Harvey wasn't interested in the clothes, it was the masks that mesmerized him. They were like snowflakes: no two alike. Some were made of wood and of plastic; some of straw and cloth and papier-mâché. Some were as bright as parrots, others as pale as parchment. Some were so grotesque he was certain they'd been carved by crazy people; others so perfect they looked like the death masks of angels. There were masks of clowns and foxes, masks like skulls decorated with real teeth, and one with carved flames instead of hair.
"Take your pick" said Wendell. "There's bound to be a vampire somewhere. Whatever I come in here wanting to find, I find it sooner or later."
Harvey decided to leave the pleasure of choosing a mask until last, and concentrated instead on digging up something suitably batlike to wear. As he worked through the piles of clothes he found himself wondering about the children who'd left them here. Though he'd always hated history lessons, he knew some of the jackets and shoes and shirts and belts had been out of fashion for many, many years. Where were their owners now? Dead, he presumed, or so old it made no difference.
The thought of these garments belonging to dead folk brought a little shudder to his spine, which was only right. This was Halloween, after all, and what was Halloween without a few chills?
After a few minutes of searching he found along black coat with a collar he could turn up, which Wendell pronounced very vampiric. Well satisfied with his choice, he went back to the wall of faces, and his eyes almost immediately alighted upon a mask he hadn't previously seen, with the pallor and deep sockets of a soul just risen from the tomb. He took it down and put it on. It fitted perfectly.
"What do I look like?" Harvey asked, turning to face Wendell, who had found an executioner's mask which fitted him just as well.
"Ugly as sin."
"Good"
There was a flickering family of pumpkin heads lined up on the porch when they stepped outside, and the misty air smelled of wood smoke.
"Where do we go trick-or-treating?" Harvey wanted to know. "Out in the street?"
"No," said Wendell, "it's not Halloween out in the real world, remember? We're going to go around to the back of the House."
"That's not very far," Harvey remarked, disappointed.
"It is at this time of night," Wendell said creepily. "This House is full of surprises. You'll see."
Harvey looked up at the House through the tiny eyeholes of his mask. It loomed as large as a thunderhead, its weathervane sharp enough to stab the stars.
"Come on," said Wendell, "we've got a long trip ahead."
A long trip? Harvey thought; how could it be a long trip from the front of the House to the back? But once again Wendell was right: The House was full of surprises. The trip which would have been a two-minute walk in the bright afternoon-soon became a trek that had Harvey wishing he'd brought a flashlight and a map. The leaves rustled underfoot as though snakes were swarming through them; the trees that had shaded them by day now looked frightful in their nakedness, gaunt and hungry.
"Why am I doing this?" he asked himself as he followed Wendell through the darkness. "I'm cold, and I'm uncomfortable." (He might have added frightened to the list, but he left that thought unsaid.)
As he was about to suggest they turn back, Wendell pointed up and hissed: "Look!"
Harvey looked. Directly overhead, a form was moving silently against the sky, as if it had just launched itself from the eaves of the House. The moon had slunk away behind the roof, and shed no light upon this night-flyer, so Harvey could only guess at its shape from the stars it blotted out as it sailed. Its wings were wide, but ragged-too ragged to bear it up, he thought. Instead it seemed to claw at the darkness as it went, as though it were crawling on the very air itself.
A glimpse was all Harvey had. Then it was gone.
"What teas that?" he whispered.
He got no answer. In the moments he'd taken staring up at the sky, Wendell had disappeared.
"Wendell? " Harvey whispered. "Where are you?"
There was still no reply. Just the slithering in the leaves, and the moan of hungry branches.
"I know what you're doing," Harvey said, louder this time. "And you won't scare me that easy. Hear me?"
This time there was a reply of sorts. Not words, but a creaking sound from somewhere in the trees.
He's climbing up into the tree house, Harvey thought, and determined to catch Wendell and scare him back, he followed the sound.
Despite the nakedness of the branches, their mesh kept all but a glimmer of starlight from falling on the groves. He slipped his mask down around his neck so as to see a little better, but even then he was nearly blind, and had to listen out for the sound of Wendell's ascent to guide him. He could still hear the creaks plainly enough, and stumbled in their direction, his arms outstretched to grasp the ladder when he reached it.
Now the sound was so loud he was certain he must be standing beneath the tree. He looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of the trickster, but as he did so something brushed his face. He snatched at it, but it was gone, at least for the moment. Then it came again, brushing his brow from the other side. He snatched at it a second time, then, as it touched him again, caught hold of it.
"Got you!" he cried.
His yell of triumph was followed by a rush of air, and the sound of something crashing to the ground at his side. He jumped, but refused to let go of whatever he was holding.
"Wendell?" he called.
By way of a reply a flame flared in the darkness behind him, and a firework erupted into a shower of green sparks, its light making a gangrenous cavern of the grove.
By its flickering light he saw what he held, and seeing, let out a panicked yammering that had the crows rising from their roosts overhead.
It was not a ladder he'd heard creaking, it was a rope. No, not even a rope: a noose. And in his hand, the leg of the man hanging from the noose. He let go of it and stumbled backward, barely suppressing a second shout as his eyes rose to meet the dead man's stare. To judge by his expression, he had died horribly. His tongue lolled from his foamy lips, his veins were so swollen with blood his head looked like a pumpkin.
Either that, or it was a pumpkin.
A fresh fountain of sparks now burst from the firework, and Harvey saw the truth of the matter. The limb he'd held was a stuffed trouser leg; the body a coat spilling bundles of clothes; that head a mask on a pumpkin, with cream for spittle and eggs for eyes.
"Wendell!" he yelled, turning his back on this scene of execution.
Wendell was standing on the far side of the firework, his ear-to-ear grin lit by its spitting sparks. He looked like a little demon, fresh from the inferno. At his side was the ladder that had come crashing down to get the drama underway.
"I warned ya!" Wendell said, holding up his mask. "I said I was going to be a hangman tonight!"
"I'll get you back for his!" Harvey said, his heart still beating too fast for him to see the funny side of this. "I swear...I'll get you back!"
"You can try!" Wendell crowed. The firework was beginning to fizzle out; the shadows around them beginning to deepen again. "Had enough of Halloween for tonight?" he asked.
Harvey didn't much like admitting defeat, but he nodded grimly, swearing to himself that when he finally got his revenge, it would be choice.