“Are you sure you don’t want to hit up a couple more houses?” Clyde’s lower lip juts out, cracked green lipstick on display. His makeup is rubbed off in spots and smeared in others, a sure sign that he shouldn’t have chosen such a complete costume.
It doesn’t match up with the rest of Clyde’s costume, either. The makeup was a last minute add on, once Clyde realized that Token was going to have black lights at the party. At the start of the night, it looked surprisingly decent, even if it didn’t match up with the rest of Clyde’s pirate costume.
Craig shakes his head. He skipped out on the makeup this year, opted for a more simple costume. The vampire cloak is warm and heavy on his shoulders. “No. I’m done for the night. I’m tired, and it’s cold.”
“You can borrow my jacket,” offers Clyde. He looks over his shoulder, at the place where Stan and Kyle are waiting. “We could probably get a few more good pieces. The people out on Eighth Street always give out huge handfuls of candy at the end of the night.”
“I have enough candy,” says Craig. He shakes his bag, like that might prove his point. “I’m done for the night. Go walk with those fuckers.”
Clyde sighs. “Yeah, okay. Text me later, man? Like, we can meet up when I’m done if you want and watch some movies!”
“Sure,” says Craig, even though he knows that Clyde will have forgotten about these plans by the end of the night. It doesn’t matter much, though. Craig has different plans already.
The Tweak house is one of the only houses on the block without any decorations. Even though South Park is a small town with a lot of issues, one of the general consensus among the people here is that lights are meant to go up at the holidays. Most people do it even if they aren’t celebrating, because there’s always a decoration contest, and there’s always a cash prize for it.
But there are never any decorations up at this house, not inside or outside. It’s something that Richard often complains about, and one of the few things that doesn’t end up going his way.
The front doors to the house are locked. Craig skips them over in favor of going to the back door, which is also locked. The difference is that there’s a key for the backdoor hidden in a hollowed out rock sitting in a faux potted plant.
Craig lets himself in, careful to lock the door behind him. “Hey. Are you downstairs?”
There’s no answer. There aren’t any lights on, either, which is a pretty clear indication that, no, Tweek is not downstairs. Craig uses the flashlight on the phone as a guide up the back stairwell, and into the back half of the duplex.
There’s a nightlight plugged into every room. A small muffin shaped lamp sits on the back of the kitchen counter and the open floor plan lets the brown tinted light seep into the living room. Craig clears his throat and tries again. “Hey. Tweek, babe, are you in here?”
Something thumps against the floor down the hall. Craig is still getting used to the new lay-out. After a blizzard tore through last year, and several potential clients had to be turned away, the Tweak’s moved into one of the houses in the older part of town. It’s bigger, but everything seems to be pieced together the wrong way.
“Craig? Sweet Jesus, I didn’t –ngh- hear you come in!” Tweek can be heard scrambling around in his room. Something that sounds distinctly like a lego tower crashes against the floor. “Gah! Fuck! What if someone else came in and I didn’t hear them, either? Craig! You should turn –nhn- on the lights and make sure no one else is out there! Or just, fuck, lock the door to the stairs, man.”
Craig does not point out that, if someone were up here with them, locking the door to the stairs would prevent any chance of escaping. Mainly because Craig knows that the doors were locked when he showed up, and no one else is here.
Instead, he locks the door to the stairwell and turns on every light as he goes, because things are easier that way.
Tweek meets Craig halfway. He’s wearing a too-large pumpkin sweater. The collar is bright green and covered in glitter. So are the ends of his puffed out sleeves. It’s too big and too long, bags out around the chest and hangs down far past Tweek’s waist; mostly covers up the garish star studded night pants that he’s wearing.
“Agh! I thought you weren’t going to be scary this year!” Tweek’s fingers are tangled up in his own hair. There’s a fresh split on Tweek’s lower lip. He keeps looking over his shoulder, like something might be about to come charging out of the shadows.
“I did say that.” Craig looks down at his costume – a traditional vampire with black pants and a white dress shirt, a few drops of red tinted corn syrup scattered up near the collar. “And then I bought what I wanted to wear. I could have put in fake fangs. But I didn’t. So that means I’m not as scary as I could have been.”
Tweek whines. He glances over his shoulder again, then shuffles a little closer to Craig. “I thought you were out trick-or-treating with Clyde, man. It’s –ngh- early! Right? It was still pretty early the last time –mnh- I checked the clock.”
“It’s ten.”
“Yeah, that’s early! You could have hit up a bunch of other houses! Gah! Was Kyle being a cunt again?”
“No. He wasn’t being a cunt.”
“Gah! I don’t think that’s a true statement! I don’t –ngh- think he knows how to not be a cunt.” Tweek wraps his arms around himself but doesn’t keep them there long. He’s always antsy on Halloween – too many ghouls moving around outside of the windows, too many shadows that are actually real. His hand is back in his hair, nails scraping over his scalp.
Craig offers up the bag of candy. “I’m done for the night. Do you want to share?”
“I don’t know, man. People could have out razor blades or arsenic or something in there! What if I eat one and there’s a razor blade in it and it splits open my throat and I die?” Tweek bites on his lower lip, nervous even as he takes that last step over to Craig.
“There’s nothing wrong with the candy. I promise.” Craig fishes a Twix bar out of the bag, because those are Tweek’s favorites. “Here. You can have all of my caramels.”
“You’re only saying that because you just had your braces tightened,” says Tweek. He grabs Craig’s hand instead of the candy, pressing the little piece of chocolate and caramel between their palms. “Do you –ngh- want to go sit in my room? I don’t like it down here, man. It’s too dark and there are too many windows!”
Craig gives Tweek’s hand a little squeeze. “Sure, Tweek. You can help me sort my candy.”
