"Christ, I hope it ain't that damned graveyard dog again."
We held the white casket between us. "Graveyard dog? what the hell is a graveyard dog?"
"Shhh. There it is again."
"I don't hear anything!"
"That."
"What?" I strained my ears.
"That."
"That's the wind." I tapped my foot.
"Dumb ass I know what wind sounds like, that's not wind."
"You're hearing things," I complained. "Lets go."
"There it is again. It's not the dog. It's a voice. I can't believe you're that deaf."
"I guess I am. Come on, let's go."
"Look!" He said pointing to the dirt beneath my fidgeting feet. "It's coming from there." I was standing on a fresh grave.
"Me not even dead a week," a voice moaned. "ya bas-teds already be walking on me grave."
"Jesus Christ!" I jumped from the fresh dirt, dropping my end of the coffin to the ground.
Count laughed. Shannie materialized from behind the tombstone. "A little jumpy Just James?" Shannie teased.
"You knuckle fucks," I barked "Someday, I'm going to piss on your graves."
My friends hooted.
The next night was Halloween, the scene hella cool. The coffin sat on a pyre in the middle of the parlor. Inside, Shannie played the part of a dead princess. Dressed in black and painted the color of driven snow, her golden hair rested upon her chest. Four Candelabras stood guard behind the casket. The light of their candles flickered through the fog. Spider webs entombed the giant bookcase, obstructing the view Poe, Hawthorne, and King enjoyed from Diane's shelves. Three cauldrons rested at the foot of the pyre beckoning trick-or-treaters.
Along the front wall of the parlor Diane sat at the organ. Two Candelabras rested atop the organ, their light illuminating blonde hair dancing over a black cape. When the doorbell rang she belted out her rendition of The Fugue.
Dressed in a black tuxedo, his face painted gray, Count played Lurch. While hiding in fog, he opened the front door. As our visitors gained the threshold, he would jump at them, terrorizing the unsuspecting. Mounting the stairs, he would turn and gesture with an extended arm. "Follow me." In the living room he motioned for the Trick or Treaters to approach the pyre.
Everyone focused on Shannie in her coffin, maybe waiting for her to lunge, or maybe just captivated by her appearance. I waited under the pyre. As 'mourners' viewed the coffin, Count gestured to the cauldrons directing them to select their treat. Whatever their reason, no one expected my ambush as they reached for their treat. Some screamed, some retreated, some laughed. One kid had an accident.