"Of course! Uh, let's see..."
What's he done...something positive...uh...hm. Let's see. His job--an auto mechanic--wasn't terribly interesting. His death is too sad. How can he paint him in a good light...it was difficult. His father was very, very conservative, while Thomas himself was not. But he didn't want to lie to Rock either. Something funny? Something heroic? Hm...wait. Of course!
"Ah, yes. One Halloween, when I was seven, Dad did something particularly funny that I'll never forget..."
October 31st, 1960. Eight-thirty, p.m. James had been preparing for this moment for the past month. It was the most pride he'd ever put into any sort of festivity. It was also the most secretive of his celebrations. Tommy was out trick-or-treating with his friends. Miriam was cleaning up from dinner. As far as she was concerned, he was at the bar with his friends. He could not risk word of this getting out.
At the end of September, James had seen his friend Dylan hauling a wooden figure to his front yard for collection. "Don't need this thing anymore. Just got some of those new sprays to keep the birds out of the vegetables." The scarecrow looked nothing like an actual person...but what if it was?
He had taken the old scarecrow home and erected it in front of the tree in his front yard. The tree was thin, but with big, bushy leaves and branches. Its shade was Tommy's favorite place to read in the summertime. Just a simple Halloween decoration, right? Gotta keep within the tradition of the thing. And for most of October, it was a simple Halloween decoration.
Then came the night itself. James was looking out the window, ensuring he was alone. He was clad in a mahogany gingham pattern, torn blue jeans, and a tattered hat that covered most of his face. His wardrobe was identical to that of the scarecrow he had taken inside earlier.
When he assured himself that the coast was clear, he shut off the porch light and tip-toed up to where the scarecrow was. People were just starting to turn their lights on, signifying the presence of sweets to the neighborhood children. James leaned himself up against the tree, in nearly the exact same position that the last month's passerbys had gotten used to. "Half-assed effort." "Party pooper." "Not festive."
Just watch, he thought to himself. A clique of five teenagers--who, tonight, preferred to be known as Arthur, Frankenstein, Dracula, Bozo, and Superman--were ambling up the block, excited about the candy that tonight promised them, oblivious to the scarecrow that they had seen so many times when passing by the Light household that it blended into the background.
But tonight, that was not a scarecrow. It was James. And he wasn't going to just stand there all night. Oh, no. The teens edged closer, and closer, and closer...
Trick. No treat. Just trick.
