Yesterday afternoon, on the very eve of the Hallowed Eve Candystravaganza, my typist Jarwaun and his young brother, Trael, were within the lab and I did elect to engage them in light conversation.
This met with silence and I, failing to recognize a subject of sensitivity, did choose to thrust further and deeper with my query, specifically focusing on the usually conversational young Trael.
"HOW SHALL YOU DISGUISE YOURSELF FOR THE CAUSE OF THE CANDY BEGGING THIS EVENING?"
Yet still more silence, of uncomfortable duration, as Trael looked upon the toes of his shoes. I repeated and rephrased my query several times, afore Jarwaun did interject some little intelligence on the matter:
"T. don't like Halloween."
"I like it fine," Trael rejoined, arms crossed over his chest.
"And he mad—"
"I ain't mad—"
"—that he didn't get to do the costume he wanted."
"WHICH COSTUME WAS THIS?" I asked.
"I ain't mad," Trael repeated. "I'm worried, because this one time we took my trick-or-treats to the police station to get examined, and the police found a razor blade in a lil box of Raisinets—"
Jarwaun shook of his head, tskingly, "That ain't true. No one finds stuff like that."
"—an' so now, all the time Halloween be creepin' up, all my dreams are about, like, what if I think it's a Snickers bar but really, in the wrapper, it's all kinds of spring-loaded razor blades that pop out as soon as I'm about to think about maybe starting to open it, late at night, 'cause I wake up all hungry. And then the razors snick! out, and there these little locks that lock my fingers around the fake candy, and the razors keep just poppin' out and cuttin' me more. Like Saw."
Jarwaun did huff of the frustrations, "I knew you gonna get like this if you watched that movie; that's why I say you can't watch it. You too little."
"It ain't Saw!" Trael shouted, "I already thought all this, for a long time, because of that time there was that razor the bad stranger put in my Raisinets when we were all little and lived on the West Side by the park, before mom—"
Jarwaun clipped Trael off, "It wasn't no razor; it was a shiny new penny, and probably just slid in there after some old lady gave you a penny. You know how some old ladies do. The only worse ones is, like, the ones that you think are putting a Reese's Peanut Butter cup in your bag, but really is dropping in those lil Bible cartoons about gay dinosaur Hell."
"But it still happened."
Jarwaun shook the head, but spoke no further.
"BUT WHAT OF THE PURLOINED COSTUME?" I asked again.
Jarwaun looked coldly upon his small brother, "Trael wanted to be a unicorn, but the costume was pink and was $50 at the Old Navy outlet in Ferndale, and was for babies but Tray is lil and would still fit. But Pops said that he wasn't buying no $50 pink unicorn, and that if he'd wanted a little girl he woulda named Trael Chantelle and put him in pig-tails, and he still wouldn't let her run 'round with no gold dildo on her head."
Throughout this last telling Trael's mouth had shrunk to a thin, white line, and his eyes grew wet and round.
"And Trael cried right in the store, and I wouldn't a-said nuthin' about any of it now—and I wouldn't never repeat the mean thing Pops said about the horn—but Trael just kept pushin' on his sayin' he ain't mad when he is. And Pops ain't gettin' good sleep, because he got the day job and the night job both, and so everyone is mad, and no one is doin' nuthin' for Halloween. Not even watchin' TV." He scowled upon his brother fiercely, but Trael saw not, for now his eyes were once again locked—like fingers to blue-steeled choco-razors—upon his sneaker shoes' toes.
Trael muttered something then, and although I can not be certain, I believe it may have been "Unicorn ain't scared of nuthin." I imagine it is because razors cannot cut upon his hearty hooves.
At any rate, Gentle Readers, I remain curious as to the developments—of both yore and today—in the costuming of bodies and tainting of candies, as is the ennobled tradition of this holy day. I thus invite you to join us in my Newswire and post narratives (and even, perhaps, links to photographic evidence of costumery?) of your Hallow's Eve celebrations, the be-razoréd candies you received, and the tainted tricks you distributed.
I Remain Desirous of Your Halloween Experiences, and
Your Giant Squid
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Copyright (c) 2000, 2004, David Erik Nelson, Fritz Swanson, Morgan Johnson