Most of the trick-or-treaters had already started their candy pilgrimage while daylight had yet to slip away, but Robin Jett figured it was probably best to wait until dark. He was a new kid in a new school, and first impressions had been less than favorable.
From a fashion standpoint, Robin’s flannel shirts, saggy, faded jeans and well-worn sneakers didn’t exactly fit in with the popular crowd. The attire framed a painfully thin body topped by frizzy orange hair and a freckled face.
And when it came to recess or free periods, he merely wanted to sit alone and draw. It seemed safer that way, and he could actually do something he enjoyed.
With Halloween approaching, Miss Jackson’s class at Davenport Middle School had offered up some seasonal art that was displayed on the walls in the hallways of the building. Robin drew an ominous skeleton-like creature riding a horse with flaring nostrils and eyes of red, and it was an impressive piece of work. Unfortunately, it caused some of the other kids to put the “weird” tag on Robin, which – sadly – he was quite used to at the ripe old age of 12.
Loner artists with old souls probably weren’t meant to play a major role in teenage society, anyway.
But perhaps Halloween night would offer a respite, especially under cover of darkness. With other All Hallow’s Eve revelers dressed up as everything from pirates to vampires to mummies, Robin figured no one would pay any attention to him while adorned in his usual clothing. If asked, he could just say, “I’m Hillbilly Boy.” So, he grabbed a pillow case for the candy haul, told his preoccupied parents he’d be back later on, and headed out the door.
He didn’t mind trick-or-treating by himself – being solitary was how he spent much of his time – but the walk down Oak Street got creepier with each step. He was still getting the lay of the land, so a nighttime stroll in his extended neighborhood had yet to become familiar.
He could see a group of kids well in front of him, but behind him there was only darkness. And at first, all he could hear was the tapping of his own footsteps. But as he picked up the pace, he started to detect other sounds.
Was that a twig that snapped? Some rustling in the bushes? Someone might’ve scuttled through a yard and hid behind a tree; it was Oak Street, after all, so there were plenty of thick hardwoods to choose from.
Whispers? Was he hearing faint whispers? It wouldn’t surprise him if some of the kids at school were lying in wait; he’d already been deliberately pushed and shoved in the lunchroom line, and this time there would be no teacher to come to his aid.
Giggles? He was almost certain he was being laughed at. Despite discreetly leaving his house, there was always a chance he could’ve been spotted by some bullies. Although he hadn’t lived there long, he had been there long enough to be sneered at and stared down.
He anxiously looked for a house with a porch light shining and Halloween display, but there were none in sight. Whether those who lived on Oak Street just didn’t participate or shut down early he didn’t know, but he had a sick feeling he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The unsettling noises grew into a cacophony – at least in his head – so his walk became a trot. As he picked up speed, he realized he’d been spotted.
“Hey!” someone called out from behind. “You – up ahead – hold up.”
All Robin could think was, “Here we go again.”
Was it the same group of kids who cornered him in the lunchroom? The humiliation might’ve just been a prelude to an old-fashioned beatdown.
He knew he couldn’t outrun his tormenters, so he made a dead stop in the middle of the street and turned around. He figured he might as well just get it over with. Coming toward him were two young men and three young women who he had seen at school but never interacted with. He recognized one of the boys as a football player … Ryan something or other.
“What?” he asked, the exasperation notable in his voice.
“You’re Robin, right?” asked Ryan, wearing a Carolina Panthers jersey and, for some inexplicable reason, a cowboy hat.
Robin nodded, fearing the worst.
“Look, that drawing you did … the skeleton on the horse? That was awesome, dude. Seriously. We like to draw, too, but none of us are as good as you are,” Ryan said, pointing to his friends. “We even get together and draw different things. Somebody will come up with an idea and then we try to draw our version of it, whatever it is. I know you’re new here but we just thought maybe you’d like to join us sometime and give us pointers. And tonight, well, why don’t you trick-or-treat with us? Oak Street’s dead, but there are some great houses to hit on Maple.”
Robin wasn’t sure what to think, but Ryan seemed sincere.
“That’d be great,” Robin said. “Thanks.”
As the quintet became a sextet, they headed toward Maple Street and started talking about ideas for their next art project. And as the evening wore on, they managed to gather up plenty of candy.
For Robin, a scary night had suddenly turned into a happy one.
And for the first time in a long time, he was grinning like a jack-o’-lantern.
