rm-r comic Halloween Contest 2013
The King of Halloween
A piece of flash fiction about one man's dauntless dedication to the spirit of Halloween.
Some people in Fairvale know Randy Thorn as the plaid shirt guy, some as the hat guy, and some as Mr. Grease Monkey. Come October, however, they all know him by a single name.
When he enters Grey's Superette on the 29th of the month or so, grabs a creaky aged cart with a single wheel so out of alignment that it doesn't touch the ground any more, and heads towards the center of the store to the "seasonal" display, he always has a grin on his face that the daytime manager, Grace, had been caught describing one year as benevolent. He glides along the store's linoleum as though it were creamy marble and holds his head higher than at any other time. Every call of his name and every "heya!" is returned with that warm grin and a wave, an acknowledgement from on high. All hail Randy, the King of Halloween!
Randy's fat hands turn white as they grip the handle on the cart for a sharp right turn; all the plastic cauldrons and cardboard castle displays come into full view. With a whistle of a tune rolling around in his cheeks, he starts piling bag after bag of markup candy into his cart, mix-and match and Milky Ways alike. Old Shemp, picking up some kind of alien mask for his nephew, puts away the plastic thing he'd found to watch Randy.
This was an enigma, a true testament of Halloween spirit. The man, thought Old Shemp, the figure in the red flannel shirt that was grasping at bags of sweets like they were sacks of cotton ready for the thresher, never missed a Fairvale Halloween. When he first moved to town with sweet Rose in 1989, they handed out candy like it was attached to the plague. When they had to sell some gold jewelry in 94 to make rent on their tiny home that hard October in 97, he put on a suit and some devil horns for a debtor costume and did his house up like a haunted work space (rotating chairs full of cobwebs, desk drawers full of eyeballs and the like). When somebody stole his car in the year 2000, he used the freed garage space to set up a tiny haunted house that contained hidden candy in all the tool boxes and ceiling beams (this was the year that he'd earned his "kingship" nickname from all the neighbors in that tiny town). And now, even after Rose had come back from the hospital in tears with a belly much smaller than what she'd left with, he was here at the Grey's Superette trying to make one night a little special for the neighborhood kids. Old Shemp swore that that would be the end of the reign of the King; Randy hardly showed his face all year, wouldn't talk to anybody in nothing but short grunts, and hadn't been seen smiling until this very day. There were even rumors that he was starting to hit Rose around, starting to get real bitter over the whole mess. But, thinks Old Shemp, some men just have to have their rituals, and he goes back to scanning the masks as Randy hauls his loaded trolley over one aisle.
This year Randy makes a stop down health and beauty, a brief personal errand, before finally skating his way up to the checkout counters. The blonde gal with the ponytail chats him up as she checks him out, and she doesn't glance twice at Randy's toiletries hidden beneath a bag of tiny Dots boxes. She says her little brother Tony ("you remember Tony, right? He was the black Power Ranger or something last year?") wanted her to ask about the VHS-sized chocolates that Randy had been known to bring out, swiping over the scanner first the candy and then the bag of cheap plastic shaving razors (with blades oh so easy to remove). He rattles a bag stuffed with the foil-wrapped chocolate with a wink. Sharing the bag with the chocolate is the rest of his toiletries, a fistful of sewing kits with plenty of extra needles, needles that would fit like a nail through a washer into the center of some lucky child's Three Musketeer's, would stick and stab a tiny throat like a bayonet. One last "thank you" over his shoulder to Tony's sister and the King of Halloween is pulling a brown knit cap on and heading for the doors with his haul. His subjects, all the sweatshirt skeletons and glittery ladybugs, will certainly receive an unforgettable treat this year.
When he enters Grey's Superette on the 29th of the month or so, grabs a creaky aged cart with a single wheel so out of alignment that it doesn't touch the ground any more, and heads towards the center of the store to the "seasonal" display, he always has a grin on his face that the daytime manager, Grace, had been caught describing one year as benevolent. He glides along the store's linoleum as though it were creamy marble and holds his head higher than at any other time. Every call of his name and every "heya!" is returned with that warm grin and a wave, an acknowledgement from on high. All hail Randy, the King of Halloween!
Randy's fat hands turn white as they grip the handle on the cart for a sharp right turn; all the plastic cauldrons and cardboard castle displays come into full view. With a whistle of a tune rolling around in his cheeks, he starts piling bag after bag of markup candy into his cart, mix-and match and Milky Ways alike. Old Shemp, picking up some kind of alien mask for his nephew, puts away the plastic thing he'd found to watch Randy.
This was an enigma, a true testament of Halloween spirit. The man, thought Old Shemp, the figure in the red flannel shirt that was grasping at bags of sweets like they were sacks of cotton ready for the thresher, never missed a Fairvale Halloween. When he first moved to town with sweet Rose in 1989, they handed out candy like it was attached to the plague. When they had to sell some gold jewelry in 94 to make rent on their tiny home that hard October in 97, he put on a suit and some devil horns for a debtor costume and did his house up like a haunted work space (rotating chairs full of cobwebs, desk drawers full of eyeballs and the like). When somebody stole his car in the year 2000, he used the freed garage space to set up a tiny haunted house that contained hidden candy in all the tool boxes and ceiling beams (this was the year that he'd earned his "kingship" nickname from all the neighbors in that tiny town). And now, even after Rose had come back from the hospital in tears with a belly much smaller than what she'd left with, he was here at the Grey's Superette trying to make one night a little special for the neighborhood kids. Old Shemp swore that that would be the end of the reign of the King; Randy hardly showed his face all year, wouldn't talk to anybody in nothing but short grunts, and hadn't been seen smiling until this very day. There were even rumors that he was starting to hit Rose around, starting to get real bitter over the whole mess. But, thinks Old Shemp, some men just have to have their rituals, and he goes back to scanning the masks as Randy hauls his loaded trolley over one aisle.
This year Randy makes a stop down health and beauty, a brief personal errand, before finally skating his way up to the checkout counters. The blonde gal with the ponytail chats him up as she checks him out, and she doesn't glance twice at Randy's toiletries hidden beneath a bag of tiny Dots boxes. She says her little brother Tony ("you remember Tony, right? He was the black Power Ranger or something last year?") wanted her to ask about the VHS-sized chocolates that Randy had been known to bring out, swiping over the scanner first the candy and then the bag of cheap plastic shaving razors (with blades oh so easy to remove). He rattles a bag stuffed with the foil-wrapped chocolate with a wink. Sharing the bag with the chocolate is the rest of his toiletries, a fistful of sewing kits with plenty of extra needles, needles that would fit like a nail through a washer into the center of some lucky child's Three Musketeer's, would stick and stab a tiny throat like a bayonet. One last "thank you" over his shoulder to Tony's sister and the King of Halloween is pulling a brown knit cap on and heading for the doors with his haul. His subjects, all the sweatshirt skeletons and glittery ladybugs, will certainly receive an unforgettable treat this year.