The Terror of All Hallow's Eve

©2011 Susan Noyes Anderson

It was All Hallow’s Eve, and poor Dexter was sick.

“Son, you’ll have to stay home,” Mother said.

Though he begged and he pleaded, her mind wouldn’t change.

Just the thought of it filled him with dread.

Halloween with no candy! No tricks and no treats!

It was ghastly. It couldn’t be true.

He looked so upset that his mom said, “Don’t fret.

I’ve got plans…really BIG plans…for you.”

“My job will be yours this year. Answer the door,

hand out candy, and have lots of fun.

You can still wear your costume and frighten your friends.

I’ll go upstairs and get some work done.”

Dexter liked this idea. A Halloween grin

split his face like a bright jack-o-lantern.

He would scare all those guys and girls right to the moon.

(Maybe he’d even shock ‘em to Saturn!)

He donned his Grim Reaper robe (yikes!) and prepared

to be freaky as freaky could be.

“Thumbs up,” said his mom. “You are creeping me out!

Take these treats. Don’t give out more than 3.”

She walked up the staircase, and Dexter sat down

to await the first knock on his door.

When it came, he was ready. He jumped up at once,

moaning loudly as he crossed the floor.

Dex creaked the door open and howled eerily

at a horrid green witch with a mole.

She grabbed at the candy, took more than her share,

cackled twice, then let go of mom’s bowl.

He touched something slimy and cold. Looking down,

on his hand was a gooey, green gel.

It turned into spiders that ran up his arm

when he let out a squeak and a yell.

Her eyes glittered black, then the witch Dex was meant

to be scaring took hold of her broom.

It was twitching! He slammed the door shut in her face

and ran up 13 stairs to his room.

He wanted his mommy, but Dexter was 8.

Things were different than when he was small.

He’d overreacted. That witch was some kid

with a really great costume; that’s all.

The bell rang again, and he walked down the stairs

feeling silly and far more prepared.

This time would be different. Dexter, the Grim Reaper,

would be the Scar-ER, not the Scared.

He swung the door open. Count Dracula! Lame.

He could shock that kid out of his shoes.

“I want you,” Dexter hissed, but the Count only smiled.

“Zat is perfect, for I vant you, too.”

The air seemed to change; his dark eyes glowed deep red

as he raised his long cape and leaned in.

Dexter gulped. Were those fangs there before? Were they real?

Was that blood dripping down the fiend’s chin?

Dexter ran from the house past a ghost in the tree

to the corpse hanging on an old swing.

He could still smell the sweet scent of vampire juice

when the skeleton started to sing.

The words that it sang were horrific; they crawled

up your spine...chilled you down to the bone.

Each note held the music of terror and trouble

that claimed you and made you its own.

Dexter raced for his back door in fear and leapt in.

No more Halloween creatures. No more!

The night had gone wrong…awfully, frightfully wrong.

He felt sicker than ever before.

He yearned for his mother to put him to bed…

safe, warm bed…with a sweet lullaby.

When he flew up the stairs and ran straight to her arms,

Dex bid ghosts, ghouls, and goblins good-bye.

“You’re burning up, son, and you’re trembling, too.”

Mother hugged him and brushed back his hair.

It’s Halloween night. Everything’s “just pretend.”

Then she kissed him and looked toward the stair.

(Did her eyes hold a rosy new glare???)

Oh, Dexter. Poor Dexter! BEWARE.

∞§∞

BOO!

Happy Halloween to the most spooktacular grandchildren ever!

with toads loads of love and creepy good wishes

from your Ghostma and Ghoulpa Anderson

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