"We'll Have Some Fun"

Horace sat on the wall that surrounded the town's cemetery with his head bowed, staring at his intertwined fingers.  He felt depressed and lonely.  He  watched the children of the town running from house to house, ringing doorbells, knocking on knockers, and yelling in their excited high pitched voices, "Trick or Treat, Trick or Treat."  The doors were always opened by the home owners, at first feigning fear at the children's costumes, and then laughing as they distributed the contents of bowls and huge jars of sweets amongst the clapping, cheering children.  Horace would love to have some of those 'Treats.'  More than that, he would have loved to join the other kids, to be a part of 'the gang' in having fun, and a laugh. 

Earlier he had tried to join in with the fun.  He had approached a group of kids, all dressed up in their various costumes, devils, witches, vampires and the like, all garish and over stated.  He had asked if he could tag along with them.  They had stared hard at him, first they asked his name, when he told them, "Horace"  there were a few hoots and snorts of laughter.  Then there was the cold up and down appraising look of one boy, "That's a crap costume," was the boy's only comment before he ran off, followed by the others, to continue their evenings festivities.  Well, not all had run off.  One little girl, dressed as a rather benign looking witch, had lingered.  "Come on," she had said "They can't stop you from doing 'Trick or Treat' too."   With that, she too had turned on her heel to run and catch up with her friends.

Taking a gulp of air to steady his nerves, Horace ran to join the children at the front door of the next house to be visited.  Finding himself at the front of the group he had yelled along with the others as the front door had slowly opened, "Trick or Treat, Trick or Treat!"  An old man, John Owens,  had opened the door, beaming as he put his hand into a large washing up bowl, full to the brim with all kinds of confectionery delights.  He threw two huge handfuls over the children's heads and onto the front lawn beyond.  The children screamed and laughed and turned to scrabble about for the treats.  But not Horace.  Before the old man could hurl another fistful of sweets his eyes had locked onto Horace's face.  Horace stood transfixed by the gaze.  Then, of a sudden, the old man had hurriedly closed the door.

Horace found himself surrounded by the other children, their anger, including that of the benign little witch, was palpable.   "What did you say to him?"  "You must have upset him, he always gives more than that!"  "Told you he had a crap costume, that's what put the old man off !"  Their comments came flying from their enraged chocolate stained mouths, hitting Horace harder than any blow could.  He managed to break free from the throng and ran.

Horace had stopped running at the cemetery wall, which he had sat on to dwell awhile in his sorrow.  He felt a shiver run through him, raising his head he looked toward the high and barren moorland that rose on the outskirts of town.  Home lay in that direction, and he knew he must be getting back there.  With a sigh he slipped off the wall and headed back to where he belonged.

The old man, John Owens, had been very quiet since his last 'Trick or Treat' visitors.  The girl who had been dressed as the benign witch leaned toward him on the sofa and asked, "Grandpa, are you OK.  Did that odd looking boy say something nasty to you?"  "Mmm? What? No, he didn't say a word, kind of looked familiar though, my memory, it isn't what it used to be, what did you say his name was pet? Do you know him?"  replied her Grandpa.  The girl creased her brow, trying to remember, "It was a funny old fashioned name.  Poor boy, I felt sad for him, he didn't have a proper costume, just some raggy old long shorts and a jumper with holes in it.... 'Orace!  That was it, he said his name was 'Orace, he must come from over the moor somewhere, 'cos he doesn't go to our school.  Why do want to know his name Grandpa?"

John didn't reply to his Granddaughter's question, and as she went on to chatter and chirrup about her evening's adventures, he leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes ...........  He drifted back into the memories of his own childhood, to when the town was little more than a village.  They were a poor community, but close.  They never had such things as 'Trick or Treat,'  that was an American tradition that had started long after he had grown up.  Oh, but they would have loved it, him and his best friend Horace Pope.  He was the boy who had gone up on the moors to play and never came home, probably becoming lost and dying of exposure.  Horace had called for John on the day he disappeared, but John had a hacking cough and his mother wouldn't let him out.  Horace's last words to him were, "I'll call round for you tomorrow, see if you can come out then, we'll have some fun, and a laugh....see ya!"

The old man, John Herbert Owens, passed away that night, on the 31st October.  Sixty years and one day after his best friend Horace Michael Pope had died alone on the moor.  And one wonders if their ghosts are out there somewhere, having some fun, and a laugh.