Damp Wind and Leaves

A young boy discovers girls are sweeter than candy on Halloween

Dracula. Frankenstein. The Mummy. The Wolfman. Posters covered his walls, as did cotton cobwebs, rubber tarantulas, and bats strung with elastic. Dribbles of wax added authenticity to the gold-painted candelabra on shelves covered with Tales from the Crypt and Vault of Horror comics and antique Aurora monster models. Layered across this display fit for a wax museum was the season’s own finishing touch, stark claw-like shadows of brittle, bare branches cast through his window by the flickering streetlamp outside.

As he stood gazing down at Marlborough Street, Jeff wished he were twelve again — old enough to go even a block ahead of Dad while still young enough to get pounds of free candy. Since he was seventeen, though, he was supposed to be too old for that. Might look too threatening to the generally older, wealthy residents of Back Bay Boston should he, a six foot tall walking corpse, lean into a well-lit foyer and growl, “Trick or treat!”

He turned from the darkening street back to his bed, where white facial stage makeup, a sponge, black eyeliner pencil, white formal gloves, a circular, golden amulet on a red ribbon, and the heavy, long, black cape were strewn. Smiling over the goods, he felt totally prepared. Jeff already wore his uncle’s tuxedo…