Parte the First
Micky Dolenz prowled through the Pad, his sharp teeth protruding above his upper lip. His dark brows were drawn together in a vicious snarl, his hairy, clawed hands reaching out . . .
The tall, dark-haired female stood at the kitchen counter, completely unaware of the slavering monster that was approaching her. She was humming softly to herself as she put the final touches on a large chocolate cake with a smiling orange jack o’ lantern on the top.
Micky drew ever closer, reaching out to grab those ebony locks and pull her back. Just as he came close enough to feel the strands, the girl spoke.
“Micky Dolenz, don’t you even try,” she said.
The drummer let out a groan and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. He pulled off the long, hairy gloves he wore and pulled the false fangs from his mouth. “Aw, how’d you know it was me?”
Andi finally turned, a bemused smile tugging insistently at her mouth. “Well, you have a distinctive way of breathing, and you growl at a much higher pitch than I imagine a real monster would. It was a nice try, though,” she said patronizingly. She carefully carried the cake to the refrigerator. “This cake is for the party tomorrow night. If I find any of it eaten . . . ” She looked pointedly at Micky, who gave her a “who, me?” look.
“Doesn’t anything scare you?” he said. Since he’d known her, he had yet to see her unflappable facade waver.
She paused, thinking. “Myself, sometimes.”
Micky didn’t have to ask what that meant.
“However, witches and goblins and ghosts and monsters don’t scare me because I know they don’t exist. You guys are better off trying to frighten each other.”
As she climbed the stairs and disappeared into the bedroom she shared with Mike and Micky, Davy, Mike, and Peter emerged from the downstairs bedroom and joined Micky at the table.
“Well, how’d it go?” Davy asked.
“How do you think? We’re never gonna scare her, guys,” Micky replied, toying idly with his ineffective props.
“Maybe we should just give up,” Peter said dejectedly. The prospect of giving Andi a good scare had amused them all—even Mike—but now it was becoming clear to him that perhaps it was impossible.
“No, wait,” Mike said, narrowing his eyes mischievously. “I haven’t had a turn yet.”
Micky raised his eyebrows. “You, Mike? I thought you weren’t real big on Halloween.”
Mike shrugged. “I’m not, but I would really like to see Andi jump out of that complacent skin of hers.”
Davy laughed in agreement. “Yeah, me too. So what’re you going to do?”
Mike shook his head, lifting his gaze to the door above. “You’ll see . . . ”
~*~
Later that night Andi lay curled up in her bed, listening to Micky’s restless snoring. She was still uneasy; what would they try next, and why were they so determined to frighten her? Whatever their reasons were, she was determined not to give in, no matter what they tried.
Her gaze slowly moved to Mike’s bed. The recumbent lump was still there, unmoving as usual. She smiled. Mike always managed to sleep right through Micky’s snoring as if it weren’t even happening.
She rolled onto her back and was just beginning to drift off when she became aware of a presence looming over her. A pair of ghostly, fleshless hands appeared over her, the chalky white fingers flexing menacingly. A leering skeletal death’s-head leaned in, grinning evilly from soulless, eyeless sockets as two rows of sharp white teeth bared themselves . . .
Andi’s dark eyes widened momentarily before she began to laugh. “Oh, God, Mike!”
Mike let out a groan of frustration, throwing up his hands. “For cryin’ out loud! How’d you know it was me?”
Andi covered her mouth, stifling another bunch of giggles. “Well, um, skeletons don’t have long black hair, for one, and you guys have been trying to scare me for three days, so I knew to expect one of you to try something.” She looked at the form-fitting black jumpsuit with the very realistic skeleton drawn on it and the intricate makeup job on his face. “Thanks for going to such trouble for me, futile as it may be.”
He sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed. She sat up and crawled over to him, putting her arms around his shoulders, almost feeling sorry that he hadn’t succeeded. “Look, just give up. Halloween should be a happy time. We have a great party coming up tomorrow night. There’s plenty of other people you guys can scare. They’re just not me, I’m afraid.” She gently touched his hair, letting it play through her fingers. “Besides, I don’t want to be frightened by you. I’m just getting to like you,” she teased.
Mike looked down at his hands. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” she admonished. “Now go wash that stuff off and get back in bed. We have a long day tomorrow.” She gave him a gentle push.
“Yes, Mom,” he groused, giving her an eight-year-old-boy pout.
Ten or so minutes later he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, scrubbing the last of the makeup from his disappointed features.
She was expecting us. He shook his head. That’s why we keep failing. He faced his looking-glass doppelganger and smiled. She won’t expect what I have in mind . . .
Parte the Second
The next morning the others gathered excitedly around Mike as he descended the stairs.
“Well? How’d it go?” Peter asked excitedly.
“She knew I was coming the whole time,” Mike said, unable to suppress a grin as their faces fell. “But I figured out why it’s not working.”
“It’s cause we’re not scary enough,” Davy said.
“Nope. She’s expecting us to try. We gotta try and catch her off guard.”
Micky looked up, perplexed. “But you just said she knows we’re coming!”
Mike rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yep, Mick. That is exactly what I said.”
Peter shook his head. “I still don’t understand.”
“Look, guys, it’s real simple. She’s expecting us to try an’ scare her. So what we gotta do is find someone who she’s NOT expecting.”
Realization dawned on three faces, and Micky grinned evilly. “I like it already.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?” Peter asked, unable to keep from grinning himself.
Mike cocked an ear, making sure the shower that contained Andi was running, and sure enough, he could still hear the hiss of the water accompanying Andi’s mournful singing. Turning back to the others, he nodded. “Yeah, but I’m keepin’ that a secret. I don’t want none of you letting it slip.”
Micky looked hurt. “C’mon, Mike! You know I wouldn’t do that!”
“Yes you would,” Davy said.
Micky shrugged. “Yes, I would,” he admitted.
~*~
~Oct. 31, 1966~
Later that afternoon Mike prowled the streets, trying to think of someone scary enough to make a ‘hardened warrior’ like Andi tremble. He hadn’t been exactly lying when he told his bandmates that he had someone in mind, he just didn’t have a bead on precisely WHO that person would be.
As he passed by Andersen’s Appliance and TV, he happened to glance inside. Two seconds later he stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth hanging open.
“Of course! Why in the world didn’t I think of him before?” He hastily entered, ignoring the puzzled looks of two female shoppers as he strode purposefully to the counter.
The front counter of Andersen’s was four feet high, but seemed much smaller in comparison to the giant that lurked behind it. When the giant spotted Mike, however, his broad features broke out into a wide, innocent, and all-consuming grin. He came out from behind the counter in two long strides.
“Mike! How are you?” the giant said, holding out an enormous paw. Mike took it gingerly, watching the bratwurst-sized fingers enfolding his entire hand.
“I’m doin’ just fine, Derrick. How’re you?”
“Wonderful, Mike. Just wonderful,” Derrick said, shaking Mike’s hand with a gentleness that didn’t seem possible for a man his size. He moved with surprising grace to stand behind the counter once more, his eyes quickly surveying the store before settling once more on Mike.
“Now, what can I do for you?”
“Well, Derrick, I have a problem that I think you can help me with.” Mike leaned on the counter and briefly recounted the Monkees’ failed attempts to frighten Andi. Derrick smiled broadly when Mike described his own failed attempt.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, my friend. Skeletons don’t scare anyone anymore.”
Mike snorted. “Yeah, I noticed. So look, I was wonderin’ if you could help us out.”
“We’ve known each other for a while, Mike.” Derrick had always been a regular at their various gigs and had attended many of their parties. “You know that I’ll help you out. I just want to make sure you’re not asking me to do anything dangerous—or illegal.”
Mike smiled. “No, nothin’ like that. I just wanted to know if you could come to our party tonight and . . . surprise her.”
“Well, actually, Mike . . . I’ve already been asked to a party.”
Mike’s face fell and his hopes were dashed. Then once again Mother Inspiration casually caressed his forehead. “That’s perfect. If you’re at the party she’ll see you and recognize you. If you show up when the party’s over . . . she won’t expect you . . . ”
Derrick chuckled, idly tracing a circle on the countertop with one ponderous finger. “I like the way your mind works, Nesmith. I’ll do it.”
“Great. Who are you going to come as?”
The smile that graced Derrick’s formidable features was deliciously evil enough to make even the devil chartreuse with envy. “Frankenstein. Who else?”
Parte the Third
~Oct. 31, 1966~
~4:32 PM~
When Mike returned to the Pad he found his various friends engrossed in the rigors of decorating. Andi and Micky, the two daredevils, were perched precariously on the railing as they strung orange and black crepe paper across the room, while Peter and Davy had opted to stay on the floor below. As Mike entered Peter looked at him with an intense, curious gaze, his eyebrows raised in a silent but unmistakable question.
Mike quickly flashed him a thumbs-up. To his credit, Peter contained his excitement and nodded solemnly.
Andi tossed her legs over the railing and jumped all the way to the floor below, landing with a whoop in front of Mike.
“You’re gonna break your neck someday if you keep doin’ that,” he said.
“Yes, but not today,” she replied. “Where have you been all afternoon?”
“Just . . . out,” Mike said, grimacing inwardly at the lameness of his response.
Andi leveled a stern gaze at him, which moved to Peter, Davy, then up to Micky. “I hope you guys aren’t still trying to scare me.”
Peter let out a dismayed whimper, which was immediately stifled by Davy, who clamped his hand firmly over Peter’s mouth.
Mike draped an arm around Andi’s shoulders. “No, we’ve given up. I figure if the four of us can’t do it, no one can.”
“Hmm . . . well, all right then,” she said, sounding like she wasn’t entirely convinced.
As she turned away Mike flashed his friends a mischievous grin that was out of place on his normally stern features. We might not be able to scare you, Andi, but I know someone who can . . .
~9:39 PM~
Later that night the party was in full swing. Mike stood off in a corner, once again clad in his skeleton outfit. He hadn’t planned on wearing it again, but Andi had cajoled—then threatened—him into it. No amount of pleading, however, could get him to put the makeup back on. His face still itched from the first time he’d worn it.
Micky was skulking around the Pad, dressed as a pirate—complete with peg leg, scarf, tricorne hat, and even a fake parrot attached to his jacket. He kept popping up behind people, shouting “Argh!” It was the worst pirate imitation Mike had ever seen.
Davy was in the attire of a convict, dragging a ball and chain behind him. He seemed, however, to be more intent upon chaining himself to a young lady that he had been wooing the entire night. Despite the unflattering stripes, it seemed to be working.
After weeks of indecision Peter had chosen to be a wizard. His pointed hat could be seen bobbing above the crowd, and occasionally Mike could hear him shout “Alakazaam!” Mike only hoped Peter wouldn’t trip over the hem of his robe . . .
“Why are you always over here in the corner?”
Andi came up beside Mike, resplendent in her samurai outfit. Her long black hair was pulled back into a topknot, her eyes highlighted in black and red. The outfit she wore was authentic, but Mike had convinced her to leave her sword upstairs. “Too much authenticity is not necessarily a good thing,” he had told her.
He looked at her and shrugged. “I’m not ‘always over here in the corner’. I was just waitin’ for you.”
“Now you have me,” she said teasingly, giving him a quick kiss. “Oh, now I know why you didn’t want to wear that makeup.”
Mike slipped an arm around her shoulders, feeling a rush of pleasure not only from her nearness, but from what was going to come . . . He glanced at his watch. Only a few more hours to go. His stomach leaped with excitement in a way it hadn’t since he was about eight years old. He could almost picture Derrick, lurching through the door . . .
“Mike? You still with me?”
He snapped back to reality, realizing he might have given it all away. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, uh . . . tryin’ to picture Peter levitating that table.”
Andi looked at Peter, who was putting on an impressive display of Wand Waving 101. “Don’t. You’ll strain your brain.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Your brave warrior is going back out to mingle. Wish me luck.” She disappeared into the crowd once more, never seeing the smile that crept onto Mike’s face.
Parte the Last
~Oct. 31, 1966~
~11:45 PM~
At long last the party was over. “I thought it would never end,” Mike thought as he bid the last of the guests farewell.
Almost time . . .
He cast a quick glance at Micky, who was fairly vibrating with excitement.
Derrick had better get here soon before Mick explodes.
He heard a faint tapping on the window, and looked up to see Derrick—complete with bolts, pale, off-green makeup, scars, and nondescript clothing—standing out on the verandah. Mike didn’t have to signal his bandmates—their eyes had been locked on him all evening.
Andi was already busily engaged in cleaning, and never saw the Monkees creeping silently towards the back door, nor did she see the enormous monster enter in their wake. She continued gathering trash until she was nearly backed up against the monster.
“Boy, people do not know how to clean up after themselves . . . guys?” She straightened, aware of how alone she was.
No, not alone. The distinctive sound of heavy breathing issued from somewhere behind her. She pivoted slowly on her heel, fully expecting to see one of the Monkees behind her.
She didn’t.
James Dellin had once taken his ten year-old daughter to a London movie house to see the classic movie “Frankenstein.” As an inquisitive thirteen year-old she had read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in a single night. Neither the book nor the movie had scared her, but neither one had deposited the monster in front of her. Now, with the seven-foot leviathan standing right in front of her, live and in the flesh, terror slowly wound its fingers around her spine.
She looked up and up into the monster’s impassive face, feeling the blood drain from her face. This was no Halloween partygoer. The lines on the face and the bolts in the neck were too real . . .
The rational part of Andi’s brain screamed that it wasn’t real, that it couldn’t be, and Andi’s consciousness was just beginning to listen when the monster leered down at her, a basso profundo growl issuing from its enormous chest.
Andi’s rationality fled, leaving her consciousness with only one option—she screamed.
The sound seemed to galvanize the monster, who lurched forward, reaching out to grab her. She ducked, reeling backward on legs that were as useful as cinder blocks. She backed her way into the kitchen, the monster shaking the room with each tremendous step, until her back hit the refrigerator. There she remained, frozen in terror, as the giant closed the gap, reaching . . . reaching . . .
Andi’s reflexes took over, and she dodged the creature’s grip, scrambling over to the counter in her frantic search for a weapon, any weapon . . .
After a few seconds it occurred to her that the monster wasn’t following. She looked over her shoulder, her breath making a high pitched whistling sound in her throat. What she saw made her collapse onto the floor.
The creature was leaning against the fridge, a glass of milk in one hand and a piece of cake in the other. And as she stared in speechless, breathless shock she became aware of a new sound—snickers that were slowly turning into giggles.
The Monkees had reentered the Pad and were now standing in the living room, leaning on each other in order to stay upright. Micky was trembling with silent laughter so that the parrot on his shoulder seemed as if it were laughing also. Peter was fighting back tears—of laughter, this time—and even Mike was quivering.
“Andi,” he said, fighting back the snickers, “this is Derrick. He’s not really Frankenstein.”
With that Micky collapsed, unable to take any more. He laid on his back and howled at the ceiling. Within several moments Peter and Davy joined him, followed by Mike, who could hold it in no longer.
Andi watched them laugh for almost a full minute before pulling herself to her feet and shakily approaching Derrick.
“So . . . they came to you and asked you to scare me?”
Derrick nodded. “I did it as a favor for Mike. I hope you’re not too mad.”
Andi shook her head, an evil grin replacing the shock. “At you? No. At them? . . . ” She rolled up her sleeves. “If you’ll excuse me?”
Derrick watched with mild bemusement as Andi leaped upon the four of them and began chasing them around the Pad, shouting, “Scared? I’ll show you scared!” as she hurled pillows and leftover crepe paper at them. Derrick wasn’t sure if she was really mad—he didn’t think so—but he wasn’t about to find out.
“My work here is done,” he said, pouring himself another glass of milk. “I love Halloween.”
THE END
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