Annie On Writing

June 22, 2016

Mischief Night by Phil Rossi

Filed under: Twisted Tales,Writing Tools — Annie Evett @ 10:52 pm
Erik loved Halloween, always dressing up as Count Dracula to entertain the trick-or-treaters. Erik’s wife even got into the game, playing a gypsy from the old country.

The legend of the elderly couple in their haunted Victorian mansion grew by the year. Known to goof with the children and hand out hefty portions of candy. Care packages the size of take-out, for each kid in costume.

On the day before Halloween, Erik walked into the local sweet shop to pick up his order of holiday chocolates. Erik noticed a group of teenagers huddled at the soda fountain. Princes back in the day, they’d always visit Erik and his wife on Halloween. Today they’re jaded wise guys, too cool for manners and memory lane. The toughies crowded like a gang in a film noir, plotting their capers for this evening’s Mischief Night.

“Hey Pops, is it true you’re still a vampire?” Dean, the ringleader of this posse asked, as the delinquents enjoyed a laugh.

“Only on Halloween,” Erik told Dean.

“Show us your fangs, Pops,” one of the chuckleheads asked.

Erik smiled, flashing a row of old man’s chompers. In between the gaps, most were nubbed down. The senior gentleman still had vibrant eyes and a warm demeanor, hoping the punks would smarten up and visit more often.

Dean and his cronies were too hip for elders and criminally advanced for eggs and shaving cream. They preferred to wreak real havoc on Mischief Night. Knocking out street lamps, slashing tires, and lighting stray cats on fire often made the agenda.

That’s when Dean decided to target Erik and almost smacked a cohort for suggesting the flaming paper bag and dog manure skit. That amateur prank where you set a diaper fire, ring the victim’s doorbell, and dash off.

Dean wanted something more sinister. A legacy stunt. He’d wait until the night’s antics were full swing, saving his idea for the encore and show stopper.

As Mischief Night carried on, Erik retired for the evening. Halloween always kept him on his feet, prepping the candy bags, rehearsing the Count’s lines and corny accent. Pictures with the kids and meeting their parents. A high holy day with the chance to engage and make new friends.

Meanwhile, down in Mayberry, while the nerds doused each other with shaving cream and flour socks, the derelicts were out marauding. Countless reports of vandalism and stolen property dispatching the police into high gear.

That’s when Dean unleashed his plot to mess with Erik. His buddies bailed out, claiming it was getting late. Erik lived on the other side of town and wasn’t going anywhere. The underlings protested for fearless leader to save the plan for some other time. A boring Friday night came to mind.

Forced to fly solo, King Rebel made the trek towards the mansion on his own. Already past the police-ordered curfew when he reached Erik’s Victorian spread. Dean scampered up a hill where he found open passage and entered Erik’s basement.

Once inside, Dean reached into his pocket, fisting an M80 explosive. He already untwined the powder-laced fuse on the walk over. The delayed release would provide Dean ample time to ignite the miniature bomb and escape.

Dean sparked his cigarette lighter and watched a cellar made of stone columns and arches bloom into focus. Dean creeped the twisting catacombs for the best nook to secure and detonate the charge.

“Drop that mechanism right now, before you kill us all,” Erik called out.

“Too late, old man,” a defiant Dean said, as he thumbed the power knob on high and flicked his wrist. The torch erupted and spit towards Erik like a water fountain. A handsome flame to spook the geezer and shoo him away.

But it didn’t. Instead, once the chamber revealed itself, it was Dean who slipped into shock. A freakish Erik, grotesque and superhuman, leaped from the lair. Frozen and aghast, Dean dropped the virgin M80.

Gone were Erik’s friendly smile and hokey costume. The last thing Dean saw, before he fainted and died, were the crimson eyes and cobra fangs of the vampire lunging towards him.

Advertisements

1 Comment »

  1. I suspected there was more to the old geezer! Is it wrong that I was rooting for the vampire?

    Like

    Comment by ganymeder — June 25, 2016 @ 10:34 am | Reply


RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Say something constructive... or nice at least.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: