At the last minute he changed his mind.
“Your species isn’t ready,” he said. He was uncommonly serious about it but I pressed him anyway.
“What do you mean, we’re not ready?” I said. Then hoping to tease him into it, “We survived Donald Trump, Ann Coulter, and Adam Sandler.”
“I know,” he said. “The Jupiterians already got some of the best ones.”
“Then why are you worrying.”
“Can you imagine what would happen if I hit the front page of The National Enquire?” he said. “I would be the laughing stock of the Paskintwarla Galaxy.”
“But think of how much joy you would bring,” I said. We were in a secluded area of our farm, away from prying eyes. He had been trying on forms for Trick or Treat, his favorite time of the American year. “The common folk would be overjoyed.”
He stopped walking and turned toward me. I looked at him and my blood ran cold. I was staring into the face of Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia.
“The common folk?” he said. Then his eyes went red and I found myself looking into a cosmic void so dark and threatening that I couldn’t move.
“The common folk” he repeated.
I found my voice somehow. “I think you might get arrested for contempt of court.” I walked ahead of him.
“Had you going, didn’t I?” A friendlier voice echoed from the white oak trees and I looked to see the form of Mickey Rooney hurrying to catch me. “Whatcha think?”
“I think your job is to scare people on Halloween, not confuse them.”
“Oh,” he said, visibly disappointed.
I stopped to make sure an oddly shaped branch on the ground wasn’t a snake. I was stepping over it when I heard sobs. I turned to see a face wracked in sorrow, red and streaming tears. Oh dear, it was Jimmy Swaggart.
“I just want to bring joy to people,” he blubbered. “This is a time of the year that your people forget their sorrows for a few minutes. Believe me, I know, for I have sinned.” He stopped to blow his nose.
“I think he reinvented himself,” I said. “He’s on top again now.”
|He claims that we have no|
idea what scary is. - C.W.
The figure sniffed and we continued our walk.
“You are not being much help,” he said.
“You need to be really scary for Halloween,” I said. “It takes talent to scare the daylights out of people.”
He was silent for a moment. “Can it be two people?”
I thought. “I suppose. A scary duo? Yeah. That might work,” I said, thinking of a pairing like The Werewolf and the Mummy, or Frankenstein and Dracula.
“Do you want to see something really scary?” a female voice said. I turned to look and my knees gave way as darkness enveloped me. The last words I remember were “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Honey Boo Boo.”