Only the Moon Howls

It wasn't that George hated Halloween. He had fond memories of children's parties, of stumbling round with a sheet over his head and peering at the world through two crooked eyeholes. If pressed, he could still recall that thrilling sense of audacity at being out after dark. It was more that those memories belonged to the other him, the one who travelled abroad, read four books a week and worried about paying off student loans.

That, and there was something vaguely offensive in the idea that being supernatural somehow gave one the right to demand treats off total strangers.

So it was understandable that, by the time he had walked Nina home and retraced his steps, he was feeling out of sorts with the world in general.

"Can someone please tell me why there are three kids camped out on our…"

He broke off as Annie hurried in, balancing two loaded trays.

"Right. The spiders are just cooling down, so we need to give those a minute. I've got skulls, chocolate worms, and…better warn them that the ghosts have almonds in them."

The trays were thrust into George's hands, where he stared at them, then at Annie.

"When did you make all this?"

"While you two were at work. I was gonna do some sponge fingers, but we ran out of eggs, and I thought, you know, I couldn't very well go to the store, half a dozen levitating eggs, gotta be noticed by someone…"

Mitchell emerged into the front room, wiping flour from his hands. Behind him George could see that the tiles were white with dusty footprints.

"Oh, my god. Wh-what have you done to the kitchen?"

"Don't look at me, I just got in." Mitchell made a grab for a shortbread skull as they passed him. Annie slapped his arm away.

"Oi, they're for the kids."

"Aw, c'mon. I'm in costume." Mitchell raised both hands like claws, hissing pointedly.

He broke off with a grin and tapped George on the shoulder. "Let's go. The horde awaits."

"Why are we doing this?" George murmured, as soon as the door had closed on the latest batch of children.

"The one night of the year everyone else pretends to be us, and you're asking why?" Mitchell swiped a chocolate worm from his own tray before setting it down on the table. "We're through the looking glass, George. Enjoy it while it lasts." He lowered his voice a notch. "Anyway, look at her."

George looked. Annie had produced various paper lampshades shaped like pumpkins, and was engaged in fitting them onto every available light bulb. The expression on her face was one of unalloyed bliss. He raised his arms in defeat.

"Okay. What the hell."

Mitchell laughed. "That's more like it. You want a beer?"

"And, we are…finished." Annie flicked the last switch and joined them on the sofa, sliding one arm around Mitchell's shoulder. They sat there for a while in comfortable silence, watching the thin shades cast jagged smiles onto the walls.

George was the first to break it.

"So. What do we do now?"

"Dracula's on at nine." Mitchell offered, shrugging when George gaped at him. "What? It's Bela Lugosi. The man's a legend."

"Do any vampires actually talk like that?"

"Like what?"

"You know, like… 'I vant to suck your blood'."

Mitchell shook his head, then added, "Well, sometimes. Once. And in my defence, we were very drunk." He turned to George. "Speaking of which, who's for more beer?"

George propped himself up drowsily on one elbow.

"Uh? Oh, alright then."

Annie raised one of the empty bottles as Mitchell returned, her other hand on her knees.

"Cheers."

"Cheers." Mitchell echoed. They both looked at George, who was sitting with his mouth half-open, undecided. Part of him, the part that had just consumed a dozen chocolate worms and probably too much beer, wanted to tell them that this was the most normal he'd felt in weeks. That for the first time in his adult life he felt loved, really loved, and happy, and halfway towards sane. That even though nothing could ever have prepared him for this, he was glad that 'this' was him, as long as it meant that 'this' could include them, too.

The other part was still sober enough to stop him.

"Cheers."

They clinked bottles, and George settled deeper into the sofa, eyes closed. He'd be sure to mention it tomorrow.

There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls. ~George Carlin