"How about you, Nick?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Guys?" she asked Jimmy and me.
"Yeah!"
"Sure!"
"Okay," Donna said. "We'll go a little longer. Maybe just for a couple more blocks."
"Yayyy!"
The girls led the way, running up the sidewalk to the next house— a normal house— cutting across its front lawn and rushing up half a dozen stairs to its well-lighted porch. Nick chased them up the stairs. Jimmy and I hurried. By the time the door was opened by an elderly man with a tray of candy, Jimmy and I were also on the porch, Donna waiting at the foot of the stairs.
We were back to normal.
Almost.
We hurried from house to house, reached the end of the block, crossed the street, and went to the corner house on the next block. It was just after that house, when we met on the sidewalk and headed for the next house, that Donna, lagging behind, called out, "Hang on a minute, okay? Come on back."
So we all turned around. As we hurried toward the place where Donna was waiting on the sidewalk, she raised her hand, index finger extended, and poked the finger at each of us. Like a school bus driver counting heads before starting home from a field trip.
She finished.
"Seven," she said.
"That's right," I said as I halted in front of her.
"Seven not including me," she said.
I whirled around and there was Jimmy the woebegone mummy dangling loose strips of sheet, some of which by now were trailing on the sidewalk. There was Nick the Jedi warrior with his light saber. And Peggy Pan and the ballerina fairy princess godmother and Yoda or ET and— bringing up the rear but only a few paces behind the girls— someone else.
He carried a grocery bag like any other trick-or-treater, but he was bigger than the girls, bigger than Nick, bigger than any of us. He wore a dark cowboy hat and a black raincoat and jeans. Underneath his hat was some sort of strange mask. I couldn't tell what it was at first. When he got closer, though, I saw that it seemed to be made of red bandannas. It covered his entire head and neck. It had ragged round holes over his eyes, a slot over his mouth.
I had no idea where he'd come from.
I had no idea how long he'd been walking along with us, though certainly he'd shown up sometime after we'd left the dark old house.
Is that where he joined us? I wondered.
Speaking in his direction, Donna said, "I don't think we know you." Though she sounded friendly and calm, I heard tension in her voice.
The stranger nodded but didn't speak.
The girls, apparently noticing him for the first time, stepped away from him.
"Where'd you come from?"
He raised an arm. When he pointed, I saw that his hand was covered by a black leather glove.
He pointed behind us. In the direction of the dark old house… and lots of other places.
"Who are you?" Donna asked.
And he said, "Killer Joe."
Alice and Olive took another step away from him, but Peggy Pan stepped closer. "You aren't gonna kill us are you?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"Cool costume," Jimmy said.
"Thanks," said Killer Joe.
"So who are you really?" Donna asked.
Killer Joe shrugged.
"How about taking off the mask?" she said.
He shook his head.
"Do we know you?" Jimmy asked.
Another shrug.
"You wanta come along trick-or-treating with us?" Peggy Pan asked.
He nodded. Yes.
Donna shook her head. No. "Not unless we know who you are." Her voice no longer sounded quite so calm or friendly. She was speaking more loudly than before. And breathing hard.
She's scared.
And she wasn't the only one.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but you'll either have to let us see who you are or leave. Okay? We've got little kids here, and… and we don't know who you are."
"He's Killer Joe," Nick explained.
"We know," Jimmy said.
"But he's all by himself," Peggy Pan said. "He shouldn't have to go trick-or-treating all by himself." She stepped right up to him and took hold of a sleeve of his raincoat and tilted her head back.
"Peggy," Donna said. "Get away from him. Right now."
"No!"
Killer Joe shrugged, then gently pulled his arm out of Peggy's grip and turned around and began to walk away very slowly, his head down.
And I suddenly figured this was some poor kid— a big and possibly somewhat weird kid, granted— but a kid nevertheless without any friends, trying his best to have fun on Halloween night, and now he was being shunned by us.
I actually got a tight feeling in my throat.
Peggy Pan, sounding desolate, called out, " 'Bye, Killer Joe!"
Still walking away, head still down, he raised a hand to acknowledge the girl's farewell.
"Come on back!" Donna called.
He stopped walking. His head lifted. Slowly, he turned around and pointed to himself with a gloved hand.
"Yeah, you," Donna said. "It's all right. You can come with us. But we are almost done for the night."
Killer Joe came back, a certain spring in his walk.
Though he never removed his strange and rather disturbing bandanna mask and never told us who he was, he stayed with us that night as we went on from house to house, trick-or-treating.
Before his arrival, we'd been on the verge of quitting and going home. But even though he rarely spoke— mostly just a gruff "Trick or treat" when people answered their doors— he was so strange and friendly and perky, we just couldn't seem to quit.
This had been going on for a while and I was about to follow the bunch toward another house when Donna called softly, "Matt?"
I turned around and went back to her.
She took hold of my forearm. In a quiet voice, she said, "What do you think of this guy?"
"He's having a great time."
"Do you trust him?"
I shrugged.
"I don't," Donna said. "I mean, he could be anyone. I think it's very weird he wouldn't take off his mask. I'm afraid he might be up to something."
"Why'd you let him come with us?"
She shrugged. "Guess I felt sorry for him. Anyway, he's probably fine. But how about helping me keep an eye on him, okay? I mean, he might be after the girls or something. You just never really know."
"I'll watch him," I promised.
"Thanks." She gave my arm a squeeze. "Not that we'd be able to do anything much about it if he does try something."
"I don't know," I said. "I know one thing, I won't let him do anything to Peggy. Or you."
She smiled and squeezed my arm again. "Sure. We'll let him have Alice and Olive."
"But we'll encourage him to take Nick."
Donna laughed. "You're terrible."
"So are you," I said.
After that, I joined up with the rest of them and kept a close eye on Killer Joe as we hurried from door to door.
Sometimes he touched us. He gave us friendly pats. But nothing more than what a buddy might do. I started to think of him as a buddy, but warned myself to stay cautious.
Finally, Donna called us all over to her. She said, "It's really getting late, now. I think we'd better call it quits for the night."
Sighs, moans.
"Just one more house!" the girls pleaded. "Please, please, just one more house? Pretty please?"
"Well," said Donna. "Just one more."
Olive and Alice went, "Yayyyyy!"
Killer Joe bobbed his masked head and clapped his hands, his gloves making heavy whopping sounds.
We all took off for our final house of the night. It was a two-story brick house. Its porch light was off, but one of the upstairs windows glowed brightly.
All of us gathered on the porch except Donna, who waited at the foot of the stairs as she often did.
Peggy Pan rang the doorbell. Olive and Alice stood beside her, and the rest of us stood behind them. I was between Mummy Jimmy and Killer Joe.
Nobody came to the door.
Peggy jabbed the button a few more times.
"Guess nobody's home," I said.
"Somebody has to be!" said Peggy. "This is the last house. Somebody has to be home."
Olive and Alice started shouting, "Trick or treat! Trick or treat! Open the door! Trick or treat!"
Killer Joe stood there in silence. He seemed to be swaying slightly as if enjoying some music inside his head.
"Maybe we'd better give it up," Jimmy said.
"No!" Peggy jabbed the doorbell some more.
Suddenly, the wooden door flew open.
We all shouted
"Trick or treat!"
An old woman in a bathrobe blinked out at us. "Don't any of you kids know what time it is?" she asked. "It's almost eleven o'clock. Are you out of your minds, ringing people's doorbells at this hour?"
We all stood there, silent.
I felt a little sick inside.
The old woman had watery eyes and scraggly white hair. She must've been eighty. At least.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"Well, y'oughta be, damn kids."
"Trick or treat?" asked Peggy Pan in a small, hopeful voice.
"No! No fucking trick or treats for any of you, you buncha fuckin' assholes! Now get the fuck off my porch!"
That's when Killer Joe reached inside his raincoat with one hand and jerked open the screen door with his other.
If the door had been locked, the lock didn't hold.
The woman in the house yelled,
"Hey, you can't!…"
Killer Joe lurched over the threshold and the woman staggered backward but not fast enough and I glimpsed the hatchet for just a moment, clutched in Joe's black leather glove, and then he swung it forward and down, chopping it deep into the old woman's forehead.
That's all I saw.
I think I saw more than most. Then all of us were running.
We were about a block away and still running, some of the girls still screaming, when I did a quick head count.
Seven.
Including Donna.
Not including Killer Joe.
* * *
Joe had still been in the house when we ran off.
We never saw him again. He was never identified, never apprehended.
That was a long time ago.
I never again went trick-or-treating after that. Neither did Donna or Jimmy or Peggy. I don't know about Nick and Alice and Olive, and don't care.
Now I have a kid of my own. I hate for her to miss out on the strange and wonderful and frightening joys of dressing up and going house to house on Halloween night.
Trick-or-treating…
Sometimes, what happens on Halloween is as good as it gets.
Sometimes not. Judy agrees.
"What the hell," she said, "let's go with her, show her how it's done."
Judy's not Donna, but… she's terrific in her own ways and I have my memories.
John Lutz
Veterans
SWF SEEKS
Same
was a popular novel that resonated with the troubles of its era. Filmed as
Single White Female
, the popular movie brought its author, John Lutz, to greater prominence than at any time in his long career. His novel is as rewarding to readers as it has been to John himself. One of the smoothest stylists and tart (but forgiving) observers of contemporary American culture, Lutz has won both the Edgar and the Shamus awards and built up a substantial following. From modern day to the Civil War era, few can match his gift for mystery and characterization. "Veterans," first published in the anthology
Murder Most Confederate
, proves this in spades.
Veterans
John Lutz
I
t began because Confederate Major General Henry Heth's troops needed boots.
In search of a new supply in a town called Gettysburg, Heth's men marched unknowingly toward death and history. They were noticed by Union soldiers serving under Brigadier General John Buford, who were bivouacked on a nearby hill. Buford sent for Union reinforcements. The ensuing Union troop movements were observed by Heth, who attacked. The newly arrived First Corps, led by Major General John Reynolds, took the brunt of the assault on McPherson's Ridge. Casualties were high, the Union's crack Iron Brigade lost more than half its men, and Reynolds was killed.
