little ghouls

On the trampoline Sunday afternoon, under a grey scowling sky, the Banshee Sisters and I created our Halloween personas. Our little inner monsters. Our naughty alter ghouls. Oh, things happen on that trampoline, my friends. Brainstorms. Interrogations. Occasional jumping. Yes, the three of us are very busy when we’re out there, so please do not disturb us unless you’ve mentally and physically prepared for the rigors of the experience. On the other hand, if you join us — all green and unprepared-like– perhaps you’ll be the one endlessly cross-examined for a change which would be okay by me.

Each of our alter ghouls was a combination of our name and the name of someone or something creepy. For instance, mine was Tracula. Original Banshee’s ended with “zilla” and Baby Banshee’s with “zombie.” Sure, she sat on trampoline in a brown feety puppy costume, but she was The Dread Babyzombie nonetheless.

At one point “Zilla” was called inside by her mom, leaving I, Tracula, and Babyzombie alone in the grey with our ghouls.

Slowly, I began describing in detail Tracula’s appearance and powers. Babyzombie stared at me, her every-color eyes growing bigger with each new detail. Finally, my crowning flourish.

“Annnnnd,” said I for several seconds, “each of Tracula’s fingernails lifts up and dispenses candy, one kind for each nail.”

Babyzombie’s eyes officially bugged out. I pointed to each finger and began naming the candy it dispensed until she interrupted and finished the list in a frenzy of candy fantasy. My ring fingernail dispenses candy corn, did you know?

In an instant, Babyzombie was pouring out descriptions of her alter ghoul.

“And my haiw is onje, Tee Tee, and my face is pink and my fingos gib you candy!”

“Wow. You are cool!”

“Yeah.”

The briefest pause.

“And, Tee Tee, I am baaaaaaad.”

Her puppy feet wiggled with delight. Her agate eyes gleamed with the joy of untapped naughtiness.

“You are?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay!”

She cocked her head at me.

“Tee Tee, are you Tracula?”

“Yep.”

“Tracula is you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Is Tracula bad?”

“Hm. I don’t know. I don’t think so. I haven’t decided.”

“Okay. I not bad either den.”

“Babyzombie can be bad if you want.”

“No. Dat’s okay.”

“Okay.”

But my fingos still make candy, Tee Tee!”

“Well, that’s the most important part.”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, Babyzombie. Let’s go inside. Tracula’s cold.”

And she scampered off the trampoline, her puppy feet running silently across the grass, her never-zipped costume exposing her smooth pale back and the top of her little butt as she ran into the house.