It was the coldest winter Jughead could remember. The sort that came with a blistering wind that seemed to be winning the battle against every gap in the windows and doors of his run-down trailer. The kind of wind that made the glass rattle in the old metal sashes, like it wanted to come in and bite him.
But it was still going to be a damn sight warmer than it was outside!
Trudging down the street, his beanie pulled down hard over his ears, and his jacket zipped up under his chin, Jughead tried to focus on the ridiculous Halloween decorations that were starting to pop up all over the south side. Giant blank cats with glowing red eyes, and plastic bats on strings that pretended to be in flight.
Truth be told, Jughead loved Halloween-- loved the movies and the atmosphere, and the candy. What wasn’t to like?
Vaguely aware of his cell buzzing in his pocket, Jughead decided to ignore it-- his fingers were wrapped hard around the strap of his backpack, and taking off his glove to text back? Not an option!
It didn’t matter if Archie was out with Veronica, doing.. whatever they were up to. He’d be fine. He had Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi, and the biggest box of fries that Pop could make.