TheHalloweenTree

RAYBRADBURY

IllustratedbyJosephMugnaini

THEHALLOWEENTREE

ABantamSpectraBook/publishedbyarrangementwithAlfredA.Knopf,Inc.

PRINTINGHISTORY

KnopfeditionpublishedJune1972BantamEdition/October1974

Allrightsreserved.

Copyright©1994,1972byRayBradbury.Illustrationscopyright©1972byAlfredA.Knopf

Thisbookmaynotbereproducedinwholeorinpartbymimeographoranyothermeans,withoutpermissionin

writingfromthepublisher.Forinformationaddress:AlfredA.Knopf,Inc.201E.50thStreet,NewYork,NY10022

PRINTEDINTHEUNITEDSTATESOFAMERICA

Withlovefor

MADAMEMAN’HAGARREAU-DOMBASLE

mettwenty-sevenyears

agointhegraveyardat

midnightontheIsland

ofJanitzioatLakePatzcuaro,

Mexico,andremembered

oneachanniversaryof

TheDayoftheDead.

AthousandpumpkinsmileslookdownfromtheHalloweenTree,andtwice-times-a-thousandfresh-cuteyesglareandwinkandblink,asMoundshroudleadstheeighttrick-or-treaters—no,nine.ButwhereisPipkin?—onaleaf-tossed,kite-flying,gliding,broomstick-ridingtriptolearnthesecretofAllHallows’Eve.

Andtheydo.

“Well,”asksMoundshroudatjourney’send,“whichwasit?ATrickoraTreat?”

“Both!”allagree.

Andsowillyou.

ItwasasmalltownbyasmallriverandasmalllakeinasmallnorthernpartofaMidweststate.Therewasn’tsomuchwildernessaroundyoucouldn’tseethetown.Butontheotherhandtherewasn’tsomuchtownyoucouldn’tseeandfeelandtouchandsmellthewilderness.Thetownwasfulloftrees.Anddrygrassanddeadflowersnowthatautumnwashere.Andfulloffencestowalkonandsidewalkstoskateonandalargeravinetotumbleinandyellacross.Andthetownwasfullof…

Boys.

AnditwastheafternoonofHalloween.

Andallthehousesshutagainstacoolwind.

Andthetownfullofcoldsunlight.

Butsuddenly,thedaywasgone.

Nightcameoutfromundereachtreeandspread.

Behindthedoorsofallthehousestherewasascurryofmousefeet,mutedcries,flickeringsoflight.

Behindonedoor,TomSkelton,agedthirteen,stoppedandlistened.

Thewindoutsidenestedineachtree,prowledthesidewalksininvisibletreadslikeunseencats.

TomSkeltonshivered.Anyonecouldseethatthewindwasaspecialwindthisnight,andthedarknesstookonaspecialfeelbecauseitwasAllHallows’Eve.Everythingseemedcutfromsoftblackvelvetorgoldororangevelvet.Smokepantedupoutofathousandchimneysliketheplumesoffuneralparades.Fromkitchenwindowsdriftedtwopumpkinsmells:gourdsbeingcut,piesbeingbaked.

Thecriesbehindthelockedhousedoorsgrewmoreexasperatedasshadowsofboysflewbywindows.Half-dressedboys,greasepaintontheircheeks;hereahunchback,thereamedium-sizedgiant.Atticswerestillbeingrummaged,oldlocksbroken,oldsteamerchestsdisemboweledforcostumes.

TomSkeltonputonhisbones.

Hegrinnedatthespinalcord,theribcage,thekneecapsstitchedwhiteonblackcotton.

Lucky!hethought.Whatanameyougot!TomSkelton.GreatforHalloween!EveryonecallsyouSkeleton!Sowhatdoyouwear?

Bones.

Wham.Eightfrontdoorsbangedshut.

Eightboysmadeaseriesofbeautifulleapsoverflowerpots,rails,deadferns,bushes,landingontheirowndry-starchedfrontlawns.Galloping,rushing,theyseizedafinalsheet,adjustedalastmask,tuggedatstrangemushroomcapsorwigs,shoutingatthewaythewindtookthemalong,helpedtheirrunning;gladofthewind,orcursingboycursesasmasksfellofforhungsidewiseorstuffeduptheirnoseswithamuslinsmelllikeadogshotbreath.Orjustlettingthesheerexhilarationofbeingaliveandoutonthisnightpulltheirlungsandshapetheirthroatsintoayellandayellanda…yeeeellll!

Eightboyscollidedatoneintersection.

“HereIam:Witch!”

“Apeman!”

“Skeleton!”saidTom,hilariousinsidehisbones.

“Gargoyle!”

“Beggar!”

“Mr.DeathHimself!”

Bang!Theyshookbackfromtheirconclusions,allhappy-fouledandtangledunderastreet-cornerlight.Theswayingelectriclampbelledinthewindlikeacathedralbell.Thebricksofthestreetbecameplanksofadrunkenshipalltiltedandfounderedwithdarkandlight.

Behindeachmaskwasaboy.

“Who’sthat?”TomSkeltonpointed.

“Won’ttell.Secret!”criedtheWitch,disguisinghisvoice.

Everyonelaughed.

“Who’sthat?”

“Mummy!”criedtheboyinsidetheancientyellowedwrappings,likeanimmensecigarstalkingthenightstreets.

“Andwho’s—?”

“Notime!”saidSomeoneHiddenBehindYetAnotherMysteryofMuslinandPaint.“Trickortreat!”

“Yeah!”

Shrieking,wailing,fullofbansheemirththeyran,oneverythingexceptsidewalks,goingupintotheairoverbushesanddownalmostuponyippingdogs.

Butinthemiddleofrunning,laughing,barking,suddenly,asifagreathandofnightandwindandsmelling-something-wrongstoppedthem,theystopped.

“Six,seven,eight.”

“Thatcan’tbe!Countagain.”

“Four,five,six—”

“Shouldbenineofus!Someone’smissing!”

Theysniffedeachother,likefearfulbeasts.

“Pipkin’snothere!”

Howdidtheyknow?Theywereallhiddenbehindmasks.Andyet,andyet…

Theycouldfeelhisabsence.

“Pipkin!He’snevermissedaHalloweeninazillionyears.Boy,thisisawful.Comeon!”

Inonevastswerve,onedogliketrotandramble,theycircledroundanddownthemiddleofthecobble-brick-street,blownlikeleavesbeforeastorm.

“Here’shisplace!”

Theypulledtoahalt.TherewasPipkin’shouse,butnotenoughpumpkinsinthewindows,notenoughcorn-shocksontheporch,notenoughspookspeeringoutthroughthedarkglassinthehighupstairstowerroom.

“Gosh,”saidsomeone,“whatifPipkin’ssick?”

“Itwouldn’tbeHalloweenwithoutPipkin”

“NotHalloween,”theymoaned.

AndsomeonethrewacrabappleatPipkin’sfrontdoorItmadeasmallthump,likearabbitkickingthewood.

Theywaited,sadfornoreason,lostfornoreason.TheythoughtofPipkinandaHalloweenthatmightbearottenpumpkinwithadeadcandleif,if,if—Pipkinwasn’tthere.

Comeon,Pipkin.ComeoutandsavetheNight!

Whyweretheywaiting,afraidforonesmallboy?

Because…

JoePipkinwasthegreatestboywhoeverlived.Thegrandestboywhoeverfelloutofatreeandlaughedatthejoke.Thefinestboywhoeverracedaroundthetrack,winning,andthen,seeinghisfriendsamilebacksomewhere,stumbledandfell,waitedforthemtocatchup,andjoined,breastandbreast,breakingthewinner’stape.Thejolliestboywhoeverhuntedoutallthehauntedhousesintown,whicharehardtofind,andcamebacktoreportonthemandtakeallthekidstoramblethroughthebasementsandscrambleuptheivyoutside-bricksandshoutdownthechimneysandmakewaterofftheroofs,hootingandchimpanzee-dancingandape-bellowing.ThedayJoePipkinwasbornalltheOrangeCrushandNehisodabottlesintheworldfizzedover;andjoyfulbeesswarmedcountrysidestostingmaidenladies.Onhisbirthdays,thelakepulledoutfromtheshoreinmidsummerandranbackwithatidalwaveofboys,abigleapofbodiesandadowncrashoflaughs.

Dawns,lyinginbed,youheardabirdpeckatthewindow.Pipkin.

Youstuckyourheadoutintothesnow-water-clear-summer-morningair.

Thereinthedewonthelawnrabbitprintsshowedwhere,justamomentago,notadozenrabbitsbutonerabbithadcircledandcrisscrossedinagloryof

lifeandexultation,boundinghedges,clippingferns,trompingclover.Itresembledtheswitchyardsdownattheraildepot.Amilliontracksinthegrassbutno…

Pipkin.

Andhereheroseuplikeawildsunflowerinthegarden.Hisgreatroundfaceburnedwithfreshsun.HiseyesflashedMorsecodesignals:

“Hurryup!It’salmostover!”

“What?”

“Today!Now!SixA.M.!Divedown!Wadeinit!”

Or:“Thissummer!Beforeyouknow,bang!—it’sgone!Quick!”

Andhesankawayinsunflowerstocomeupallonions.

Pipkin,oh,dearPipkin,finestandloveliestofboys.

Howheransofastnooneknew.Histennisshoeswereancient.Theywerecoloredgreenofforestsjoggedthrough,brownfromoldharvesttrudgesthroughSeptemberayearback,tar-stainedfromsprintsalongthedocksandbeacheswherethecoalbargescamein,yellowfromcarelessdogs,splinter-filledfromclimbingwoodfences.Hisclotheswerescarecrowclothes,wornbyPipkin’sdogsallnight,loanedtothemforstrollsthroughtown,withchewmarksalongthecuffsandfallmarksontheseat.

Hishair?Hishairwasagreathedgehogbristleofbrightbrown-blonddaggersstickinginalldirections.Hisears,purepeachfuzz.Hishands,mittenedwithdustandthegoodsmellofairedalesandpeppermintandstolenpeachesfromthefarcountryorchards.

Pipkin.Anassemblageofspeeds,smells,textures;acrosssectionofalltheboyswhoeverran,fell,gotup,andranagain.

Noone,inalltheyears,hadeverseenhimsittingstill.Hewashardtorememberinschool,inoneseat,foronehour.Hewasthelastintotheschoolhouseandthefirstexplodedoutwhenthebellendedtheday.

Pipkin,sweetPipkin.

Whoyodeledandplayedthekazooandhatedgirlsmorethanalltheotherboysinthegangcombined.

Pipkin,whosearmaroundyourshoulder,andsecretwhisperofgreatdoingsthisday,protectedyoufromtheworld.

Pipkin.

GodgotupearlyjusttoseePipkincomeoutofhishouse,likeoneofthosepeopleonaweatherclock.AndtheweatherwasalwaysfinewherePipkinwas.

Pipkin.

Theystoodinfrontofhishouse.

Anymomentnowthatdoorwouldopenwide.Pipkinwouldjumpoutinablastoffireandsmoke.AndHalloweenwouldREALLYbegin!Comeon,Joe,oh,Pipkin,theywhispered,comeon!

Thefrontdooropened.

Pipkinsteppedout.

Notflew.Notbanged.Notexploded.

Steppedout.

Andcamedownthewalktomeethisfriends.

Notrunning.Andnotwearingamask!Nomask!

Butmovingalonglikeanoldman,almost.

“Pipkin!”theyshouted,toscareawaytheiruneasiness.

“Hi,gang,”saidPipkin.

Hisfacewaspale.Hetriedtosmile,buthiseyeslookedfunny.Hewasholdinghisrightsidewithonehandasifhehadaboilthere.

Theyalllookedathishand.Hetookhishandawayfromhisside.

“Well,”hesaidwithfaintenthusiasm.“Wereadytogo?”

“Yeah,butyoudon’tlookready,”saidTom.“Yousick?”

“OnHalloween?”saidPipkin.“Youkidding?”

“Where’syourcostume—?”

“Yougoonahead,I’llcatchup.”

“No,Pipkin,we’llwaitforyouto—”

“Goon,”saidPipkin,sayingitslowly,hisfacedeathlypalenow.Hishandwasbackonhisside.

“Yougotastomachache?”askedTom.“Youtoldyourfolks?”

“No,no,Ican’t!They’d—”TearsburstfromPipkin’seyes.“It’snothing,Itellyou.Look.Gostraightontowardtheravine.HeadfortheHouse,okay?TheplaceoftheHaunts,yeah?Meetyouthere.”

“Youswear?”

“Swear.Wait’llyouseemycostume!”

Theboysbegantobackoff.Ontheway,theytouchedhiselbow,orknockedhimgentlyinthechest,orrantheirknucklesalonghischininafakefight.“Okay,Pipkin.Aslongasyou’resure—”

“I’msure.”Hetookhishandawayfromhisside.Hisfacecoloredforamomentasifthepainweregone.“Onyourmarks.Getset.Go!”

WhenJoePipkinsaid“Go,”theyWent.

Theyran.

Theyranbackwardhalfwaydowntheblock,sotheycouldseePipkinstandingthere,wavingatthem.

“Hurryup,Pipkin!”

“I’llcatchyou!”heshouted,alongwayoff.

Thenightswallowedhim.

Theyran.Whentheylookedbackagain,hewasgone.

Theybangeddoors,theyshoutedTrickorTreatandtheirbrownpaperbagsbegantofillwithincrediblesweets.Theygallopedwiththeirteethgluedshutwithpinkgum.Theyranwithredwaxlipsbedazzlingtheirfaces.

Butallthepeoplewhometthematdoorslookedlikecandyfactoryduplicatesoftheirownmothersandfathers.Itwaslikeneverleavinghome.Toomuchkindnessflashedfromeverywindowandeveryportal.Whattheywantedwastoheardragonsbelchinbasementsandbangedcastledoors.

Andso,stilllookingbackforPipkin,theyreachedtheedgeoftownandthe

placewherecivilizationfellawayindarkness.

TheRavine.

Theravine,filledwithvarietiesofnightsounds,lurkingsofblack-inkstreamandcreek,lingeringsofautumnsthatrolledoverinfireandbronzeanddiedathousandyearsago.Fromthisdeepplacesprangmushroomandtoadstoolandcoldstonefrogandcrawdadandspider.TherewasalongtunneldownthereundertheearthinwhichpoisonedwatersdrippedandtheechoesneverceasedcallingComeComeComeandifyoudoyou’llstayforever,forever,drip,forever,rustle,run,rush,whisper,andnevergo,nevergogogo…

Theboyslinedupontherimofdarkness,lookingdown.

AndthenTomSkelton,coldinhisbones,whistledhisbreathinhisteethlikethewindblowingoverthebedroomscreenatnight.Hepointed.

“Oh,hey—that’swherePipkintoldustogo!”

Hevanished.

Alllooked.Theysawhissmallshaperacedownthedirtpathintoonehundredmilliontonsofnightallcrammedinthathugedarkpit,thatdankcellar,thatdeliciouslyfrighteningravine.

Yelling,theyplungedafter.

Wheretheyhadbeenwasempty.

Thetownwasleftbehindtosufferitselfwithsweetness.

Theyrandownthroughtheravineataswiftrush,alllaughing,jostling,allelbowsandankles,allsteamysnortandroustabout,tostopincollisionwhenTomSkeltonstoppedandpointedupthepath.

“There,”hewhispered.“There’stheonlyhouseintownworthvisitingonHalloween!There!”

“Yeah!”saideveryone.

Foritwastrue.Thehousewasspecialandfineandtallanddark.Theremusthavebeenathousandwindowsinitssides,allshimmeringwithcoldstars.Itlookedasifithadbeencutoutofblackmarbleinsteadofbuiltoutoftimbers,andinside?whocouldguesshowmanyrooms,halls,breezeways,attics.Superiorandinferiorattics,somehigherthanothers,somemorefilledwithdustandwebsandancientleavesorgoldburiedabovegroundintheskybutlostawaysohighnoladderintowncouldtakeyouthere.

Thehousebeckonedwithitstowers,invitedwithitsgummed-shutdoors.Pirateshipsareatonic.Ancientfortsareaboon.Butahouse,ahauntedhouse,onAllHallows’Eve?Eightsmallheartsbeatupanabsolutestormofgloryandapprobation.

“Comeon.”

Buttheywerealreadycrowdingupthepath.Untiltheystoodatlastbya

crumblingwall,lookingupandupandstillfartherupatthegreattombyardtopoftheoldhouse.Forthat’swhatitseemed.Thehighmountainpeakofthemansionwaslitteredwithwhatlookedlikeblackbonesorironrods,andenoughchimneystochokeoutsmokesignalsfromthreedozenfiresonsootyhearthshiddenfarbelowinthedimbowelsofthismonsterplace.Withsomanychimneys,theroofseemedavastcemetery,eachchimneysignifyingtheburialplaceofsomeoldgodoffireorenchantressofsteam,smoke,andfireflyspark.Evenastheywatched,akindofbleakexhalationofsootbreathedupoutofsomefourdozenflues,darkeningtheskystillmore,andputtingoutsomefewstars.

“Boy,”saidTomSkelton,“Pipkinsureknowswhathe’stalkingabout!”

“Boy,”saidall,agreeing.

Theycreptalongaweed-infestedpathtowardthecrumpledfrontporch.

TomSkelton,alone,itchedhisbonyfootuponthefirstporch-step.Theothersgaspedathisbravery.So,now,finallyinamob,acompactmassofsweatingboysmovedupontheporchamidfiercecriesoftheplanksunderfoot,andshudderingsoftheirbodies.Eachwishedtopullback,swivelabout,run,butfoundhimselftrappedagainsttheboybehindorinfrontortotheside.So,withapseudo-podthrustouthereorthere,theamoebicform,thelargeperspirationofboysleanedandmadearunandastoptothefrontdoorofthehousewhichwasastallasacoffinandtwiceasthin.

Theystoodthereforalongmoment,varioushandsreachingoutlikethelegsofanimmensespiderasiftotwistthatcoldknoborreachupfortheknockeronthatfrontdoor.Meanwhile,thewoodenflooringsoftheporchsankandwallowedbeneaththeirweight,threateningateveryshiftofproportiontogivewayandflingthemintosomecockroachabyssbeneath.Theplanks,eachtunedtoanAoranForaC,sangouttheiruncannymusicasheavyshoesscrapedonthem.Andiftherehadbeentimeanditwerenoon,theymighthavedancedoutacadaverstuneoraskeleton’srigadoon,forwhocanresistanancientporchwhich,likeagiganticxylophone,onlywantstobejumpedontomakemusic?

Buttheywerenotthinkingthis.

Henry-HankSmith(forthat’swhoitwas),hiddeninsidehisblackWitch’scostume,cried:“Look!”

Andalllookedattheknockeronthedoor.Tom’shandtrembledouttotouchit.

“AMarleyknocker!”

“What?”

“Youknow,ScroogeandMarley,aChristmasCarol!”whisperedTom.

Andindeedthefacethatmadeuptheknockeronthedoorwasthefaceofamanwithadreadtoothache,hisjawbandaged,hishairaskew,histeethprolapsed,hiseyeswild.Dead-as-a-doornailMarley,friendtoScrooge,inhabiteroflandsbeyondthegrave,doomedtowanderthisearthforeveruntil…

“Knock,”saidHenry-Hank.

TomSkeltontookholdofoldMarley’scoldandgrislyjaw,liftedit,andletitfall.

Alljumpedattheconcussion!

Theentirehouseshook.Itsbonesgroundtogether.Shadessnap-furledupsothatwindowsblinkedwidetheirghastlyeyes.

TomSkeltoncat-leapedtotheporchrail,staringup.

Ontherooftop,weirdweathercocksspun.Two-headedroosterswhirledinthesneezedwind.Agargoyleonthewesternrimofthehouseeruptedtwinsnortsofrain-funneldust.Anddownthelongsnakingserpentinerainspoutsofthehouse,afterthesneezehaddiedandtheweathercocksceasedspinning,vagrantwispsofautumnleafandcobwebfellgustingoutontothedarkgrass.

Tomwhirledtolookatthefaintlyshudderingwindows.Moonlitreflectionstrembledintheglasslikeschoolsofdisturbedsilverminnows.Thenthefrontdoorgaveashake,atwistofitsknob,agrimaceofitsMarleyknocker,andflungitselfwide.

Thewindmadebythesuddenlyopeningdooralmostknockedtheboysofftheporch.Theyseizedoneanother’selbows,yelling.

Thenthedarknesswithinthehouseinhaled.Awindsuckedthroughthegapingdoor.Itpulledattheboys,draggingthemacrosstheporch.Theyhadtoleanbacksoasnottobesnatchedintothedeepdarkhall.Theystruggled,shouted,clutchedtheporchrails.Butthenthewindceased.

Darknessmovedwithindarkness.

Insidethehouse,alongwayoff,someonewaswalkingtowardthedoor.Whoeveritwasmusthavebeendressedallinblackfortheycouldseenothingbutapalewhitefacedriftingontheair.

Anevilsmilecameandhunginthedoorwaybeforethem.

Behindthesmile,thetallmanhidinshadow.Theycouldseehiseyesnow,smallpinpointsofgreenfireinlittlecharredpitsofsockets,lookingoutatthem.

“Well,”saidTom.“Er—trickortreat?”

“Trick?”saidthesmileinthedark.“Treat?”

“Yes,sir.”

Thewindplayedafluteinachimneysomewhere;anoldsongabouttimeanddarkandfarplaces.Thetallmanshutuphissmilelikeabrightpocketknife.

“Notreats,”hesaid.“Only—trick!”

Thedoorslammed!

Thehousethunderedwithshowersofdust.

Dustpuffedouttherainspoutagain,influffs,likeanemergenceofdownycats.

Dustgaspedfromopenwindows.Dustsnortedfromtheporchboardsundertheirfeet.

Theboysstaredatthelockedshut-fastfrontdoor.TheMarleyknockerwasnotscowlingnow,butsmilinganevilsmile.

“What’shemean?”askedTom.“Notreats,onlytrick?”

Backingoffaroundthesideofthehousetheywereastonishedatthesoundsitmade.Awholerigamaroleofwhispers,squeaks,creaks,wails,andmurmurs,andthenightwindwascarefultolettheboyshearthemall.Witheverysteptheytook,thegreathouseleanedafterthemwithsoftgroans.

Theyroundedthefarsideofthehouseandstopped.

FortherewastheTree.

Anditwassuchatreeastheyhadneverseeninalltheirlives.

Itstoodinthemiddleofavastyardbehindtheterriblystrangehouse.Andthistreeroseupsomeonehundredfeetintheair,tallerthanthehighroofsandfullandroundandwellbranched,andcoveredalloverwithrichassortmentsofredandbrownandyellowautumnleaves.

“But,”whisperedTom,“oh,look.What’supinthattree!”

FortheTreewashungwithavarietyofpumpkinsofeveryshapeandsizeandanumberoftintsandhuesofsmokyyelloworbrightorange.

“Apumpkintree,”someonesaid.

“No,”saidTom.

Thewindblewamongthehighbranchesandtossedtheirbrightburdens,softly.

“AHalloweenTree,”saidTom.

Andhewasright.

ThepumpkinsontheTreewerenotmerepumpkins.Eachhadafaceslicedinit.Eachfacewasdifferent.Everyeyewasastrangereye.Everynosewasaweirdernose.Everymouthsmiledhideouslyinsomenewway.

Theremusthavebeenathousandpumpkinsonthistree,hunghighandoneverybranch.Athousandsmiles.Athousandgrimaces.Andtwice-times-a-thousandglaresandwinksandblinksandleeringsoffresh-cuteyes.

Andastheboyswatched,anewthinghappened.

Thepumpkinsbegantocomealive.

Onebyone,startingatthebottomoftheTreeandthenearestpumpkins,candlestookfirewithintherawinteriors.Thisoneandthenthatandthisandthenstillanother,andonupandaround,threepumpkinshere,sevenpumpkinsstillhigher,adozenclusteredbeyond,ahundred,fivehundred,athousandpumpkinslittheircandles,whichistosaybrighteneduptheirfaces,showedfireintheirsquareorroundorcuriouslyslantedeyes.Flamegutteredintheirtoothedmouths.Sparksleapedouttheirripe-cutears.

Andfromsomewheretwovoices,threeormaybefourvoiceswhisperedandchantedakindofsingsongoroldseashantyoftheskyandtimeandtheearthturningoverintosleep.Therainspoutsblewspiderdust:

“It’sbig,it’sbroad…”

Avoicesmokedfromtherooftopchimney:

“It’sbroad,it’sbright…

ItfillstheskyofAllHallows’Night…”

Fromopenwindowssomewhere,cobwebsdrifted:

“Thestrangestsightyou’veeverseen.

TheMonsterTreeonHalloween.”

Thecandlesflickeredandflared.Thewindcroonedin,thewindcroonedoutthepumpkinmouths,tuningthesong:

“Theleaveshaveburnedtogoldandred

Thegrassisbrown,theoldyeardead,

Buthangtheharvesthigh,Ohsee!

ThecandleconstellationsontheHalloweenTree.”

Tomfelthismouthstirlikeasmallmouse,wantingtosing:

“Thestarstheyturn,thecandlesburn

Andthemouse-leavesscurryonthecoldwindbourne,

Andamobofsmilesshinedownonthee

FromthegourdshunghighontheHalloweenTree.

ThesmileoftheWitch,andthesmileoftheCat,

ThesmileoftheBeast,thesmileoftheBat,

ThesmileoftheReapertakinghisfee

AllcutandglimmerontheHalloweenTree…”

SmokeseemedtosiftfromTom’smouth:

“HalloweenTree…”

Alltheboyswhisperedit:

“Halloween…Tree…”

Andthentherewassilence.

AndduringthesilencethelastofthetriplesandquadruplesofAllHallows’Treecandleswerelitintitanicconstellationswovenupthroughtheblackbranchesandpeekingdownthroughthetwigsandcrispleaves.

AndtheTreehadnowbecomeonevastsubstantialSmile.

Thelastofthepumpkinsnowwerelit.TheairaroundtheTreewasIndian-summer-breathingwarm.TheTreeexhaledsootysmokeandraw-pumpkinsmelluponthem.

“Gosh,”saidTomSkelton.

“Hey,whatkindofplaceisthis?”askedHenry-Hank,theWitch.“Imean,firstthehouse,thatmanandnotreatsonlytricks,andnow—?Ineversawatreelikethisinmylife.LikeaChristmastreeonlybiggerandallthosecandlesandpumpkins.What’sitmean?What’sitcelebrate?”

“Celebrate!”avastvoicewhisperedsomewhere,perhapsinachimneysootbellows,orperhapsallthewindowsofthehouseopenedlikemouthsatthesamemomentbehindthem,slidingup,slidingdown,announcingtheword“Celebrate!”withbreathings-outofdarkness.“Yes,”saidthegiganticwhisper,whichtrembledthecandlesinthepumpkins,“…celebration…”

Theboysleapedaround.

Butthehousewasstill.Thewindowswereclosedandbrimmedwithpoolsofmoonlight.

“Lastonein’sanOldMaid!”criedTom,suddenly.

Andabonofleaveslaywaitinglikeoldfires,oldgold.

Andtheboysrananddivedatthehugelovelypileofautumntreasure.

Andinthemomentofdiving,abouttovanishbeneaththeleavesincrispswarms,yelling,shouting,shoving,falling,therewasanimmensegulpofbreath,aseizinginofair.Theboysyelped,pulledbackasifaninvisiblewhiphadstruckthem.

Forcomingupoutofthepileofleaveswasabonywhitehand,allbyitself.

Andfollowingit,allsmiles,hiddenonemomentbutnowrevealedasitslidupward,wasawhiteskull.

Andwhathadbeenadeliciouspoolofoakandelmandpoplarleavestothrashandsinkandhidein,nowbecamethelastplaceonallthisworldtheboyswantedtobe.Forthewhitebonyhandwasflyingontheair.Andthewhiteskullrosetohoverbeforethem.

Andtheboysfellback,colliding,sneezingouttheirairinpanics,untilinonewildmasstheyfellflatupontheearthandwrithedandtoreatthegrasstofightfree,scramble,trytorun.

“Help!”theycried.

“Oh,yes,help,”saidtheSkull.

Thenpealafterpealoflaughterfrozethemfurtherasthehandupontheair,thebonyskeletonhand,reachedup,tookholdofthewhiteskullfaceand—peeleditdownandoff!

Theboysblinkedoncebehindtheirmasks.Theirjawsdropped,thoughnonecouldseethemdropping.

Thehugemanindarkclothessoaredupoutoftheleaves,tallerandyettaller.Hegrewlikeatree.Heputoutbranchesthatwerehands.HestoodframedagainsttheHalloweenTreeitself,hisoutstretchedarmsandlongwhitebonyfingersfestoonedwithorangeglobesoffireandburningsmiles.Hiseyeswerepressedtightasheroaredhislaughter.Hismouthgapedwidetoletanautumnwindrushout.

“Nottreat,boys,no,notTreat!Trick,boys,Trick!Trick!”

Theylaytherewaitingfortheearthquaketocome.Anditcame.Thetallman’slaughtertookholdofthegroundandgaveitashake.Thistremor,passedthroughtheirbones,cameouttheirmouths.Anditcameoutintheformofstillmorelaughter!

Theysatupamidtheruinsofthethrashed-aboutleafpile,surprised.Theyputtheirhandstotheirmaskstofeelthehotairleapingoutinsmallgustsofechoingmirth.

Thentheylookedupatthemanasiftoverifytheirsurprise.

“Yes,boys,that,thatwasaTrick!You’dforgotten?No,youneverknew!”

AndheleanedagainsttheTree,finishingouthisfitsofhappiness,shakingthetrunk,makingthethousandpumpkinsshiverandthefiresinsidetosmokeanddance.

Warmedbytheirlaughter,theboysgotuptofeeltheirbonesandseeifanythingwasbroken.Nothingwas.TheystoodinasmallmobundertheHalloweenTree,waiting,fortheyknewthiswasonlythebeginningofsomethingnewandspecialandgrandandfine.

“Well,”saidTomSkelton.

“Well,Tom,”saidtheman.

“Tom?”criedeveryoneelse.“Isthatyou?”

Tom,intheSkeletonmask,stiffened.

“OrisitBoborFred,no,no,thatmustbeRalph,”saidtheman,quickly.

“Allofthose!”sighedTom,clappinghismaskhardinplace,relieved.

“Yeah,all!”saideveryone.

Themannodded,smiling.“Wellnow!NowyouknowsomethingaboutHalloweenyouneverknewbefore.HowdidyoulikemyTrick?”

“Trick,yes,trick.”Theboyswerecatchingfirewiththeidea.Itmadeallthegoodgluegooutoftheirjointsandputalittledustofsinintheirblood.Theyfeltitstirarounduntilitpumpedonuptolighttheireyesandstretchtheirlipstoshowtheirhappy-dogteeth.“Yeah,sure.”

“IsthiswhatyouusedtodoonHalloween?”askedtheWitchboy.

“This,andmore.But,letmeintroducemyself!Moundshroudisthename.CarapaceClavicleMoundshroud.Doesthathavearing,boys?Doesitsoundforyou?”

Itsounds,theboysthought,oh,oh,itsounds…!

Moundshroud.

“Afinename,”saidMr.Moundshroud,givingitafullsepulchralnight-churchsound.“Andafinenight.AndallthedeepdarkwildlonghistoryofHalloweenwaitingtoswallowuswhole!”

“Swallowus?”

“Yes!”criedMoundshroud.“Lads,lookatyourselves.Whyareyou,boy,wearingthatSkullface?Andyou,boy,carryingascythe,andyou,lad,madeuplikeaWitch?Andyou,you,you!”Hethrusthisbonyfingerateachmask.“Youdon’tknow,doyou?Youjustputonthosefacesandoldmothballclothesandjumpout,butyoudon’treallyknow,doyou?”

“Well,”saidTom,amousebehindhisskull-whitemuslin.“Er—no.”

“Yeah,”saidtheDevilboy.“Cometothinkofit,WhyamIwearingthis?”He

fingeredhisredcloakandsharprubberhornsandlovelypitchfork.

“Andme,this,”saidtheGhost,trailingitslongwhitegraveyardsheets.

Andalltheboysweregiventowonder,andtouchedtheirowncostumesandrefittheirownmasks.

“Thenwouldn’titbefunforyoutofindout?”askedMr.Moundshroud.“I’lltellyou!No,I’llshowyou!Ifonlytherewastime—”

“It’sonlysixthirty.Halloweenhasn’tevenbegun!”saidTom-in-his-cold-bones.

“True!”saidMr.Moundshroud.“Allright,lads—comealong!”

Hestrode.Theyran.

Attheedgeofthedeepdarknightravinehepointedovertherimofthehillsandtheearth,awayfromthelightofthemoon,underthedimlightofstrangestars.Thewindflutteredhisblackcloakandthehoodthathalfshadowedandnowhalfrevealedhisalmostfleshlessface.

“There,doyouseeit,lads?”

“What?”

“TheUndiscoveredCountry.Outthere.Looklong,lookdeep,makeafeast.ThePast,boys,thePast.Oh,it’sdark,yes,andfullofnightmare.EverythingthatHalloweeneverwasliesburiedthere.Willyoudigforbones,boys?Doyouhavethestuff?”

Heburnedhisgazeatthem.

“WhatisHalloween?Howdiditstart?Where?Why?Whatfor?Witches,cats,mummydusts,haunts.It’sallthereinthatcountryfromwhichnoonereturns.Willyoudiveintothedarkocean,boys?Willyouflyinthedarksky?”

Theboysswallowedhard.

Someonepeeped:“We’dliketo,but—Pipkin.We’vegottowaitforPipkin.”

“Yeah,Pipkinsentustoyourplace.Wecouldn’tgowithouthim.”

Asifsummonedinthisinstanttheyheardacryfromthefarsideoftheravine.

“Hey!HereIam!”calledafrailvoice.Theysawhissmallfigurestandingwithalitpumpkin,onthefarravineledge.

“Thisway!”theyallyelled.“Pipkin!Quick!”

“Coming!”wasthecry.“Idon’tfeelsogood.But—Ihadtocome—waitfor

me!”

Theysawhissmallfigurerundownthemiddleoftheravine,onthepath.

“Oh,wait,pleasewait—”thevoicebegantofail.“Idon’tfeelwell.Ican’trun.Can’t—can’t—”

“Pipkin!”everyoneshouted,wavingfromtheedgeofthecliff.

Hisfigurewassmall,small,small.Therewereshadowsmixedeverywhere.Batsflew.Owlsshrieked.Nightravensclusteredlikeblackleavesintrees.

Thesmallboy,runningwithhislitpumpkin,fell.

“Oh,”gaspedMoundshroud.

Thepumpkinlightwentout.

“Oh,”gaspedeveryone.

“Lightyourpumpkin,Pip,lightit!”shriekedTom.

Hethoughthesawthesmallfigurescrabblinginthedarkgrassbelow,tryingtostrikealight.Butinthatinstantofdarkness,thenightsweptin.Agreatwingfoldedovertheabyss.Manyowlshooted.Manymicescamperedandslitheredintheshadows.Amilliontinymurdershappenedsomewhere.

“Lightyourpumpkin,Pip!”

“Help—”wailedhissadvoice.

Athousandwingsflewaway.Agreatbeastbeattheairsomewherelikeathumpingdrum.

Theclouds,likegauzyscenes,werepulledawaytosetacleansky.Themoonwasthere,agreateye.

Itlookeddownupon—

Anemptypath.

Pipkinnowheretobeseen.

Wayoff,towardthehorizon,somethingdarkfritteredanddancedandslitheredawayinthecoldstarair.

“Help—help—”wailedafadingvoice.

Thenitwasgone.

“Oh,”mournedMr.Moundshroud.“Thisisbad.IfearSomethinghastakenhimaway.”

“Where,where?”gibberedtheboys,cold.

“TotheUndiscoveredCountry.ThePlaceIwantedtoshowyou.Butnow—”

“Youdon’tmeanthatThingintheravine,It,orHim,orwhatever,thatSomething,was—Death?DidhegrabPipkinand—run?!”

“Borrowedismorelikeit,perhapstoholdhimforransom,”saidMoundshroud.

“CanDeathdothat?”

“Sometimes,yes.”

“Oh,gosh.”Tomfelthiseyeswater.“Pip,tonight,runningslow,sopale.Pip,youshouldn’t’vecomeout!”heshoutedatthesky,buttherewasonlywindthereandwhitecloudsfloatinglikeoldspiritfluff,andaclearriverofwind.

Theystood,cold,shivering.TheylookedofftowheretheDarkSomethinghadstolentheirfriend.

“So,”saidMoundshroud.“Allthemorereasonforyoutocomealong,lads.Ifweflyfast,maybewecancatchPipkin.GrabhissweetHalloweencorn-candysoul.Bringhimback,pophiminbed,toasthimwarm,savehisbreath.Whatsay,lads?Wouldyousolvetwo-mysteries-in-one?SearchandseekforlostPipkin,andsolveHalloween,allinonefelldarkblow?”

TheythoughtofAllHallows’Nightandthebillionghostsawanderingthelonelylanesincoldwindsandstrangesmokes.

TheythoughtofPipkin,nomorethanathimblefulofboyandsheersummerdelight,tornoutlikeatoothandcarriedoffonablacktideofwebandhornandblacksoot.

And,almostasone,theymurmured:“Yes.”

Moundshroudsprang.Heran.Hepummeled,hepushed,heraved.“Quicknow,alongthispath,upthisrise,alongthisroad!Theabandonedfarm!Overthefence!Allez-oop!”

Theyleapedthefencerunningandstoodbyabarnthatwasfrostedoverwitholdcircusposters,withbannerstatteredbywindpastedherethirty,forty,fiftyyearsback.Circuses,passingthrough,hadleftpatchesandswatchesofthemselvesteninchesthick.

“Akite,boys.Buildakite.Quick!”

NosoonerhadhecriedthisthanMr.Moundshroudrippedagreattissuefromthesideofthebarn!Itflutteredinhishands:theeyeofatiger!Anotherripfromanotherancientposterand—themouthofalion!

TheboysheardroarsofAfricadownthewind.

Theyblinked.Theyran.Theyscratchedwithfingernails.Theypluckedwithhands.Theyseizedoffstripsandpatchesandhugerollsofanimalflesh,offang,andpiercingeye,ofwoundedflank,ofblood-redclawoftail,ofboundandleapandcry.Thewholesideofthebarnwasanancientparadestoppeddead.Theytoreitasunder.Andwitheachteartheypulledofftalon,tongue,orraveningfelineeye.Beneathwaitedlayeruponlayerofjunglenightmare,deliciousencounterswithpolarbears,panickedzebra,millingpridesoflions,chargingrhinos,clamberinggorillaswhichpawedupthesideofmidnightandswungtowarddawn.Athousandanimalsincongregationrumbledtobesetfree.Nowfreeinfistsandhandsandfingers,whistlingontheautumnwind,theboysracedoffacrossthegrass.

NowMoundshroudknockeddownoldfence-railingbeamsandmadearoughkite-crossandboundthemwithwire,thenstoodbacktoreceivethegiftsofkitepaperastheboysflungtheminfistfuls.

Andthesehetossedinplaceupontheframe,and,spark-flinting,fusedwithburningsofhishornyhands.

“Hey!”Theboyscriedtheirdelight.“Oh,look!”

Theyhadneverseensuchthings,orknownthatmensuchasMoundshroud

withapinch,aclutch,apressureoffingersmightblendaneyewithtooth,atoothwithmouth,amouthwithfelinebobcattail.All,allmingledbeautifullyintoasinglething,awildjigsawpuzzlejunglezoobillowedandtrapped,pastedandtied,growing,growing,takingcolorandsoundandpatterninthelightoftheascendingmoon.Nowanothercannibaleye.Nowanotherhungrymaw.Amadchimpanzee.Amostinsanemandrill-ape.Ascreamingbutcherbird!Theboysranupwiththelastfrightshandedoverandthekitefinished,theancientfleshlaidout,fusedbythestillblue-smoke-burninghornyhands.Mr.Moundshroudlitacigarwiththelastbitoffirethatsparkedoutofhisthumbandsmiled.AndthelightfromhissmileshowedtheKiteforwhatitwas,akiteofdestructions,ofanimalssodireandfiercetheiroutcrydrownedthewindandmurderedtheheart.

Hewaspleased,theboyswerepleased.

FortheKitesomehowseemedtoresemble…

“Why,”saidTom,astounded,“apterodactyl!”

“Awhat?!”

“Pterodactyl,thoseancientflyingreptiles,gonesomebillionyearsback,andneverseenagain,”repliedMr.Moundshroud.“Wellsaid,boy.Pterodactylitseemsandis,and‘twillflyusdownwindtoPerditionorLandsEndorsomeotherfine-soundingplace.But,now,rope,twine,string,quick!Filchandcarry!”

Theyrantheropeoffanoldabandonedclotheslinestrungbetweenbarnandabandonedfarmhouse.AgoodninetyfeetormoreofropetheybroughtMoundshroudwhosnakeditthroughhisfistuntilitsmokedamostunholysmoke.HetiedittothemiddleofthevastKitewhichflappedlikeasomehowlostandout-of-watermantarayuponthishighstrangebeach.Itstruggledwithwindtolive.Itflappedandflounderedontheheavesoftidalair,laiddownongrass.

Moundshroudstoodback,gaveajerk,andlo!theKite—flew!

Ithunglowupontheairattheendofitsclothesline,inadumb-brutegrovelingofwind,veeringthisway,dashingthat,leapingupsuddenlytoconfrontthemwithawallofeyes,asolidfleshofteeth,astormofcries.

“Itwon’trise,won’tgostraight!Atail,weneedatail!”

AndasbyinstinctTomdivedfirst,andseizedtheKitebyitsbottom.Hehungthere.TheKitesteadied.Itbegantorise.

“Yes,”criedthedarkman.“Ohlad,youaretheone.Brightboy!Youbethetail!Andmore,andmore!”

AndastheKiteslowlyascendedthecoldriverofswiftflowingair,eachboyinturn,seizedwiththewhim,spurredbyhiswits,becamemoreandyetmoreofthetail.WhichistosaythatHenry-Hank,disguisedasaWitch,grabbedTomsankles,andnowtheKitehadtwoboysforitsmagnificenttail!

AndRalphBengstrum,woundupinhisMummyclothes,stumblingoverhiswindingtapes,smotheredinhisburialrags,shambledforward,jumped,andgrabbedHenry-Hank’sankles.

SothreeboyshungnowinaTail!

“Wait!HereIcome!”criedBeggar,whounderhisdirtandragswasreallyFredFryer.

Hejumped,hecaught.

TheKiteascended.Thefourboysmakingthetailyelledformorelength!

TheygotitwhentheboydressedasanApemanscrambledandgrabbedanklesfollowedbytheboydressedasDeathwithaScythewhodiddangerouslylikewise.

“Watchoutwiththescythe!”

Thescythefellandlayinthegrasslikealostsmile.

Butthetwoboyshungdownnowfromallthehalf-washedankles,andtheKiterosemore,higher,higheraddingaboyandaboy,andaboyuntilwithayellandshout,eightboysweredown-hunginamagnificentthrashingtail,thelasttwobeingGhostwhowastrulyGeorgeSmithandWallyBabbwhohad,inspired,madehimselfuptolooklikeaGargoylefallenoffthetopofacathedral.

Theboysyelledwithelation.TheKiteswoopedand—tookoff!

“Hey!”

Whoosh!TheKitepurredwithathousandanimalwhispers.

Whannng!TheKiteropestrummedthewind.

Hush!saidtheentirething.

Andthewindflewthemhighacrossthestars.

LeavingMoundshroudtolookupwithaweathiscontraption,hiskite,hisboys.

“Wait!”heshouted.

“Don’twait,comeon!”theboysyelled.

Moundshroudranalongthegrasstoseizethescythe.Hiscapeflutteredtakingair,makingwingsuntilhe,also,verysimply,tookoff,andsoared.

TheKiteflew.

TheboyshungdownfromtheKiteinafinelizard’stail,nowweaving,nowlooping,nowsnapping,nowgliding.

Theyyelledwithdelight.Theyshriekedwithingasped,outgaspedterror.Theyrodeacrossthemooninanexclamationpoint.Theysoaredoverhillsandmeadowsandfarms.Theysawthemselvesreflectedinduskymoon-brightstreams,creeks,rivers.Theybrusheddownoverancienttrees.Thewindstirredbytheirpassingshookdownwholegovernmentmintsofcoins,leaves,brightshoweringtotheblack-grassedearth.Theyflewoverthetownandthought—

Olookup!see!hereweare!yoursons!

Andthought:Olookdown,theresomewhereareourmothers,fathers,brothers,sisters,teachers!Hey,hereweare!O,someone,seeus!oryou’llneverbelieve!

AndinalastswooptheKitewhistled,hummed,drummedalongthewindstofloatovertheoldhouseandtheHalloweenTreewherefirsttheyhadmetMoundshroud!

Swoomp,flutter,glide,rush,hiss!

Thesuctionoftheirswungbodiescausedathousandcandlestoflutter,flicker,stuttertheirlight,hisswithdesiretoreflamethemselves,soallthehungpumpkinscowlsandleersandwildsmileswerehalf-snuffedtounhappyshadows.ThewholeTreewentdeadforaheartbeat.ThenastheKitesanghigh—theTreeblazedupwithathousandnewcut-pumpkinfrowns,glares,grimaces,andgrins!

Thewindowsofthehouse,blackmirrors,sawtheKitegoawayandaway,untiltheboysandtheKiteandMr.Moundshroudwereverysmallonthehorizon.

AndthendowntheysailedoffawaydeepintotheUndiscoveredCountryofOldDeathandStrangeYearsintheFrightfulPast….

“Wherearewegoing?”criedTom,hangingtotheKite’stail.

“Yes,where,where?”criedalltheboys,oneafteranother,below,below.

“Notwhere,butwhen!”saidMoundshroud,pacingthem,hisgreatveiledcloakfullofmoonwindandtime.“Twothousand,countthem,yearsbeforeChrist!Pipkin’sthere,waiting!Ismellit!Fly!”

Thenthemoonbegantoblink.Itclosedupitseyeandtherewasdarkness.Thenfasterandfasteritbegantowink,towax,towane,towaxagain.Untilathousandtimesoveritflickeredandinflickeringchangedthelandscapebelow,andthenfiftythousandtimes,sofasttheycouldnotseeit,themoonextinguishedandrelititself.

Andthemoonstoppedwinkingandheldverystill.

Andthelandwaschanged.

“Look,”saidMoundshroud,hungupontheveryairabovethem.

Andthemilliontiger-lion-leopard-panthereyesoftheautumnKitelookeddown,asdidtheeyesoftheboys.

Andthesunroseshowingthem…

Egypt.TheRiverNile.TheSphinx.ThePyramids.

“But,”saidMoundshroud.“Noticeanything—different?”

“Why,”gaspedTom,“it’sallnew.It’sjustbeenbuilt.ThatmeanswereallyhavegonebackinTimefourthousandyears!”

And,sureenough,theEgyptthatlaybelowwasancientsandbutnew-cutstone.TheSphinx,withitsgreatlionpawstreadedoutonthegoldenstuffsofdesert,wassharp-cutandfreshlybornoutofthewombofstonemountains.It

wasavastpupinthebrightandemptyglareofnoon.Ifthesunhadfallenandlaybetweenitspaws,itwouldhavecuffeditlikeafireballtoy.

ThePyramids?Whytheylaylikestrange-shapedblocks,yetothergamestobepuzzledover,playedwithbythewoman-lionSphinx.

TheKitezoomeddownandskirtedthesanddunes,flirtedoveronepyramidandwasdrawn,asbysuction,byanopentomb-mouthsetinasmallcliff.

“Hey,Presto!”criedMoundshroud.

WithaflaphegavetheKitesuchakickasmadetheboystolllikeclamorousbells.

“Hey,no!”theycried.

TheKiteshuddered,felldown,hoveredtenfeetabovethedunes,andshookitselflikeawilddogriddingitselfoffleas.

Theboysfellsafeingoldensand.

TheKitebrokeawayinathousandshredsofeyes,fangs,shrieks,roars,elephanttrumpetings.TheEgyptiantomb-mouthsuckedthemin,andMoundshroud,laughing,withit.

“Mr.Moundshroud,wait!”

Leapingup,theboysrantoshoutintothedarktombdoorway.Thentheyliftedtheirgazeandsawwheretheywere.

TheValleyoftheKings,wherehugestonegodsloomedabove.Dustsiftedinastrangedownpouroftearsfromtheireyes;tearsmadeofsandandpowderedrock.

Theboysleanedintotheshadows.Likeadryriverbottom,thecorridorsleddowntodeepvaultswherelaythelinen-wrappeddead.Dustfountainsechoedandplayedinstrangecourtyardsamilebelow.Theboysached,listening.Thetombbreathedoutasickexhalationofpaprika,cinnamon,andpowderedcameldung.Somewhere,amummydreamed,coughedinitssleep,unraveledabandage,twitcheditsdustytongueandturnedoverforanotherthousand-yearsnooze….

“Mr.Moundshroud?”calledTomSkelton.

Andfromdeepinthedryearthalostvoicewhispered:

“Mound—sssss—shroud.”

Outofthedarknesssomethingrolled,rushed,flapped.

Alongstripofmummyclothsnappedoutintothesunlight.

Itwasasiftheverytombitselfhadstuckoutitsolddrytonguewhichlayattheirfeet.

Theboysstared.Thelinenstripwashundredsofyardslongandmight,iftheywished,leadthemdown,downintothemysteriousdeepsbelowtheEgyptianearth.

TomSkelton,trembling,putonetoeouttotouchtheyellowlinenstrip.

Awindblewfromthetombs,saying:Yessss—”

“HereIgo,”saidTom.

And,balancingonthetightropeoflinen,hewandereddownandvanishedinthedarkundertheburialchambers.

“Yesssss—!”whisperedthewindcomingupfrombelow.“Allofyou.Come.Next.Andnext.Andanotherandanother.Quick.”

Theboysraceddownthelinenpathindarkness.

“Watchformurder,boys!Murder!”

Thepillarsonbothsidesoftherushingboysflashedtolife.Picturesshiveredandmoved.

Thegoldensunwasoneverypillar.

Butitwasasunwitharmsandlegs,boundtightwithmummywrappings.

“Murder!”

Adarkcreaturestruckthesunonedreadfulblow.

Thesundied.Itsfireswentout.

Theboysranblindindarkness.

Yeah,thoughtTom,running,sure,Imean,Ithink,everynight,thesundies.Goingtosleep,Iwonder,willitcomeback?Tomorrowmorning,willitstillbedead?

Theboysran.Onnewpillarsdead-ahead,thesunappearedagain,burningoutofeclipse.

Swell!thoughtTom.That’sit!Sunrise!

Butjustasquickly,thesunwasmurderedagain.Oneachpillartheyracedby,thesundiedinautumnandwasburiedincoldwinter.

MiddleofDecember,thoughtTom,Ioftenthink:thesun’llnevercomeback!Winterwillgoonforever!Thistimethesunisreallydead!

Butastheboysslowedattheendofthelongcorridor,thesunwasreborn.Springarrivedwithgoldenhorns.Lightfilledthecorridorwithpurefire.

ThestrangeGodstoodburningoneverywall,hisfaceagrandfireoftriumph,wrappedingoldenribbons.

“Why,heck,Iknowwhothatis!”pantedHenry-Hank.“SawhiminamovieoncewithterribleEgyptianmummies!”

“Osiris!”saidTom.

“Yesssssssss…”hissedMoundshroud’svoicefromthedeeptombs.“LessonNumberOneaboutHalloween.Osiris,SonoftheEarthandSky,killedeachnightbyhisbrotherDarkness.OsirisslainbyAutumn,murderedbyhisownnightblood.

“Soitgoesineverycountry.Eachhasitsdeathfestival,havingtodowithseasons.Skullsandbones,boys,skeletonsandghosts.InEgypt,lads,seetheDeathofOsiris,KingoftheDead.Gazelong.”

Theboysgazed.

FortheyhadcometoavastholeintheundergroundcavernandthroughthisholetheycouldlookoutatanEgyptianvillagewhere,atdusk,foodwasbeingplacedoutinpotteryandcopperdishesonporchesandsills.

“Forthehomecomingghostssssss,”whisperedMoundshroudsomewhereintheshadows.

Rowsofoillampswerenailedtohousefrontsandthesoftsmokefromtheseroseuponthetwilightairlikewanderingspirits.

Youcouldalmostseethehauntsshiftingalongthecobbledstreets.

Theshadowsleanedawayfromthelostsuninthewestandtriedtoenterthehouses.

Butthewarmfood,steamingontheporches,kepttheshadowscirclingandstirring.

AfaintsmellofincenseandmummydustwafteduptotheboyswholookedoutuponthisancientHalloweenandthe“treats”beingsetforthnotforwanderingboysbuthomelessghosts.

“Hey,”whisperedalltheboys.

“Donotloseyourwayinthedark,”voicessanginthehouses,toharpsandlutes.“Odearsweetdead,comehome,andwelcomehere.Lostinthedarkbutalwaysdear.Donotwander,donotroam.Dearones,comehome.”

Smokecurledfromthedimlamps.

Andtheshadowssteppedupontheporchesand,verygently,touchedthegiftsoffood.

Andinonehousetheycouldseeanoldgrandfathermummybeingtakenoutofaclosetandputintheplaceofhonorattheheadofthetable,withfoodsetbeforehim.Andthemembersofthefamilysatdowntotheireveningmealandliftedtheirglassesanddranktothedeadoneseatedthere,alldustanddrysilence…

“Quick,now,comefindme!”

Moundshroudsvoice,laughing,calledthemon.

“Thisway!No,this!This!”

Theyranalongtheslenderribbonofmummywrapping,deepintotheearth.

“Yes.HereIam.”

Theyturnedacornerandstopped,forthelonglinenribbonwoundacrossthetombfloorandupawalltowraparoundthefeetofanancientbrownmummywhichwasproppedatiltinacandlelitniche.

“Is,”stutteredRalphBengstrum,dressedinhisownMummycostume,“is—isthatarealmummy?”

“Yes.”Dustsiftedfromunderthegoldenmaskonthemummy’sface.“Real.”

“Mr.Moundshroud!You!

Thegoldmaskfelltoclanglikeabrightbellonthefloor.

Wherethemaskhadbeenwasamummy’sface,apoolofbrownmudcrinkledbyblastsofsun.Oneeyewasgluedshutwithspiderweb.Theothereyecrackedforthtearsofdustandaglintofbrightblueglass.

“Issssstheresomeboytheredressedlikeamummy?”askedthevoicemuffledbeneaththeshroud.

“Why,me,sir!”squeakedRalph,showinghisarms,legs,chest,themedicalbandagesithadtakenhimallafternoontowraphimselfupin,mummified.

“Good,”sighedMoundshroud.“Grabthelinenstrip.Pull!”

Ralphbent,tookholdoftheancientmummybandagesand—yanked!

Theribbonunraveleduparound,uparoundtorevealthegreatancientreptilenose-beakandflakychinanddrysmilingdust-powderymouthofMoundshroud.Hiscrossedarmsfellloose.

“Thanks,lad!Free!NofunbeingwrappedlikesomeoldfuneralgiftfortheLandoftheDead.But—hist!Quick,boys,hopintheniches,standstiff.Someone’scoming.Playmummies,boys,playdead!”

Theboysleapedtostand,armsfolded,eyesshut,breathsheld,likeafriezeofsmallmummiescutintheancientrock.

“Easy”whisperedMoundshroud.“Herecomes—”

Afuneralprocession.

Anarmyofmournersingoldandfinesilksbearingsmallsailing-shiptoysandcopperbowlsoffoodintheirhands.

Andintheirmidst,amummycasecarriedlightassunshineontheshouldersofsixmen.Andbehindthat,afresh-wrappedmummywithnewpaintingsonitslinenvestmentsandasmallgoldmaskfittedoverthehiddenface.

“Seethefood,boys,thetoys,”whisperedMoundshroud.“Theyputtoysinthetombs,lads.Sothegodswillcomeplay,romp,roustabout,andrunchildrenhappytotheLandoftheDead.Seetheboats,kites,jump-ropes,toyknives—”

“Butlookatthesizeofthatmummy,”saidRalph,insidehishotlinenbandages.“It’satwelve-year-oldboyinthere!Likeme!Andthatgoldmaskontheboymummy’sface—doesn’titlookfamiliar?”

“Pipkin!”criedeveryone,hoarsely.

“Sh!”hissedMoundshroud.

Forthefuneralhadstopped,thehighpriestswereglancingaroundthroughtheflickeringtorchshadows.

Theboys,highintheirniches,squeezedtheireyestight,suckedintheirbreaths.

“Notawhisper,”saidMoundshroud,amosquitoinTom’sear.“Notamurmur.”

Theharpmusicbeganagain.

Thefuneralshuffledon.

Andinthemidstofallthegoldandtoys,thekitesofthedead,therewasthesmalltwelve-year-oldfresh-newmummywithagoldmaskthatlookedjustexactlylike—

Pipkin.

No,no,no,no!thoughtTom.

“Yes!”criedamousevoice,tiny,lost,wrappedawaykept,trapped,wild.“Itsme!I’mhere.Underthemask.Underthewrappings.Can’tmove!Can’tyellCan’tfightfree!”

Pipkin!thoughtTom.Wait!

“Can’thelpit!Trapped!”shoutedthesmallweevoicewrappedinpicturelinens.“Follow!Meetme!Findmeat—”

Thevoicefaded,forthefuneralprocessionhadturnedacornerinthedarklabyrinthandwasgone.

“Followyouwhere,Pipkin?”TomSkeltonjumpeddownfromhisnicheandyelledintothedark.“Meetyouwhere?”

Butatthatexactmoment,Moundshroud,likeachoppedtree,felloutofhisniche.Bang!hestruckthefloor.

“Wait!”hecautionedTom,lookingupathimwithoneeyethatlookedlikeaspidercaughtinitsownweb.“We’llsaveoldPipkinyet.Slydoesit.Slideandcreep,boys.Ssst.”

Theyhelpedhimupandunwoundsomeofhismummywrappingsandtiptoeddownthelongcorridorandturnedthecorner.

“HolyCow,”whisperedTom.“Look.They’reputtingPipkin’smummyinthecoffinandthecoffininsidethe—the—”

“Sarcophagus,”Moundshroudsuppliedthejawcracker.“Acoffininacoffininacoffin,lad.Eachlargerthanthelast,alldoneupinhieroglyphstotellhislifestory—”

“Pipkin’slife?”saidall.

“OrwhoeverPipkinwasthistimearound,thisyear,fourthousandyearsago.”

“Yeah,”whisperedRalph.“Lookatthepicturesonthesidesofthecoffin.Pipkinoneyearold.Pipkinfive.Pipkintenandrunningfast.Pipkinupanappletree.Pipkinpretendingtodrowninthelake.Pipkineatinghiswaythroughapeachorchard.Wait,what’sthat?!”

Moundshroudwatchedthebusyfuneral.“They’reputtingfurnitureinthetombforhimtouseintheLandoftheDead.Boats.Kites.Topstospin.FreshfruitsshouldPipkinwakeahundredyearsfromnow,hungry”

“He’llbehungryallright.Goodgrief,look,they’regoingout!They’reclosingthetomb!”MoundshroudhadtograbandholdTomforhewasjumpingupanddowninagony“Pipkin’sstillinthere,buried!Whendowesavehim?”

“Later.TheLongNightisyoung.We’llseePipkinagain,neverfear.Then—”

Thetombdoorslammedshut.

Theboysyammeredandyelled.Inthedarktheycouldhearthescrapeandsloshofmortarfillingthelastcracksandseamsasthefinalstoneswereshovedinplace.

Themournerswentawaywiththeirsilentharps.

RalphstoodinhisMummycostume,stunned,watchingthelastshadowsgo.

“IsthatwhyI’mdressedlikeamummy?”Hefingeredthebandages.Hetouchedhisclay-wrinkledancientface.“IsthatwhatmypartofHalloweenisallabout?”

“All,boy,all,”murmuredMoundshroud.“TheEgyptians,why,theybuilttolast.Tenthousandyearstheyplannedfor.Tombs,boys,tombs.Graves.Mummies.Bones.Death,death.Deathwasattheveryheart,gizzard,light,soul,andbodyoftheirlife!Tombsandmoretombswithsecretpassages,sononemightbefound,sograverobberscouldnotborrowsoulsandtoysandgold.Youareamummy,boy,becausethatwashowtheydressedforEternity.Spunupinacocoonofthreads,theyhopedtocomeforthlikelovelybutterfliesinsomefardearlovingworld.Knowyourcocoon,boy.Touchthestrangestuffs.”

“Why,”saidRalphtheMummy,blinkingatthesmokywallsandoldhieroglyphics.“EverydaywasHalloweentothem!”

“Everyday!”gaspedall,inadmiration.

“EverydaywasHalloweenforthem,too.”Moundshroudpointed.

Theboysturned.

Akindofgreenelectricstormsimmeredinthetombdungeon.Thegroundshudderedaswithanancientearthquake.Somewhere,avolcanoturnedoverinitssleep,lightingthewallswithonefieryshoulder.

Andonthewallsbeyondwereprehistoricdrawingsofcavemen,longbeforetheEgyptians.

“Now,”saidMoundshroud.

Lightningstruck.

Saber-toothedtigerscaughtthecavemenscreaming.Tarpitsdrownedtheirbones.Theysank,wailing.

“Wait.Let’ssaveafewwithfire.”

Moundshroudblinked.Lightningstrucktoburnforests.Oneapeman,running,seizedaburningbranchandrammeditinasaber-tooth’sjaws.Thetigershriekedandfellaway.Theapeman,snortingintriumph,tossedthefierybranchintoapileofautumnleavesinhiscave.Othermencametoholdtheirhandsouttothefire,laughingatthenightwheretheyellowbeasteyeswaited,afraid.

“See,boys?”Moundshroud’sfaceflickeredwiththefire.“ThedaysoftheLongColdaredone.Becauseofthisonebrave,new-thinkingman,summerlivesinthewintercave.”

“But?”saidTom.“What’sthatgottodowithHalloween?”

“Do?Why,blastmybones,everything.Whenyouandyourfriendsdieeveryday,there’snotimetothinkofDeath,isthere?Onlytimetorun.Butwhenyoustoprunningatlonglast—”

Hetouchedthewalls.Theapemenfrozeinmid-flight.

“—nowyouhavetimetothinkofwhereyoucamefrom,whereyou’regoing.Andfirelightstheway,boys.Fireandlightning.Morningstarstogazeat.Fireinyourowncavetoprotectyou.Onlybynightfireswasthecaveman,beastman,ableatlasttoturnhisthoughtsonaspitandbastethemwithwonder.Thesundiedinthesky.Wintercameonlikeagreatwhitebeastshakingitsfur,buryinghim.Wouldspringevercomebacktotheworld?Wouldthesunberebornnextyearorstaymurdered?Egyptiansaskedit.Cavemenaskeditamillionyearsbefore.Willthesunrisetomorrowmorning?”

“Andthat’showHalloweenbegan?”

“Withsuchlongthoughtsatnight,boys.Andalwaysatthecenterofit,fire.Thesun.Thesundyingdownthecoldskyforever.Howthatmusthave

scaredearlyman,eh?ThatwastheBigDeath.Ifthesunwentawayforever,thenwhat?

“Sointhemiddleofautumn,everythingdying,apementurnedintheirsleep,rememberedtheirowndeadofthelastyear.Ghostscalledintheirheads.Memories,that’swhatghostsare,butapemendidn’tknowthat.Behindtheireyelids,latenights,thememoryghostscalled,waved,danced,soapemenwokeup,tossedtwigsonthefire,shivered,wept.Theycoulddriveawaywolvesbutnotmemories,notghosts.Sotheyheldtighttotheirribs,prayed

forspring,watchedthefire,thankedinvisiblegodsforharvestsoffruitandnuts.

“Halloween,indeed!Amillionyearsago,inacaveinautumn,withghostsinsideheads,andthesunlost.”

Moundshroud’svoicefaded.

Heunraveledanotheryardortwoofmummywrappings,drapedthemoverhisarmgrandlyandsaid:“Moretosee.Comeon,boys.”

AndtheywalkedoutofthecatacombsintothetwilightofanoldEgyptianday.

Agreatpyramidlaybeforethem,waiting.

“Lastonetothetop,”saidMoundshroud,“isamonkey’suncle!”

Andthemonkey’sunclewasTom.

Gasping,theyreachedthepyramid’stopwherewaitedavastcrystallens,aviewingglasswhichspunslowlyinthewindonagoldentripod,agiganticeyewithwhichtobringfarplacesnear.

Inthewest,thesun,smotheredanddyinginclouds,sank.Moundshroudhootedhisdelight:

“Thereitgoes,boys.Theheart,soul,andfleshofHalloween.TheSun!ThereOsirisismurderedagain.TheresinksMithras,thePersianfire.TherefallsPhoebusApolloallGrecianlight.Sunandflame,boys.Lookandblink.Turnthatcrystalspyglass.SwingitdowntheMediterraneanCoastathousandmiles.SeetheGreekIsles?”

“Sure,”saidplainGeorgeSmith,dressedupasfancypaleghost.“Cities,towns,streets,houses.Peoplejumpingoutonporchestobringfood!”

“Yes.”Moundshroudbeamed.“TheirFestivaloftheDead:theFeastofPots.Trick-or-Treatoldstyle.Buttricksfromthedeadifyoudon’tfeedthem.Sotreatsarelaidoutinfinebanquetsonthesill!”

Faraway,inthesweetdusk,smellsofcookedmeatssteamed,dishesweredealtoutforspiritsthatsmokedacrossthelandoftheliving.ThewomenandchildrenoftheGrecianhomescameandwentwithmultitudinousquantities

ofspicedanddelectablevictuals.

Then,allthroughtheGrecianIsles,doorsslammed.Thevastslammingechoedalongthedarkwind.

“Thetemplesshuttingtight,”saidMoundshroud.“EveryholyplaceinGreecewillbedouble-lockedthisnight.”

“Andlook!”Ralph-who-was-a-Mummyswungthecrystallens.Thelightflaredovertheboys’masks.“Thosepeople,whyaretheypaintingblackmolassesontheirfrontdoorposts?”

“Pitch,”correctedMoundshroud.“Blacktartogluetheghosts,stickthemfast,sotheycan’tgetinside.”

“Why,”saidTom,“didn’twethinkofthat!?”

DarknessmoveddowntheMediterraneanshores.Fromthetombs,likemist,thedeadspiritswaveredinsootandblackplumesalongthestreetstobecaughtinthedarktarthatsmearedtheporchsills.Thewindmourned,asiftellingtheanguishofthetrappeddead.

“Now,Italy.Rome.”MoundshroudturnedthelenstoseeRomancemeterieswherepeopleplacedfoodongravesandhurriedoff.

ThewindwhippedMoundshroud’scape.Ithollowedhismouth:

“Oautumnwindsthatbakeandburn

Andalltheworldtodarknessturn,

Nowstormandseizeandmakeofme…

AswarmofleavesfromAutumn’sTree!”

Hekick-jumpedstraightupintheair.Theboysyelleddelight,evenashisclothes,cape,hair,skin,body,corn-candybonestoreapartbeforetheireyes.

“…leaves…burn…

…change…turn…!”

Thewindribbonedhimtoconfetti;amillionautumnleaves,gold,brown,redasblood,rust,allwild,rustling,simmering,aclutchofoakandmapleleaf,ahickoryleafdownfall,atossofflakingwhisper,murmur,rustletothedark

river-creeksky.Notonekite,buttenthousandthousandtinymummy-flake,kites,Moundshroudexplodedapart:

“Worldturn!Leavesburn!

Grassdie!Trees…fly!”

Andfromabillionothertreesinautumnlands,leavesrushedtojoinwiththeupflungbattalionsofdrybitsthatwereMoundshrouddispersedinwhirlwindsfromwhichhisvoicestormed:

“Boys,seethefiresalongtheMediterraneancoast?FiresburningnorththroughEurope?Firesoffear.Flamesofcelebration.Wouldyouspy,boys?Up,now,fly!”

Andtheleavesinavalanchefelluponeachboyliketerribleflappingmothsandcarriedthemaway.OverEgyptiansandstheysangandlaughedandgiggled.Overthestrangesea,rapturousandhysterical,theysoared.

“HappyNewYear!”avoicecried,farbelow.

“Happywhat?”askedTom.

“HappyNewYear!”Moundshroud,aflockofrustyleaves,rustledhisvoice.“Inoldtimes,thefirstofNovemberwasNewYear’sDay.Thetrueendofsummer,thecoldstartofwinter.Notexactlyhappy,but,well,HappyNewYear!”

TheycrossedEuropeandsawnewwaterbelow.

“TheBritishIsles,”whisperedMoundshroud.“WouldyoucockaneyeatEngland’sowndruidGodoftheDead?”

“Wewould!”

“Quietasmilkweed,then,softassnow,fall,blowawaydown,eachandall.”

Theboysfell.

Likeabushelofchestnuts,theirfeetrainedtoearth.

Nowtheboyswholandedlikeadownpourofbrightautumntrashwereinthisorder:

TomSkelton,dressedupinhisdeliciousBones.

Henry-Hank,moreorlessaWitch.

RalphBengstrum,anunraveledMummy,becomingmoreunbandagedbytheminute.

AGhostnamedGeorgeSmith.

J.J.(noothernameneeded)averyfineApeman.

WallyBabbwhosaidhewasaGargoyle,buteveryonesaidhelookedmorelikeQuasimodo.

FredFryer,whatelsebutabeggarfreshoutofaditch.

Andlastandnotleast,“Hackles”Nibleywhohadrunupacostumeatthelastmomentbysimplyclappingonawhitescare-maskandgrabbinghisgrandpa’sharvestscytheoffthegaragewall.

AlltheboysbeingsafelylandedonEnglishearth,theirbillionautumnleavesfelloffandblewaway.

Theystoodinthemidstofavastfieldofwheat.

“Here,MasterNibley,Ibroughtyourscythe.Takeit.Grab!Nowlielow!”warnedMoundshroud.“TheDruidGodoftheDead!Samhain!Fall!”

Theyfell.

Forahugescythecameskimmingdownoutofthesky.Withitsgreatrazoredgeitcutthewind.Withitswhistlingsideitslicedclouds.Itbeheadedtrees.Itrazoredalongthecheekofthehill.Itmadeacleanshaveofwheat.Intheairawholeblizzardofwheatfell.

Andwitheverywhisk,everycut,everyscythe,theskywasaswarmwithcriesandshrieksandscreams.

Thescythehissedup.

Theboyscowered.

“Hunh!”gruntedalargevoice.

“Mr.Moundshroud,isthatyou!”criedTom.

Fortoweringfortyfeetabovetheminthesky,animmensescytheinhishands,wasthiscowledfigure,itsfaceinmidnightfogs.

Thebladeswungdown:hisssssss!

“Mr.Moundshroud,letusbe!”

“Shutup.”SomeoneknockedTomselbow.Mr.Moundshroudlayontheearthbesidehim.“That’snotme.That’s—”

“Samhain!”criedthevoiceinthefog.“GodoftheDead!Iharvestthus,andso!”

Sssss-whoooshhhh!

“Allthosewhodiedthisyeararehere!Andfortheirsins,thisnight,areturnedtobeasts!”

Sssssswooommmmmmm!

“Please,”whimperedRalph-the-Mummy

“Sssssssttttt!ThescythezipperedHacklesNibley’sspine,rippinghiscostumeinalongtear,knockinghisownsmallscythefreeofhishands.

“Beasts!”

Andtheharvestwheat,flailedup,spunroundonthewind,shriekingitssouls,allthosewhohaddiedinthepasttwelvemonths,rainedtoearth.Andfalling,touching,theheadsofwheatwereturnedtoasses,chickens,snakeswhich

scurried,cackled,brayed;wereturnedtodogsandcatsandcowsthatbarked,cried,bawled.Butallwereminiature.Allweretiny,small,nobiggerthanworms,nobiggerthantoes,nobiggerthanthesliced-offtipofanose.Bythehundredsandthousandsthewheatheadssnowedupinscattersandfelldownasspiderswhichcouldnotshoutorbegorweepformercy,butwhich,soundless,racedoverthegrass,pouredovertheboys.AhundredcentipedestiptoedonRalph’sspine.TwohundredleechesclungtoHacklesNibley’sscytheuntilwithanightmaregaspheravedandshookthemoff.Everywherefellblackwidowsandtinyboaconstrictors.

“Foryoursins!Yoursins!Takethat!Andthis!”bellowedthevoiceinthewhistlingsky.

Thescytheflashed.Thewind,cut,fellinbrightthunders.Thewheatchurnedandgaveupamillionheads.Headsfell.Sinnershitlikerocks.And,hitting,wereturnedtofrogsandtoadsandmultitudesofscalywartswithlegsandjellyfishwhichstankinthelight.

“I’llbegood!”prayedTomSkelton.

“Lemmelive!”addedHenry-Hank.

Allofthissaidveryloudly,forthescythewasmakingadreadfulroar.Itwaslikeanoceanwavefallingdownoutofthesky,cleaningabeach,andrunningawayuptocutmoreclouds.Eventhecloudsseemedtobewhisperingoutswiftandmoreferventprayersfortheirownfates.Notme!notme!

“Foralltheevilyoueverdid!”saidSamhain.

Andthescythecutandthesoulswereharvestedandfellinblindnewtsandawfulbedbugsanddreadfulcockroachestoscuttle,limp,creep,scrabble.

“Mygosh,he’sabugmaker.”

“Fleasquasher!”

“Snakegrinder-outer!”

“Roachtransformer!”

“Flykeeper!”

“No!Samhain!OctoberGod.GodoftheDead!”

Samhainstompedagreatfootwhichtreadathousandbugsinthegrass,trompledtenthousandtinysoul-beastsinthedust.

“Ithink,”saidTom,“it’stimewe-”

“Ran?”suggestedRalph,notoffhand.

“Shallwetakeavote?”

Thescythehissed.Samhainboomed.

“Vote,heck!”saidMoundshroud.

Alljumpedup.

“Youthere!”thunderedthevoiceabovethem.“Comeback!”

“No,sir,thanks,”saidoneandthenanother.

Andputrightfootafterleft.

“Ifigure,”saidRalph,panting,leaping,tearsonhischeeks.“Ibeenprettygoodmostofmylife.Idon’tdeservetodie.”

“Hah-hnnh!”shoutedSamhain.

Thescythecameinaguillotinewhichchunkedtheheadoffanoaktreeandfelledamaple.Awholeorchardofautumnapplesfellintoamarblepitsomewhere.Itsoundedlikeahousefulofboysfallingdownstairs.

“Idon’tthinkheheardyou,Ralph,”saidTom.

Theydived.Theyfellamongrocksandshrubs.

Thescythericochetedoffthestones.

Samhaingavesuchayellasbroughtanavalanchedownasmallhillnearby

“Boy,”saidRalph,squinchedup,balledup,feetagainstchest,eyestight.“Englandisnoplacetobeasinner.”

Evenasafinalrain,ashower,adownpourofhystericalsouls-turned-beetle,turnedflea,turnedstinkbug,turneddaddylong-legs,scurriedovertheboys.

“Hey,look.Thatdog!”

Awilddog,madwithterror,raceduptherocks.

Anditsface,itseyes,somethingintheeyes—

“Thatcouldn’tbe—?”

“Pipkin?”saideveryone.

“Pip—”shoutedTom.“Isthiswherewemeetyou?Is—”

Butwhoom!Thescythefell.

Andyippingwithfright,thedog,bowledover,sliddownthegrass.

“Holdon,Pipkin.Weknowyou,weseeyou!Don’tscareoff!Don’t—”Tomwhistled.

Butthedog,yarpingwithPipkin’sowndearsweetscaredvoice,wasgone.

Butdidn’tanechoofhisyipcomebackfromthehills:

“Meet.Meet.Meet.Meeee…”

Where?thoughtTom.Criminently,where?

Samhain,scytheuplifted,gazedallabout,happyathisgames.

Hechuckledamostdeliciouschuckle,spatfieryspittleonhishornyhands,clenchedthescythetighter,swungitup,andfroze….

Forsomewhere,someonewassinging.

Somewherenearthetopofahill,inasmallclumpoftrees,asmallbonfireflickered.

Menlikeshadowsweregatheredthere,liftinguptheirarmsandchanting.

Samhainlistened,hisscythelikeagreatsmileinhisarms.

“OSamhain,GodoftheDead!

Hearus!

WetheHolyDruidPriestsin

ThisGroveofTrees,thegreatOaks,

PleadfortheSoulsoftheDead!”

Faraway,thesestrangemenbytheirbrightfireliftedmetalknives,liftedcatsandgoatsintheirhands,chanting:

“Weprayforthesoulsofthose

WhoareturnedtoBeasts.

OGodoftheDead,wesacrifice

Thesebeasts

Sothatyouwillletfree

Thesoulsofourlovedones

Whodiedthisyear!”

Theknivesflashed.

Samhainsmiledanevengreatersmile.Theanimalsshrieked.

Allaroundtheboysontheearth,thegrass,therocks,thetrappedsouls,lostinspiders,lockedinroaches,putawayinfleasandpillbugsandcentipedes,gapedandyammeredsilentyammersandtwitchedandroiled.

Tomwinced.Hethoughtheheardamillionsmall,ohverymicroscopic,bleatsofpainandreleasefromaroundhimwherethecentipedescapered,spidersdanced.

“Letfree!Letbe!”prayedthedruidsonthehill.

Thefireblazed.

Aseawindroaredoverthemeadows,brushedtherocks,touchedatthespiders,rolledthepillbugs,tumbledtheroaches.Thetinyspiders,insects,theminiaturedogsandcowsfluffedawaylikeamillionsnowflakes.Thetinysoulstrappedininsectbodiesdissolved.

Released,withavastcavernwhisper,theywhistledupthesky.

“ToHeaven!”criedthedruidpriests.“Ofree!Go!”

Theyflew.Theyvanishedintheairwithagreatsighofthanksandmuchgratitude.

Sanhain,GodoftheDead,shrugged,andletthemgo.Then,justassuddenly,

hestiffened.

AsdidthehiddenboysandMr.Moundshroud,crouchedintherocks.

ThroughavalleyandacrossthehillrananarmyofRomansoldiers,atrooponthedouble.Theirleaderranbeforethem,shouting:

“SoldiersofRome!Destroythepagans!Destroytheunholyreligion!Seutoniussoorders!”

“ForSeutonius!”

Samhain,inthesky,raisedhisscythe,toolate!

Thesoldiersslammedswordsandaxesintothebasesoftheholydruidoaks.

Samhainshriekedinpainasiftheaxeshadchoppedhisknees.Theholytreesgroaned,whistled,and,withafinalchop,thunderedtoearth.

Samhaintrembledinthehighair.

Thedruidpriests,fleeing,stoppedandshuddered.

Treesfell.

Thepriests,choppedattheankles,theknees,fell.Theywereblownoverlikeoaksinahurricane.

“No!”roaredSamhaininthehighair.

“Butyes!”criedtheRomans.“Now!”

Thesoldiersgaveafinalmightyblow.

AndSamhain,GodoftheDead,tornathisroots,choppedathisankles,begantofall.

Theboys,staringup,leapedoutoftheway.Foritwaslikeagiantforestfallingallinonefall.Theywereshadowedbyhismidnightdescent.Thethunderofhisdeathcamebeforehim.Hewasthegreatesttreeinallexistenceever,thetallestoakevertoplummetdownanddie.Downhecamethroughthewildair,screaming,flailingtoholdhimselfup.

Samhainhittheearth.

Hedroppedwitharoarthatshookthebonesofthehillsandsnuffedtheholyfires.

AndwithSamhaincutanddownanddead,thelastofthedruidoaksfellwithhim,likewheatcutwithafinalscythe.Hisownhugescythe,avastsmilelostinthefields,dissolvedintoapuddleofsilverandsankintothegrass.

Silence.Asmolderingoffires.Ablowingofleaves.

Instantlythesunwentdown.

ThedruidpriestsbledinthegrassastheboyswatchedandtheRomancaptainprowledthedeadfireskickingtheholyashes.

“Hereweshallbuildourtemplestoourgods!”

Thesoldierslitnewfiresandburnedincensebeforegoldenidolswhichtheysetinplace.

But,nosoonerlit,thanastarshoneintheeast.Onfardesertsands,tocamelbells,ThreeWiseMenmoved.

TheRomansoldiersliftedtheirbronzeshieldsagainsttheglareoftheStarinthesky.Buttheirshieldsmelted.

TheRomanidolsmeltedandbecameshapesofMaryandherSon.

Thesoldiers’armormelted,dripped,changed.TheyweredressednowinthegarmentsofpriestswhosangLatinbeforeyetneweraltars,evenasMoundshroud,crouched,squinting,weighedthescene,andwhisperedittohissmallmaskedfriends:

“Aye,boys,see?Godsfollowinggods.TheRomanscuttheDruids,theiroaks,theirGodoftheDead,bang!down!Andputintheirowngods,eh?NowtheChristiansrunandcuttheRomansdown!Newaltars,boys,newincense,newnames…”

Thewindblewthealtarcandlesout.

Indarkness,Tomcriedout.Theearthshudderedandspun.Raindrenchedthem.

“What’shappening,Mr.Moundshroud?Wherearewe?”

Moundshroudstruckaflintythumbintofireandhelditup.“Why,blessme,boys.It’stheDarkAges.Thelongestdarkestnightever.Christlongsincecomeandgoneintheworldand—”

“Where’sPipkin?”

“Here!”criedavoicefromtheblacksky.“IthinkI’monabroom!It’stakingme—away!”

“Hey,metoo,”saidRalphandthenJ.J.,andthenHacklesNibley,andWallyBabb,andalltherest.

Therewasahugewhisperlikeagiganticcatstrokingitswhiskersinthedark.

“Brooms,”mutteredMoundshroud.“ThegatheringoftheBrooms.TheOctoberBroomFestival.TheannualMigration.”

“ToWhere?”askedTom,callingup,foreveryonewasmakingtrafficontheairnowinwhiskingshrieks.

“TheBroomWorks,ofcourse!”

“Help!I’mflying!”saidHenry-Hank.

Whisk.Abroomwhistledhimaway.

AgreatbramblycatflashedbyTom’scheek.Hefeltawoodenpolebetweenhislegsjumpup.

“Hangon!”saidMoundshroud.“Whenattackedbyabroom,onlyonethingtodo,holdtight!”

“I’mholding!”criedTom,andflewaway.

Theskywassweptcleanwithbrooms.

Theskywasyelledcleanbyboysoccupyingatleasteightofthosebroomsatonce.

Andwhatwithchangingtheircriesoffeartocriesofdelight,theboysalmostforgottolookorlistenforPipkin,similarlysailedoffamongislandclouds.

“Thisway!”announcedPipkin.

“Asquickaswecan!”saidTomSkelton.“But,Pip,it’sawfulhardtorideabroomstick,Ifind!”

“Funnyyousaythat,”saidHenry-Hank.“Iagree.”

Everyoneagreed,fallingoff,hangingon,climbingback.

Therewasnowsuchahustleofbroomsasleftnoroomforclouds,andnoneformistsandcertainlynoneforfogorboys.Therewasanimmensetrafficjamofbrooms,asifallearthsforestsgaveuptheirbranchesinoneboomandflingand,scouringautumnfields,cutcleanandthrottledtightsuchcerealgrainsasmadegoodsweepers,thrashers,beaters,thenflewup.

Soherecameallthebackyardwashlineprop-polesintheworld.Andherecamewiththem,swatchesofgrass,clumpsofweed,bramblesofbushtoherdthesheep-cloudsandcleansethestarsandridetheboys.

Saidboys,eachonhisownskinnymount,weredelugedwithbeatingsandcuffingsofflailandwood.Theywerepunishedseverelyforoccupyingheaven.Theytookahundredbruiseseach,adozencuts,andpreciselyforty-ninelumpsontheirtenderskulls.

“Hey,Igotabloodynose!”gaspedTom,happily,lookingattheredonhisfingers.

“Shucks!”criedPipkin,goingintoaclouddryandcomingoutwet.“That’snothing.Igotoneeyeshut,oneearbad,andlostatooth!”

“Pipkin!”calledTom.“Don’tkeeptellingustomeetyouandthenwedon’tknowwhere!Where?”

“Intheair!”saidPipkin.

“Cheez,”mutteredHenry-Hank,“there’stwozillion,onehundredbillion,ninety-ninemillionacresofairwrappedaroundtheworld!Whichhalf-acredoesPipmean?”

“Imean—”gaspedPipkin.

Butawholebundleofbroomsticksbangedupinanakimbodancelikeashuttleofcornstalksacrosshisflight,orafarmlandfencesuddenlycomeanticandinfrenzies.

Acloudwithagrandfiendfacegapeditsmouth.ItswallowedPipkin,broomandall,thenshutitsvaporstightandrumbledwithPipkinindigestion.

“Kickyourwayout,Pipkin!Stomphiminthestomach!”someonesuggested.

Butnothingkickedandthecloud,satisfied,sailedonForever’sBaytowardEternity’sDawn,ruminatingoveritsdelicioussweetboy-dinner.

“Meethimintheair?”Tomsnorted.“Goodgrief,talkabouthorribledirectionstonowhere.”

“Seeevenmorehorribledirections!”saidMoundshroud,sailingbyonabroomthatlookedlikeawetandangrycatontheendofamop.“Wouldyouseewitches,boys?Hags,crones,conjurewives,magicians,blackmagics,demons,devils?Theretheybe,inmobs,inriots,boys.Skinyoureyeballs.”

Andtherebelow,allacrossEurope,throughFranceandGermanyandSpain,onthenightroadswereindeedclustersandmobsandparadesofstrangesinnersrunningnorth,scramblingawayfromtheSouthernSea.

“That’sit!Jump,run!Thiswaytothenight.Thiswaytothedark!”Moundshroudswoopedlow,shoutingoverthemobslikeageneralleadingafine,eviltroop.“Quick,hide!Lielow.Waitafewcenturies!”

“Hideoutfromwhat?”wonderedTom.

“HerecometheChristians!”yelledvoicesbelow,ontheroads.

Andthatwastheanswer.

Tomblinkedandsoaredandwatched.

Andfromalltheroadsthemobsrantostandaloneonfarms,oratcrossroads,inharvestfields,intowns.Oldmen.Oldwomen.Toothlessandraving,yellingtotheskyasthebroomssweptdown.

“Why,”saidHenry-Hank,stunned.“Thosearewitches!”

“Dry-cleanmysoulandhangitouttodryifyou’renotright,boy,”agreed

Moundshroud.

“Therearewitchesjumpingfires,”saidJ.J.

“Andwitchesstirringcauldrons!”saidTom.

“Andwitchesdrawingsymbolsinfarmyarddust!”saidRalph.Aretheyreal?Imean,Ialwaysthought—”

“Real?”Moundshroud,insulted,almostfellfromhisbramble-catbroom.“Yelittlegodsandfishes,lad,everytownhasitsresidentwitch.EverytownhidessomeoldGreekpaganpriest,someRomanworshiperoftinygodswhoranuptheroads,hidinculverts,sankincavestoescapetheChristians!Ineverytinyvillage,boy,ineveryscrubbyfarmtheoldreligionshideout.Yousawthedruidscutandchopped,eh?TheyhidfromtheRomans.AndnowtheRomans,whofedChristianstolions,runthemselvestohide.Soallthelittlelollygaggin’cults,allflavorsandtypes,scrambletosurvive.Seehowtheyrun,boys!”

Anditwastrue.

FiresburnedalloverEurope.Ateverycrossroadandbyeveryhaystackdarkformsjumpedincatsacrossflames.Cauldronsbubbled.Oldhagscursed.Dogsfrolickedred-hotcoals.

“Witches,witches,everywhere,”saidTom,amazed.“Ineverknewtheyweresomany!”

“Mobsandmultitudes,Tom.Europewasfloodedtothedikes.Witchesunderfoot,underbed,inthecellarsandhighattics.”

“Boyohboy,”saidHenry-Hank,proudinhisWitchcostume.“Realwitches!Couldtheytalktothedead?”

“No,”saidMoundshroud.

“Jumpupdevils?”

“No.”

“Keepdemonsindoorhingesandsquealthemoutatmidnight?”

“No.”

“Ridebroomsticks?”

“Nope.”

“Putsneezingspellsonpeople?”

“Sorry.”

“Killfolksbystickingpinsindolls?”

“No.”

“Well,heck,whatcouldtheydo?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing!”criedalltheboys,affronted.

“Oh,theythoughttheycould,boys!”

MoundshroudledtheTeamdownontheirbroomsoverthefarmswherewitchesdroppedfrogsincauldronsandstompedtoadsandsnuffedmummydustandcavortedincackles.

“But,stopandthink.Whatdoestheword‘witch’trulymean?”

“Why—”saidTom,andwasstymied.

“Wits,”saidMoundshroud.“Intelligence.That’sallitmeans.Knowledge.Soanyman,orwoman,withhalfabrainandwithinclinationstowardlearninghadhiswitsabouthim,eh?Andso,anyonetoosmart,whodidn’twatchout,wascalled—”

“Awitch!”saideveryone.

“Andsomeofthesmartones,theoneswithwits,pretendedatmagic,ordreamedthemselveswithghostsanddeadshufflersandamblingmummies.Andifenemiesdroppeddeadbycoincidence,theytookcreditforit.Theylikedtobelievetheyhadpower,buttheyhadnone,boys,none,sadandsorry,‘tistrue.Butlisten.Therebeyondthehill.That’swherethebroomscomefrom.That’swheretheygo.”

Theboyslistenedandheard:

“TheBroomworksmakes

TheBroomthatlooms

Onskyingloomandrisingofthemoon

Thatbroomwhich,groomtowitch,flieshigh

Onharvestingsofstormwindgrass

Withshriekandsightomotionit

Inocean-seasofcloud,nowsoft,nowloud…!”

Below,atfull-tilt,awitch-broomfactorywasfilledwithcommotions,polesbeingcut,andboundwithbroom-busheswhich,nosoonertied,tookoffupchimneysinflightsofspark.Onrooftops,hagsleapedontoridethestars.

Orsoitseemed,astheboyswatchedandvoicessang:

“Didwitchesfeelthenightwindintheirbed

Andreelanddancewithdevilsandthedead?

No!

Butthatiswhattheybraggedandclaimedandsaid!

Untilwholecontinents,hellbent

Named‘witches’oftheInnocent,

Anddidconspire

Toburnoldwomen,babes,andvirginsinafire.”

Mobsravedthroughvillagesandfarmswithtorches,cursing.BonfiresflaredfromtheEnglishChanneltotheMediterraneanshore.

“ThroughallofGermanyandFrance,

Tenthousandso-calledevilwitches

Hungtokicktheirfinalanticdance

Novillagebutwhatsharedadreaduproar

Aseachsidenamedtheotherforadevil’spig,

OldSatan’ssow,theDemon’smaddenedboar.”

Wildpigs,withwitchesgluedtotheirbacks,trottedrooftiles,flintingsparks,snortingsteams:

“AllEuropewasacloudofwitches’smoke.

Theirjudgesoftenboundandburntwiththem

Forwhat?Ajoke!

“Until:‘allmenarespoiledwithguilt!

Allsin,alllie!’

So,whattodo?

Why,everyonemustdie!”

Smokechurnedthesky.Ateverycrossroads,witcheshung,crowsgatheredinafeathereddarkness.

Theboyshungfromtheirbroomsinthesky,eyespopped,mouthswide.

“Anyonewanttobeawitch?”askedMoundshroud,atlast.

“Er,”saidHenry-Hank,shiveringinhiswitch’srags,“n-notme!”

“Nofun,eh,boy?”

“Nofun.”

Thebroomsflewthemoffthroughcharsandsmokes.

Theylandedonanemptystreet,inanopenplace,inParis.

Theirbroomsfellover,dead.

“Well,now,boys,whatshouldwedotoscarethescarers,frightenthefrighteners,shivertheshiverers?”calledMoundshroudinsideacloud.“What’sbiggerthandemonsandwitches?”

“Biggergods?”

“Biggerwitches?”

“Biggerchurches?”guessedTomSkelton.

“Blessyou,Tom,right!Anideagetsbig,yes?Areligiongetsbig!How.Withbuildingslargeenoughtocastshadowsacrossanentireland.Buildbuildingsyoucanseeforahundredmiles.Buildonesotallandfamousithasahunchbackinit,ringingbells.Sonow,boys,helpmebuilditbrickbybrick,flyingbuttressbyflyingbuttress.Let’sbuild—”

“NotreDame!”shoutedeightboys.

“AndallthemorereasontobuildNotreDamebecause—”saidMoundshroud.“Listen—”

Bong!

Abelltolledinthesky.

Bong!

“…help…!”whisperedavoicewhenthesoundhaddied.

Bong!

Theboyslookedandsawakindofscaffoldingrearedupinhalfabelfry-keepuponthemoon.Attheverytophungahugebronzebellthatwastollingnow.

Andfrominsidethatbellwitheverycrashandbangandgongthissmallvoiceshouted:

“Help!”

TheboyslookedatMoundshroud.

Theireyesblazedaquestion:

Pipkin?

Meetmeintheair!thoughtTom.Andthereheis!

There,hungupsidedownoverParis,hisheadforaknocker,wasPipkininabell.Ortheshadow,ghost,orlostspiritofPipkin,anyway.

Whichistosaytherewasabellandwhenitsoundedthehour,whythatsoundwasmadebyaflesh-and-bloodclapperwhichknockedtherim.Pipkin’sheadbangedthebell.Bong!Andagain:Bong!

“Knockhisbrainsout,”gaspedHenry-Hank.

“Help!”calledPipkin,ashadowinthebell,aghostchainedupsidedowntostrikethequartersandthehours.

“Fly!”criedtheboystotheirbrooms,buttheirbroomslaydeadontheParisstones.

“Nolifeinthem,”mournedMoundshroud.“Juice,sap,andfireallgone.Well,now.”Herubbedhischintosparks.“HowdowegetuptohelpPipkin,withnobrooms?”

“Youfly,Mr.Moundshroud.”

“Ah,no,that’snottheticket.Youmustsavehim,alwaysandforever,againandagain,thisnight,untilonegrandsalvation.Wait.Ah!Inspiration.WeweregoingtobuildNotreDame,correct?Wellthen,letusbyallmeansbuildit,there!andclimbourwayuptohard-skulledknock-the-bellsound-the-hourPipkin!Hopit,lads!Climbthosestairs!”

“Whatstairs?”

“These!Here!Here!Andhere!”

Bricksfellinplace.Theboysleaped.Andastheyputafootup,out,anddown,astaircameunderit,onestoneatatime.

Bong!saidthebell.

Help!saidPipkin.

Feetgallopingemptyaircamedowntotap,rustle,clompon—

Astep.Anotherstep.

Andyetanotherandanotherclimbingemptyspace.

Help!saidPipkin.

Bong!againwentthehollowbell.

Sotheyranonemptiness,withMoundshroudprodding,shovingafter.Theyranonpurewindylightonlytohavebricksandstonesandmortarshufflelikecards,dealthemselvessolid,takeformbeneaththeirtoesandheels.

Itwaslikeracingupthroughacakethatbuiltitselflayeronstonelayer,andthewildbellandsadPipkinshoutingandpleadingthemon.

“Ourshadow,thereitis!”saidTom.

Andindeedtheshadowofthiscathedral,thissplendidNotreDame,wastossedbymoonlightallacrossFranceandhalfofEurope.

“Up,boys,up;nopause,norest,run!”

Bong!

Help!

Theyran.Theybegantofallwitheachstep,butagainandagainandagainstepscameinplaceandsavedthemandranthemtallersotheshadowofthespiresloomedtallacrossriversandfieldstosnuffthelastwitchfiresatcrossroads.Crones,hags,wisemen,demonlovers,athousandmilesoff,snuffedlikecandles,whiffedtosmoke,wailedandsanktohideasthechurchleaned,tiltedacrosstheheavens.

“SoevenastheRomanscutdowndruidtreesandchoppedtheirGodoftheDeadtofall,wenowwiththischurch,boys,castsuchashadowasknocksallwitchesofftheirstilts,andputsseedysorcerersandtritemagicianstoheel.Nomoresmallwitchfires.Onlythisgreatlitcandle,NotreDame.Presto!”

Theboyslaughedwithdelight.

Forthelaststepfellinplace.

Theyhadreachedthetop,gasping.

NotreDamecathedralwasfinishedandbuilt.

Bong!

Thelastsofthourwasstruck.

Thegreatbronzebellshuddered.

Andhungempty.

Theboysleanedtopeerintoitscavernousmouth.

TherewasnoclapperinsideshapedlikePipkin.

“Pipkin?”theywhispered.

“…kin,”echoedthebellinasmallecho.

“He’sheresomewhere.Upthereintheair,meethim’swhathepromised.AndPipkinfallsbackonnopromises”saidMoundshroud.“Lookabout,boys.Finehandiwork,eh?Centuriesoftoildoneinafastgallopandsneeze,right?But,ah,ah,somethingbesidePipkin’smissing.What?Glanceup.Scanround.Eh?”

Theboyspeered.Theypuzzled.

“Er—”

“Don’ttheplacelookawfulplain,boys?Awfuluntouchedandunornamented?”

“Gargoyles!”

Everyoneturnedtolookat…

WallyBabb,whowasdressedasaGargoyleforHalloween.Hisfacefairlybeamedwithrevelation.

“Gargoyles.Theplace’sgotnogargoyles.”

“Gargoyles.”Moundshroudutteredandululatedandbeautifullyribbonedthewordwithhislizardlytongue.“Gargoyles.Shallweputthemon,boys?”

“How?”

“WhyIshouldthinkwecouldwhistletheminplace.Whistlefordemons,boys,whistleforfiends,giveahightootlingblowforbeastiesandferociousfangedloomersofthedark.”

WallyBabbsuckedinagreatbreath.“Here’smine!”

Hewhistled.

Allwhistled.

Andthegargoyles?

Theycamerunning.

TheunemployedofallmidnightEuropeshiveredintheirstonesleepandcameawake.

Whichistosaythatalltheoldbeasts,alltheoldtales,alltheoldnightmares,alltheoldunuseddemons-put-by,andwitchesleftinthelurch,quakedatthecall,rearedatthewhistle,trembledatthesummons,andindustdevilsofpropulsionskimmeddowntheroads,flittedskies,buckshotthroughshakentrees,fordedstreams,swamrivers,piercedclouds,andarrived,arrived.

WhichisstilltosaythatallthedeadstatuesandidolsandsemigodsanddemigodsofEuropelyinglikeadreadfulsnowallabout,abandoned,inruins,gaveablinkandstartandcameassalamandersontheroad,orbatsinskiesordingoesinthebrush.Theyflew,theygalloped,theyskittered.

Tothegeneralexcitementandamazementandmuchbabblingshoutfromthefringeofboysleaningout,Moundshroudleaningwiththemasthemobsofstrangebeastscamefromnorth,south,east,westtopanicatthegatesandwaitforwhistles.

“Shallwedropwhite-hotboilingleaddownonthem?”

TheboyssawMoundshroud’ssmile.

“Heck,no,”saidTom.“Hunchbackalreadydidthatyearsago!”

“Well,then,noburninglava.Soshallwewhistlethemup?”

Theyallwhistled.

Andobedienttosummons,themobs,theflocks,theprides,thecrush,thecollection,theravingfluxofmonsters,beasts,vicesrampant,virtuesgonesour,discardedsaints,misguidedprides,hollowpompsoozed,slid,suckered,pelted,ranboldandrightupthesidesofNotreDame.Inafloodtideofnightmare,inatidalwaveofoutcryandshambletheyinundatedthecathedral,tocrustthemselvesoneverypinionandupthruststone.

SohereranpigsandthereclimbedSatan’sgoatsandyetanotherwallknewdevilswhichrecarvedthemselvesalongtheway,droppedhornsandgrewnewones,shavedbeardstosprouttendrilearthwormmustaches.

Sometimesaswarmofonlymasksandfacesscuttledupthewallsandtookthebuttressheights,carriedbyanarmyofcrayfishandwobbly-crotchetylobsters.Herecametheheadsofgorillas,fullofsinandteeth.Therecamemen’sheadswithsausagesintheirmouths.BeyonddancedthemaskofaFoolupheldbyaspiderthatknewballet.

SomuchwasgoingonthatTomsaid:“Mygosh,somuchisgoingon!”

“Andmoretocome,there!”saidMoundshroud.

FornowthatNotreDamewasinfestedwithvariousbeastsandspideringleersandglomsandmasks,whyherecamedragonschasingchildrenandwhalesswallowingJonahsandchariotschockfulofskulls-and-bones.Acrobatsandtumblers,yankedoutofshapebydemidemons,limpedandfellinstrangeposturestofreezeontheroof.

Allaccompaniedbypigswithharpsandsowswithpiccolosanddogsplayingbagpipes,sothemusicitselfhelpedcharmandpullnewmobsofgrotesquesupthewallstobetrappedandcaughtforeverinsocketsofstone.

Hereanapepluckedalyre;thereflounderedawomanwithafish’stail.Nowasphinxflewoutofthenight,sheditswingsandbecamewomanandlion,halfandhalf,settledtosnoozeawaythecenturiesintheshadowandsoundofhighbells.

“Why,whatarethose?”criedTom.

Moundshroud,leaningover,gaveasnort:“WhythoseareSins,boys!Andnondescripts.TherecrawlstheWormofConscience!”

Theylookedtoseeitcrawl.Itcrawledveryfine.

“Now,”whisperedMoundshroudsoftly.“Settle.Slumber.Sleep.”

Andtheflocksofstrangecreaturesturnedaboutthreetimeslikeevildogsandlaydown.Allbeaststookroot.Allgrimacesfrozetostone.Allcriesfaded.

ThemoonshadowedandlitthegargoylesofNotreDame.

“Doesitmakesense,Tom?”

“Sure.Alltheoldgods,alltheolddreams,alltheoldnightmares,alltheoldideaswithnothingtodo,outofwork,wegavethemwork.Wecalledthemhere!”

“Andheretheywillremainforcenturies,right?”

“Right!”

Theylookeddownovertherim.

Therewasamobofbeastsontheeastbattlement.

Acrowdofsinsonthewest.

Asurgeofnightmaresonthesouth.

Andafinescuttleofunnamedvicesandill-keptvirtuestothenorth.

“I,”saidTom,proudofthisnight’swork,“wouldn’tmindlivinghere.”

Thewindcroonedinthemouthsofthebeasts.Theirfangshissedandwhistled:“Muchthanks.”

“Jehosophat,”saidTomSkelton,ontheparapet.“Wewhistledallthestonegriffinsanddemonshere.NowPipkin’slostagain.Iwasthinking,whycan’twewhistlehim?”

Moundshroudlaughedsohiscapeboomedonthenightwindandhisdrybonesjangledinsidehisskin.

“Boys!Lookaround!He’sstillhere!”

“Where?”

“Here,”mournedasmallfarawayvoice.

Theboyscrickledtheirspineslookingovertheparapet,crackedtheirnecksstaringup.

“Lookandfind,lads,hideandseek!”

Andeveninseekingtheycouldnothelpbutenjoyoncemoretheturbulentslatesofthecathedralallfringedwithhorrorsanddeliciouslyuglywithtrappedbeasts.

WherewasPipkinamongallthosedarkseacreatureswithgillsgapedopenlikemouthsforaneternalgaspandsigh?Whereamongallthoselovelychiselednightmarescutfromthegallstonesofnight-lurksandmonsters

crackedoutofoldearthquakes,vomitedupfrommadvolcanoeswhichcooledthemselvestofrightsanddeliriums?

“Here,”wailedafar,small,familiarvoiceagain.

Andwaydownonaledge,halfwaytotheearth,theboys,squinting,thoughttheysawonesmallroundbeautifulangel-devilfacewithafamiliareye,afamiliarnose,afriendlyandfamiliarmouth.

“Pipkin!”

Shouting,theyrandownstairwaysalongdarkcorridorsuntiltheyreachedaledge.Faroutthereonthewindyair,aboveaverynarrowwalkwayindeed,wasthatsmallface,lovelyamongsomuchugliness.

Tomwentfirst,notlookingdown,spreadeaglinghimself.Ralphfollowed.Therestinchedalonginaline.

“Watchout,Tom,don’tfall!”

“I’mnotfallin’.Here’sPip.”

Andtherehewas.

Standinginalinedirectlyundertheoutthruststonemask,thebust,theheadofagargoyle,theylookedupatthatmightyfineprofile,thatgreatnubnose,thatunbeardedcheek,thatfuzzycapofmarbledhair.

Pipkin.

“Pip,forcri-yi,whatyoudoin’here?”calledTom.

Pipsaidnothing.

Hismouthwascutstone.

“Awit’sjustrock,”saidRalph.“Justagargoylecarvedherealongtimeago,lookslikePipkin.”

“No,Iheardhimcall!”

“But,how—”

Andthenthewindgavethemtheanswer.

ItblewaroundthehighcornersofNotreDame.Itflutedintheearsandpipedoutthegapingmouthsofthegargoyles.

“Ahhh—”whisperedPipkin’svoice.

Thehairstooduponthebacksoftheirnecks.

“Ooooo,”murmuredthestonemouth.

“Listen.Thereitis!”saidRalphexcitedly.

“Shutup!”criedTom.“Pip?Nexttimethewindblows,tellus,howdowehelp?Whatgotyouhere?Howdowegetyoudown?”

Silence.Theboysclungtotherock-clifffaceofthegreatcathedral.

Thenanotherswoopofwindsuckedby,drewtheirbreaths,andwhistledinthecarvedstoneboy’steeth.

“One—”saidPip’svoice.

“—question,”whisperedPip’svoiceagainafterapause.

Silence.Morewind.

“Ata—”

Theboyswaited.

“—time.”

“Onequestionatatime!”translatedTom.

Theboyshootedwithlaughter.ThatwasPipallright.

“Okay”Tomgatheredhisspit.“Whatareyoudoinguphere?”

Thewindblewsadlyandthevoicespokeasfromdeepinanoldwell:

“Been—somany—places—injust—afew—hours.”

Theboyswaited,grindingtheirteeth.

“Speakup,Pipkin!”

Thewindcamebacktomournintheopenstonemouth:

Butthewindhaddied.

Itbegantorain.

Andthiswasbestofall.FortheraindropsrancoldinPipkin’sstoneearsandoutalonghisnoseandfountainedfromhismarblemouthsothathebegantouttersyllablesinliquidtongues,withclearcoldrainwaterwords:

“Hey—thisisbetter!”

Hespoutedmist,hesprayedquickrain:

“Youshould’vebeenwhereIbeen!Gosh!Iwasburiedforamummy!Iwastrappedinadog!”

“Weguessedthatwasyou,Pipkin!”

“Andnowhere,”saidtherainintheear,theraininthenose,theraininthe

clear-drippingmarblemouth.“Gosh,golly,funny,strange,insidethisrockwithallthesedevilsanddemonsforpals!And,tenminutesfromnow,whoknowswhereI’llbe?higherup?orburieddeep!”

“Where,Pipkin?”

Theboysjostled.Therainsqualledandbeatthemsotheyalmosttiltedandfellofftheledge.

“Areyoudead,Pipkin?”

“No,notyet,”saidthecoldraininhismouth.“Partofmeinahospitalalongwayoffhome,partofmeinthatoldEgyptiantomb.PartofmeinthegrassinEngland.Partofmehere.Partofmeinaworseplace—”

“Where?”

“Idon’tknow,Idon’t,ohgosh,oneminuteI’myellinglaughs,thenextI’mscared.Now,justnow,thisveryminute,Iguess,Iknow,I’mscared.Helpme,guys.Help,ohplease!”

Rainpouredouthiseyesliketears.

TheboysreacheduptotouchPipkin’schin,asbesttheycould.Butbeforetheycouldtouch…

Alightningboltstruckoutofthesky.

Itflashedblueandwhite.

Theentirecathedralshook.Theboyshadtograbdemons’hornsandangels’wingsoneithersidesoasnottobeknockedoff.

Thunderandsmoke.Andagreatscatteringofrockandstone.

Pipkin’sfacewasgone.Knockedoffbythelightningbolt,itfelldownthroughspacetoshatterthegroundbelow.

“Pipkin!”

Buttherebelowonthecathedralporchstoneswereonlyflintyfiresparksblowingaway,andafinegargoyledust.Nose,chin,stonelip,hardcheek,brighteye,carvedfineear,all,allwhippedawayonthewindinchaffandshrapneldust.Theysawsomethinglikeaspiritsmoke,abloomofgunpowderblowdriftingsouthandwest.

“Mexico—”Moundshroud,oneofthefewmeninalltheworldwhoknewhowtoutter,utteredtheword.

“Mexico?”askedTom.

“Thelastgrandtravelofthisnight,”saidMoundshroud,stilluttering,

savoringthesyllables.“Whistle,boys,screamliketigers,crylikepanthers,shrieklikecarnivores!”

“Scream,cry,shriek?”

“ReassembletheKite,lads,theKiteofAutumn.Pastebackthefangsandfieryeyesandbloodytalons.Yellthewindtosewitalltogetherandrideushighandlongandlast.Bray,boys,whimper,trumpet,shout!”

Theboyshesitated.Moundshroudranalongtheledgelikesomeoneracketingapicketfence.Heknockedeachboywithhiskneeandelbow.Theboysfell,andfallinggaveeachhisparticularwhimper,shriek,orscream.

Plummetingdownthroughcoldspace,theyfeltthetailofamurderouspeacockflourishbeneath,allblood-filledeye.Tenthousandburningeyescameup.

Hoveredsuddenlyroundawindycornerofgargoyles,theAutumnKite,freshlyassembled,broketheirfall.

Theygrabbed,theyheldtorim,toedge,tocross-struts,totrapdrumrattlingpapers,tobitsandtattersandshredsofoldmeat-breathlion-mouth,andstale-bloodtiger’smaw.

Moundshroudleapeduptograb.Thistimehewasthetail.

TheAutumnKitehovered,waiting,eightboysuponitsbillowingsurfofteethandeyes.

Moundshroudtunedhisear.

Hundredsofmilesaway,beggarsrandownIrishroads,starving,askingforfoodfromdoortodoor.Theircriesroseinthenight.

FredFryer,inhisbeggar’scostume,heard.

“Thatway!Let’sflythere!”

“No.Notime.Listen!”

Thousandsofmilesaway,therewasafainttap-hammeringofdeathwatchbeetlestickingthenight.

“ThecoffinmakersofMexico.”Moundshroudsmiled.“Inthestreetswiththeirlongboxesandnailsandlittlehammers,tapping,tapping.”

“Pipkin?”whisperedtheboys.

“Wehear,”saidMoundshroud.“And,toMexico,wego.”

TheAutumnKiteboomedthemawayonaone-thousand-foottidalwaveofwind.

Thegargoyles,flutingintheirstonenostrils,gapingtheirmarblelips,usedthatsamewindtowailthemfarewell.

TheyhungaboveMexico.

TheyhungaboveanislandinthatlakeinMexico.

Theyhearddogsbarkinginthenightfarbelow.Theysawafewboatsonthemoonlitlakemovinglikewaterinsects.Theyheardaguitarplayingandamansinginginahighsadvoice.

Alongwayoffacrossthedarkbordersofland,intheUnitedStates,packsofchildren,mobsofdogsranlaughing,barking,knocking,fromdoortodoor,theirhandsfullofsweetbagsoftreasure,wildwithjoyonHalloweennight.

“But,here—”whisperedTom.

“Herewhat?”askedMoundshroud,hoveringathiselbow.

“Oh,whyhere—”

“AnddownthroughallofSouthAmerica—”

“Yes,South.HereandSouth.Allthecemeteries.Allthegraveyardsare—”

—fullofcandlelight,Tomthought.Athousandcandlesinthiscemetery,ahundredcandlesinthatgraveyard,tenthousandsmallflickeringlightsfartheronahundredmiles,fivethousandmilesdowntotheverytipofArgentina.

“Isthatthewaytheycelebrate—”

“ElDiadelosMuertos.How’syourgradeschoolSpanish,Tom?”

“TheDayoftheDeadOnes?”

“Caramba,si!Kite,disassemble!”

Swoopingdown,theKiteflewapartforafinaltime.

Theboystumbledonthestonyshoreofthequietlake.

Mistshungoverthewaters.

Faracrossthelaketheycouldseeanunlittombyard.Therewere,asyet,nocandlesburninginit.

Outofthemists,adugoutcanoemovedsilentlywithoutoars,asifthetidetoucheditacrossthewaters.

Atallfigureinagraywindingsheetstoodmotionlessinoneendoftheboat.

Theboatnudgedthegrassyshoresoftly.

Theboysgasped.For,asfarastheycouldtell,onlydarknesswascuppedinsidethehoodoftheshroudedfigure.

“Mr.—Mr.Moundshroud?”

Theyknewithadtobehim.

Buthesaidnothing.Onlythefaintestfireflyofagrinflickeredwithinthecowl.Abonyhandgestured.

Theboystumbledintotheboat.

“Sh!”whisperedavoicefromtheemptyhood.

Thefiguregesturedagainand,touchedbywind,theyblewacrossthedarkwatersunderanightskyfilledwiththebillionnever-before-seenfiresofthestars.

Faroffonthatdarkisland,therewasaprickleofguitarsound.

Asinglecandlewaslitinthegraveyard.

Somewheresomeoneblewamusicalsoundonaflute.

Anothercandlewaslitamongthetombstones.

Someonesangasinglewordofasong.

Athirdcandlewastouchedtolifebyaflamingmatch.

Andthefastertheboatmoved,themoreguitarnotessoundedandthemorecandleswerelithighamongthemoundsonthestonyhills.Adozen,ahundred,athousandcandlesflareduntilitlookedasifthegreatAndromedastarclusterhadfallenoutoftheskyandtilteditselftoresthereinthemiddleofalmost-midnightMexico.

Theboatstrucktheshore.Theboys,surprised,fellout.Theyspunabout,butMoundshroudwasgone.Onlyhiswindingsheetlayemptyintheboat.

Aguitarcalledtothem.Avoicesangtothem.

Aroadlikeariverofwhitestonesandwhiterocksledupthroughthetownthatwaslikeagraveyard,tothegraveyardthatwaslike—atown!

Fortherewerenopeopleinthetown.

Theboysreachedthelowwallofthegraveyardandthenthehugelaceworkirongates.Theytookholdoftheironrungsandstaredin.

“Why,”gaspedTom.“Inevereverseenthelike!”

Fornowtheyknewwhythetownwasempty.

Becausethegraveyardwasfull.

Byeverygravewasawomankneelingtoplacegardeniasorazaleasormarigoldsinaframeuponthestone.

Byeverygravekneltadaughterwhowaslightinganewcandleorlightingacandlethathadjustblownout.

Byeverygravewasaquietboywithbrightbrowneyes,andinonehandasmallpapier-mâchéfuneralparadegluedtoashingle,andintheotherhandapapier-mâchéskeletonheadwhichrattledwithriceornutsinside.

“Look,”whisperedTom.

Therewerehundredsofgraves.Therewerehundredsofwomen.Therewerehundredsofdaughters.Therewerehundredsofsons.Andhundredsuponhundredsuponthousandsofcandles.ThewholegraveyardwasoneswarmofcandleshineasifapopulationoffireflieshadheardofaGrandConglomerationandhadflownheretosettleinandflameuponthestonesandlightthebrownfacesandthedarkeyesandtheblackhair.

“Boy,”saidTom,halftohimself,“athomewenevergotothegraveyard,exceptmaybeMemorialDay,onceayear,andthenathighnoon,fullsun,nofun.Thisnow,thisis—fun!”

“Sure!”whisper-yelledeveryone.

“MexicanHalloweensarebetterthanours!”

Foroneverygravewereplatesofcookiesshapedlikefuneralpriestsorskeletonsorghosts,waitingtobenibbledby—livingpeople?orbyghoststhatmightcomealongtowarddawn,hungryandforlorn?Nooneknew.Noonesaid.

Andeachboyinsidethegraveyard,nexttohissisterandmother,putdowntheminiaturefuneralonthegrave.Andtheycouldseethetinycandypersoninsidethetinywoodencoffinplacedbeforeatinyaltarwithtinycandles.Andaroundthetinycoffinstoodtinyaltarboyswithpeanutsforheadsandeyespaintedonthepeanutshells.Andbeforethealtarstoodapriestwithacornnutforaheadandawalnutforastomach.Andonthealtarwasaphotographofthepersoninthecoffin,arealpersononce;rememberednow.

“Better,andstillbetter,”whisperedRalph.

“Cuevos!”sangafarvoiceupthehill.

Insidethegraveyard,voicesechoedthesong.

Leaningagainstthegraveyardwalls,somewithguitarsintheirhandsorbottles,werethemenofthevillage.

“CuevosdelosMuertos—”sangthefarawayvoice.

“CuevosdelosMuertos”sangthemenintheshadowsinsidethegate.

“Skulls,”translatedTom.“Theskullsofthedead.”

“Skulls,sweetsugarskulls,sweetcandyskulls,theskullsofthedeadones,”sangthevoice,comingclosenow.

Anddownthehill,treadingsoftlyinshadow,cameahunch-backedVendorofSkulls.

“No,nothunched—”saidTom,halfaloud.

“Awholeloadofskullsonhisback,”criedRalph.

“Sweetskulls,sweetwhitecrystalsugarcandyskulls,”sangtheVendor,hisfacehiddenunderavastsombrero.ButitwasMoundshroud’svoicethatsweetlypiped.

Andcarriedfromalongbamboooverhisshoulderhungonblackthreadsweredozensandscoresofsugarskullsasbigastheirownheads.Andeachskullwasinscribed.

“Names!Names!”sangtheoldVendor.“Tellmeyourname,Igiveyouyourskull!”

“Tom,”saidTom.

Theoldmanpluckedforthaskull.Onit,inhugeletterswaswritten:TOM.

Tomtookandheldhisownname,hisownsweetedibleskull,inhisfingers.

“Ralph.”

AndaskullwiththenameRALPHwrittenonitwastossedforth.Ralphcaughtit,laughing.

Inaswiftgame,thebonyhandplucked,tossedwhiteskullafterskull,sweetlyonthecoolair:HENRY-HANK!FRED!GEORGE!HACKLES!J.J.!WALLY!

Theboys,bombarded,squealedanddancedabout,peltedwiththeirownskullsandtheirownproudnamessugarencrusteduponeachwhitebrowofthoseskulls.Theycaughtandalmostdroppedthissplendidbombardment.

Theystood,mouthswideopen,staringatthesugarydeath-sweetsintheirgummyhands.

Andfromwithinthegraveyard,way-highmale-sopranovoicessang:

“Roberto…Maria…Conchita…Tomás.

Calavera,Calavera,sweetcandybonestoeat!

Yournameonthesnowwhitesweetskull

Youhurrydownthestreet.

Youbuyfromthepiledhighwhite

Hillsinthesquare.Buyandeat!

Chewyourname!Whatatreat!”

Theboysliftedthesweetskullsintheirfingers.

“BitetheTandtheOandtheM.Tom!

ChewtheH,SwallowA,DigestN,ChokeonK.

Hank!”

Theirmouthswatered.ButwasitPoisontheyheld?

“Wouldyouguess?Suchhappiness,suchjoy

Aseachboydinesondarkness,makesamealofthenight?

Whatdelight!Snapabite!

Goahead!Munchthatfinecandyhead!”

Theboystappedthesweetcandynamestotheirlipsandwereabouttobitewhen—

“Olé!”

AmobofMexicanboysranupyellingtheirnames,seizingatskulls.

“Tomás!”

AndTomsawTomásrunoffwithhisnamedskull.

“Hey”saidTom.“Hesortalookedlike—me!”

“Didhe?”saidtheVendorofSkulls.

“Enrique!”shoutedasmallIndianboyseizingHenry-Hanksskull.

Enriquepelteddownthehill.

“Helookedlikeme!”saidHenry-Hank.

“Hedid,”saidMoundshroud.“Quick,boys,seewhatthey’reupto.Holdontoyoursweetcraniumsandget!”

Theboysjumped.

Foratthatverymomentanexplosionhitthestreetsbelow,inthetown.Thenanotherexplosionandanother.Fireworks.

Theboystookalastlookinattheflowers,thegraves,cookies,foods,skullsupongraves,miniaturefuneralswithminiaturebodiesandcoffins,atcandles,crouchedwomen,lonelyboys,girls,men,thenwhirledandexplodeddownthehilltowardthefirecrackers.

IntotheplazaTomandRalphandalltheothercostumedboysracedpanting.Theyjoltedtoahaltanddancedaboutasathousandminiaturefirecrackersbangedaroundtheirshoes.Thelightswereon.Suddenlytheshopswereopen.

AndTomásandJoséJuanandEnriquewerelightingandtossingthefirecrackerswithyells.

“Hey,Tom,fromme,Tomás!”

Tomsawhisowneyesglintingfromthewildboy’sface.

“Hey,Henry,thisfromEnrique!Bang!

“J.J.,this—Bang!FromJoséJuan!”

“Oh,thisisthebestHalloweenofall!”saidTom.

Anditwas.

Forneverinalltheirwildtravelshadsomuchhappenedtobeseen,smelled,touched.

Ineveryalleyanddoorandwindowweremoundsofsugarskullswithbeautifulnames.

Fromeveryalleycamethetap-tapofdeath-watch-beetlecoffinmakersnailing,hammering,tappingcoffinlidslikewoodendrumsinthenight.

OneverycornerwerestacksofnewspaperswithpicturesoftheMayorandhisbodypaintedinlikeaskeleton,orthePresidentandhisbodyallbones,ortheloveliestmaidendressedlikeaxylophoneandDeathplayingatuneonhermusicalribs.

“Calavera,Calavera,Calavera—”thesongdrifteddownthehill.“Seethepoliticiansburiedinthenews,RESTINPEACEbeneaththeirnames.Suchisfame!

“Seetheskeletonsjuggling,standinghigh

Oneachother’sshoulders!

Preachingsermons,wrestling,playingsoccer!

Littlerunners,littlejumpers,

Littleskeletonsthatleapaboutandfall

Didyoueverdreamthatdeathcouldbe

Whittleddownsoverysmall?”

Andthesongwastrue.Wherevertheboyslookedweretheminiatureacrobats,trapezeperformers,basketballplayers,priests,jugglers,tumblers,butallwereskeletonshandtohand,bonyshouldertoshoulder,andallsmallenoughforyoutocarryinyourfingers.

Andoverthereinawindowwasawholemicroscopicjazzbandwithaskeletontrumpeterandaskeletondrummerandaskeletonplayingatubanobiggerthanasoupspoonandaskeletonconductorwithabrightcaponhisheadandabatoninhishand,andtinymusicpouringoutofthetinyhorns.

Neverbeforehadtheboysseensomany—bones!”

“Bones!”laughedeveryone.“Oh,lovelybones!”

Thesongbegantofade:

“Holdthedarkholidayinyourpalms,

Biteit,swallowitandsurvive,

ComeoutthefarblacktunnelofElDiadeMuerte

Andbeglad,ahsogladyouare…alive!

Calavera…Calavera…”

Thenewspapers,borderedinblack,blewawayinwhitefuneralsonthewind.

TheMexicanboysranawayupthehilltotheirfamilies.

“Oh,strangefunnystrange,”whisperedTom.

“What?”saidRalphathiselbow.

“UpinIllinois,we’veforgottenwhatit’sallabout.Imeanthedead,upinourtown,tonight,heck,they’reforgotten.Nobodyremembers.Nobodycares.Nobodygoestositandtalktothem.Boy,that’slonely.That’sreallysad.Buthere—why,shucks.It’sbothhappyandsad.It’sallfirecrackersandskeletontoysdownhereintheplazaandupinthatgraveyardnowarealltheMexicandeadfolkswiththefamiliesvisitingandflowersandcandlesandsingingandcandy.Imeanit’salmostlikeThanksgiving,huh?Andeveryonesetdowntodinner,butonlyhalfthepeopleabletoeat,butthat’snomind,they’rethere.It’slikeholdinghandsataséancewithyourfriends,butsomeofthefriendsgone.Oh,heck,Ralph.”

“Yeah,”saidRalph,noddingbehindhismask.“Heck.”

“Look,oh,look,lookthere,”saidJ.J.

Theboyslooked.

OntopofamoundofwhitesugarskullswasonewiththenamePIPKINonit.

Pipkin’ssweetskull,but—nowhereinalltheexplosionsanddancingbonesandflyingskullswastheresomuchasonedust-speckorwhimperorshadowofPip.

TheyhadgrownsoaccustomedtoPip’sleapingupinfantasticsurprises,onthesidesofNotreDame,orweighteddowningoldsarcophagi,thattheyhadexpectedhim,likeajack-in-the-box,topopfromamoundofsugarskulls,flapsheetsintheirfaces,crydirges.

Butno.Suddenly,noPip.NoPipatall.

AndmaybenoPipeveragain.

Theboysshivered.Acoldwindblewfogupfromthelake.

Alongthedarknightstreet,aroundacorner,cameawomanbearingoverhershoulderstwinscoopsofmoundedcharcoals,burning.Fromtheseheapsofpinkburningcoalsfireflysparksscatteredandblewinthewind.Whereshepassedonbarefeetsheleftatrailoflittlesparkswhichdied.Withoutaword,shuffling,shewentaroundanothercornerintoanalley,gone.

Afterhercameamancarrying,onhishead,lightly,lightly,asmallcoffin.

Itwasaboxmadeofplainwhitewoodnailedshut.Onthesidesandtopoftheboxwerepinnedcheapsilverrosettes,handmadesilkandpaperflowers.

Insidetheboxwas—

Theboysstaredasthefuneralparadeoftwowentby.Two,thoughtTom.Themanandthebox,yes,andthethinginsidethebox.

Theman,hisfacesolemn,balancingthecoffinonthetopofhishead,walkedtallintothenearbychurch.

“Was—”stutteredTom.“WasthatPipagain,insidethatbox?”

“Whatdoyouthink,lad?”askedMoundshroud.

“Idon’tknow,”criedTom.“IonlyknowIhadenough.Thenight’sbeentoolong.Iseentoomuch.Iknoweverything,gosh,everything!”

“Yeah!”saideveryone,clusteringclose,shivering.

“Andwe’vegottogethome,don’twe?WhataboutPipkin,whereishe?Ishealiveordead?Canwesavehim?Ishelost?Arewetoolate?Whatdowe

do?”

“What!”criedeveryone,andthesamequestionsflewandburstfromtheirmouthsandwelledintheireyes.TheyalltookholdofMoundshroudasiftopresstheanswerfromhim,yankitouthiselbows.

“Whatdowedo?”

“TosavePipkin?Onelastthing.Lookupinthistree!”

DanglingfromthetreewereadozenHalloweenpiñatas:devils,ghosts,skulls,witchesthatswayedinthewind.

“Breakyourpiñata,boys!”

Stickswerethrustintheirhands.

“Strike!”

Yelling,theystruck.Thepiñatasexploded.

AndfromtheSkeletonpiñataathousandsmallskeletonleavesfellinashower.TheyswarmedonTom.Thewindblewskeletons,leaves,andTomaway.

AndfromtheMummypiñatafellhundredsoffrailEgyptianmummieswhichrushedawayintothesky,Ralphwiththem.

Andsoeachboystruck,andcrackedandletdownsmallvinegar-gnatdancingimagesofhimselfsothatdevils,witches,ghostsshriekedandseizedandalltheboysandleaveswenttumblingthroughthesky,withMoundshroudlaughingafter.

Theyricochetedinthefinalalleysofthetown.Theybangedandskippedlikestonesacrossthelakewaters—

—tolandrollinginajumbleofkneesandelbowsonayetfartherhill.Theysatup.

Theyfoundthemselvesinthemiddleofanabandonedgraveyardwithnopeople,nolights.Onlystoneslikeimmenseweddingcakes,frostedwitholdmoonlight.

Andastheywatched,Moundshroud,landinglightonhisfeetinaswiftquietmotion,bent.Hereachedforanironrungintheearth.Hepulled.Withashriekofhinges,atrapdoorintheearthgapedwide.

Theboyscametostandattheedgeofthebighole.

“Cat—”stutteredTom.“Catacombs?”

“Catacombs.”Moundshroudpointed.

Stairsleddownintoadrydustearth.

Theboysswallowedhard.

“IsPipdownthere?”

“Gobringhimup,boys.”

“Ishealonedownthere?”

“No.Thingsarewithhim.Things.”

“Whogoesfirst?”

“Notme!”

Silence.

“Me”saidTom,atlast.

Heputhisfootonthefirststepdown.Hesankintotheearth.Hetookanotherstep.Then,suddenly,hewasgone.

Theothersfollowed.

Theywentdownthestepsinsinglefileandwitheachstepdownthedarkgotdarkerandwitheachstepdownthesilencegrewmoresilentandwitheachstepdownthenightbecamedeepasawellandveryblackindeedandwitheachstepdowntheshadowswaitedandseemedtoleanfromwallsandwitheachstepdownstrangethingsseemedtosmileatthemfromthelongcavewhichwaitedbelow.Batsseemedtobehangingclusteredjustovertheirheads,squeakingsohighyoucouldnothearthem.Onlydogsmighthear,havehysterics,jumpoutoftheirskins,andrunoff.Witheachstepdownthetowngotfartherawayandtheearthandallthenicepeopleoftheearth.Eventhegraveyardaboveseemedfaraway.Theyfeltlonely.Theyfeltsoalonetheywantedtocry.

Foreachstepdownwasabillionmileslostfromlifeandwarmbedsandgoodcandlelightandmothers’voicesandfathers’pipe-smokeandclearinghisvoiceinthenightwhichmadeyoufeelgoodknowinghewastheresomewhereinthedark,aliveandturninginhissleepandabletohitanythingwithhisfistsifithadtobehit.

Eachstepdown,andatlast,atthebottomofthestairs,theypeeredintothelongcave,thelonghall.

Andallthepeoplewerethereandveryquiet.

Theyhadbeenquietforalongtime.

Someofthemhadbeenquietforthirtyyears.

Somehadbeensilentforfortyyears.

Somehadbeencompletelymumforseventyyears.

“Theretheyare,”saidTom.

“Themummies?”someonewhispered.

“Themummies.”

Alonglineofthem,standingagainstthewalls.Fiftymummiesstandingagainsttherightwall.Fiftymummiesstandingagainsttheleftwall.Andfourmummieswaitingatthefarendinthedark.Onehundredandfourdry-as-dustmummiesmorealonethanthey,morelonelythantheymighteverfeelinlife,abandonedhere,leftbelow,farfromdogbarksandfirefliesandthesweetsingingofmenandguitarsinthenight.

“Oh,boy,”saidTom.“Allthosepoorpeople.Iheardofthem.”

“What?”

“Theirfolkscouldn’tpaytherentontheirgraves,sothegravediggerdugupthesepeopleandputthemdownhere.Theearthissodryitmakesmummiesoutofthem.Andlook,seehowthey’redressed.”

Theboyslookedandsawthatsomeoftheancientpeopleweredressedlikefarmersandsomelikepeasantmaidsandsomelikebusinessmeninolddarksuits,andoneevenlikeabullfighterinhisdustysuitoflights.Butinsidetheirsuitstheywereallthinbonesandskinandspiderwebanddustthatshookdownthroughtheirribsifyousneezedandtrembledthem.

“What’sthat?”

“What,what?”

“Ssssst!”

Everyonelistened.

Theypeeredintothelongvault.

Allthemummieslookedbackwithemptyeyes.Allthemummieswaitedwithemptyhands.

Someonewasweepingatthefarendofthelongdarkhall.

“Ahhh—”camethesound.

“Oh—”camethecrying.

“eeee—”andthesmallvoicewept.

“That’s—why,that’sPip.Onlyheardhimcryonce,butthat’shim.Pipkin.

Andhe’strappedthereinthecatacomb.”

Theboysstared.

Andtheysaw,ahundredfeetaway,croucheddowninacorner,trappedatthemostdistantpartofthecatacomb,asmallfigurethat—moved.Theshoulderstwitched.Theheadwasbentandcoveredwithtremblinghands.Andbehindthehands,themouthwailedandwasafraid.

“Pipkin—?”

Thecryingstopped.

“Isthatyou?”whisperedTom.

Alongpause,atrembledinsuckofbreathandthen:

“…yes.”

“Pip,forcry-yi,whatyoudoingthere?”

“Idon’tknow!”

“Comeout?”

“I—Ican’t.I’mafraid!”

“But,Pip,ifyoustaythere—”

Tompaused.

Pip,hethought,ifyoustay,youstayforever.Youstaywithallthesilenceandthelonelyones.Youstandinthelonglineandtouristscomeandlookatyouandbuyticketstolookatyousomemore.You—

“Pip!”saidRalphbehindhismask.“Yougottocomeout.”

“Ican’t.”Pipsobbed.“Theywon’tletme.”

“They?”

Buttheyknewhemeantthelonglineofmummies.Inordertogetouthewouldhavetorunthegauntletbetweenthenightmares,themysteries,thedreadfulones,thediresandthehaunts.

“Theycan’tstopyou,Pip.”

Pipsaid:“Oh,yes,theycan.”

“…can…”saidechoesdeepinthecatacomb.

“I’mafraidtocomeout.”

“Andwe’re—”saidRalph.

Afraidtogoin,thoughteveryone.

“Maybeifwechoseonebraveone—”saidTom,andstopped.

ForPipkinwascryingagain,andthemummieswaitingandthenightsodarkinthelongtombhallthatyouwouldsinkrightthroughthefloorifyousteppedonit,andnevermoveagain.Thefloorwouldseizeyourankleswithbonymarbleandholdyouuntilthefreezingcoldfrozeyouintoadry-duststatueforever.

“Maybeifwewentininamob,allofus—”saidRalph.

Andtheytriedtomove.

Likeabigspiderwithmanylegs,theboystriedtocramthroughthedoor.Twostepsforward,onestepback.Onestepforward,twostepsback.

“Ahhhhh!”weptPipkin.

Atwhichsoundtheyallfelluponthemselves,gibbering,andscrambledyellingtheirdiresandfrightsbacktothedoor.Theyheardanavalancheofheartbeatsbangpainsintheirchests.

“Oh,mygosh,whatwegonnado,himafraidtocome,usafraidtogo,what,what?”wailedTom.

Behindthem,leaningagainstthewall,wasMoundshroud,forgotten.Alittlecandleflameofsmileflickeredandwentoutamonghisteeth.

“Here,boys.Savehimwiththis.”

Moundshroudreachedintohisdarkcloakandbroughtforthafamiliarwhite-sugar-candyskullacrossthebrowofwhichwaswritten:PIPKIN!

“SavePipkin,lads.Strikeabargain.”

“Withwho?”

“Withmeandothersunnamed.Here.Breakthisskullineightdeliciousbits,boys,handthem’round.Pforyou,Tom,andIforyou,Ralph,andhalfoftheotherPforyou,Hank,theotherhalfforyou,J.J.,andsomeoftheKforyou,boy,andsomeforyou,andhere’stheIandthefinalN.Touchthesweetbits,lads.Listen.Here’sthedarkdeal.DoyoutrulywantPipkintolive?”

Suchafuryofprotestburstforthatthis,Moundshroudwasfairdrivenbackbyit.TheboysbarkedlikedogsagainsthissomuchasquestioningtheirneedforPipssurvival.

“There,there,”hecurriedthem,“Iseeyoumeanit.Wellthen,willyoueachgiveoneyearfromtheendofyourlife,boys?”

“What?”saidTom.

“Imeanit,boys,oneyear,onepreciousyearfromthefar-burnedcandle-endofyourlife.WithoneyearapieceyoucanransomdeadPipkin.”

“Ayear!”thewhisper,themurmur,theappallingsumofitranamongthem.Itwashardtograsp.Ayearsofarawaywasnoyearatall.Boysofelevenortwelvecannotguessatmenofseventy.“Ayear?ayear?why,sure,whynot?Yes—”

“Think,boys,think!ThisisnoidlebargainstruckwithNothing.Imeanit.Itistrueandafact.Itisagraveconditionyoumake,andagravebargainyoustrike.

“Oneyear,eachofyoumustpromisetogive.Youwon’tmisstheyearnow,ofcourse,foryouareveryyoung,andIseebytouchingyourmindsyoucannotevenguessthefinalsituation.Onlylater,fiftyyearsfromthisnight,orsixtyyearsfromthisdawn,whenyouarerunninglowontimeanddearlywishanextradayorsooffineweatherandmuchjoy,then’swhenMr.DforDoomorMr.BforBoneswillshowupwithhisbilltobepaid.OrperhapsIwillcome,oldMoundshroudhimself,afriendtolads,andsay‘deliver.’Soayearpromisedmustbeayeargivenover.I’llsaygive;andyoumustgive.

“Whatwillthatmeantoeachofyou?

“Itwillmeanthatthoseofyouwhomighthavelivedtobeseventy-onemustdieatseventy.Someofyouwhomighthavelivedtobeeighty-sixmustcoughupyourghostateighty-five.That’sagreatage.Ayearmoreorlessdoesn’tsoundlikemuch.Whenthetimecomes,boys,youmayregret.But,youwillbeabletosay,thisyearIspentwell,IgaveforPip,ImadealoanoflifeforsweetPipkin,thefairestapplethateveralmostfelltooearlyofftheharvesttree.Someofyouatforty-ninemustcrosslifeoffatforty-eight.Someatfifty-fivemustlaythemdowntoForever’sSleepatfifty-four.Doyoucatchthewholethingintactnow,boys?Doyouaddthefigures?Isthearithmeticplain?Ayear!Whowillbidthreehundredandsixty-fiveentiredaysfromouthisownsoul,togetoldPipkinback?Think,boys.Silence.Then,speak.”

Therewasalongbroodingsilenceofarithmeticstudentsdoinginwardsums.

Andthesumswereveryfastindeed.Therewasnoquestion,thoughtheyknewthatyearsfromnowtheymightdoubtthisdreadfulhaste.Yetwhatelsecouldtheydo?Onlyswimoutfromshoreandsavethedrowningboybeforehesankalasttimeintoafrighteningdust.

“Me,”saidTom.“I’llgiveayear.”

“Andme,”saidRalph.

“I’min,”saidHenry-Hank.

And,“Me!”“Me!”“Me!”saidalltherest.

“Doyouknowwhatyoupledge,boys?YoudolovePipkin,then?”

“Yes,yes!”

“Sobeit,boys.Chewandeat,lads,eatandchew.”

Theypoppedthesweetbitsofcandyskullintheirmouths.

Theychewed.Theyate.

“Swallowdarkness,boys,giveupyouryear.”

Theyswallowedhard,sohardthattheireyesshonebrightandtheirearsbangedandtheirheartsbeat.

Theyfeltsomethinglikeacageofbirdsletoutoftheirchestsandbodiesandflyingoff,invisible.Theysawbutdidnotseetheyearstheygaveasgiftswingoffroundtheworldtosettlesomewhereingoodpaymentforstrangedebts.

Theyheardayell.

“Here!”

Andthen:“I!”

Andthen:“Come!”

Bang,bang,bang,thethreewords,andthreesoundsofshoeshittingstone.

Andalongthehallandbetweentherowsofmummieswhichleanedouttostopbutdidnotstop,betweenthesilentshrieksandscreams,hellbent,rushing,racing,flinginghisfeet,pumpinghiselbows,puffinghischeeks,shuttinghiseyes,snortinghisnostrils,andbangbangbangingthefloorwithhisupanddown,upanddownfeet,came—

Pipkin.

Ohhowheran!!!

“Lookathimcome.Comeon,Pip.”

“Pip,you’rehalfway!”

“Lookathimrace!”saideveryonewithsugarcandyintheirmouths,withthehonorablenameofPipkinlockedintheirsweetteeth,withhissavorintheirjaws,withhisfinenameontheirtongues,Pip,Pip,Pipkin!

“Don’tstopnow,Pip.Don’tlookback!”

“Don’tfalldown!”

“Herehecomes,threequartersoftheway!”

Pipranthegauntlet.Hewasgoodandfineandfastandtrue.Betweenonehundredwaitingmummiesheranwithouttouchinganddidnotlookbackand—wontherace.

“Pip,youdidit!”

“You’resafe!”

ButPipkeptrunning.Notonlythroughthegauntletofdeadonesbutthegauntletofwarmsweatingaliveyellingboys.

Heplowedthenasideandracedupstairs,gone.

“Pip,it’sallright,comeback!”

Theyranupthestairsafter.

“Where’shegoing,Mr.Moundshroud?”

“Well,Ishouldimagine,scaredasheis,”saidMoundshroud,“home.”

“IsPipkin—saved?”

“Let’sgosee,boys.Up!”

Hespunaboutlikeawhirlwind.Hisarms,flungout,cuttheairinslicinggrabsandswoops.Sofasthespunthathemadeavacuum,aself-madestorm.Thiscyclone,thishugeupsuckofair,thenseizedtheboysbyear,nose,elbow,toe.

Likesomanyleavesstrippedfromatreetheyyelledthemselvesintothesky.Moundshroud,raving,sankup.Andthey,ifthatispossible,sankandplummetedafter.Theyhitthecloudslikeanexplosionofgunshot.TheyfollowedMoundshroudlikeaflockofnorth-rushingbirdsheadinghomebeforetheirseason.

Theearthseemedtogiveaturnfromnorthtosouth.Athousandsmallvillagesandtownsspununder,alightwithcandlesflickeringintombyardsthroughallofMexico,alightwithcandlesflickeringinpumpkinsnorthoftheborderacrossTexasandthenOklahomaandKansasandIowaandatlastIllinoisandatlast:

“Home!”criedTom.“There’sthecourthouse,there’smyhouse,there’stheHalloweenTree!”

Theyswoopedoncearoundthecourthouseandtwicearoundthethousand-pumpkin-burningTree,andafinaltimearoundoldMoundshroud’stallhouse

withitsmanygables,manyrooms,manygapingwindows,highlightningrods,railings,attics,scrollworks,whichleanedandgroanedinthewindtheirpassagemade.Dustsiftedoutofwindowstogreetthem.Shadesflappedinyetotherwindowslikeancienttongueslollingtobediagnosedbywind-bornesmalldoctorsofstrangemedicines.Ghostswitheredlikewhiteflowers,furlingandunfurlinginmolderedflagswhichfelltoruinevenastheyshotby.

Andthewholehouse,circled,waslikeallofHalloweenever.SocriedMoundshroud,flappinghisantiquearmsandwebsandblacksilksashelandedontheroofandbeckonedtheboystoalightandpointeddownthroughanimmenseskywindowthroughallthelevelsofhismansion.

Theboysgatheredroundtheskylightwindowandstareddownastairwellwhichopenedoutatvariousfloorstovarioustimesandhistoriesofmenandskeletonsanddreadfulmusicsplayedonflutebones.

“Thereitis,boys.Willyoulook?Doyousee?There’sourwholeten-thousand-yearflight,there’sourwholetripinoneplace,fromcavemantoEgyptiantoRomanfrontporchtoEnglishharvestfieldtoboneyardinMexico.”

Moundshroudliftedthevastpaneofglass.

“Thestairwaybanister,boys.Rideitdown!Eachtohisowntime,hisownage,hisownlevel.Leapoffwhereyourcostumefits,whereyouthinkyouandyourdisguise,yourmask,belong!Git!”

Theboysleaped.Theysprangdownthestairwelltothetoplanding.Then,onebyone,theypoppedontothebanisterandslidyellingdownthroughallthefloors,allthelevels,alltheagesofhistorykeptwithinMoundshroud’sincrediblemansion.

Round-about-down,round-about-downtheywhisked,theyskidded,theyshuffledonthewaxedrail.

Rrrwhoom-thud!J.J.inhisApemancostumelandedinthebasement.Heglancedabout.Hesawcavepaintings,dimsmokesandfires,andshadowsofhulkinggorilla-men.Saber-toothsburnedtheireyesathimfromthecindereddark.

Down-aroundrushwentRalph,theEgyptianMummifiedBoy,bandagedforallages,tolandonthefirstfloorwhereEgyptianhieroglyphsstruttedinarmiesofsymbol,withsquadronsofancientbirdsinskiesandflocksofbeast-godsandscuttlinggoldenbeetlesrollingdung-ballsdownhistory.

Crash!HacklesNibley,withhisscythesomehowstillflashinginhishands,hitandalmostrolledhimselftomincemeatonthesecondfloorwherethe

shadowofSamhain,druidGodoftheDead,raiseduphisscytheuponafarchamberwall!

Bang!GeorgeSmith,aGreekGhost?aRomanHaunt?landedonthethirdfloorneartar-paintedporcheswhichgluedoldwanderingspiritstothesill!

Thud,Henry-Hank,theWitch,ploppeddowninthefourthlandingamidwitchesleapingbonfiresinEnglish,French,Germancountrysides!

FredFryer?Thefifthfloortookhiminaheap,theBeggarlandingamongsoundsofbeggarsbeggingthecountryroadsofIreland,starving.

WallyBabb,theGargoylehimself,flewandcrashedonthesixthfloorwherewallssproutedelbowsandlimbsandlumps,grimacesoffinegargoylehumorsandglees.

UntilfinallySkeletonTomskiddedoffthebanisteronthetopmostfloortotumbleandknockwhitecandyskullsliketenpinsinadiregameamongtheshadowsofcrouchedwomenbymounds,withminiatureskeletonbrassbandsplayingmosquitotuneswhileMoundshroud,farabove,stillontheroof,yelleddown:

“Well,boys,doyousee?It’sallone,yes?”

“Yes—”someonemurmured.

“Alwaysthesamebutdifferent,eh?everyage,everytime.Daywasalwaysover.Nightwasalwayscoming.Andaren’tyoualwaysafraid,Apemanthere?oryou,Mummy,thatthesunwillneverriseagain?”

“Yesss,”moreofthemwhispered.

Andtheylookedupthroughthelevelsofthegreathouseandsaweveryage,everystory,andallthemeninhistorystaringroundaboutasthesunroseandset.Ape-mentrembled.Egyptianscriedlaments.GreeksandRomansparadedtheirdead.Summerfelldead.Winterputitinthegrave.Abillionvoiceswept.Thewindoftimeshookthevasthouse.Thewindowsrattledandbrokelikemen’seyes,intocrystaltears.Then,withcriesofdelight,tenthousandtimesamillionmenwelcomedbackbrightsummersunswhichrosetoburneachwindowwithfire!

“Doyousee,lads?Think!Peoplevanishedforever.Theydied,ohLord,theydied!butcamebackindreams.ThosedreamswerecalledGhosts,andfrightenedmenineveryage-”

“Ah!”criedabillionvoicesfromatticsandbasements.

Shadowsclimbedwallslikeoldfilmsreruninancienttheaters.Puffsofsmokelingeredatdoorswithsadeyesandgibberingmouths.

“Nightandday.Summerandwinter,boys.Seedtimeandharvest.Lifeanddeath.That’swhatHalloweenis,allrolledupinone.Noonandmidnight.Beingborn,boys.Rollingover,playingdeadlikedogs,lads.Andgettingupagain,barking,racingthroughthousandsofyearsofdeatheachdayandeachnightHalloween,boys,everynight,everysinglenightdarkandfearfuluntilatlastyoumadeitandhidincitiesandtownsandhadsomerestandcouldgetyourbreath.

“Andyoubegantolivelongerandhavemoretime,andspaceoutthedeaths,andputawayfear,andatlasthaveonlyspecialdaysineachyearwhenyouthoughtofnightanddawnandspringandautumnandbeingbornandbeingdead.

“Anditalladdsup.Fourthousandyearsago,onehundredyearsago,thisyear,oneplaceoranother,butthecelebrationsallthesame—”

“TheFeastofSamhain—”

“TheTimeoftheDeadOnes—”

“AllSouls’.AllSaints’.”

“TheDayoftheDead.”

“ElDiaDeMuerte.”

“AllHallows’.”

“Halloween.”

Theboyssenttheirfrailvoicesup,upthroughthelevelsoftime,fromallthecountries,andalltheages,namingtheholidayswhichwerethesame.

“Good,lads,good.”

Faroff,thetownclockstruckthreequartersaftereleven.

“Almostmidnight,boys.Halloween’salmostover.”

“But!”criedTom.“WhataboutPipkin?Wefollowedhimthroughhistory,buryinghim,digginghimup,walkinghiminparades,cryinghiminwakes.Isorisn’thealive?”

“Yeah!”saideveryone.“Didwesavehim?”

“Didyou,indeed?”

Moundshroudstared.Theystaredwithhim,acrosstheravinetoabuildingwherelightsweregoingout.

“That’shishospital,boys.Butcheckhishouse.Thefinalknockofthenight,thelastgrandtrickortreat.Goaskforfinalanswers.Mr.Marley,seethemout!”

Thefrontdoorflewwide—bang!

TheMarleyknockeronthedoorgapeditsbandagedjawandwhistledthemfarewellastheboyssliddownthebanistersandracedforthedoor.

TheywerestoppedbyafinalshoutfromMoundshroud:“Boys!Well,whichwasit?Tonight,withme—trickortreat?”

Theboystookavastbreath,heldit,burstitout:“Gosh,Mr.Moundshroud—both!”

Rap!wenttheMarleyknocker.

Slam!wentthedoor.

Andtheboysweregonerunning,runningdownthroughtheravineandupalongthestreetgaspinghotgustsofair,theirmasksfallingtobetrampleduntilatlasttheystoppedonPipkin’ssidewalkandlookedatthefarhospitalandbackatPipkin’sfrontdoor.

“Yougo,Tom,you,”saidRalph.

AndTomslowlyedgeduptothehouseandputhisfootonthefrontstepandthenthesecondstepupandapproachedthedoor,afraidtoknock,afraidtofindthefinalansweraboutdearoldPipkin.Pipkindead?Pipkininalastfuneral?Pipkin,Pipkingoneforever?No!

Hetappedatthedoor.

Theboyswaitedonthesidewalk.

Thedooropened.Tomwentin.Therewasalongmomentoftheboysonthesidewalkstandingcoldandlettingthewindfreezetheirmostawfulthoughts.

Well?theyyelledsilentlyinatthehouse,theshutdoor,thedarkwindows,well?well?What?

Andthenatlastthedooropenedagain,andTomcameoutandstoodontheporchnotknowingwherehewas.

ThenTomlookedupandsawhisfriendswaitingforhimamillionmilesoff.

Tomleapedofftheporch,yelling.

“Ohgosh,ohgosh,oh,Gosh!”

Heranalongthesidewalk,shrieking:“He’sokay,he’sallright,he’sokay!Pipkin’sinthehospital!tookhisappendixoutatninetonight!gotitjustintime!doctorsayshe’sgreat!”

“Pipkin—?”

“Hospital—?”

“Great—?”

Theairjumpedoutasifeachhadbeenpunchedinthestomach.Thentheairwentinandoutagaininagreatrave,ayell,araggedshoutoftriumph.

“Pipkin,oh,Pipkin,Pip!”

AndtheboysstoodonPipkin’slawnandthesidewalkinfrontofPipkin’sporchandhouseandlookedwithnumbcuriosityateachotherastheirsmilesspreadandtheireyeswateredandtheyyelledandthehappytearsrandowntheircheeks.

“Oh,boy,boyohboy,ohboyohboy,”saidTom,exhausted,andweepingwithhappiness.

“Youcansaythatagain,”saidsomeone,andtheyallsaiditagain.

Andtheyallstoodthereandhadafinehappycry.

Andsincethewholenightwasturningsoupywithtears,Tomlookedaroundandrevvedthemup.“LookatPipkin’shouse.Don’titlookawful?Tellyouwhatwedo—!”

AndtheyranandeachcamebackcarryingalitpumpkinandlinedthemuponPipkin’sporchrailwheretheysmiledoutrageoussmilestowaitforPipkintocomehome.

Andtheystoodonthelawnandlookedatthelovelysightofallthosesmiles,theircostumestatteredupontheirarmsandshouldersandlegs,andthegreasepaintdrippedandrunningontheirfaces,andagreatwondroushappytirednessgatheringintheireyelidsandarmsandfeet,butnotwantingtogoyet.

Andthetownclockstruckmidnight—GUNNNG!

Andgunnngagain,toafullcountoftwelve.

AndHalloweenwasover.

Andallaboutthetown,doorswereslammingandlightsgoingout.

TheboysbegantodriftsayingNightandNightandagainNightandsomeGoodNightbutmostNight,yes,Night.Andthelawnwasempty,butPipkin’sporchwasjustfullofcandleilluminationandwarmthandbakedpumpkinsmell.

AndGhostandMummyandSkeletonandWitchandalltherestwerebackattheirownhomes,ontheirownporches,andeachturnedtolookatthetownandrememberthisspecialnighttheywouldneverinalltheirliveseverforgetandtheylookedacrossthetownatoneanother’sporchesbutespeciallyon

andoveracrosstheravinetothatgreatHousewhereattheverytopMr.Moundshroudstoodonhisspike-railingedroof.

Theboyswaved,eachfromhisownporch.

ThesmokecurlingoutofthehighMoundshroudgothicchimneyfluttered,motioned,wavedback.

Andstillmoredoorswereslammingtolockallaroundtown.

Andwitheachslam,onemorepumpkinandthenanotherandanotherand

anotheronthehugeHalloweenTreesnuffedout.Bythedozens,bythehundreds,bythethousands,doorsbanged,pumpkinswentblind,snuffedcandlessmokeddelicioussmokes.

TheWitchhesitated,wentin,shutthedoor.

AWitch-facedpumpkinontheTreewentdark.

TheMummysteppedintohishouseandshuthisdoor.

Apumpkinwiththefaceofamummyextinguisheditslight.

Andfinally,thelastboyinallthetownremainingaloneonhisveranda,TomSkeltoninhisskullandboneshatingtogoin,wantingtowringthelastdeardropfromhisfavoriteholidayinalltheyear,senthisthoughtsonthenightairtowardthestrangehousebeyondtheravine:

Mr.Moundshroud,whoareYOU?

AndMr.Moundshroud,wayupthereontheroof,senthisthoughtsback:

Ithinkyouknow,boy,Ithinkyouknow.

Willwemeetagain,Mr.Moundshroud?

Manyyearsfromnow,yes,I’llcomeforyou.

AndalastthoughtfromTom:

OMr.Moundshroud,willweEVERstopbeingafraidofnightsanddeath?

Andthethoughtreturned:

Whenyoureachthestars,boy,yes,andlivethereforever,allthefearswillgo,andDeathhimselfwilldie.

Tomlistened,heard,andwavedquietly.

Mr.Moundshroud,faroff,liftedhishand.

Click.Tom’sfrontdoorwentshut.

Hispumpkin-like-a-skull,onthevastTree,sneezedandwentdark.

ThewindstirredthegreatHalloweenTreewhichwasnowemptyofalllightsaveonepumpkinattheverytop.

ApumpkinwithMr.Moundshroud’seyesandface.

Atthetopofthehouse,Mr.Moundshroudleanedout,tookabreath,blew.

HiscandleinhispumpkinheadontheTreefluttered,died.

Miraculously,smokecurledoutofhisownmouth,hisnose,hisears,hiseyes,asifhissoulhadbeenextinguishedwithinhislungsattheverymomentthe

sweetpumpkingaveupitsincensedghost.

Hesankdownintohishouse.Therooftrapdoorclosed.

Thewindcameby.ItrockedallthedarksmokingpumpkinsonthevastandbeautifulHalloweenTree.Thewindseizedathousanddarkleavesandblewthemawayupovertheskyanddownovertheearthtowardthesunthatmustsurelyrise.

Likethetown,theTreeturnedoffitsemberedsmilesandslept.

Attwointhemorning,thewindcamebackformoreleaves.

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

RayBradburywasborninWaukegan,Illinois,in1920.HegraduatedfromaLosAngeleshighschoolin1938.Hisformaleducationendedthere,buthefurthereditbyhimself—atnightinthelibraryandbydayathistypewriter.HesoldnewspapersonLosAngelesstreetcornersfrom1938to1942,amodestbeginningforamanwhosenamewouldonedaybesynonymouswiththebestinsciencefiction.RayBradburysoldhisfirstsciencefictionshortstoryin1941,andhisearlyreputationisbasedonstoriespublishedinthebuddingsciencefictionmagazinesofthattime.HisworkwaschosenforbestAmericanshortstorycollectionsin1946,1948and1952.HisawardsincludeTheO.HenryMemorialAward,theBenjaminFranklinAwardin1954andTheAviation-SpaceWriter’sAssociationAwardforbestspacearticleinanAmericanmagazinein1967.Mr.Bradburyhaswrittenfortelevision,radio,thetheaterandfilm,andhehasbeenpublishedineverymajorAmericanmagazine.Editionsofhisnovelsandshorterfictionspanseveralcontinentsandlanguages,andhehasgainedworld-wideacceptanceforhiswork.HistitlesincludeTheMartianChronicles,Fahrenheit451,DandelionWine,SomethingWickedThisWayComes,ISingtheBodyElectric,TheGoldenApplesoftheSun,AMedicineforMelancholy,TheIllustratedMan,LongAfterMidnight,TheToynbeeConvector,DeathIsaLonelyBusiness,AGraveyardforLunaticsandGreenShadows,WhiteWhale.

ABOUTTHEILLUSTRATOR

JosephMugnainiisaprofessorofartattheOtisArtInstitute.Hehaswrittentwobooksonpaintinganddrawing.ThreeofhislithographshavebeenplacedinthepermanentcollectionoftheLibraryofCongress.HelivesinCaliforniawithhisfamily.