CAST & VOICE TALENT

• Alexander Luthor ~ Chad Johnson
• Jessica Duval ~ Susie, Ella
• Andreas Somville ~ Mr. Dark
• Matthew Bartlett ~ Rabbit
• Philip Lonidier ~ Xander Nash

 

KEN: This is Kenneth Vigue, and right now I’m talking to you not from the chilled leaf stream streets of an autumnal New England, but the wide whispering fields where somewhere in the distance a crafty fellow is making with the chainsaw massacre. One of my favorite traditions that will always endure is the obsessed binge of horror and Halloween movies I begin the first day of fall. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is an old favorite sure, but more often still I can’t help but also indulge in the some of the most cliché, cringe, 80s horror schlock that was put on cassette. When I was high school and could at last rent rated R movies from the video store, my best friends and I would take turns on alternating weeks to outdo each other with either the scariest or the worst VHS ever, often seduced as many were by epic box art only to discover the film was, in a word, shit. After high school I dreamed of making a living in independent film and worked on a few small projects before giving up and switching gears to make a living after options ran out, but those years filming horror on the streets of Boston and Haverhill in abandoned warehouses, China town, and yes, even asylums that though empty, still had a melancholy that permeated every brick and could be felt on the air. Around that time, I became very attraction to urban exploration and photography of these empty places – places where people moved on, but time and entropy never stopped. These places I explored respectfully although none the less probably illegally contained echoes of the lives of people who once moved through it. In this asylum, a director’s office with mildewed books still left on the shelves where a hand last touched it decades before. In this old house, a clock that once graced the train station of a New England Rail line. These things, those walls, beg to be touched, to be held, to taste life once more, but the compulsion for us is far deeper. In touch, we can almost feel the weight of years, the rhythm of history and the passage of time. It’s the only way in which we stop and open our eyes to the wide truth of the universe in that one day, when we no longer be, we will leave things behind that will always hold a whisper of who we are. Relics that will sit quietly in places until they are found again. In places the world is thin, far less likely to be felt in a field or city center. Buildings however, homes and business are different. Like people they are made, plank by plank and brick by brick until they are at last born, brought to life with light flickering within, with laughter echoing off walls and soaking into ceilings. They grow old, they grow weak and if not cared for – they are left to die, and when they do they lay buried reclaimed by nature. What is forgotten festers, drawing some of us to them and we can’t help but wander within chasing the echo of life or pondering the inevitable of what is yet to come. At its core, this is what Halloween has always been about. A reminder to treasure the light, the laughter, the people around us – to treasure life and never squander a day, because behind us there is always a clock ticking. Something no doubt you’ve been hearing right here for quite a while now. Tonight, we’re taking a break from the action, the intensity, the horrors of war and high stakes drama, of our beloved characters weary with the weight of choices made and consequences dealt. Into your vintage 1980s McDonalds Happy Meal Pumpkin Bucket I’m dropping this little morsel. Go ahead…unwrap it and don’t worry, it’s been checked. Perfectly safe. That right there in unctuous deliciousness is sweet Dark chocolate, with a little surprise in the middle, something only for adults. The fire sugary burst of the unexpected surprise of a liquor held within. That little treat was found in a faded pillowcase sack on the side of the road just outside Vault-Tec University. It, like the clock or the book, is a relic left behind a long time ago now. An echo of an adventure untold. Tonight, we’re holding a séance and if you’re very brave, we can peek through the veil and hear the whispered story of this lost item. Hold hands now…that’s right, form a circle, each of us at positions of a great clock…now close your eyes, picture it now: an old pillowcase, stained by the elements, frayed by time. Hold….hold….yes….there. Do you hear it? Do you feel it? There’s something in the room with us now….a shadow on the wall…

DARK:                   ….you’re meddling for the final time…do you not think I know what this really is? What your stories are really about? Who your characters really are?

KEN:                      ….don’t listen!

DARK:                   Look at me….(intensive and loud) LOOK AT ME! All of you see me, as I see you….right inside all of you, I’m inside your head right now…travelling at the speed of sound. The driver on the lonely road, the gas station attendant filling the lonely hours with words not his own, the fool on the elliptical….level 2? Really? Happy Halloween Janet.

KEN:                      …don’t look….don’t listen to him! Keep your eyes closed! DON’T LOOK! Listen…listen! There! Someone dropped it…don’t break the circle….we’re almost through. This is…before you.

DARK:                   STOP!

KEN:                      Before you even arrived…this…I don’t remember writing this. This is Minisode #2…Chad and Susie again, but it didn’t happen this way. Nothing really happened in that story…but there’s…this is wrong…

DARK:                   FINE! IF YOU WISH TO TIP TOE THROUGH PLACES YOU’RE NOT MEANT TO BE YOU LONG WINDED FOOL! I’LL SHOW YOU THE PEOPLE WOVEN INTO YOUR WORLD THAT YOU NEVER EVEN PUT THERE. BUCKLE UP KIDS! Keep your hands on the table…this room…is now a dark ride. (pause) This short but memorable ride will introduce you to two dear friends of mine, a man named Rabbit who is just as scared and timid as you’d imagine but charmingly deadpan and a man named Xander Nash, the man nobody remembers. (paused and deliberate) Except me…(upbeat but insane) and next year, OHHHHH BOYYYY will we be having some fun together in a separate set of stories, a spinoff if you will. In the meanwhile, in we go! Don’t scream too loud now, because this tunnel leads to, “The Halloween Where Nothing Happened” (long insane laughing)

SFX: WHISPERED EXPLOSION AND FADING ECHO.

CHAD & SUSIE (sing):

There was an old woman all skin and bones

Ooo oo-oo-oooo

She lived down by the old graveyard

Ooo oo-oo-oooo

One night she thought she’d take a walk

Ooo oo-oo-oooo

She walked down by the old graveyard

Ooo oo-oo-oooo

She saw the bones a-laying around

Ooo oo-oo-oooo

She went to the closet to get a broom

Ooo oo-oo-oooo

She opened the door and…

BOO!

SUSIE:                   (laughing) That’s one of my favorite songs!

CHAD:                   Yeah that’s a good one kid. Hey did you have a fun night?

SUSIE:                   Oh it was the bestest time we’ve had in AGES! Right Ella?

ELLA:                     Not since that time we used ancient Celtic magic at Freddy Fears House of Scares to turn all those little bastard kids into real monsters before tickling their fannies with a switchblade. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! (pause) I feel like enough time has passed for this catch phrase to be funny again. Tee hee.

CHAD:                   Yeah I had a good time too! I’ll tell you what though. Running around Appalachia to fill up that bag of yours in nothing by tighty whities has me leading the way with goosebumps and pencil erasers.

SUSIE:                   What?

ELLA:                     Nips one two three, nips one two three! Everyone march! Recreational bloodletting encouraged!

CHAD:                   Man I can’t wait to get home to jug about half a gallon of Moose’s mulled radapple cider before passing out in front of the PipBoy listening to scary stories.

SUSIE:                   (sad) I guess.

CHAD:                   What’s flew up your nose kid? What’s the frown face for?

SUSIE:                   This was SUCH a fun night I just wish it wasn’t almost over.

CHAD:                   I know, but that’s what special about Halloween. It only comes once a year like Christmas, so you gotta edge milk it so you get the most out of it.

SUSIE:                   Yeah.

CHAD:                   Hey I tell you what. Just one more house okay?

SUSIE:                   YAY! YOU MEAN IT!?

CHAD:                   Sure! See that little farmhouse there with the greenhouse? Some numbnuts Dweller built a waterslide wasting everyone’s water and breaking canon and shit.

SUSIE:                   Canon?

CHAD:                   Yeah I fired artillery on it but that thing is built harder than a shit brickhouse. Let’s see if they got any of the good stuff and I swear to God dude if they put out toothbrushes we’re going to torch this place.

SUSIE:                   Ohhhhhh! Look Ella! They decorated their fun fun slide with Halloween lights and scary pumpkin lanterns!

ELLA:                     (annoyed) I’m telling you right now if you get me wet I’m going to kill you all in your dreams. I’m not even joking.

CHAD:                   Go on up there kid! Ring the bell or uhhhh….kick it or something.

SUSIE:                   OKAY! (pause) TRICKS OR TREATS! (pause) I SAID! TRICKS OR TREATS!

CHAD:                   Yeah they ain’t home. Come on kid….screw that dude. Let’s make a bonfire. Here you go kid! Now be real careful okay? Just like I showed you…hold it away from you. That’s a good girl! You got it! Ready?

SUSIE:                   YEAH!

CHAD:                   HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

SUSIE:                   HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

ELLA:                     BAPHOMET RISES!!!! TEEE HEE!

SFX: EXPLOSION OF FIRE.

CHAD:                   Man, that’s some real pretty work! Nice throw kid! That’s a pitchin’ arm. I’m proud of you.

SFX: FOOTSTEPS RUNNING

SUSIE:                   Someone’s coming. Is it the owner? Can we play mortician again?

CHAD:                   Nah not this time kid….I’m tired of washing the blood outta your one dress.

RABBIT:                (panic) Oh my God fire! Fire! Is anyone in there?

XANDER:              (panic) I’ll grab water from the river! If anyone is in there get them out!

RABBIT:                Okay!

CHAD:                   Ah hell….here’s comes….what’s his face.

SUSIE:                   Who’s that?

CHAD:                   One of those uppity dudes from the Vault who were two levels below us but acted like they were ten levels above. He ain’t much for peoplin’. Mumbles to himself…

RABBIT:                (panic) Chad? Is anyone in there?

CHAD:                   Uhhh…no they like left and stuff to find a new place to live. How’s it going uhhh….Mole…dude?

RABBIT:                (annoyed) That’s not….(pause) well hello there. Are you okay?

SUSIE:                   Uh huh. Isn’t it pretty? If you look real hard in the orange yellow warmy you can see the shadow people who eat things up and poop out the ash!

RABBIT:                (uneasy) Uh….huh….my name is Rabbit.

SUSIE:                   Ohhhhhh! Like the fluffy! CHAD! CHAD! CAN I KEEP HIM?!

RABBIT:                Can you….?

CHAD:                   Nah kid, you’ve got other kitties at him and stuff.

SUSIE:                   My name is Susie and this is Ella.

ELLA:                     One two buckle my shoe, three, four your Mom’s a whore!

RABBIT:                Well isn’t she…vulgar.

SFX: RUNNING. SPLASH.

XANDER:              (panting out of breath from panic and running) Did….did that do it?

RABBIT:                That was about 2 gallons of water for a two-alarm fire Xander. So…no…but solid effort.

XANDER:              Oh. Well. Got my cardio ring closed on my PipBoy for the day at least. (pause) W…..why are you only wearing underwear? It’s like 55 degrees out here.

CHAD:                   It’s my costume smartass. I’m Chad, this is Susie and that’s her possessed talking doll. What’d your momma call you when you fell out?

XANDER:              (taken aback) Oh my God that is…

RABBIT:                He’s jerking your chain and wants to know your name.

XANDER:              I’m from Vault 76. (pause) We grew up together.

CHAD:                   Uhhhhhhh. Really?

RABBIT:                We're from Vault 76.

CHAD:                   You sure?

XANDER:              What the hell?! We are both from Vault 76. Alexander Nash. (pause) Xander? Nash?

CHAD:                   Not really ringin' any bells.

XANDER:              I had to go back behind you many times and fix the Handy’s you hotwired and hacked; I was shot in the ass with a baby bottle by a rogue Ms. Nanny! We showed up at your little 'Vault 69 Gym' and you almost had me murdered by a Deathclaw wearing a hat! I had to reshuffle my deck twice because of you!

CHAD:                   OHHHHH! SNATCH!

RABBIT:                I think you mean Natch.

CHAD:                   I know what I said.

XANDER:              (Exasperated) HE meant Nash.

CHAD:                   Sure whatever.

SUSIE:                   Hey mister, would you like a tricks or treats?

RABBIT:                I don’t have any candy kid I’m sorry.

XANDER:              Well we do have some molerat jerky in my…

RABBIT:                (to the side of his mouth) I said no.

CHAD:                   Welp you heard him kid. No candy to give up…

SUSIE:                   (darkly) So I guess it’s time to ding dong ring his bell…isn’t it Ella?

RABBIT:                (panic) What do you mean?

XANDER:              Come on let’s go!

SUSIE:                   Here you go. Take a candy, leave a candy. Go ahead (darkly) reach inside the bag.

XANDER:              Let’s go Rabbit! Come on…

CHAD:                   (menacing) It’s her special night. Take. A. Candy.

SFX: BAG RUSTLES

-RABBIT:              Oh it’s gumdrop. It’s….it’s just a gumdrop.

SUSIE:                   Happy Halloween!

RABBIT:                (laughs relieved) Thank you….you…you gave me a scare there.

CHAD:                   Little pellets back there? No wonder they call you Rabbit (laughs)

RABBIT:                (awkward laugh) Yeah.

SFX: CHEWING

RABBIT:                Oh it’s liquid filled! Pumpkin spice?

SUSIE:                   We made it ourselves…with creamy chocolate, and a little pumpkin and sugar…

RABBIT:                (choking) Yeah…it’s a little….(coughing)

NASH:                   Are you alright? What’s wrong? Rabbit!

SUSIE:                   and Abraxo, and some no touch mushrooms….and…

XANDER:              Abraxo?!

CHAD:                   (laughing) Ah cool your tits bro. It’s not like it matters. No die-o, no bueno.

RABBIT:                You….you poisoned me! Get away from me!

SFX: SHOVE, FALLS. BAG SPILLS.

SUSIE:                   Owwwww! My candy! (crying)

RABBIT:                (spitting it out, coughing) Oh my God are you okay I’m sorry I didn’t mean to….

ELLA:                     Oh you done fucked up boy-o! Wheeeee! Let’s make his head a jack-o-lantern!

SFX: SHOTGUN LOADED.

CHAD:                   (furious) That. Was. A Big Ass Fatal Mistake….Bro…

XANDER:              Run! Run! Come on!

SFX: RUNNING

RABBIT:                (choking) I…I can’t…

SFX: SHOTGUN BLASTS.

CHAD:                   When I catch you I’m skin you two sons of bitches alive! You and that….what’s his face! No one makes the kid cry!

SFX: SHOTGUN BLASTS.

XANDER:              Come on! Breath…

RABBIT:                (annoyed) What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?!? Disease cure?

XANDER:              We’re fresh out after the jelly fingers incident.

RABBIT:                (coughing) Figures…

XANDER:              No fingers…

RABBIT:                Oh ha ha. Dying man here.

XANDER:              Hang on…yeah…here! I still have it! Drink this….

RABBIT:                (lightheaded) What is it?

XANDER:              Just drink it!

RABBIT:                (drinks) (chokes and spits it out) WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!

XANDER:              Activated charcoal! From camp! It’ll help. Really.

RABBIT:                (coughing, drinking, slowly better)

XANDER:              Better?

RABBIT:                Yeah. (pause) Yeah…I think so.

SFX: POUNDING OF HOOVES AND THE RATTLE OF A CARRIAGE)

XANDER:              Chad!

RABBIT:                No…that’s not…it’s a horse and carriage….no it’s a hearse…an honest to god horse drawn hearse….how the hell…

XANDER:              DOWN! GET OUT OF THE ROAD!

SFX: CARRIAGE ROARS BY

XANDER:              Absolute manic! WHOEVER THAT HELL THAT WAS.

RABBIT:                "The Dead Travel Fast." Uhhhh... (clearly getting weaker.)

XANDER:              Come on... let's hit up AVR Medical Center and find you some supplies. I'm not sure I want to trust your life to Scoutmaster Brian's Wilderness Survival course. We're three for three when it comes to you; poisoned with candy, almost blasted to bits by a raging meathead, and nearly run down by a hearse....And I was almost eviscerated -or maybe violated- by that werewolf. That goddamned werewolf.

RABBIT:                Was that the same werewolf that-

XANDER:              Yeah. Just… yeah.

RABBIT:                Makes sense. He's got your scent. He knows you.

XANDER:              Don't remind me.

RABBIT:                Maybe he just wanted to take you out to a nice dinner? Ah, I shouldn't joke about that; probably wanted you AS dinner.

XANDER:              …and before that almost gnawed on by crazed cannibals at that so called hotel.

RABBIT:                Bed and breakfast.

XANDER:              What?

RABBIT:                It was a bed and breakfast.

XANDER:              Hotel, bed and breakfast, whatever- what matters is that WE were the menu. Just... yeah. So much for a relaxing Halloween.

RABBIT:                Oh I don't know. Is it weird that I kinda had fun? Werewolves, the murderous hangry couple from Hell- A real themed experience. (beat) Oh! We could make this a thing every year! You could charge for it! Nash's Haunted Appalachia...your bespoke experience for thrills and chills. I bet Gina would help make a sign and we could put Archie in a little witch hat. Ooh! Booking bonus! Secure your spot now and get a free palm reading by a vomiting drunk in a Pioneer Scout uniform.

XANDER:              Oh ha ha. Look, I didn't rib you for the Fat-Man-Snallygaster-Nukashine incident. (taunting) "Where is it?!? The world's turning a bunch a different colors! Where's my junk jet? Oh here it is!" KA-BOOOOM....my house suddenly has an open floor plan. (Taunting) "Did I get it? Is it dead?" Me, with my hair on fire, ragdolled into a fence. "Yes Rabbit. Well done." Before I know it, you disappeared who-knows-where.

RABBIT:                (beat) I woke up in a boat.

XANDER:              (exasperated sigh)

RABBIT:                (laughing and then laugh dies out)

XANDER:              What?

RABBIT:                The cemetery…don’t laugh.

XANDER:              Why?

RABBIT:                Old superstition. Don’t laugh and whatever you do, never dance on a grave. I’d say hold your breath too, but it’s a little late for that now.

XANDER:              (chuckles) Should I burn some sage? Throw some salt? Honestly rabbit sometimes I…

SFX: BODY COLLAPSES

XANDER:              (panic) Rabbit? Oh…oh my god! Rabbit!

RABBIT:                (weakly) I ….so…much for the…charcoal….

XANDER:              (panic) Hang on! Damn it! Let me…just let me think….

RABBIT:                (weakly) Hey…we’ve been through this before. I’ll see what’s on sale (cough laughing)

XANDER:              (panic) No damn it! We should’ve just minded our business! This always happens! If we just would’ve kept walking….my fault!

RABBIT:                (weakly) Stop….Xander…STOP. Nash. It’s fine. Just wait for me to respawn. Stay right here.

XANDER:              (scared and small)….but I’ll be alone again.

RABBIT:                (weaker) I’ll be right back. (pause) Nash. Friend promise.

XANDER:              (shaken) Friend promise…

RABBIT:                …god damned Brian…. (death rattle)

XANDER:              (terrified) Rabbit? RABBIT! (pause) Okay, okay….okay. He’ll be okay. Just wait for it…come on….please…whatever the hell it is….please hurry up. Please please please please….

SFX: WIND GUST AND THE BODY VAPORIZES

XANDER:              Okay. Good. Body….he….he’s gone. Will be right back. (pause) Just gotta wait. Wait it out. Maybe sit on the wall. That way he can see me from the road.

SFX: EERIE WIND. LEAVES RUSTLE.

XANDER:              (singing terrified) H….E….DOUBLE L….O…..W…..E…..E….N spells Halloween….

SFX: RISING DISCORDANT NOISE LIKE A THOUSAND VOICES RISING ON THE WIND.

XANDER:              (yelling over the dim) AH! What the…..what the fuck is that?!

SFX: CUTS OFF SUDDENLY. PUMPKINS FLARING TO LIFE. VIOLIN PLAYING ECHOES THROUGH THE CHURCHYARD.

XANDER:              H…..hello???

SFX: GATE CREAKS OPEN.

XANDER:              Chad….look come on man. She poisoned him. That wasn’t funny…look I’ve got some caps…please just leave Rabbit alone when he comes back. You can have it. Take it all okay? Just leave him alone. (pause) That’s…not Chad. Some lady….dancing.

DUST WITCH:     (singing the Wife of Usher’s Well https://youtu.be/yZBDZn73m8E):

There was a woman and she lived alone

And babies she had three.

She sent them away to the north country

To learn their grammarie.

They’d not been gone but a very short time,

Scarcely six weeks to the day,

When death, cold death spread through the land

And swept them babes away.

XANDER:              Uhhh…hello?

DUST WITCH:     Hello…child of spring, careworn soul, with a heart so filled with grief…

XANDER:              Yeah…my….friend just…well he died, but not really. It’s kind of complicated. (awkward chuckle) That your wagon? It sure hauls but you almost mowed us down back there.

DUST WITCH:     From dusty road to moldy grave, to the song of festered toad, to walk our roads? Be brave…

XANDER:              Uh huh. I’m just gonna wait for someone….over here. You…keep on dancing or whatever.

DUST WITCH:     LISTEN! Do you hear? Tis the fates singing…on this All Hallow’s Eve. They sing a song for thee…

XANDER:              What do you mean?

DUST WITCH:     Would you like to see the symphony of discord unseen yet bound to your very feet?

XANDER:              Ummm…sure?

DUST WITCH:     Here! Here! On mossy stone, the question you must ask and from the deck I shall draw three. One for what has passed, one for the now and one for the days yet to come.

XANDER:              Tarot reading? (chuckles) Okay, okay I see where this is going…how much?

DUST WITCH:     (furious) We have no use for your dusty caps, sugary sweet…(pause) 50.

XANDER:              I knew it. (pause) Okay what the hell…I’m waiting around anyway.

DUST WITCH:     The transaction is bound, the question awaits…what words shall you call to the fates?

XANDER:              I…I’m not sure.

DUST WITCH:     Then ask the soul bound question, the one that buzzes in mind and heart like a fly awaiting the final breath as you dance on a knife’s edge.

XANDER:              What…what is my destiny? I mean what am I here for? What I will I do?

DUST WITCH:     Those are THREE questions, but all are one. Here…but be careful, you must shuffle.

XANDER:              Jeez…how old are these?

DUST WITCH:     They were born when this country still tilled with earthen plow and before war (pause and emphasis) CHANGED. Now….close thine eyes and silence the mind, feel the cards, movie them well and truth you seek you shall find…

XANDER:              Ummm…okay this should do now what?

DUST WITCH:     I shall choose three.

SFX: EERIE WIND.

DUST WITCH:     This card represents what has passed…time behind but not long so…

XANDER:              (nervous) Death. Of course…I should’ve just kept my money I’m cursed when it comes to these chance games….this one time back in the Vault I…

DUST WITCH:     (Annoyed character break and deadpan) Will you please shut up kid I’m working here.

XANDER:              Oh. Right sorry.

DUST WITCH:     Death is what brought you here, to the land of the dead; he stands on high with swishing scythe reaping the footprints you left and burying that which you were.

XANDER:              Reap what you sow. (chuckles) Sure okay, yeah…guess that makes sense.

DUST WITCH:     This card represents the clock frozen in place, just as you stand on crumbled autumn leaf above polished bones five feet down….

XANDER:              The Devil? Oh great! Look you know what I’m just going to sit on the wall over there and you can…you just go dance or something.

DUST WITCH:     No! Once you’ve plucked the thread you must finish the song or DOOM will visit upon you before too long.

XANDER:              You have a real thing for rhyming huh?

DUST WITCH:     Inside a shadow draws near, a temptation yet to come. (pause) This card represent the days to come, the road shrouded…it is….

MEDIA: CHORD

XANDER:              I don’t get it…it’s blank.

DUST WITCH:     That….that is….(scared and angry) what are you?

XANDER:              (startled) I’m Xander. Xander Nash.

DUST WITCH:     The cards never lie! Never lie! Have never lied! I see ALL! I SEEEEEE ITT ALLLLLLL! You WERE MINE! THIS WAS MY GAME! MINE!

XANDER:              Get off me! You crazy bitch!

SFX: RUNNING

DUST WITCH:     (clutching him) WHAT ARE YOUUUUUUU? You cannot be! You cannot be!

SFX: PANIC BREATHING FOR A BIT

XANDER:              What the hell was that all about!

SFX: TRIPS.

XANDER:              Oh sh….

SFX: SMACKS HEAD ON STONE. PASSES OUT.

XANDER:              (groaning) (hissing in pain) A….ahhhh….damn….damn it my head….where am….(remembering) RABBIT. Fog rolled in…can’t see the road or the gate. What time is it? Ah shit it’s been 3 hours already. RABBIT!

SFX: PIPBOY BEEPS.

XANDER:              He’s not on the map yet. (worried) Where the hell IS he?

SFX: VIOLIN PLAYING SOFTLY, “DANSE MACABRE”.

XANDER:              Hello? (mutters) We should’ve just hung out at his place tonight. Me and my great fucking ideas. Look lady you need to lay off the chems okay! And get a new act! This tarot reading stuff is old hat.

SFX: HORSE HUFFS AND STAMPS THE GROUND.

XANDER:              (to himself) …the hearse….

DARK:                   Said the hearse-horse to the coffin,

"What the devil have you there?

XANDER:              Ah! (awkward laugh) you scared me.

DARK:                   Well, that is, for this night, the raison d’etre wouldn’t you say?

SFX: VIOLIN PLAYS

DARK:                   I may trot from court to square,

Yet it neither swears nor groans,

When I jolt it over stones."

Said the coffin to the hearse-horse,

"Bones!" (laugh)

(with a flourish) Good evening. I’m Mr. Dark.

XANDER:              A suitable name….

DARK:                   For the occasion and season….yes….I always thought so. And you?

XANDER:              Oh! Nash…Alexander…well Xander…is what I prefer at any rate. Hey, is that woman with you?

DARK:                   In a manner of speaking, I trust you met The Dust Witch?

XANDER:              I have to tell you she’s…got some problems you should maybe see to.

DARK:                   Hmmph. Imagine for a moment you were seated upon cracked leather seating in a great old hall, whose echoed corners and well-worn drapery held within them countless seasons. In an opera box from on high, poised like a brittle teacup, you sit and listen to a single voice below. A song from the soul weaving a tale of lost love, lamented action, or (emphasis) CARNAL desire. (little titter) and then unto that stage comes another and another, more voices to the chorus, a discordant cacophony of needs, desires, wants, hates, sorrow….an ENDLESS, ENDLESS DIN pounding your senses, as you sit ageless and forever fixed in a single moment of time. EVERY SECOND, of EVERY DAY, the pounding noise of humanity. (pause and judging toned) Now. Don’t you think, that would, in due course, drive you more than a little….mad?

XANDER:              Yeah, I….I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just waiting for my friend to come back and she just…scared me is all. Tonight’s been…well it’s been a night. I’m sorry.

DARK:                   (mood shift to jovial) Apology accepted. Tell me friend, were you satisfied with your reading? Let me guess…you’re a blushed as a ripe autumn apple and were seeking guidance on the needs of the heart? (pause) No, no…that wasn’t it…it was (long pause) (Genuine wonder and almost a little horror) Fascinating.

XANDER:              What is?

DARK:                   (long pause) Come! Sit with me for a yarn and a drink. My business this evening is concluded here, and the night is still young yet.

XANDER:              I should really be…

DARK:                   Suit yourself, though I would be cautious in this fog. This world is less tame than it once was, particularly on this night when it’s so easy to lose one’s way…

XANDER:              I guess I could stay for a little bit until my friend gets back.

DARK:                   A wise decision. (change of tact) How much do you know about music? Can you read the language of sound? Do you play?

XANDER:              Play?

DARK:                   Music my boy. Guitar, piano, violin? How do you express yourself when the occasion calls and words aren’t quite enough to speak from the deepest part of you?

XANDER:              Nothing. I mean, I never really learned.

DARK:                   Now that is, in a word, a pity.

XANDER:              My Daddy used to play a fiddle before the Great War he said but had to leave it behind for some reason when the Vault sealed. When I was little after he’d finish his shift he’d sit in the little parlor and listen to old holotapes he saved of his gigs. He’d stare at this painting above the sofa of man on a road at sunset. He was…. sad. A deep kind of sadness I didn’t really understand as a kid, but I’m starting to now. I hated seeing him like that, how sad music…even his own… made him. I never really bothered to pursue it.

DARK:                   Which was both incredibly kind and self-sacrificing of you, the act of a dutiful son to a world-weary father. But music isn’t always about sadness and despair my boy! No, out of all of the instruments mankind has fashioned the violin, or in a certain use and context, the fiddle…is the most expressive. It can bring even the most coal hardened hearts to tears or generate enough foot stomping energy to raise the roof off a barn. This little beauty is my second, a sister to the one that was lost to me down south.

XANDER:              I could maybe give it a try? Do you have another I could try and play with you…

DARK:                   (pointed) I do not play with or against others anymore. Never again. If we cannot speak of music on the same level, then perhaps we need the universal alternative to loosen tongues and build bonds as men do. A drink? Please excuse me for a moment.

SFX: WALKING. DARK WHISTLING JOHN BROWN’S BODY.

SFX: RUMMAGING. QUIET POUNDING FROM INSIDE THE CASKET AS SOMEONE YELLS.

XANDER:              Any Nuka Cola in there? Alcohol always makes me a little funny.

DARK:                    (quietly to himself) I would imagine so, but it also proves useful to pry open a closed door. (normal volume) Soda pop? A rather bland and perhaps obvious choice…

XANDER:              What?

DARK:                   (sighs) …ah! Yes…here. Now here is something more worthy of the evening and occasion on this All Hallow’s Eve.

XANDER:              What is that?

DARK:                    A very, very old friend. In this Vault of yours, did you study medicine? The human anatomy?

XANDER:              Yeah of course.

DARK:                   Excellent. So, you understand that reality as you understand it is largely a construct of the mind itself. This blessed night, this gloomy cemetery from a non-subjective viewpoint is not reality. You’re seeing and experiencing a story being created for you by your mind. It can process 11 million bits of information every second, something those marvelous boys at RobCo put to good use.

XANDER:              Well yeah, the conscious brain can only handle up to 50 bits of information per second.

DARK:                   And so we have a quandary. What if you could perceive more than that? The dark ocean of all that you drink in through five senses and your brain tosses right into the bin?

XANDER:              In some instances, people do, but they go a little…

DARK:                   Mad? (chuckle)

XANDER:              Yeah.

DARK:                   I’ve travelled far in my time, farther than most and I bottled this little beauty when I bore the name of an ordinary man, but a doctor just the same. This my boy is van Gogh’s muse and bane. The drink which fueled countless poets and artists, madmen and fools. Absinthe, the Green Fairy, which in small quantities widens the perspective, quiets the world around you and lifts you into a euphoric state of near perfect bliss and awareness. It allows you to hear the heartbeat of time itself and to feel the turn of the earth hurtling through the vast infinite.

XANDER:              I’m not so sure it’s for me…

DARK:                   (scoffs) Oh I’m no highway ruffian out to poison you for some (spits word) CAPS. Come, I shall drink first to assure you that no harm will come to you. It is merely persistent use that can lead to…consequences.

XANDER:              What’s in it?

DARK:                   The Holy Trinity of all things, aniseed, fennel and blessed wormwood which contains a chemical compound call thujone.

XANDER:              What’s all that stuff? You don’t just drink it?

DARK:                  (scoffs) No, no, no. It’s not meant to be served neat and absolutely not as a shot unless you wanted to hit the ground. This is a ritual, and oh what a night is it for just such a thing.

XANDER:              Does it burn?

DARK:                   If done incorrectly, it can immolate your taste buds and your mind in due course, but I’ve been conducting this little ritual since the old days. Behold! Two glasses, to which we pour. Two slotted spoons each, upon which we rest a single sugar cube.

XANDER:              Why a sugar cube?

DARK:                   The drink has a distinct bitterness. Both sugar and water dilute to make it a little more palatable. Now here…the brouille-ansinthe! A specially designed glass vessel with ice and little water. We turn the tap and the drip begins…

XANDER:              All of this is really involved for a drink….

DARK:                   Ritual…

XANDER:              Right, right.

DARK:                   You aren’t thinking about the right setting. In its heyday of smoke-filled gentlemen’s clubs or cafes in the heart of bohemian Paris drip by drip, bit by bit, the drink would be prepared as the muse spoke quietly to them all. From poetry to plots, to tales best told in the dark…

XANDER:              What’s happening now?

DARK:                   Ah! That is called the louche, a sort of milky haze caused by the water and sugars slowly pulling the anise and fennel out of the solution. It is the blooming period, invoking subtle tastes to the tongue and aromas to broaden the senses. (pause) It was considerate of you to sit with me this evening.

XANDER:              Oh, oh sure it’s no problem. I was waiting anyway. Do you come around here often?

DARK:                   No, it’s been quite some time since I’ve returned here. I lost something long ago. Stolen in point of fact, but I will reclaim it and be whole again.

XANDER:              That’s awful. I’ve had run-ins with raiders too. (pause) I imagine yours is pretty solitary work.

DARK:                   How do you mean?

XANDER:              Funerals and burials? (pause) The hearse?

DARK:                   Oh….yes. Of course. I suppose you can say it is solitary at that.

XANDER:              Does it ever get to you? Death, I mean. Seeing how it impacts people.

DARK:                   Quite the contrary. It serves to be rather instructive. My business takes me far and wide, and it comes in a great variety of forms with an even greater variety of lessons learned far too late. Why? Does it frighten you?

XANDER:              It used to, but not so much anymore. If anything, it’s starting to feel like it has less meaning.

DARK:                   Oh, it always has meaning…and lessons. Every grave, every epitaph is the final page in a book, each with their own story to tell. Would you like to hear a few?

XANDER:              (mutters) Where is he? (normal voice) Yeah sure. I mean it’s Halloween…might as well tell some scary stories.

DARK:                   Our glasses are not quite full, and the solution is not yet fully diluted, but this night is all about facing the abyss, isn’t it? Embracing the dark, lingering in shadow, and becoming the nightmares that all the LONG days of the year haunt us.

XANDER:              Sure, what the hell.

DARK:                   A toast!

XANDER:              To what?

DARK:                   To… the unexpected…to the Devil’s Brew!

XANDER:              To the Devil’s Brew!

SFX: DRINKING.

XANDER:              (choking)

DARK:                   (laughing) Stout heart now…don’t forget to breathe.

XANDER:              (choking still) Oh dear lord….that’s like drinking gasoline….and no don’t look at me like that…that time was an accident.

DARK:                   Come, walk with me. There are a few graves in this cemetery with quite remarkable stories to tell.

XANDER:              (giggles) Man this stuff really kicks?

DARK:                   Mmmm? Ah yes it does at that. Particularly if you’re not used to that particular libation much less demon liquor as a whole. (chuckle) Now let me see….where is he…

XANDER:              Holy….what are those? Those aren’t jack-o-lanters?

DARK:                   Ah! Of course. Here we are. Those are genuine jack-o-lanterns, not the orange plumped Americanized “oh look how big it is” showy modernized icon of the season. No, my boy these are the originals, the genuine article.

XANDER:              Those…are terrifying…they look like little shrunken heads.

DARK:                   Yes, they do, don’t they? Those are rutabagas, far larger than the turnips you find around here. During autumns in the old country, superstition abounded. It was a time of darkness, clutching shadow and wandering sprits. They were terrifyingly carved, an ember from the hearth was placed within, and they leered out of the windows of homes in hollows and now forgotten lanes to serve as wards against the slithering spectral things who called the night home.

XANDER:              (slurring a little) I can see why. They give me the jeepie yeebies.

SFX: EERIE WHISPER

XANDER:              Did you hear something?

DARK:                   (chuckles) Heebie jeebies? You may want to slow up a bit or this will make for a very short evening of storytelling for you.

XANDER:              Once you get used to it…goes down a little smooth. Where the fairy at? (slightly tipsy titter laugh)

DARK:                   In due course, she will appear, but in the meanwhile (with a flourish) step right up upon the forlorn grave of little Tommy Dotson. He lived on a little farm just down the lane there about five miles, now merely a cellar hole with her harvest fields choked by weeded thicket. He tragically died but a boy, merely 13 autumns of age before meeting an unfortunate end.

XANDER:              That’s terrible…

DARK:                   It is lamentable yes, but he is not lain here alone thankfully. For THIS gravesite was paid for in three, anticipation of the end of a family who hoped to take the long rest together in due course. Upon this slab of granite are three jack-o-lantern souls flickering in the wind, all that remains of what they once were. Just under your foot there lays the ravaged corpse of his mother, Jayne.

XANDER:              (startled) Oh god! I’m sorry lady…shoot…spilled a little of my drink on me…

DARK:                   (annoyed but continuing) It would be weeks before the coroner was able to find all of the pieces of her and while horrifying in the extreme, far more horrifying is the fate of the one missing family member NOT interred below.

XANDER:              Who was it?

DARK:                   That of this grim screaming jack-o-lantern right here. Meet the good farmer Albert Matthew Dodson, he was what you Americans call (tease overly American stereotype voice) a good hard werkin’ God-fearin’ man! Piss and vinegar! Guns and git off my lawn! (Back to normal) That was the face he wore in public, but in private he was truly a beautiful piece of work who masked his darker impulses well, hiding behind the good book and neighborly deeds. He cast his fate by his own actions with little Tommy and Jayne who merely the tragic collateral to his hatred.

XANDER:              What happened to him? To them?

DARK:                   (Predatorially satisfied) I am SO glad that you asked. The case was a curious one, never fully explained to anyone’s satisfaction, but I shall relate the facts as I know them. On the morning of November 1^st after not showing up for the farmer’s market as was custom and expectation, a neighbor grew concerned. After attempting several phone calls, the man drove over to the Dodson farm around 9:30am. As he drew near, he noticed the last traces of black smoke drifting up above the tree line. As he rounded the top of the drive and the house came into view, he was startled to see that the ell of the house where the kitchen had been now was a burned-out shell, charred and still red embered. As he later told the police and newspapers, he exited his truck calling out to Albert, Jayne or even little Tommy. The smoking hulk of the former family kitchen was still too warm to draw near, so he circled around to the front of the house, ascended the wide porch and attempted to enter. He found the door blocked by something. Moving to the front parlor window he cupped his hands and looked within, his breath catching in his lungs. The interior of the little room looked as if a hurricane had torn through, furniture toppled, cushions shredded leaving a snow-like cover of feathers across the hearth of the fireplace. In the center of the room had been a large, braided carpet created by Mrs.  Dodson for the ’68 State Fair and while Mr. Dobson always referred to it as “that old thing”, it had nonetheless been the last flicker of independence from him after she smirkingly took home the first-place ribbon. A smirk that she paid for tenfold later that evening after Mr. Dodson finished off a case of Old Possum. That carpet upon which furniture had been cornered delicately and well balanced was now shredded and torn, braided bands frayed outward from a great hole now in its center. As the neighbor looked downward, he reported seeing a hole, some four feet wide, the floorboards buckled and cast to the side as if something had come from below, forcing its way upward into the house. Old Man Dodson’s temper despite his appearances was well known, and though no one said so to her face, the bruises upon Mrs. Dodson and eventually on Little Tommy spoke greater volumes. Fearing the worst and assuming at last that Mr. Dodson had at last given the last of his immortal soul over to the Demon Liquor, the neighbor made the hasty decision to force his way into the house. Removing his shirt and wrapping it around his hand he swung back to swing at the parlor window when he stopped, cold terror washing over him. To the right, on the parquet floor of the hallway was a toppled sewing basket and upon it was a ragged and bloodied arm. One arm, three remaining fingers tipped with chipped red #5 nail polish.

XANDER:              (drunk) Oh my god! That’s…he….he killed her? The Dodge….Dob….the guy did?

DARK:                   Well, that is what the neighbor assumed and realizing that a murderous Mr. Dodson was best left to the proper authorities, he descended the porch and began making his way back to his truck to make the call from the Earl Hunkins’ General Store just down the hill. Looking to his right at the open door of the barn however, he noticed two crumpled figures just inside the door. Stopping in his tracks, he called out once more, slowly edging forward, ready to dart for his truck at the first sign of movement should one of them prove to be Mr. Dodson. As he drew near and his eyes adjusted to the shadowed interior of the barn, the two still forms weren’t quite…right, one crumpled on top of the other, its hands up and reaching out. A foul odor assaulted his senses, and had his eyes already not been tear streaked, the smell would’ve done the job. As he later told a reporter while looking out the window not able to meet his eyes as he talked, “they were too small,” he said. “I remember thinking that…they’re so small. Just so small.” The crumpled form on top wore heavy clothing stained dark with mud, blood and dirt, a bullet hole in the center of its back, later noted in the coroner’s report having been fired by a high-capacity assault rifle. He gently reached down and turned the body over and staggered back. The thing as he later called it, had been hiding the still form of little Tommy Dodson, one limp hand from the creature had been placed upon a bullet hole that had matched its own, a pool of blood had been well soaked up into the aged barn boards and sawdust around them. Crying out in grief and horror, the neighbor staggered backwards from the barn, the details of the creature emblazoned into his mind. “It was a child’s form,” he said, his white knuckled hands clutching now cold coffee as the reporter’s pencil danced to keep up. “It had some kind of mask on like they used to wear in the old coal mining days when they used to send kids down into the pits. It had these dark goggles on, but I could see….Lord Jesus I could still see through the lenses of them. Its eyes….they were….wrong.” His hands now shaking, the reporter paused as the man looked up into the sky as a single solitary crow screamed outside the café before vanishing over the trees. “I used to fish and hunt with my dad before he took a heart attack the fall I married Alice. He’d pick me up from school and off we’d go for a weekend to hunt some white tail or turkey, but he loved his catfish, always chasing a record blue or flathead. He took me down to Kerr Lake the summer I turned 16 and three hours in after we drifted a piece of chicken, he landed a monster. It was…I’m not just talking size, them RobCo folks had been dumping all sorts of shit into the lake for years. This thing broke the surface and God help me it was five feet long, fleshy and covered in seeping tumors. It took my dad’s reel clear out his hands and almost took him too, but I had grabbed hold of his belt and steadied the boat, so we didn’t flip. We went home and later that night he went out to the barn, took all his gear and tossed it into the trash bin at the end our drive. We only ever talked about it once the night we shared my first beer. Its eyes, were milky white, bulging right out of its head the size of teacup saucers. That thing in the barn had eyes almost as big as that and just as unholy.”

XANDER:              What…..the actual fuck. What….what happened though?

DARK:                   From what the coroner’s inquest later determined, the fatal bullet had been fired from just outside the barn sometime between 7pm and 7:30pm on the evening of Halloween. It was fired at close range into the back of the creature and clean on through into little Tommy Dodson who had died instantly. The creature however had lived a short while, clearly trying to stop the bleeding from the boy’s chest as its own life ebbed away. While Mr. Dodson was nowhere to be found, the weapon was. It was located approximately two hundred yards to the northeast, with a jammed bullet still in the chamber. The bullet dug out of the barn beam by ballistics was a perfect match and it became clear that it indeed had been Mr. Dodson who fired the fatal shot, but more likely that his son had been an unintended consequence. The events that transpired between 7:30pm and 10:16pm were unclear, however it was known that an improvised incendiary device had gone off in the kitchen, so determined by the damaged Nuka Cola clock found near the clothesline that been blown free from the house. The coroner determined that Mrs. Dodson had already been dead at this point, sometime between the incident in the barn and the explosion in the kitchen. It took time to find enough of her to hold a closed casket funeral, but whatever had ravaged her had started in the parlor. In the basement below, a section of the earthen floor had caved way into a tunnel that went straight down about 20 feet before opening into a foul-smelling antechamber, believed to be part of a forgotten coal mine. Local police and cave explorers attempted to explore the tunnels to determine from where whatever IT was had come from. The area however proved to be unstable and further exploration was called off after a tunnel partially collapsed. And for Mr. Dodson? There wasn’t a single trace of him. No credit card was ever used, their money still sat in the bank, train stations, airports, highway patrols all would come to know the face of this monster of a man but none of them reported seeing him at all after that fateful night. No trace…except one. A local Pioneer Scout Troop some 6 months later were hiking 10 miles to the south passing the entrance to a boarded off mine shaft when one of them noticed a pile of bloodied clothes. After police were called in to investigate, the wallet identified them to have belonged to that of Mr. Dodson.

XANDER:              He…was he eaten or something?

DARK:                   …or something. One final note in this grim Halloween mystery is this: the following year the squabbling relatives at last decided to sell the property to a developer after being unable to find a buyer who would even dare go near the place. As the barn was being cleared out for auction a small hidden room was discovered up in the hay loft that very clearly had belonged to Tommy Dodson. Amongst Grognak comic books, crayons, old crusty plates with food still clinging to it, was a small diary made by hand from columned paper, yarn and construction paper. In it, it told the story of a lonely boy who wished into the well every day for a friend. One day, a friend came, up from the earth, but Daddy must never find out. Never, ever find out.

XANDER:              Oh….oh God….he…

DARK:                   Yes, it was never fully explained to anyone’s satisfaction, but as for me, I think the innocence of a small boy made friends with a monster that Halloween night. But in truth the real monster was just outside the door. You know in the coal mining days they did indeed use children down in those dark pits, forced into a life of toil and servitude by the gluttonous overlords who did, as they aways do, see Appalachia and its simple folk as opportunity. At the front of the line when one child fell, they brought forth another. The god-fearing farmer Mr. Dodson took two innocents that night, and I believe he found himself a new vocation as the price. One in which he will be toiling for a long, long time far from the light of day. If I can instill one powerful lesson into you based on a long history of observation on the weakness of man it is this: acts of hate are always paid back…with interest.

XANDER:              Sorry…this stuff is….its weird…I think I’m quite drunk but I think the fog is clearing up…I can see….what are those?

DARK:                   Let’s press on shall we? I think we have time for one more tombstone as midnight approaches. (pauses) Are YOU a God fearing man Xander?

XANDER:              Me? No…I don’t think so. I mean I never much thought about it. These days people worship everything from the almighty to radiation and what I’m fairly certain is an 8 foot tall giant moth. Everything ended until it didn’t. I’m not sure if there’s an above any more than a below, all I do is try and get through a day you know? It’s like….there are people who are so up their own ass thinking they’re right when really they’re just hypocrites. Good people aren’t all about reaching up, they reach out. On the other end you have people who just punch down and, in the end, they always end up on the bottom one or another. I just try and stay out of things.

DARK:                   So you tow the line, try and live a balanced life? Interesting…ah! Splendid. Here it is.

XANDER:              Oh Jeez that’s…

DARK:                   Yes isn’t it JUST? This rutabaga would’ve certainly taken home the blue ribbon, but there’s a little surprise just inside this leering, screaming face. Go ahead…look. (pause) It’s quite safe I assure you. Look. Before you do, no sipping this time. One final drink….down the hatch?

XANDER:              I’m getting kind of…

DARK:                   (forceful and insistent) Drink it.

XANDER:              Bottoms up…

DARK:                   (Mutters) As our time almost is…

XANDER:              (Coughing) oofff…(laughing) that burns….hey there’s…that’s a weird sort of glowy haze around us. Is….who is…who is that?

DARK:                   Never mind them Alexander, now….LOOK.

XANDER:              There’s…another little jack o’lantern one inside? A little glowing turnip…that’s amazing…how did they do that?

DARK:                   A deft hand…one flickering soul inside another, which is the perfect metaphor for the terminus of the man whose name is etched on this stone and yet to the curious grave rubbers who prizes this tombstone above all others here, there is something unique about it. Do you see?

XANDER:              There’s no date of death. But he died?

DARK:                   Oh very much so and if there’s one word you can trust on matters of finality, it’s the undertaker. Yes, this lonely grave, far from the others in a forgotten corner of the cemetery belonged to an elderly bachelor named Charles M. Chambers, formerly superintendent of schools for Watoga, the so called city of the future. By all accounts the man, though well credentialed and careered, was just about as surly a neighbor as one could expect. And why not? The man had begun a career in education to fashion and mold the rough clay of rambunctious untampered youth into the kind of men and women needed for an uncertain future. Patriotic, upstanding, clean, drug free and hard working. Oh no there would be no Mentats in his schools. Though idealistic and hopeful for the first decade in education, like the artisan constantly working clay, your hands grow calloused, and your mind grows dim. By the time he took the gold pocket watch, a tree of hundred bills and a pat on the back, Mr. Chambers had grown to despise children with every fiber of his being. The children on the block playing? Oh that’s too loud! Disrespectful! A call to the police. Teenagers out after dark spending too long in their cars after a date? OH! The scandal! A call to the police. By and by the neighbors one by one turned on him until finally they removed him from power in the HOA, freeing the neighborhood of his rule and clutches. That only fueled his rage further. Every second of every day those smiling, laughing faces that called him Chambers of Horror behind his back were the reminder of a life WASTED. The children and teenagers on that block were his hair shirt, the constant reminder of a penance of choice and sacrifice. And he HATED Halloween. He hated Devil’s night and washing egg yolks off the side of his house. He hated Halloween itself with his loud screaming kids and people moving about after dark when it should be quiet and peaceful. So one sleepless, red-eyed, teeth grinding night in early October he had an idea, a beautifully grim and terrible idea. You see Mr. Chambers had a hobby, just a little something to keep his mind going in his twilight years. He was fascinated with robotics and Mr. Chambers had grown quite adept at them. One day while fetching his coffee and paper from the Super Duper Mart he had a fascinating chance encounter overhearing two researchers from RobCo discussing a small flaw they discovered in the software of the Mr. Handy’s. While cheerful, subservient and always ready to lend a hand, the very same software ALSO contained military grade programming for the Mr. Gutsy models quite by accident. While they were still determining the best way to recall or ship out upgrades to purchasers, the efforts to correct the problem were, for now, a low priority. That night the idea he had was this: what if there was a terrible accident in the neighborhood, an awful tragedy. Well naturally the HOA would, by default, return to him and empowered once more following the tearful interviews and promises to rebuild, he could see that the right sort of people: his people would earn a place in Chambers’ cul-de-sac.

XANDER:              Oh my god he killed all his neighbors!!

DARK:                   Xander…..

XANDER:              Right. Sorry. Keep going…(mutters) where is he…?

SFX: WHISPERS GETTING LOUDER

XANDER:              Who is that out there?

DARK:                   Forget them and FOCUS…we’re not done with this story yet. So, Mr. Chambers with his dark idea firmly planted in fetid soil, he went to work on his own Mr. Handy. Safely in a controlled environment he subjected it to a variety of tests, until finally inspiration came one fateful day as sat in the park and looked upon the dam. The dam! Yes…a partition, keeping two distinct identities and instructions from colliding. Every dam has a weak point, it’s just a matter of finding it. He knew that Mr. Handy’s have heightened senses, not just with three large ocular arrays, but ALL of the senses, including exceptional hearing. He gambled that an audio tone of one’s and zero’s in the right sequence could cancel the partition and merge the two identities together, two chaotic, dual personalities vying for control, but in both, murderous intent seeing enemies EVERYWHERE. He rigged up loudspeaker to a pneumatic lift and fitted it into his chimney. When the time was right, all he’d need to do is type Execute into his RobCo terminal, the speaker would ascend and play the coded sequence and that would be that. The day came. Halloween. It was a cold one, colder than most, and the children bundled into layers of long underwear beneath their costumes from Freddy Fears House of Scares. Frost coated the fallen leaves in the streets as the parade began and doorbells were rung and paper skeletons and spiders danced in silent warning for the horror soon to come. But that’s when something happened that Mr. Chambers in all of his dreams and nightmare could never have foreseen. His doorbell rang.

XANDER:              Who was it?

DARK:                   “Who is it?”, was more the question, asked by him to a darkened porch. If there is one inviolate rule of trick or treating it is this: you never call upon a darkened door, and yet someone had. The doorbell rang again, this time more insistently. And so, not mere minutes from his great triumph he opened the door and looked down. There upon the doorstep in an old bedsheet with ghoul grease paint makeup was a boy. He looked up at Mr. Chambers and wordlessly held out his sack. Mr. Chambers opened his mouth to lay out a fiery retort to send him fleeing from his porch and then he stopped. Familiar. There was something familiar about this boy. A moth fluttering in the attic of his mind in an old dusty corner…flittering…flickering recognition but he couldn’t place him. He looked at the boy deep in the eyes and felt the goosebumps rising on the back of his neck. No pupils. The child had eyes like black marbles floating in a sea of milky white, and yet these black voids had depth to them, like looking down into a bottomless pit from which a tumble you would never be found. Mr. Chambers stepped back from the door in uncertain and rising horror. In his mind a chanting began as if the fluttering moth of faded memory had dislodged the needle upon a record player. Crackling static a chorus of school children, every naughty detention desked student, began to chant:

“no pupils for Mr. Chambers,

no pupils at the school,

no treats upon this Halloween

but tricks for the fool.”

With each step backward he took, the boy ghoul took a step forward, now crossing the threshold…his threshold! This child was in his house! His house! That won’t do! Though his lips didn’t move, the boy’s eyes, unblinking, said all he needed to hear. Finding his courage and adrenaline, Mr. Chambers turned to run, getting as far as the kitchen, slamming it shut behind him with a bang. Hurrying to the drawer, he tore it open, searching, searching…for something, anything. The knives. The knives were all gone. Where had he put them? A rapid succession of meaty noises could be heard outside as the blades flew out of the dark and into the side of his house just below the kitchen window where he stood. Terror rising in his throat with a coppery burn, he ran to the back door, opened it and tumbled down the stairs, winding himself for a moment. Old bones screaming out in arthritic pain, he looked up as the boy marched forward down the stairs, ringed by the kitchen light like an angel of the Old Testament, its eyes somehow darker than the night itself, still holding its bag out before it. Mr. Chambers rose, screaming for help, circling round the house to the front yard. Within sight was the welcoming pool of lights from the street and children smiling, laughing  and carrying on in the thrill of the night. He almost reached his gate, when the old pillow sack carried by the child swirled out of the darkness, wrapped itself around his neck in a flash, clotheslining him to the ground. Choking and sputtering as he lay on his back, the pillowcase thing began dragging him back across the lawn like an obscene caterpillar. His vision now upside down, his tongue lolling and eyes bulging, he found himself looking up at the face of the child as it drew near. Its eyes, its horrible eyes of silent judgement were fixed upon him and that familiar face. That face…the moth in his mind gently tapped a shade and the attic of his mind was filled with moonlight illuminating all. He knew that face. He feared that face with good reason. He remembered the grease paint, the ragged bedsheet cut with scissors, he remembered it all. That face was in every old photo album that lay in boxes in his basement. It was the boy he had murdered, buried in a place no one would ever find him. And yet when he’d visit that spot he’d hear him pounding to be let out, buried alive….five feet deep. The boys expressionless face reacted for the very first time as he nodded and opened his mouth wide, those black orbs rolling back in his head as the oily blackness they contained spilled forward, coating its throat. Mr. Chambers began to scream, but between the Halloween Scares holotapes blasting in front windows and children chasing each other with flashlights, no one heard him and even if they did they never would’ve understood. Because as it he found himself hauled forward into its horrible maw, Mr. Chambers screamed that he was eating himself alive.

XANDER:              It was…him?

DARK:                   It was the part of him that he chose to kill, but you can’t, metaphorically speaking of course, kill yourself. Everyone on this earth is a walking graveyard of buried shells that they’ve shed. If you had to face the judgement of a younger you, denied voice, freedom and control what do you think it would do? Eh? In Mr. Chambers case a long-forgotten boy whose eyes that had been filled with wonder were now filled with anger and revenge, deciding on that particular Halloween that it was time for a change. Schools out boys and girls… (chuckle)

XANDER:              What happened afterward?

DARK:                   The very next day a crying child was found on the steps of Mr. Chambers house by a neighbor with a particular case of amnesia. The old man was nowhere to be seen, but the boy was tired, scared, and cold. Bringing him inside, she made him a cup of hot cocoa and called the police. The boy smiled sweetly and sipped, she had smiled back after a moment, before a cold chill ran down her spine, the officer repeating her name a few times as she stood there speechless before gathering herself and continuing with her report to the police. It was only years later, after the end of the world that she told the story to her granddaughter. In the instant that the boy opened his mouth to sip the sweet, rich cocoa, she heard only for a moment, a hoarse voice screaming from far away in a deep place. A voice that sounded just like Mr. Chambers.

XANDER:              Jeez…that’s….ohhhh my head…

DARK:                   I’m afraid you’re going to have quite the hangover. Now listen closely Xander…are you listening? Earlier we talked about how your little brain drinks in an OCEAN of information every second….such as the fog swirling around us now that you didn’t see before and yet now you do. The shadows that were never there until they were. The voices that constantly cry out yet are NEVER ever heard! You perceive them now…don’t you?

XANDER:              (grasping ears to block out the din) What…what was in that?

DARK:                   You opened a door into the unseen world on the only night you could fully and now you’re starting to see what Halloween really is, how its celebrated RIGHT here. Listen? Listen! Do you hear!?

XANDER:              What is that?

DARK:                   The dance of the damned….can you hear them? The pounding fists upon moldy coffin lids?! They’re ALLLL DOWNNNN THERE still!  AND OHHHH LOOK! LOOK AT HOW THEY DANCE! The wandering ghouls denied consecrated ground to lay below!!!!

XANDER:              (overwhelmed) My ears! It’s too much!

DARK:                   Is it? Is it really? I can stop it you know…close the door again before you slip sideways into the madness like SHE did over there, and honestly, I’d much prefer you to keep your wits about you. They may prove useful.

XANDER:              (anguish) Stop it please!

DARK:                   I can you now…for a price. The minted coin of one single question: (pause) what are YOU?

XANDER:              (anguish) What?

DARK:                   Oh come now! Don’t be bashful! Step right up upon the stage and tell us all what you are and what you are doing here.

XANDER:              I’m just…I’m no one!

DARK:                   DON’T LIE TO ME BOY! Tell me!

SFX: FLARE GUN.

DARK:                   What is….?

SFX: POP AND FLARE.

DARK:                   Ah!

RABBIT:                LEAVE HIM ALONE!

XANDER:              Rrrrrr….abbbit? Heyyyy (faints)

SFX: BODY COLLAPSES

RABBIT:                Xander! Come on….let’s get you out of here…thank goodness I popped some BuffOut to haul over here.

DARK:                   I am not done with this one.

RABBIT:                Oh yes you are you smooth talking weirdo.

DARK:                   (threatening) If you would take a word of advice friend, the most dangerous place in the universe one can stand is between me and getting what I want.

RABBIT:                (Sarcastic and over this night) Hey, I thought I was going to have a fun night playing board games in a bed and breakfast, instead I died. Guess we’re both going to be disappointed tonight. Up you go…come on buddy.

DARK:                   I said…our business is not concluded.

RABBIT:                Move or I’ll move you.

DARK:                   I have walked the surface of this world and seen empires smote to dust and the icons and minds of rulers fade upon the wind. I can hear the lamented cry of the broken hearted, feel the lusty thoughts of the pumping, panting covetous sinner leering upon another man’s wife through a darkened window with every single stroke…there is nothing, nothing that is unknown to me. And yet, there’s him…he is like looking through a solid sheet of glass. There is nothing there. Nothing at all. Xander Nash, the man no one remembers…and I want to know WHY.

RABBIT:                I said….MOVE.

DARK:                   I can’t see him, but oh child I can see you. Little Rabbit…and my oh my what a scared little rabbit he is. It's coming little bunny, Daddy's swift moving shadow across the skies as you flee from one hiding place to another as the predatory winged horror of his sins are forever at your heels...licking hungrily. Because you wonder in the sweat laden still nights when the creeping anxiety leaves you still frozen and fighting for air: am I just...like....him?

RABBIT:                You don’t know anything!

SFX: CLOCKING CHIMING. THUNDER CLAP OVERHEAD.

DARK:                   The storm…no….not now…

SFX: RUNNING.

DARK:                   Run then! Run little rabbit! But there is always, always a Halloween! And I leave you with Daddy’s shadows lurking in the sky above. Can you feel it? Drawing near...it's making its descent now! The Jubjub bird with claws that catch! DO YOU HEAR IT RABBIT?! SCAMPER ALONG NOW! IT'S JUST THERE BEHIND THE PLUMP RIPE MOON!!!! And here! A parting gift….the screaming shadows of the Danse Macabre! (long evil laugh).

SFX: FINAL BELL TOLLS AND DARK’S VOICE ECHOES AND FADES.

SFX: CRACKLING FIRE

XANDER:              (moans) My head…

RABBIT:                Hey buddy…you okay?

XANDER:              Yeah I…where did you go? I waited…the wall. Must’ve fell asleep.

RABBIT:                You don’t remember what happened after I left to respawn?

XANDER:              (confused) No, just….I was going to sit on the wall. Is that right? (Pause then concern) Is something wrong?

RABBIT:                (Pause) No…no of course not. I made you some soup. It’s on your stove. You should get some rest, and I’ll head home after sun up okay?

XANDER:              Sure. Ughhh…feels like I have a hangover…(pause) and Rabbit?

RABBIT:                Yeah?

XANDER:              Thanks for taking care of me.

RABBIT:                Sure. Get some sleep.

SFX: DOOR CLICKS SHUT

MEDIA: DEVIL’S BREW OUTRO SONG.