Halloween
at Redwall
By Spring
Brookring
Note: This
is a Halloween story. Halloween is not that close. In fact, it's a month away.
That's okay. Just pretend. And anticipate the sugar.
It was the last week of October at
Redwall Abbey. Creatures were going about their fall business. Curiously,
everybody's business somehow included at least one trip to the cellars to taste
the cider.
Then, all of a sudden, a small
building appeared out of nowhere by the pond. It went pop. The beasts of
Redwall wondered what was going on. The new kitchens they had ordered weren't
due for another month. They stood together, working up their courage. At last,
one brave young squirrel approached the door. He poked it sharply with a stick
and leaped back as the watching crowd hurled itself on the ground. Nothing
happened. Everyone stood up, looking rather foolish.
A large group carrying crowbars
and nets finally swung the building's door open. It creaked, and a robotic
voice did a cheesy imitation of an eerie evil-sounding laugh, the kind that the
manufacturers obviously think ought to be scary but really isn't. Puzzled looks
circled the crowd.
The squirrel that had first poked
the door took a step inside the building. A black rubber spider fell off the
doorsill and bounced around on a string for a while before giving up and going
in search of rubber flies. The Redwallers were growing more and more confused
by the minute.
Further inspection proved the
building to be a shop, full of strange merchandise. There were long black robes
and odd wigs and paint and trinkets and fake jewels and fake eyelashes and fake
teeth and fake, cherry-flavored blood and pajama pants with fake bottoms
attached. There were masks and lanterns and heaps of candy and pictures of bats
and old women who for some reason appeared to be sitting on brooms. This seemed
very unreasonable, especially when there were perfectly normal chairs to do the
job.
The Father Abbot stepped forward.
"I've heard about this," he said. "It's called Halloween. People
dress up like twits and go around asking for candy from other people."
"Er," someone ventured,
"Where exactly did you hear about this?"
The Abbot paused for deep
cogitation. "I don't…exactly…remember," he said. This is dangerous.
When you cannot remember how you know something, that
usually means it is occult and uncanny and likely to cause severe disruption in
the fabric of reality.
"Candy!" exclaimed a
hare. "Sounds jolly good, wot wot! What say we give it a try?"
And, because people will try
anything once, and are as impressionable as drops of warm wax, the Redwallers
agreed. There was a mad scramble towards the costume racks as outfits were
tried on, speculated on, and spat upon.
Chaos reigned. This is also
dangerous. When you let chaos into a position of power, it gets insufferably
smug and never listens to anybody. Dibbuns covered by large pointy hats chased
one another around, guzzling fake blood. An otter with fake teeth and too much
lipstick tried on gypsy shoes. Costumes were scrambled in the most terrifying
manners. Their designers had hopefully never meant for them to look like this.
Halloween took on a new meaning of scary.
By nightfall, everyone was
costumed to their hearts' content. Heaps of candy stood in every dormitory and
kind elder stood ready to pass it out. The confusion began.
"Give me candy or I'll play a
prank on you!" yelled one juvenile mouse. The cry was taken up by several
of his friends and soon it rang from the rooftops. Or, it would have rung from the
rooftops, except that nobody was one the roof. Instead it had to settle for
echoing from the windows.
Eventually the phrase was
shortened to the simple, fast, "Candy-or-prank!" One vole, in true
Halloween spirit, refused a group candy just to see what would happen. The
candy-or-prankers stood around, unsure.
"Uh," said a squirrel
wearing a star-dotted robe and a skeleton mask. "You aren’t giving us
candy?"
"I guess not," replied
the vole.
"Er...get
him, everyone!" The vole was promptly covered in maple syrup.
By
When dawn woke the Abbey, they saw
that the Halloween shop had gone. The space it left went pop. The Father Abbot
promptly outlawed Halloween. Until next year, that is.
*creaky, robotic, cheesy imitation
of an evil laugh*
Happy Halloween, everyone!