The World of Myth Magazine

With the baby asleep and Mr Anderson snoring by the fire, Mrs Anderson helped the older children make their Halloween costumes. Bits of material, glitter, and sequins littered the kitchen table. Some squished underfoot.

“I need a mask for my bandit costume,” Jamie said, finding a piece of black cloth.

His mother selected a long strip, cut two holes, snip, snip, for eyes, and tied it around his head.

“You look like the scariest bandit. I’d hand over my treats if you rapped on my door.”

“Thanks. I hope Mrs McGillicuddy gives me lots. She has the best candy.”

Mrs Anderson looked over to Meredith, whose fingers were stuck to her evil fairy wings.

“My wings need more sequins,” Meredith demanded.

“If you glue more sequins on your wings, you won’t be able to fly,” her mother laughed as she cleaned glue off Meredith’s hands.

Three-year-old Meredith stamped her foot. “I want more.”

“Perhaps we can put black sequins on your tiara. That will make you look scarier.”

Meredith giggled and began gluing the tiny sparkles, once again putting more glue on herself than the tiara.

That only left Michael, who sat with a frown on his face, looking like he was about to cry.

“What about your costume, Michael? What would you like to wear this year?” his mother asked.

“I don’t want a costume,” he said, folding his arms.

“What about a pirate or a ghost?”

“No, I was a pirate last year, and ghosts aren’t fun. Anyway, I don’t want to go trick or treating this year. It’s stupid.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind tomorrow,” Mrs Anderson said.

She frowned. It wasn’t like Michael. He always loved Halloween.

“Time for bed, everyone. Don’t forget to clean your teeth,” she said, thinking of all the sweets they would eat tomorrow.

“What’s the real reason you don’t want to go trick or treating? Last year you had the best fun?” Mrs Anderson asked as she tucked Michael into bed.

“Jamie said, Mrs McGillicuddy is a witch who eats five-year-old boys. Last year I was only four.”

Mrs Anderson hid a smile. “Jamie just wants to get more treats. Mrs McGillicuddy is just an old woman with cats. She loves children and always gives out lots of candy.”

“Are you sure?” Michel asked. He wanted to go trick or treating.

“I’m certain. I’ll make you a ghost costume while I’m making a costume for the baby?”

Michael lay awake, thinking about Halloween, until he fell into a troubled sleep, dreaming about Mrs McGillicuddy’s cats yowling, howling, and chasing him, stealing his candy.

The next night, a full moon filled the sky. Every few minutes, dark clouds drifted across it, making the night spooky. An owl hooted, a vixen yipped to her kits and a dog barked. It was a perfect night for trick or treating.

Mrs Anderson made last-minute adjustments to their costumes.

“Jamie, you forgot your mask.”

“It’s in my pocket,” he said, taking it out. His father helped tie it on while his mother adjusted Meredith’s wings.

Mrs Anderson looked at Michael. Two dark eyes stared back through the holes in his ghost costume.

“Are you still scared of Mrs McGillicuddy?” Mrs Anderson asked.

“A bit,” he replied.

“It’s okay to be scared at Halloween, but Mrs McGillicuddy is just an old lady,” she said, holding his hand.

Their gate creaked as the family set out. Baby Polly, dressed as a pumpkin, gurgled as Mr Anderson, wearing a cowboy hat, pushed the squeaky-wheeled stroller.

The autumn leaves rustled and crunched under their feet as they walked.

Rap tap, ring briiing! The children took it in turns ringing doorbells or knocking on doors.

“Trick or Treat!” they yelled.

Everyone gave them treats, although grumpy old Mr Brown grumbled about having to answer the door and missing his television, while Mrs Brown apologised and piled extra candy into their baskets.

Mr Wilson, at number five, gave them heaps of candy before pulling a water pistol from behind his back and squirted them.

“Ha, ha, I’ve always wanted to do that,” he laughed as he slammed the door.

By the time they got to Mrs McGillicuddy’s house, the children’s baskets were almost full of candy.

Mrs McGillicuddy’s house was dark and silhouetted against the sky. Only one light flickered in an upstairs window.

“Perhaps she’s already in bed,” Michael said. “We’ve got enough candy. Let’s go home.’

“Wait a minute,” said Mr Anderson. “There’s a note on the letterbox. What does it say?”

I’m only giving candy to 8-year-olds this year.

“Looks like you are in luck, Jamie,” Mrs Anderson said. “You’re the only eight-year-old in this family.”

Michael was relieved; he didn’t want to go up to the door. He still remembered what Jamie said about her eating five-year-old children.

Meredith dropped her bottom lip and whined, “That’s not fair.”

Jamie marched up to the door and rapped loudly. He could hear Mrs McGillicuddy stomping down the stairs and walking to the door. The door opened with a creak. Mrs McGillicuddy, her body back-lit by the kitchen light, looked eerie. She held a large carving knife in her hand.

“Oh, hello, Jamie. Come in, you’re just in time for supper,” she said.

Jamie’s face turned white. His knees knocked. He wanted to run, but his feet refused to move. He turned to his parents standing near the letterbox. They were both laughing. He turned back to Mrs McGillicuddy, and she was laughing too. Instead of a carving knife in her hand, she had a large bowl of treats.

Mrs McGillicuddy invited them in for supper. As they ate scones with cream and jam and drank hot cocoa,

Jamie’s mother said, “Perhaps Jamie, you’ll realise you shouldn’t scare your little brother.”

“Sorry, Michael,” he said.

As the Anderson family walked home together. The clouds covered the moon. A black cat meowed as it ran in front of them. It was spooky; a perfect way to end trick or treating.

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