Perfectly Monstrous

He always put the monster on the porch on Halloween; it was a simple but effective guard against vandals. He made it as usual, old towels in a pair of jeans, a stuffed coat, and a rubber Frankenstein mask. He gave it a broomstick spine, and ski glove hands. He put it in an armchair, and looked at his creation.

It didn't look right. The knees didn't bend right, the arms had no elbows, and the chest looked flat. On top of that, the head wouldn't stay on. "It needs a person inside," he thought.

He put on some long johns, a pair of jeans, some wool socks, ski gloves, a sweater and the usual coat. He put on the mask. He sat in a chair, relaxed, and looked at the monster in the mirror.

"Good, but it could do with a little improvement."

He went to the hall drawers and rummaged through them until he found a neck brace, a leftover from a car accident. He put on the brace, and replaced the mask. Now he could sit, completely relaxed. "That's perfect," he said to himself.

He waited until he saw no kids, then he placed a lawn chair on the grass in front of the porch and sat down. He rested his arms on the arms of the chair, relaxed and waited. The sun sank into the mountains, and it became quite dark, a perfect moonless Halloween night. He was glad he'd worn the warm clothing so he didn't shiver. It promised to get colder as the night deepened.

The first kids to come were three boys, strangers to him.

They came up the driveway and around the back of the car, and then stopped suddenly when they saw him sitting there.

"Jeez, is that thing real?" asked the hobo.

"Naw, I don't think so," replied Indiana Jones. The skeleton didn't say anything. They approached him cautiously.

Dr. Jones tried to look into the eyes to see if anyone was inside. The Monster very slowly leaned his head forward so that the eyebrows of the mask cast a shadow from a street lamp across the way. Indiana couldn't see a thing.

"What do you suppose they have in it?" Dr. Jones asked. He looked the monster in the eyes from only a few inches away. He gently poked its chest with his fingertips.

"I don't know," replied his skeleton buddy. "Probably old newspaper or rags or something."

"It sure doesn't feel like rags," Dr. Jones replied, as he squeezed the Monster's leg. They proceeded onto the porch and pressed the doorbell as he tried hard to keep from laughing. Still not fully convinced, Indiana gave him a few feeble strokes with his whip. He scarcely felt them. The boys left.

He had enjoyed himself immensely. He decided to remain absolutely still and see what developed. The next several groups had small children and they all gave him a wide berth.

One of the older ones said, "That thing sure looks real. It scared me when we first came around the car and saw it sitting there."

"Oh, they put that thing out there every year, only they usually have it up on the porch. My little sister is scared to death of it and she won't come to this house because of it. She goes clear over on the other side of the street when we get close."

He felt bad upon hearing this. "Maybe I won't do this next year," he thought.

He recognized a neighborhood woman who, along with her husband and teen-age son, was escorting her rabbits and princesses. All of the small ones were terrified of him. She boldly walked up to him, trying to reassure all the kids. "It isn't real. See, it's just stuffed."

They were not convinced. She came closer, and peered into his eyes. He did his trick with the shadow, and it worked as before. He couldn't stop from laughing silently. It was amazing that she didn't see him moving or blinking his eyes.

"Gee, it sure looks good, doesn't it? I wonder how they did it?"

Her teenager had the little kids herded onto the porch, and they rang the bell. His wife fulfilled their demands for goodies. Mom and Dad held back, still entranced by his creation.

"I swear I see it breathe occasionally," she commented admiringly to her husband. "How do you suppose they get it to do that?"

"I can't imagine," he replied.

"This is really great," she commented to his wife.

"Why, thank you," his wife answered.

"What have you got it stuffed with?" she asked as she squeezed his knee. He reached down and gently brushed her hand away. The reaction was immediate. She let out a loud shriek and jumped about a foot in the air. She took several quick steps backward, stumbling into her husband.

All he could do was laugh. Her husband and son laughed at her, while her younger children looked on in bewilderment.

"Who's in there?" she said, peering into the eyes timidly.

"That's my husband," his wife replied.

"He scared me half to death!" she cried.

"It's about time somebody got you," her husband replied. "She loves to scare people, and we can never seem to get her back. Well done!" he said, patting the monster on the shoulder. They left, and a group of three older kids came up. He could hear them talking as they came toward the house, but they were outside his field of vision.

As they came around the car, the first one saw him and yelped in alarm.

"Boy, that thing scared me!" he said, as the other two laughed at him. They approached and looked into his eyes; so many did. They discussed his reality, and pronounced him a phony. They argued about how he was made, but didn't molest him. They proceeded to the porch, got the usual reward, and headed for the next house.

Just as they got to the sidewalk, one of them turned and looked back, like Lot's wife. He casually waved at the boy, and the boy waved back. It took a few seconds for what had happened to sink in, and the resultant double take was a classic.

His friends were at the next house before he caught up with them, and he could hear the boy yelling, "It's real, it's real, I tell you! That thing's real, so help me! Honest, it waved at me!"

"You get real," they told him. "It's just a bunch of rags. Come on."

This was repeated many times in the next hour or so. They always came in threes, and they always stood in front of him. They convinced themselves that he was just a bundle of rags, got their treats, and left. And just as they got to the sidewalk, one of them would look back. When they did, he waved. They did the double take, they jumped, they screamed, they ran.

A cold wind chased the stream of younger children indoors and they took the fun with them. A black sense of foreboding replaced it. He kept thinking he should go in, too. Only occasional stragglers were around.

He was about to pack it in when he saw a woman with a German accent and a boy about ten approaching. One look and he knew that this boy was different. He wore only his street clothes and winter coat, and had no mask or make-up. The boy dragged his right foot, with his toes bent inward. As they came up the sidewalk, the boy began making frightened noises, "Unhhh, unhhh." His mother urged him on.

As they got closer to him, the boy tried desperately to hide behind his mother. She put her arm around him. He gripped her legs tightly, and the Monster could see the fear in the boy's eyes.

"No fun with this one," he told himself silently. "Whatever happens, you must not scare this boy. He doesn't need any more grief."

"No, no, no Hans," the boy's mother said gently. "Dis iss not real." She picked up his wrist and shook it. He offered no resistance; his bones served only to give shape to his arm. She moved his head back and forth a few times. His neck brace provided resilience to slowly bring his head back upright. The illusion was convincing.

"There, you see? Only some old clothes. It iss not real. They only put it here to frighten wicked children, and you're a good boy, aren't you?"

The Monster took very shallow breaths, allowing his chest to expand only enough so that the motion could not be seen. His nose began to itch. His mind commanded it to stop. It obeyed, for a change.

The switchboard in his head began getting emergency messages from his lungs. "Air, we need air!" they screamed.

"Shut up down there!" they were told. "You're getting all the air you need for the next few minutes." He began to wonder if this disguise was such a good idea after all.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing as they went up to the door. G.I. Joe and a Ninja fighter came from the other direction and joined them on the porch. Joe was carrying a wooden rifle with dad's old bayonet securely taped to the barrel. The Ninja had a wooden katana sword in his belt.

"My boy iss afraid of your monster," he heard the woman tell his wife.

"It's OK, he won't hurt you," his wife gently told the boy. She handed him and the other boys some candy and closed the door.

His scalp and the back of his neck began to tingle as they turned and looked at him again. The inside of his chest was blazing.

The boy whimpered and clung to his mother as she tried to walk by. G.I. Joe stepped forward, swaggering.

"It ain't real, kid. See?" As quick as a cobra, he buried the bayonet in the padding behind the eyeholes. He put his foot against the monster's chest and pulled it out.

"Just a bunch of rags," he declared. He and the Ninja trotted off into the night.

"Yes, nossing but old clothes, you see? It iss not alive."

The boy never spoke a word, but he let go of her legs. As they walked away, he smiled up at her. His fear was gone. Mother had spoken the truth.

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