Samuel's Tricky Treat

     "Please, sweetheart, take it, it will make you better."

     Samuel tried to stop coughing long enough to allow himself to swallow the potion. After succeeding in doing so he dropped his head back on the pillow and sighed heavily.

     "Could you open the window, please?" he asked in a feeble voice.

     "I don't think that's a good idea; the autumn air might weaken you," his mother said. She was a yellow Blumaroo with graying hair and a sad face. She moved towards the window and stared out. The Neovian streets offered a gloomy outlook. A thick fog obstructed the view and she could hardly make out the feeble flicker form the lamp posts outside. This time of year it was hard to tell the difference between day and night; the fog obstructed daylight and the lamps were lit permanently. She shut the drapes and moved back towards the large four-poster bed. Her son's thin and sickly frame seemed to be drowning in the thick mattress and duvet. Deirdre hugged herself as she crossed the room towards the door.

     She tried to open it without making a noise but a floorboard creaked under her step.

     "Mother," he said suddenly, in a would-be casual voice. "Do you think that I could go trick or treating this year?"

     Deirdre froze on the doorstep and closed her eyes.

     "I mean: I'm feeling loads better and I'd really like to go with the other children."

     "Samuel-"

     "Please," he implored, his eyes big and tearful. "Please," he whispered, "for once, let me be normal."

     She had to bite her lip to stop herself telling him that he wasn't normal.

     "I-I'll have to talk it over with your father," she replied softly, exiting the room quickly and shutting the door with a snap.

     Deirdre stood on the landing outside Samuel's bedroom and raised a hand to her chest to calm her breathing. He wanted to go trick or treating. What a nightmare. The gleam of hope she had seen in his eyes was unbearably painful. Must he be let down again? She hastily brushed a few stray tears from her cheeks before going down the stairs.

     *

     Samuel stared at the ceiling. He could have kicked himself. He hadn't planned on asking her like that. For weeks he had been working on a strategy to convince his parents to allow him outside on Halloween. ever since the beginning of summer he had been thinking of which costume he would like to wear and at night he caught himself having dreams of bags filled with candy. And now he had gone and ruined his chances by springing it on her after a coughing fit. Idiot.

     The young blue Blumaroo tried to sit up a little higher and stifled another cough. He looked at the stack of books on his nightstand. They arrived yesterday, new novels he had never read before. Years ago he would have been excited at the prospect of unknown stories to be discovered. Now, however, he was bored. So frightfully bored of books, of his room, of his disease, of his feeble body. Samuel had only been five years old when a mysterious disease had forced him to keep to his bed more often and regularly be examined by different physicians. All of whom were baffled at his health or lack thereof. His lungs were very weak and prone to infect. He was forbidden to jump, run, play and even walk too far. All things that young boys loved to do. Last year he had finally been taken out of school because he coughed throughout lessons, disturbing his fellow students and the teachers. So here he was, a boy of twelve years old, perpetually stuck in a gloomy bedroom of a grand Neovian Mansion.

     He hardly had any visitors at all, except for his mother and the housemaid Betsy. His father made a point of visiting him once a week for fifteen minutes, all the while stroking his moustache in a nervous fashion and refusing to look directly at his sickly son. Luckily he still had his old school friend Timothy.

     He was the only friend Samuel had left. The others had visited a couple of times after he'd been taken out of school, but soon they stayed away, scared or embarrassed to watch someone grow steadily more weak. Not Timothy, though. He kept Samuel up to date with gossip and they would spend most afternoons thinking up clever pranks to pull on their schoolmates or the teachers. Timothy had a knack for causing trouble, though he almost never got caught. The red Mynci would also smuggle "forbidden" food – chocolate, candy, biscuits – into Samuel's bedroom which they would devour together, smacking their lips and licking their fingers.

     Samuel was shaken out of his reverie as the doorbell echoed throughout the house. His body tensed and he instinctively slid further under the covers. Wednesday after lunchtime meant the weekly visit of Doctor Fancywhim, to check up on his health. Soon enough he could hear footsteps down the hall and the Doctor's high-pitched voice engaging in small talk with his mother. There came a soft knock and his mother led the old Nimmo in. Barely acknowledging Samuel's presence, he moved to the desk and started unpacking the various instruments he would be needing. The young Blumaroo shuddered and quickly glanced at his mother. She was staring at a spot on the carpet and hardly batting her eyelids. She hated this as much as he did.

     *

     Something seemed to repeatedly poke Samuel in the shoulder. It wasn't a hard poke or a mean one, but it was still annoying enough to wake him up. Disgruntled, he opened one eye and peered at the source of disturbance. He was greeted by a row of very white teeth, grinning broadly at him.

     "Timothy," he almost shouted, sitting up quickly and hurting his back in the process.

     "Thought you had been sleeping long enough. I've been here for half an hour and if we wait any longer, these chocolates will have melted in my pockets." He promptly threw a fistful of brightly wrapped chocolates on the duvet.

     "So," he said, casually helping himself to one of the chocolates and stuffing it whole into his mouth. "How's the plan going?"

     "Oh," Samuel mumbled softly, his cheeks reddening instantly. "Oh, you know, I'm working on it. Working on the best time to ask..."

     Timothy observed his friend shrewdly and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "You've ruined it haven't you? Asked at the wrong time and scared her half to death, I suppose?"

     Samuel had the grace to look ashamed.

     "All right," Timothy said bracingly. "We'll just have to try again, because, mate, this year, you are not letting me trick or treat on my own. That's a promise."

     *

     "Samuel darling," Deirdre said in her softest voice, the once she used to announce bad news, mainly. "I've talked it over with your father and Doctor Fancywhim. I'm sorry darling, but we've all agreed it's a bad idea to let you go trick or treating tomorrow night."

     "Oh, if you've all agreed, then I guess it's all right," he replied acidly.

     "Darling-"

     He cut across her: "Mother, just don't. I understand."

     She eyed him apprehensively, no doubt expecting tears which were usually followed by excessive coughing.

     "I'm not going to cry," he said reassuringly. "To be perfectly honest, I expected you to forbid it."

     "Sweetheart, it's not about forbidding it's about-"

     "My health," he finished bitterly. "I know."

     She crossed the short distance from the foot of the bed to her son and stroked his head lovingly. He could see the pain etched in her eyes and felt sorry for her.

     "Could you let me rest now," he added in a soft voice. "Timothy is coming over this afternoon and I'd like to rest a bit."

     Deirdre nodded and kissed him on the forehead.

     "Oh, Mother, could you have my chair brought up? I might like to sit at the window when Timothy comes."

     "Of course, darling."

     *

     "Help me up," Samuel whispered urgently. Timothy grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet. His wheelchair was a few feet away, facing the window. It took them five minutes to reach the chair. By the time he sat down, Samuel was panting heavily and moping sweat from his brow.

     "Are you sure about this?" Timothy asked uncertainly, regarding his friend with a mixture of apprehension and fear.

     "Don't. Don't start looking at me the way everyone else does," Samuel said feebly as he rearranged a pillow more comfortably in the wooden wheelchair. "If you start looking at me like that, all hope is lost to me."

     "Don't be silly," Timothy said briskly, regaining his usual mischievous grin. "I was only making sure you wanted to go through with this. Your parents will be worried if they notice."

     "My father never notices everything," Samuel snapped bitterly.

     "But your mother..."

     Samuel closed his eyes and nodded gravely. He would be betraying her. She would be heartbroken.

     "No," he said firmly. "This is about me. For once in my life, I want to do what I want. Afterwards I'll be good, forever."

     "We had best get ready then."

     Samuel watched eagerly as his friend pulled clothes, masks and other props from his backpack.

     "So, they weren't suspicious?" Timothy asked as he held up a fanged pumpkin mask for inspection.

     "No. Mother understands that I'm a bit down because it's Halloween today. That's the only reason she agreed for you to sleep over. She never agrees to that."

     "I doubt I'll ever be allowed over again after tonight..." Timothy said doubtfully.

     "We'll worry about that when the time comes," Samuel answered dismissively.

     *

     The contents of his evening meal churned uncomfortably in Samuel's stomach as he sat still as a statue in his wheelchair. They had blown out the candles in his bedroom, pretending to go to sleep, but it gave the room an eerie aspect. He could make out the tray with dirty dishes from their early dinner. Betsy had brought it up with her usual sweet smile and told them she would pick it up in the morning so they could start their boyish sleepover without her interrupting them.

     Timothy had his ear pressed against the bedroom door, listening for footsteps.

     "I think we can go," he whispered softly, walking over to Samuel and pushing his chair forward. It was sort of odd to see a creepy-looking vampire casually walk towards him and start pushing him forward. Samuel half expected to feel fangs sink into his neck.

     Timothy pushed open the door and peered left and right, into the gloom of the dark landing.

     "Right," he murmured.

     He pushed Samuel towards the long staircase and they exchanged a nervous glance. This was the difficult part. They had talked it over for hours on end and had decided that Timothy would attempt to carry the chair downstairs, while Samuel would sit on the stairs and scoot down one step at a time. It took Timothy five minutes to get the chair and himself downstairs unharmed and without causing too much noise. He then crept back up the stairs, intent upon helping his friend, but Samuel refused. The moment he had left his bedroom he felt his adventure had started and he was going to get down those stairs on his own, no matter what. It took him fifteen minutes and a constant string of encouraging words from Timothy. But he made it. Shaky, proud and sweaty he regained the familiar comfort of his wheelchair.

     They crossed the entrance hall as fast as they could, headed for a back door situated at the far end of the kitchen. As they passed the closed doors of the dining room they could hear the chink of glass and cutlery. Dinner was still in progress. His parents had a habit of entertaining on Halloween. Their guest's children were trick or treating in the streets and the parents were treated to an extravagant autumn feast by Samuel's parents.

     Samuel caught a glimpse of himself in the large mirror above the mantelpiece and couldn't help but grin. They both looked terrifying. Timothy turned out to be a very convincing vampire. They had painted dark circles under his eyes, he had fake fangs and an eerie black cape to wrap himself in completely. Then of course there was his companion. A very scary version of the grim reaper on wheels. Samuel's face had been painted chalk white, he wore a grey hooded cloak and he held a large and sharp-looking scythe in his left hand.

     *

     The cold evening air whipped his face for the first time in many months and Samuel felt as though his heart would explode with joy and wellbeing. Timothy pushed his chair along slowly as they took in the various Halloween decorations in the streets and the many disguised children running around from house to house. There were many carved pumpkins lining staircases and doorsteps, the candles inside flickering wickedly and casting eerie shadows.

     They had fastened a bag to the back of Samuel's wheelchair and steadily saw it growing larger as it was filled with chocolates, lollipops, pumpkin pasties, biscuits and many more sweets. One sweet elderly Acara gave them both steaming mugs of hot chocolate with just a dash of cinnamon. They feasted on candied apples and attended a creepy storytelling sessions in the town square.

     It was well past midnight when both Samuel en Timothy were starting to feel tired and grudgingly admitted they wanted to go home and sleep. Most of the younger children were headed back home with a mixture of relief at the prospect of their beds and sadness that they would have to wait a whole year to have such a good time again.

     As they made their way towards the mansion, Samuel had the feeling they were being followed. He'd had this impression all throughout the evening. Someone disguised as a veiled witch with a pointed hat kept popping up everywhere they went. Of course it wasn't a strange thing to encounter the same people several times in the course of the evening. As he turned around in his wheelchair to peer over his shoulder he could have sworn he saw the hem of a cloak whip around the corner of a house. He shook his head and resumed his longing for his warm and soft bed. His body was aching all over and he was feeling weak and sickly. Putting on a brave face, he kept laughing at Timothy's jokes and kept asking for more candy as they made their way home.

     *

     When they had been planning this evening of fun and mischief they had focused all their energy on how they were going to get Samuel and his chair down the stairs. Up the stairs, though, was a difficulty they had chosen to ignore. There they stood at the bottom of the long and majestic staircase. Timothy glanced at his friend and couldn't help but notice how pale Samuel was and it had nothing to do with his disguise.

     "It's okay," Samuel mumbled, catching his friend's eye. "Go home. Leave me here. I can sleep in my chair. They will find my in the morning and take me to bed."

     "But-but how will you explain being down here in the first place?"

     "Doesn't matter." Samuel sighed painfully and closed his eyes. He had never felt this tired in his life.

     "I'm not abandoning you to spend the night in an uncomfortable wheelchair in a gloomy entrance hall." Timothy crossed his arms and glared at the staircase. Samuel was going to get to bed, one way or another.

     "You take the chair, I'll carry him," a soft feminine voice whispered in his ear. Timothy jumped and stifled a scream as he looked into Betsy's friendly face.

     "Betsy?" he whispered uncertainly.

     "Don't worry, I'm used to carrying heavy loads. And he really isn't that heavy," she whispered, indicating Samuel with her hand.

     "Hi Betsy," Samuel murmured softly.

     "Hi Sam. Had a busy night, I see. Time for bed now." Samuel nodded and put his arms around her neck. She lifted him easily from the chair and carefully started upwards. Timothy dragging the wheelchair behind them with great effort.

     "Is he going to be all right?" Timothy asked Betsy quietly as he watched Samuel sink into the pillows and disappear underneath the heavy duvet of his bed.

     "I hope so," she said hesitantly. "You stayed out for longer than we anticipated."

     "Yes that's-wait. What?" Timothy jumped back from Betsy as if he had been burned.

     She pressed a finger to her lips and pulled him towards the door.

     "Don't go waking him up now," she reprimanded. "Yes, we knew, and by we, I mean his mother and I. We knew the both of you would go out on Halloween, whether you were allowed to go or not. I've followed you all evening. I'm frozen to the bone."

     "But-but, we would have seen you!" Timothy exclaimed indignantly.

     "I was also disguised, as a witch. It was quite fun to get dressed up again after all those years."

     Before Timothy could ask for further explanations there were hurried footsteps in their direction. Deirdre came into a view, wearing a dressing gown and carpet slippers. She brushed past them without a glance and hurried over to Samuel's bedside.

     "Mum," he whispered softly. She softly brushed a few stray hairs out of his eyes.

     "Yes, darling?"

     "I'm sorry."

     "Don't worry, sweetheart, you deserved a treat. Now sleep, just sleep."

The End