A Prank in Three Acts:
Act I:
Eighth grade:
Too old to go
trick-or-treating and
too young to really
raise hell. Not
artistic enough to create a really
gory seasonal
tableau and too
Halloween-crazed to allow the
holiday to pass without
commemoration.
The solution: Dig out old
jeans, an old
coat, old
shoes, old
gloves. Stuff them with
newspaper and
staple them together. Mount a
gruesome green rubber mask in place of the head. Put a
hanger down his back, tie it with
twine,
tie it to a
hook on the
porch, and arrange him in a
menacing and
lifelike stance.
Now stand back and watch as
pint-sized witches and
ghosts and
ballerinas and
soldiers
creep up to the
front door, their backs against the opposite wall, their eyes
riveted on the
strange unmoving
monstrosity standing so near. Watch them ring the
doorbell, hold out their
treat bags, and
whisper "Trick or Treat", their eyes never leaving the
monster on the porch, ready to leave their
candy behind and bolt for the
safety of their
parents out at the sidewalk, at the first sign of
movement in the
green zombie. Watch them
scurry back with their candy, relieved to have escaped the
clutching claws of
childhood horror...
Act II:
Ninth grade:
Too late in the evening, the
remembrance dawns of last year's
horrific triumph. Can the dummy be remade in time? Not this time...but there
is time to dress
oneself up in the old
clothes, to tuck
newspapers in at the
collar, the
wrists, the
ankles, to wear the old
rubber mask (with
sunglasses on underneath to
disguise the eyes). Is it possible to stand stock-still for hours on end? No, better to
sprawl limply against the wall on the porch, a
puppet with its
twine cut, a
sleeping terror, a
zombie ready to
rise from its rest.
And again, the
pint-sized Frankensteins and
vampires and
Barbies and
cowboys creep up to the front door,
nervously watching the unmoving
beast at their feet. "Is it
alive?" some whisper. "No," comes the reply, "It was here last year. It's full of
newspaper." They fill their bags with candy. And start to walk away. And the zombie
lurches from its
prone position with a
savage snarl, its hand slapping the ground right behind them. And with
speeds undreamed of, they run to their waiting parents and hurry on, some still
shivering and
hysterical, to the next house and the next bag of treats...
Act III:
Tenth grade:
Too many other duties call, and there will be no
dummy, either stuffed with
newspaper or
high school kid, this Halloween.
But all the
children at the door make a point to ask where the
zombie is this year...