Katie dutifully recited.

At every door it was the same. The adult handing out candy would say, “Gee, I really don’t know.”

“A plumpkin!” Katie deliriously squealed. She was rewarded with a handful of candy. It was cute for a while. But after the first block, it began to get old.

“Yuck. Caramels. I hate caramels.”

“Katie,” I urged under my breath, “just thank the man and move on.” I tugged her down the walk.

“But I hate caramels. I wish everyone would give out Snickers.”

“That would make the world a better place,” I sarcastically agreed. “But really, Katie, you should try to be more polite.”

Geez. Where did that come from? I sounded like my dad. And in a flash, uninvited memories of past Halloweens tumbled through my mind. I remembered him walking beside me with a glass in his hand. “Trick-or-Drinking” he had called it. At each house we visited I asked for candy and he asked for a beer. Needless to say we barely made it around the block. These unwanted memories; they explained a lot. Or perhaps they would have if I cared to ponder them further.

But suddenly Katie let out a scream. “Uncle Chase, look at that lady’s costume!”

I recognized Nadia immediately and had the presence of mind to say, “That’s not a costume, sweetie. You run along home. You know how to get there. Past the 7-11 and turn right on Maple.” But Katie stood frozen, clinging to my leg.

“Good evening, Nadia. I didn’t think you had made it.”

“They rebuilt me,” she sneered. “You’ll not escape this time - I’m much stronger now.”

“And more beautiful too.”

Nadia just grunted. And with unbelievable speed she raced around me and snatched Katie from my leg. I nearly lost my pants.

Katie started to scream but Nadia put her newly manufactured claw over the child’s mouth, muffling the noise.

“It’s ok, sweetie. It’s me she’s after, not you.” I tried to sound reassuring. Then I faced Nadia directly. “Looks like they didn’t quite finish their work on you.” And it was true. Although she was more beautiful than ever, she had titanium screws popping out all over her body. And then there was that claw. It was much too close to Katie’s delicate throat.

I stalled for time. “How did you find me, Nadia?”

“The pen in your wall didn’t make it too hard.”

Ouch. I guess I had had more of that scotch than I thought. My mind frantically raced through possible ways out of this mess. And finally it hit me.

“Katie, throw me your pumpkin.” The sweetheart. She did exactly as I said. And in an instant I was fishing through the candy bucket, looking for the caramels. I found them and lunged towards Nadia. I shoved the sticky candy into her claw and in every other exposed part where metal met flesh.

I snatched Katie up and we left Nadia sputtering in the grass.

“Come on Katie. Let’s stop at 7-11 before we go home. I’ll buy you a whole box of Snickers. And this little Halloween adventure - it’ll be between you and me. No need to tell your mom.” And we headed back home where Rebecca would be waiting. I was done with my tricks for the night. I was ready for some treats...

Chase Jackson had been to the ends of the earth and beyond. He had fearlessly sought dangers that would make a lesser man want to curl up and start sucking his thumb. Now, however, when he answered the door of his chic but modest cottage, his smooth, chiseled chin began to quiver, and the noise of his muscular knees knocking together was drowned out only by the sound of chattering pearly white teeth as he peered outside.

The children, who gazed admiringly at him through costumes and masks, laughed at this exaggerated display of mock fear. They knew their Halloween costumes would not be able to send a shiver of fear down this man’s spine, and anyway all they were after were the sweets this mysterious but generous neighbor was known to provide each year.

“Trick or treat,” they shouted in unison, cheering as Chase went back into the hallway and returned with a basket of candies. As Chase distributed these he noticed something strange out of the corner of his deep blue eyes. A large figure covered in a white sheet was trying to climb into the side window of a bungalow across the road. Chase had run background checks on all his neighbors before moving here, and knew that the bungalow belonged to Professor Bunglestrapp, a scientist who had come over from Vienna with his daughter, in order to finish and find financial backing for his formula for diet beer.

Tonight, however, Chase knew that the professor and his daughter were away, meeting with potential investors for ‘Gutless Beer’ in Idaho. So who was trying to enter their house, and why? In a flash Chase’s instincts and training took over and he sprang into action. Dropping the basket of sweets, Chase started to run carefully across the road. About half way he stopped, appeared to ponder his next move, then returned to his house, closing the door to prevent the little devils on his doorstep the opportunity to go into his home and look around. And then he was off, running into the shadows of the bushes by the professor’s bungalow.

“Why does this kind of thing always have to happen on my week off?” Chase murmured softly to himself as he sidled up to the forced-open window and peeped in. The room inside was a mess of papers and feathers from the ripped apart cushions.
“What kind of animal could have done this?” Chase asked himself in disgust. “I haven’t seen anything like this since…No! That’s impossible.” The click of a pistol roused him from his thoughts as a massive hand grabbed his silk shirt by the collar and dragged him into the room through the open window.

Facing Chase across the room, nonchalantly holding a large pistol in one hand and chuckling to himself, stood a large ghostlike figure.
“Why don’t you take off that ridiculous costume Derek and face me like the gorilla you are? What are you doing in this house?” Chase was not frightened by the situation, but merely annoyed at having his silk, Singapore-made shirt creased in this way. He stood up and brushed himself off.
“Chase Jackson, what a pleasant surprise,” Derek’s voice was unnervingly incongruent to his size; a whiney high-pitched squeal that made Chase want to stick marshmallows in his ears, “especially as this time, I’m holding the gun,” he went on.

“How did you get out of prison, and what are you doing in this house?” Chase demanded angrily. It has been three years since he had faced the former master criminal and one-man hurricane Derek Smalls. Three years since Chase had taken him down, along with the protection rackets he had been running So what was he doing here, now?
“I’m a free man now Chase,” explained Derek, as Chase began working out a plan. “Thanks to my new employees from St. Louis, I’m what you might call an industrial spy.”
Chase’s quick brain went into overdrive. If Budweiser were sending spies into the professor’s house, they must be after the formula for Gutless Beer, a lust for corporate profits or fear of competition overriding any sense of fair play. They had to be stopped.

While they spoke, Chase slowly circled round the large, rubbish-strewn room, aiming for a full jug sitting on a high coffee table just out of reach, above an old electric heater that hummed loudly.
“And is this the beer you’re here to steal?” Chase asked, motioning towards the jug. “It doesn’t look anything special, mind if I try some?”
Quick as lightening Chase swept his arm in an arc, sending the full jug crashing against the sheet-covered figure. With any other man it would have impacted against his forehead, concussing him instantly, but on Derek Smalls it simply shattered against his chest, doing no more damage than dampening the sheet and running in a pool around his feet.

The big man tipped back his head and laughed loudly, but Chase had the last laugh by kicking the electric heater across the floor where it tipped into the beer on the floor and sent electric currents running through the beer-soaked body. The sheet seemed to rise slightly as Derek’s hair stood on end, and his large stomach exploded messily from the shock. As Chase calmly looked over the gruesome, smoking remains, he sighed, “well, that beer really left him Gutless!”

(897 words in MS Word word count)