HAPPY HALLOWEEN, Y'ALL

by Norsebard

 

Contact: norsebarddk@gmail.com

 

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DISCLAIMERS:

This Halloween shortie is to be categorized as an Uber. All characters are created by me, though some of them may remind you of someone.

The story contains some profanity. Readers who are easily offended by bad language may wish to read something other than this story.

All characters depicted, names used, and incidents portrayed in this story are fictitious. No identification with actual persons is intended nor should be inferred. Any resemblance of the characters portrayed to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

The registered trademarks mentioned in this story are © of their respective owners. No infringement of their rights is intended, and no profit is gained.

 

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NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR:

Written: September 17th - 26th, 2023, for the 2023 Royal Academy of Bard's Halloween Special.

Yes, this is yet another entry into the long-running series featuring Wynne Donohue and Mandy Jalinski - all stories are available at the website of the Royal Academy of Bards.

- Thank you very much for your help, Phineas Redux! :D

As usual, I'd like to say a great, big THANK YOU to my mates at AUSXIP Talking Xena, especially to the gals and guys in Subtext Central. I really appreciate your support - Thanks, everybody! :D

 

Description: Halloween in and near Goldsboro, Nevada is just like every other day of the year: chaotic and weird. If it weren't for Jack O'Lanterns, outrageous costumes and bonfires in the desert, it might as well be January 31st. This time, the Last Original Cowpoke Wynne Donohue and her main squeeze Sheriff Mandy Jalinski must face a different kind of opponent to their usual supernatural foes - but the results are the same as always… chaotic and weird.

 

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HAPPY HALLOWEEN, Y'ALL

October 31st, 12:02 PM - high noon in the small trailer park eight miles south of Goldsboro, Nevada.

Certain things have always gone far beyond the limited capabilities of the feeble human mind. Not just cold fusion, advanced algebra, the flight of the bumblebee and the entire concept of the electoral college in state-level politics, but…

1) Why popcorn husks always get stuck between the teeth or wrap themselves around the dingleberry at the back of the throat?

2) Why the closest can of beer is always empty when problem #1 rears its ugly head?

3) Why telephones always ring when they're out of reach and never when we're next to them?

4) And why boxes containing decorations for Halloween - or Easter, or Independence Day, or Thanksgiving, or Christmas - always end up so messy that it appears they've engaged in the wildest kind of rampant debauchery since the lid was shut?

A bonus question would be why the town's shady characters felt a constant need to shoot holes in the poor city limits sign at the southern entrance to Goldsboro, but that was largely irrelevant in the present situation unlike the first four points. The 52-year-old Wynne Donohue - better known as The Last Original Cowpoke - suffered from all four problems in a single go as she sat on the floor in the middle of her trailer's living area.

Hacking, croaking and spluttering to get the popcorn husk to let go of her uvular and follow the rest of its siblings down her gullet, she cast alternating dark glares at the empty can of beer next to her and the smartphone that she had left in its charger over on the sideboard. It was a mere eight feet from her, but it might as well have been eight miles. The way she sat - with her legs on either side of a cardboard box containing jumbled Halloween decorations - meant she would never be able to fumble around and get on her feet before the telephone would stop ringing.

She wore her favorite pair of faded blue-jeans and a long-sleeved sweatshirt sporting the familiar red-and-black colors, logos and likenesses of the #8 Budweiser Chevrolet Monte Carlo from the 2003 NASCAR Winston Cup season. Wearing her decorated cowboy boots indoors would have been overkill, so she had settled for white sports socks and a pair of purple flip-flops. As a surprising departure from the norm, she had tied her long, dark hair into a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes while she worked with the dusty box.

As expected, the telephone quit its infernal racket before long which left her solely focused on the ungodly mess inside the cardboard box. She had never been the world's most avid collector of Halloween decorations, but she did own a pair of orange pumpkin heads as well as a foot-tall, horrific-looking Jack O'Lantern garden gnome painted in garish colors - all were made of earthenware that could withstand anything Goldsboro could throw at them.

In addition to the larger decorations, she had a highly troublesome, thirty-foot long festoon that featured an abundance of silhouettes of hissing cats, witches on broomsticks and more Jack O'Lanterns. The festoon - that was in fact merely a long piece of string with a bunch of black and orange paper figures attached to it - had wadded itself into a knot of Olympian proportions that would undoubtedly take her hours to untangle.

The final item in the cardboard box was a smaller, padded box containing her collection of polystone figurines. The six-inch-tall decorations were meant for indoor display and were thus far more delicate than those made of coarse earthenware - also, the character designs and general build quality were far better.

Unpacking the padded box, Wynne took out a couple of evil pumpkins, witches on broomsticks, more Jack O'Lanterns, cauldrons and even a bizarre werewolf-like creature known as Bloodfang that was too horrific to look at for its own good. She gave the werewolf another look before she shrugged and put it back into the padded box.

The dastardly piece of uvular-hugging popcorn husk flat-out refused to give up its new home, so Wynne continued to hack, croak and splutter as she moved the figurines aside and swung her legs around the large cardboard box.

Clambering to her feet, she made a beeline for the kitchenette where she drew herself a glass of water so she could gurgle the husk into submission - she needed to go three rounds against the surprisingly strong opponent, but she was ultimately able to defeat it.

Plenty of woofing, happy yapping and excited barking outside made her crane her neck to look out of the window above the kitchen sink. Her two dogs, the black German Shepherd Blackie and the Golden Retriever Goldie, stormed around the edge of the desert behind the trailer playing Catch Your Tail with their canine friend Freddie.

A good example of the remorseless passing of time came in the fact that the huge Rottweiler had already been part of the small community at the trailer park for a full year. Freddie still didn't trust humans completely, but he had come a long way since the terrifying night where his former owner had given him a severe beating and had left him to die alone in the desert.

Grinning at the sight of the frolicking dogs, Wynne grabbed a can of H.E. Fenwyck Pale Lager from the refrigerator before she shuffled back into the living area to get to work on untangling the wadded-up festoon.

-*-*-*-

One hour, three beers and about 650 juicy cusswords later, she had only managed to sort out one tenth of the knotted-up festoon. A long growl escaped her as she slammed the rest of the mess onto the coffee table. Zapping through the TV stations offered no relief from the frustration, so she grabbed her fully charged telephone and found the most important number in the registry.

'Hi, hon!' Mandy Jalinski soon said at the far end of the connection.

Wynne kicked off her flip-flops and moved her denim-clad legs up on the table. Just to prove that she was The Undeniable Bosswoman Of All Obstinate Halloween Decorations, she shoved the tangled knot onto the floor with her leg. "Howdy, darlin'!  Wotcha doin' up north in Goldsborah?  Mercy Sakes, it be bound ta be mo' fuh-n than the dang-blasted mess I been sweatin' ovah down he' an' all."

'Oh?  And what was that?'

"Aw, them Hallah-ween decora-shuns. Darn thing done played porcupih-ne on me the whole, dang day. I been tryin' ta get it untangled but I ain't been havin' much luck, lemme tell ya." While she spoke, Wynne peeked around the edge of the coffee table to get a glimpse of the knot of string down on the carpet.

'Okay. Well, it's been fairly average up here. Councilwoman Skinner was by with the first draft of next year's budget. No shining moments there. Then Robert Neilson dropped his pants in the middle of Main Street to urinate up against a wall-'

"Snakes Alive!"

'It wasn't a pretty sight.'

"That sure ain't no lie!  Lawwwwr-die…"

'And that's not half of it. Once Mr. Neilson was done, he couldn't get his pants up by himself. Even when he bent over really, really far to reach them-'

Wynne broke out in a chuckle at the mental images Mandy's report created in her mind's eye. "Golly… yuh. Okeh."

'-it didn't work so Deputy Simms had to do it for him.'

"Hawwwww-shit!  I bet ol' Barry wussen too pleased with that, nosirree…"

'No. The Deputy spent the next twenty minutes washing his hands in hot water. Mr. Neilson's in Holding Cell One sleeping it off. He can't pay the fines so there's almost no point in issuing them, but we can't let it slide, either. I guess that's about it. Unless something major happens, I'll be home at seven or so. Maybe a quarter past.'

"Can't wait, darlin'!"

'Has the bonfire been built yet?'

"Naw, I'mma-gonn' do that in a li'l while," Wynne said as she shuffled around on the couch to get away from the loose spring that insisted on poking her rear end. "I jus' need some coah-ffee first, then me an' ol' Brenda gonn' build that there fi-ah. Gonn' be a good 'un, yes Ma'am."

The spring insisted on keeping up its regime of inappropriate poking, so Wynne got up from the couch and shuffled over to the window overlooking the central lawn. Though they had worked hard to restore it to its former glory, the grassy area between the collection of house trailers still bore the scars created by the giant lizard-creature that had escaped the US Air Force during a typically fraught night in and around Goldsboro several years back.

'Don't forget to try on your costume, hon.'

"Yuh… 'bout that… I ain't sure I'mma-gonn' wear it aftah all," Wynne said and moved away from the window. She shuffled through the small corridor and into the sleeping area - the costume in question had been laid out on their bed. "It be kinda cheap an' silly. It looked way mo' fuh-n when I done found it up at Keshawn's sto'ah. I reckon I'mma-gonn' give it a pass."

'Well, all right, but the rest of us will wear one, so…'

Wynne reached down to run her fingers across the black fabric. The costume was meant to resemble the popular image of a fairy-tale witch with a tulle skirt, a tunic-like top, a cape and a wide-brimmed hat with a long, floppy cone. The set came with a make-up kit as well as a half-mask featuring an exaggerated brow and a huge, crooked nose.

"Yuh, yuh… I jus' hafta find som'tin bettah. No worries, darlin'. I reckon I got a plan an' all. Aw, it ain't fer anothah cuppel-a hou'ahs. No trubbel."

Someone knocking on the screen door made Wynne turn around and exit the sleeping area. She opened the inner door and nodded a Howdy at Estelle Tooley, one of their neighbors.

"Lissen, darlin'," Wynne said into the telephone as she waved her neighbor inside. "Ol' Estelle jus' made a how-se call. Can ya hang on fer a mo', or-"

'No, I better get back to work. Deputy Simms is trying to hack up his lungs.'

Wynne broke out in a wide grin at the unmistakable noises in the background. "Yes Ma'am, ol' Barry sure be tryin' ta buhh-tt in on ou'ah conversa-shun an' all!"

'It won't be long before I'm home. Love you.'

"Luv ya dubbel, darlin'. This he' bein' tha one an' only Wynne Donnah-hew signin' off. Bah-bah!"

Once the telephone was back in Wynne's pocket, she turned to her neighbor and broke out in a smile. "Howdy, Estelle. Whazzup?  Y'all got time fer a-mug-a coah-ffee or som'tin?"

Estelle mirrored the smile but it never grew into more than a faint, tired creasing of her lips. She had aged prematurely as a direct result of the constant stress involved in working two jobs to support her pre-teen daughter Renee - not to mention the fact that her worthless husband Frank had been abusive for years before she had finally kicked him out. Her complexion was an unhealthy shade of gray rather than pinkish, and her eyes were dull and bloodshot. Crow's feet had already invaded the skin around her eyes though she was only in her late thirties.

At present, she wore the typical, all-white uniform of a waitress: sensible shoes, long-stockings, a knee-length skirt and a short-sleeved, jacket-like top.

"I wish I had, but I don't," Estelle said and looked at the coffee machine - her voice was marked by the large quantities of nicotine and caffeine she needed to keep herself going. "Wynne, I need to ask you a favor. It's a big one and I know the timing is probably really shitty."

"Haw!  Okeh… y'all wanna siddown or som'tin?" Wynne said and put out her arm to show her guest into the living area.

Estelle shook her head; she rubbed her brow with the back of a hand. "No, I don't have time for that. I've been hired as a waitress at a private Halloween party down south in Cavanaugh Creek. It's in an hour and a half so I need to hustle."

"Okeh…"

"Well, the first babysitter I called just screwed me royally. I paid that ungrateful little bi- brat twenty dollars in advance, and now she's a no-show. She just called to let me know she'd had a better offer. Pure BS because I could hear laughter and music in the background. You know, party sounds."

"Shit!  Whodahell wus that, Estelle?  I'mma-gonn' give 'er a square piece o' mah mind-"

"That doesn't matter now."

"Yuh, okeh… but y'all want me ta drih-ve ya down ta-"

"No, I got that covered," Estelle said and rubbed her brow again. "I managed to find another sitter at the last moment, but she hasn't worked for me before. Renee says the new sitter is the older sister of one of her classmates, but… you know, that doesn't mean shit these days. I need to ask if you guys can keep an eye on Renee and the sitter tonight?"

"Yuh-"

"Diego is sick as a dog so he can't do it. Once the waitress gig is over, I'm going to spend the rest of the night down there so I can get an early start over at my cleaning job," Estelle said, once again rubbing her brow. Misinterpreting the silence that came from Wynne, she continued: "I'm sorry, Wynne, I know it's a really big favor to ask. I'm sure the last thing you wanted for tonight was to be saddled with checking up on some kid-"

"Hold 'em hosses, pardnah!  I sure ain't said no or nuttin'!  Dontcha worry none 'bout dat, Estelle. Me an' Sheriff Mandy gonn' keep an eye on li'l, ol' Renee an' that there sittah, there, awright. An' y'all can take that ta da bank, yes Ma'am," Wynne said as she reached over to give Estelle's shoulder a supportive squeeze.

Nodding, Estelle let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I'll… I'll make it up to you somehow."

"Aw, we can tawk 'bout that latah, yuh?  Yuh, there sure is gonn' be some beer-drinkin' an' spooky tales at that there bonfi'ah party, but ain't no real scary stuff or ca-razy dares or nuttin'. We ain't gonn' be smokin' no banana peels or ground cactus or nuttin', neithah. An' with Tha Last Oh-ree-gee-nal Cowpoah-ke an' two o' MacLean County's fih-nest present, ain't no sittah gonn' dare do nuttin' sh-toopid. Y'all don't hafta worry fer a second, Estelle."

"Thank you," Estelle said and placed a quick kiss on Wynne's cheek. "Ah… have you seen Frank in town recently?"

"Yuh, I done seen 'im a-cuppel-a times. The last one, he wus drunk off his ass an' roughin' it on da bench opposite Derrike's dump. I called them de-per-ties who done hauled his ugly mug down ta them there holdin' cells."

Estelle let out a quiet sigh. "One of these days, he'll drink so hard he won't wake up again," she said in a somber voice.

A hard mask fell upon Wynne's features as she eyed the fading traces of the bruising on Estelle's face. "One less a-hole fer da woh-rld ta deal with… 'z mah opinion. Not that y'all asked or nuttin'. Anyhows, y'all can leave fer work knowin' we got li'l Renee under close observa-shun. She an' da sittah. Yuh?"

"Thanks, Wynne. Oh, I better be on my way. I can't afford to be late," Estelle said and moved back to the inner door.

"Bah-bah, pardnah," Wynne said as she pushed the screen door open. "Don't ferget ta only drive as fast as yer guardian angel can fly, yuh?  Tawk ta ya tamorrah."

---

Half an hour later, the appropriately creepy My Friend The Devil by The Dark Worshippers blasted out of Wynne's rear pocket. She had tuned her telephone to the Down-Home Ol' Country Shack's online radio station while she moved around her trailer's living area finding good spots for the polystone figurines - the Halloween Spook Show presented by Century Co. Brooms & Brushes had been running for a while playing all sorts of weird and wacky novelty tunes.

She and Mandy had always spent multiple afternoons carving saucy, wicked or plain evil faces into real pumpkins for Halloween, but they had agreed it was far too much hassle for too little reward so the home-carving had been consigned to the history books - instead, the earthenware pumpkin heads and the Jack O'Lantern garden gnome had been put on the porch and other good spots outside her trailer.

Sipping a mug of coffee and munching on pumpkin-flavored ladyfingers, Wynne lowered herself into a chair on her crooked porch to watch Blackie, Goldie and Freddie run themselves ragged on the edge of the desert. The large Rottweiler still had a lingering distrust of humans after his ordeal, but the dynamic duo of Blackie and Goldie helped him recover by supporting him and acclimatizing him to the trailer park's residents.

Wynne had just taken a large sip of coffee when Goldie stormed past her and leaped into the narrow corridor - it made for choppy seas in the mug, but most of the dark-brown liquid stayed where it should be.

"Whoa!  Whaddinda-wohhhhh-rld, girl?" she croaked as she twisted around on the chair to look inside. It seemed the Golden Retriever searched for something in the doggy-basket she shared with Blackie. Not finding the object of her desire at first, the golden whirlwind soon stormed into the living area. Ten seconds later, she stormed back out holding a gnawing bone between her jaws.

A long chuckle escaped Wynne as she made herself comfortable once more and got ready to take a bite of the ladyfinger. "Yuh, Goldie sure be mah dawggie, awright- haw!  Whaddahell-izzat-now?!"

Down on the ground, something unidentifiable moved at great speed out of the trailer and into the desert - it appeared to be a very long piece of string that featured numerous black paper silhouettes of hissing cats, witches on broomsticks and Jack O'Lanterns. As Goldie performed another small leap to clear a sandy dune, the piece of string fell off and eventually came to a halt.

Wynne put down the mug of coffee and the small plate containing the ladyfingers to rub her eyes. Then she needed to rub them again. The piece of string that had somehow become attached to Goldie was in fact the wadded-up Halloween festoon except that it had become fully un-wadded-up through the application of a very enthusiastic Golden Retriever.

"Haw!  Wouldya lookie there… how 'bout that?" Wynne said as she scratched her neck. Turning to face the frolicking dogs, she reached up to make her hand act as an amplifier. "Thanks a whooooole bunch, there, Goldie!  Y'all gonn' get that there haaah-quality drah feed tanight!"

A long, enthusiastic chorus of Yap!  Yap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap! soon came back from the desert.

"Yuh, like I done said… she be mah dawggie, awright. I jus' hafta men-shun gettin' some chow or wettin' ou'ah whissels an' she be all a-giddy… yesirree."

Once the mug of coffee had been emptied and the three remaining ladyfingers devoured, Wynne picked up the loose end of the festoon and rolled it up on her arm so she knew it wouldn't get wadded-up all over again - then she started looking for the best place to hang it.

-*-*-*-

As the sun entered the last stretch of its eternal journey across the heavens, a ghostly creature emerged from inside one of the trailers. It seemed to hover on the crooked porch for a moment before it floated off it and moved silently toward a large bonfire that had been constructed thirty yards into the desert.

Ten paces on from floating off the porch, several things happened in rapid succession: first, a cowboy boot accidentally stepped on the ghost's lower hem. Then a pair of tendrils - or arms, depending on the point of view - shot out from the ghostly being to flail in the air. And finally, a raspy 'Sohhhhh-m'bitch!' was heard plain as day in an inch-thick accent reminiscent of that spoken in Shallow Pond, Texas.

The ghost wobbled, swayed and stumbled ahead for a few steps before it came to a halt. The tendrils soon reached down to lift the lower hem so the rest of the cross-country trek could be conducted a little easier. 'Dang-blasted… I shoudda thunk 'bout dat… but I didden,' the ghostly being said in a mumble as it continued toward the unlit bonfire.

Two people were already tending to it: A hippie-girl straight out of 1967's legendary Summer Of Love came into sight first. A moment later, the flower child was joined by a scarecrow that had to be a close relative of the memorable character from The Wizard Of Oz.

The hippie-girl wore flared jeans and a denim jacket that featured dozens of flounces along the sleeves. The jacket covered a T-shirt held in a wild, psychedelic pattern of swirling reds, blues, yellows and greens. To add another blast from the past, a hand-made wreath of daisies adorned her blonde mop-top - the flowers were made of plastic as daisies were in short supply in and near Goldsboro, Nevada, but it was the thought that counted.

The scarecrow wore mismatched shoes, striped socks and brown corduroy pants that were several inches too short - the pants were held in place by old-fashioned two-point suspenders. Up top, the long sleeves of a checkered shirt reached out to a pair of old garden gloves. Brown cloth protruded from the sleeves and the shirt's upper hem to simulate the hay that such a creature would ordinarily be stuffed full of.

Makeup of a humorous rather than ghoulish nature had been applied to the scarecrow's face, and the whole look was made complete by a threadbare, greasy hat that had been put askew on top of a bundle of spiky, gelled hair.

'Howdy, Quick Draw!  Mercy Sakes, y'all look awesome, lemme tell ya!' the ghost said - the greeting was soon followed by the familiar Psssshhhhht! of a can being opened. A moment later, the ghost seemed to bulge out near the face as the can was brought up to an invisible mouth. Another moment on from that, a second 'Aw… sombitch!' was uttered as a three-by-four-inch wet spot blossomed at the exact same point.

A long sigh was heard before the ghost seemed to unravel itself from its ethereal shell - or rather, Wynne pulled off the old sheet she had cut two holes in so she could see where she went. "Lawrdie, I sure ain't been havin' much luck with these he' Hallah-Ween costumes this year an' all… dag-nabbit," she said as she used a handkerchief to wipe the excess beer off her chin.

Underneath the sheet, she wore most of her regular Last Original Cowpoke outfit: decorated cowboy boots, faded jeans and a denim jacket in a 1980s cut. The jacket covered a brand-new, long-sleeved, orange sweatshirt commemorating Darrell Waltrip's 1989 victory in the Daytona 500 in the legendary Tide Ride Chevrolet Monte Carlo. The red bandanna was in place in the left rear pocket as Cowpoke fashion dictated, but the stained cowboy hat and the expensive sheepskin gloves had been left at home for once.

While the Hippie Girl - better known as Sheriff Mandy Jalinski - knelt at the bonfire to nudge a few feet of priming cord and some crumbled-up newspapers as far in as she could reach, the Scarecrow - or Junior Deputy Sheriff Beatrice Reilly - broke out in a smile at the strange sight of Wynne minus her beloved hat. "Well, at least you gave it a shot, Miss Donohue. And besides, you're almost wearing a costume now. All you need is a horse and you're a real cowgirl."

"Haw!  No hosses, no mew-les, no donkeys, no livestock, no nuttin' biggah than Freddie!" Wynne said and shook her head vehemently. "An' fer cryin' out loud, Quick Draw, jus' call me Wynne, okeh?  We gonn' be sittin' bah a fi'ah havin' fuh-n an' drinkin' beer an' prolly tellin' spooky tales an' ev'rythin'… yuh?"

"All right. But only if you call me Bea," Beatrice said with a smile. " 'Quick Draw' always reminds me of that time where we… you know. Didn't see eye to eye."

Wynne started nodding even before Beatrice had finished speaking. "Haw, y'all got yerself a deal there, Bea!  You betcha!  Mercy Sakes, I nevah considah'd that y'all didden like bein' called that… yuh, I sure be sorry 'bout that an' all. Ain't gonn' happen ag'in, no Ma'am."

The fourth member of the small circle of friends who were to celebrate Halloween by the bonfire had yet to appear. Almost inevitably, the second babysitter hadn't shown up yet when Estelle Tooley had needed to leave for Cavanaugh Creek and her waiting job, so Brenda Travers had volunteered to look after young Renee until the sitter would show up.

Blackie, Goldie and Freddie continued to run around the desert playing Catch Your Tail and all the other evergreen doggy games, but the three canine friends had moved further away from the fire and the humans on Freddie's insistence - their woofing, happy yapping and excited barking echoed across the wide-open expanses like the howls of mythical beasts.

Mandy-the-Hippie got up and dusted off her hands on the seat of her flared jeans. She scrutinized the bonfire for a moment before she broke out in a nod. "All right. That's as good as it's ever going to get. I think we should light it before Brenda comes over with Renee. I don't want to frighten her in case it catches faster than we expect."

"Haw, that sure be a good no-shun, darlin'!" Wynne said and moved over to stand behind her partner. "How we gonn' light it an' all?"

"With this," Mandy said and flipped open a gas lighter that she held to the end of the priming cord. Unlike in the movies where such an action would have created an abundance of hisses and colorful sparks, the cord simply smoked and grew discolored as the internal fire moved toward the crumbled-up newspapers.

Not fifteen seconds after the newspapers had been exposed to the extreme heat of the cord, the fire was going well with the early flames building into proper flickering tendrils that caressed the kindling and larger pieces of wood. Soon, the five-feet tall bonfire was engulfed in flames.

To prevent the fire from spreading in case of an accident - Goldsboro, the Calamity Central of the entire Western hemisphere, was only eight miles away after all - Mandy had a CO2 extinguisher on immediate stand-by next to a five-gallon bucket filled with water for when it was time to call it a night.

Wynne let out an "Awwwwwwwwwww!" while she took several pictures and a video clip of the bonfire. As she panned the telephone around, she remembered that she wanted to offer her commiserations to Diego who was supposed to have been a guest at the party.

Taking a long step back from the fire so the telephone, and she, wouldn't get singed, she selected Diego's number in the registry. When the connection was established, she said: "Howdy, pardnah!  How's da snot comin' along?"

'Hiya, Wynne. It's coming along with a vengeance,' Diego said in a hoarse, raspy voice that hardly sounded like his own. 'Damn, I haven't felt this shitty since… since… HAH-CHOOOO!'

Wynne leaned her head back and let out a belly laugh. "Yuh-huh?  Bless ya. Lawrdie, y'all sure don't sound too good, pardnah. Sheriff Mandy an' Quick- I mean Bea an' me be out he' bah the fi'ah. Mercy Sakes, it be a coo' sight, lemme tell ya. Mebbe y'all can see it from where y'all is at?"

'I can't see anything, Wynne… the cold's given me such a rotten headache that I need to have a cool washcloth draped over my forehead.'

"Aw… okeh. Lawrdie, y'all bettah not get any sickah, yuh?  But we be he', anyhows. Li'l Renee an' ou'ah pal Brendah gonn' swing bah in a li'l while. Whadda y'all be doin'?  Y'all be watchin' that there rasslin' show on Channel Seventy-Eight or som'tin?"

'No. I'm in bed trying to sweat it out. I got a bowl of chili peppers and a jug of full-cream milk. Did you guys make costumes like you… you… HAH-CHOOOOOOOOOOOO!  Aw, Goddamn… snot all over. Are you guys wearing costumes?'

"Yuh, kinda," Wynne said and looked at herself and her companions. "Mandy's a hippie chick. Bea's a scarecrow. I wus saposed ta be a witch o' some kind, but da costume done looked like cheap jack so I dumped it. Then I wus gonn' be a ghost with a sheet ovah mah head, but that didden work neithah. I jus' be wearin' mah usual duds. Whut wus yer costume gonn' be, friend?"

'I bought a leotard. One of those single-shoulder-strap things. I was going to be a classic pro-wrestler like they were back in the seventies and eighties. You know, a little over-the-top. I got the body hair for it…'

"Yuh… yuh, that sure ain't no lie!  Okeh, I ain't sure if I be disappointed or relieved I didden gedda see that!"

'Oh, hah-hah- HAH-CHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!'

"Bless ya," Wynne said with a grin. Action over at Brenda Travers' trailer made her look in that direction - then she waved at Brenda and Renee who stepped onto the central lawn. "Okeh, Diegoh. I gotta go. Y'all want me ta swing bah a li'l latah with som'tin ta read, or…?"

'No thanks, Wynne. I'm going to stay in a locked-up lockdown until I'm in the clear. I'm way too infectious to have visitors right now.'

"Yuh. I reckon that be a smart thing ta do, yessir. Okeh, I'mma-gonn' call ya some time tamorrah, then. Bah-bah, friend. An' get well, yuh?"

'I'll try. Talk to you.. you… HAH-CHOOOOOOOOOOOO!'

"Haw, yuh… bless ya," Wynne said before she closed the connection.

The late-thirty-something Brenda Travers and the ten-year-old Renee Tooley were both dressed to the nines. Brenda wore black sports shoes, white long-stockings and a white lab coat that had been splattered in red paint. A well-made replica of a nurse's cap sat atop her blond locks. Her lab coat carried a name tag that identified her as Nurse M. Cleaver.

Young Renee hadn't had a costume to wear as she and the sitter were meant to stay at home all evening, but that had changed when Brenda got involved: the young girl had been transformed into a space robot akin to those inhabiting the cheapest of the cheap black-and-white science-fiction movies of the 1950s.

Her petite body had literally been swallowed by a huge, square cardboard box that had been wrapped in packaging paper so the original logos were hidden. Colorful dials, gauges and various other genre-typical doodads had been drawn on the packaging paper with colored felt-tip pens to give the impression that she was in fact a proper robot. The lower end of the cardboard box had been cut out so she would have room for her legs, and three holes had been cut out up top for her arms and head.

Although Renee wore her regular jeans, a long-sleeved soccer jersey and a warm vest underneath the robot costume, she had borrowed a pair of silver gloves that were too large for her small hands - it didn't matter as the illusion of a space-traveler was near-perfect. The crowning achievement was an old bathing cap that featured plenty of weird-looking tassels almost as if it had been made for that specific purpose.

"Mercy Sakes, would ya lookie there!  Haw, if that ain't da cutest sight I evah done clapped eyes on, I ain't sure whut would be!" Wynne said and promptly snapped a whole heap of pictures of the exquisite, improvised costume. "An' howdy, Brendah… whah, y'all sure look spe-shul, too!"

Grinning, Brenda leaned over to pat her neighbor's shoulder. "Thanks, Wynne. Your costume is… well… it kinda gives me a deja vu," she said as she studied the familiar denim set.

"Yuh, it wus vin-titch Wynne Donnah-hew, dontchaknow. The first one I done found didden work an' the second worked even less," Wynne said and scratched her neck. "Les'say I done hadda li'l trubbel with both offem. Aw, but nevah mind that now. C'mon, RoboGirl, les'go ovah ta da fi'ah. We got them there awesome s'mores all lined up an' all. An' we done made some hot cocoa an' ev'rythin'!"

An enthusiastic "Yippie!" burst from the robot who took off at a fast jog to join Mandy and Beatrice by the bonfire - The Last Original Cowpoke and Nurse Cleaver soon followed at a pace that was better suited for adults.

"Brendah, y'all trah'd ta call that there second sittah ag'in?"

"Yeah. She said she was on her way. It sounded as if she was in a car, so I'm guessing she told the truth. It probably won't be long until she's here."

"Okeh… haw, les'trah ta give li'l Renee som'tin ta laff at in da mean time, yuh?  That sure don't happen offen enuff."

"Agreed!" Brenda said and reached over to bump shoulders with the taller Cowpoke.

-*-*-*-

Not too much time passed by before all five rested on blankets that had been laid out a safe distance from the fire. Renee and Brenda sat together on the right, Beatrice was by herself in the middle, and Wynne's long arms and legs encapsulated Hippie Girl Mandy almost completely. The latter two sat so close they appeared to be one being - albeit one that had two heads which was a rare sight, even in Goldsboro.

Wynne had retrieved her beloved cowboy hat from the trailer as she considered herself semi-undressed without it. A cooler box filled with the inevitable collection of H.E. Fenwyck cans was within easy reach.

She rested her chin on Mandy's shoulder while simply soaking in the undeniable strength of the compact, athletic presence sitting in front of her. "Y'all know whut this he' be?  This be my kinda livin', darlin'," she said for Mandy's ears only. "A cracklin' fi'ah… awesome comp'ny… sippin' hot cocoa an' roastin' s'mores an' then there li'l pieces o' bread there that I always done ferget whut be called."

"Twistbread," Mandy said before she turned her head to place a kiss on Wynne's cheek.

"Yuh. Kinda logical when y'all done think 'bout it, yuh?" Wynne said and emptied her first mug of hot cocoa. "Okeh, I reckon it be time fer some adult beve-ritches. Y'all wan'some beer?  I done filled that there coolah box up ta da lid. Dubbel-Zerahs, pale an' dark lagahs, Nineteen-Ten Spe-shul Brew an' even a-cuppel-a them there Midnight Velvet Stouts that dear, ol' Ernie done loved so much."

Mandy kissed Wynne's cheek again before she turned back to the fire. "Not right now, thanks. Maybe later."

"Okeh. I reckon I'mma-gonn' start the do-si-do an' all," Wynne said as she reached into the cooler box for a can. She made sure not to peek at which one her fingers were close to so it would remain a surprise for as long as possible. A wide grin spread over her face when the first can proved to be one of H.E. Fenwyck's Dark Lagers.

She was about to crack it open when she noticed a marked change in Renee Tooley's mood. The young girl had laughed only moments before, but now she stared at the can of beer with a look upon her face as if someone had told her that all her favorite dollies had been abducted into a parallel dimension by one of those unfriendly foes that haunted Goldsboro and the surrounding areas on an all-too regular basis.

Mandy noticed the change as well. "Wynne," she said at an even lower volume than before, "I don't often tell you what to do, but I think you should hold off drinking that. Renee must have watched her father chug down thousands of beers. Once he was drunk enough, he would always turn violent. You obviously won't, but, you know…"

"Hawwww-shittt!  Y'all be right once ag'in, darlin'. That sure wussen whut I done wanted," Wynne said and quickly put the can back into the cooler. She scratched her neck a couple of times at the utter lack of soft drinks or even mineral water in it. "Shoot, I nevah stopped ta think 'bout that… durn!"

Renee's expression had only lifted a tiny amount, but Mandy made everything all right again by holding up the first thermos she and Wynne had spent a fair amount of time making. "Let's get some more s'mores going. Hot cocoa, anyone?" she said in a cheery voice - a matching cheer rose from everyone else.

---

Nobody could speak while devouring the hot, squishy treats, but they didn't last long despite Wynne buying extra-extra-extra large packs of marshmallows and crackers. The hot cocoa lasted longer, but even that soon reached a low tide in the cluster of thermos'.

While Mandy went back to the trailer to refill the thermos', Brenda fiddled with her telephone to find and install a special app she had read about on an Internet message board. Titled SoSpookyLib, the app would establish contact with the largest online sound archives and literally provide perfect sound effects for any imaginable event. The Halloween version's front-end user interface was obviously designed in black and orange so it would fit the theme.

Once the app had been verified and installed, she was about to call the sitter again when the arrival of a car over between the trailers caught everyone's attention. Beatrice let out a dark grunt at the sight of the car's left headlight being out.

"Haw?  Whazzat now?" Wynne said and shuffled around to look at the car.

"I'm guessing it's the sitter," Brenda said and got up. She came to a brief halt and furrowed her brow when not one, but three people exited the vehicle.

The unexpected influx of visitors prompted Beatrice to get up and stride toward the car - though she wore a colorful costume rather than her regular uniform, her expression and stance proved she was back on duty.

The three teenagers wore costumes that didn't appear too kid-friendly at first glance: a young woman wore torn skinny-jeans, a leather belt that featured scores of metal studs, and a black sweatshirt with a home-painted skull-and-bones symbol in white. Her face was covered in exaggerated makeup to give her a look that was somewhat grotesque and certainly provocative. Not to be outdone by her clothes, her hair was purple and spiky.

"Yuh, okeh…" Wynne said and got to her feet as well. "Now, back hoah-me in Shallah Pond, Texas, yuh?  Back hoah-me, that there kinda look there woudden ha' been too pop'lar among da general popula-shun, lemme tell ya. An' holy shittt, woudya lookie at them othah folks she done brought with'er…"

The other two teenagers were young men - one was chubby and the other rail thin. The chubby one was a demented Santa Claus complete with demonic facepaint, a floppy-cone Elf hat and the familiar red-and-white suit that looked as if it had been rolled in dirt or another kind of brownish gunk.

The rail-thin one wore a costume similar to the young woman's by having skinny jeans and a dog collar for a waistbelt. His sweatshirt had seemingly been dunked in a bucket of mixed paint and then sprayed with acid. Acronyms like FTC and ACAB had been added to the sweatshirt to underscore the wearer's supposed attitude.

"Lawwwwr-die," Wynne said in a mumble, "when me an' mah pals an' gals done dressed up fer Hallah-Ween back in the day, we wus mebbe nurses or schoolmarms or Princess Leias or somebodda… but dang!  Them kids these days…"

Beatrice wore a severe scowl as she stared at the anti-law enforcement, anti-establishment, anti-everything acronyms on the torn sweatshirt. She couldn't do anything about the political statements, but she could certainly act on the faulty headlight, so she reached behind her to take her trusty, oft-used, pad of fines. Realizing too late that she wasn't wearing her utility belt, her scowl deepened and she let out a growl that almost sounded as if Freddie the Rottweiler had produced it.

"Hello," the teenaged girl said as she stepped forward, "I'm Melissa Holmgren. I'm the sitter. I'm sorry we're late. We had to stop for gas up in Goldsboro. Hi, Renee!"

Renee Tooley waved back though it was obvious she was skeptical about the loud costumes. She, Brenda and Wynne had rejoined Beatrice at the central lawn, but kept to themselves at the back in case it turned into law enforcement business.

"Howdy, Melissa," Wynne said and tipped her cowboy hat. "Nice ta see y'all. A li'l late, but okeh. Aintcha gonn' intra-dooce us ta ya companions there?"

"Sure. They're my brothers Lance and Timothy," Melissa said, pointing at the demented Santa and the anti-establishment punk in turn. The young men sort-of waved at the adults without showing much enthusiasm for the gathering.

"Miss Holmgren," Beatrice said in her customary no-nonsense voice, "the left headlight of your vehicle has gone out. It needs to be repaired before you can drive home tonight."

Melissa turned to look at her car - a fifteen-year-old Honda Civic Sedan that had been metallic gray when it rolled off the assembly line, but was now mostly tan due to the strong sun and the creeping rust.

"Oh… okay. I have a couple of spare bulbs in the glove box, but I don't know if they fit… or even how to change it."

The scowl on Beatrice's face gained another few degrees of darkness before Wynne moved over to the Civic to see for herself. She crouched down next to the defective headlight to check if it was only the bulb or if the housing itself had cracked - a quick tap-tap-tap with a knuckle proved the plastic lens cover was in good shape. "Haw, if them bulbs be da right ones, fixin' that there busted headlight ain't gonn' be no trubbel or nuttin'. Bea, I got dat."

Beatrice kept silent for a few seconds more before she let out a grunt of approval. Soon, Melissa took Renee by the hand and shuffled off toward the Tooleys' trailer with her oddly dressed brothers in tow.

"Just when we thought we'd seen everything," Brenda said with a shrug. The small-scale drama over, they all turned around and headed back to the bonfire. "Oh, I guess we shouldn't judge a person by their costume. Anyway, back to the fun stuff. Guys, I have an idea. A great idea!  How about we started a round-robin?  I mean, look at all this!  Isn't this the perfect setting for a spooky Halloween tale?" she continued as she waved at the bonfire, the costumes that everyone wore, the dark sky and the myriad of stars above.

"Haw… yuh… mebbe," Wynne said and scratched her neck. "If somebodda be so durn kind as ta tell li'l, ol' me whaddahell one o' them there roundy-rounds be…?"

"Don't ask me. I'm not used to all this socializing," Beatrice mumbled.

Brenda leaned over to nudge Beatrice's arm to show that it was high time for the deputy to come out of her shell. "A round-robin means that one of us starts a tall tale and makes up a couple of sentences or a short paragraph. Then the story moves to the next person in line who adds a little more… and so on and so forth."

"Haw… okeh. Yuh, I ain't sure I got enuff imagina-shun ta keep up with all y'all clevah gals, but… yuh, whah'dahell not. I reckon we oughttah wait fer Sheriff Mandy ta return, tho'-"

"I'm here," Mandy said as she strode back to the area in front of the bonfire carrying no less than three full thermos' of hot cocoa - unlike the first batch that had been made the traditional way in cooking pots, she had resorted to nuking the new round to save time. "Did the sitter arrive?" she added as she eyed the Honda Civic.

"Yuh, an' then some," Wynne said, breaking out in a large nod. "Y'all missed one helluva show, there, darlin'. Melissa Somebodda done brought her brothas with'er, an' lemme tell ya, they sure didden look like nuttin' I evah done saw when I wus a li'l girl back hoah-me…"

"No?"

"Naw. An' that be puttin' it mildly. Snakes Alive, they sure didden look like they wus nobodda's favo-rite sons-in-law, neithah… an' that ain't no exaggera-shun or nuttin'."

Mandy furrowed her brow and looked to Beatrice and Brenda for a small-scale deciphering of Wynne's colorful description.

"Their Halloween costumes were outrageous," Brenda added.

"I see. Well… now that Renee has gone, I suppose we won't need these after all," Mandy said, holding up the thermos'.

Wynne scratched her neck, her brow and her cheek several times as she looked at the cooler box, the bonfire, and the thermos' of hot cocoa. "Aw, whaddahell. I kinda like that there hot cocoa an' all. An' the night is young. There be plentah o' time fer beers latah on. Yuh?  C'mon, y'all, les'trah that there roundy-round thing y'all wus tawkin' 'bout, Brendah. I ain't sayin' I know how ta do it, but… yuh, les'trah."

Mandy furrowed her brow as she continued over to the fire. Soon, everyone sat on the blankets holding mugfuls of steaming-hot cocoa. "Hon, we're not on the same frequency tonight," Mandy said with a grin. "I don't have a clue what you mean. What roundy-round thing?"

"Aw, ou'ah friend Brendah done suggested we play a game where we sorta tell a part offa tall tale an' then hand it ovah-"

"Oh, a round-robin?  Right. I'm up for that," Mandy said as she sat down next to Wynne.

"Haw… okeh… how come ev'rybodda knows 'bout that but me?" Wynne said and pushed her hat back from her brow. "Aw, nevah mind. Bea?  Ya reckon that gonn' be fuh-n?"

Beatrice shrugged. "I'm not the poetic type so I don't know if I can do it justice. Brenda, you better start. Then it's my turn, then Wynne and the Sheriff… and then back to you."

"Works for me!" Brenda said and slapped herself a high-five just for fun. "So there I was, walking through a smelly bog full of dead, gnarly trees."

"Uh… all right…" Beatrice said - she fell silent for a moment until she said: "All around me, I could hear ravens crowing… shrieking… whatever they actually do."

Grinning, Brenda accessed the sound-effects app and found Raven Call - soon, a short clip of all kinds of creepy bird sounds started playing. "According to this app, they croak… seems a little weird if you ask me, but that's what it says," she said as she held up the telephone so the others could see. "Wynne, you're up."

"Yuh, okeh… awright… uh… uh… so I kinda looked 'round fer them feathah'd friends ta see whut they wus up to, but that meant I done stepped in a deep hole full o' boggy gunk."

On cue, Brenda played a disgusting Shawump-Schplattt! sound that offered a perfect aural illustration of dunking one's boot into a bog hole. Everyone chuckled which gave Wynne a respite that she used to throw the round-robin to Mandy:

"It took me a while get out of it, but I did. Moving on, I soon reached the far side of the smelly bog. The trees were just as dead and gnarly there, but it offered a few boulders that I climbed onto to dry my shoe. Up there, I heard an owl and soon found myself joined by a… Brenda?"

Once the obligatory hoot of an owl had been played, Brenda broke out in a saucy grin. "A strapping, young faun wearing sandals and a loose tunic that revealed his dark-golden skin and bulging arms… ah… okay, scratch that part," Brenda said before her saucy grin was swept away by a rare blush. "And a young man wearing a straw hat and a coverall. He said his name was…"

Wynne, Mandy and Beatrice exchanged a few looks and chuckles until the latter said: "Dennis!  He invited me over to his parents' house in the woods for a lemonade. Before we got there, the sun went behind a big, black cloud. We could hear a crack of thunder-"

The appropriate sound effect was soon heard from Brenda's telephone.

"Thanks!" Beatrice said with a grin. "We heard a crack of thunder. And then it started raining."

Wynne removed her hat to scratch her scalp. She glanced at Mandy, Beatrice and Brenda in turn before she rubbed her chin, scratched her neck, rubbed her eyes and stuck a finger down the sweatshirt's hem at her throat to stall. "Shoot, I… haw, okeh… it done started raining them there ugly, green toads. An' them li'l crittahs went ribbit-ribbit all ovah tha dang place. Whah, it wus a ribbit-ribbit concert. Yessir. I done saw that on teevee once… uh, that wus obvi'sly jus' a comment, yuh?"

Squealing, Brenda soon found a clip of many frogs croaking - the fact they did make a ribbit-ribbit sound very close to the one Wynne had let out caused plenty of laughter to spread among the round-robin participants.

Where Brenda clapped her hands and bounced up and down in glee at not only the story but the fun sound effects as well, Mandy let out a groan and sent her partner a mock-dark glare at the unexpected twist. "Ribbit-ribbit, my eye," she said in a mumble before she offered Wynne a wink.

-*-*-*-

The uninhibited and increasingly outrageous tale continued around and around the circle of friends. Brenda seemed most interested in adding a little sizzle wherever she could which left Beatrice with the unenviable task of steering the story back into more family-friendly waters. Mandy always kept it grounded in reality - or at least what amounted to reality in their bizarre corner of the world - but did stray into the fantastic from time to time just to hear what kind of yarn Brenda could spin from it.

Wynne tried her darnedest to add to the story using the cues Beatrice offered her, but a round-robin didn't come natural to her unlike pool, throwing horseshoes or playing the Rubbin' Fenders stock-car racing game on her telephone - those were all here-and-now activities that relied on an actual, physical skill. Weaving a grand tapestry of setting, characters and actions required imagination, insight and a good memory. Although she did possess all those attributes to varying degrees, they weren't accessible to the level needed to keep up with the others.

The beers had called out too loudly to be ignored, so she had cracked open a Double-Zero that she took frequent sips of. Her blank expression and the way she sat - with her head propped up on her arm - proved that the game had lost its coolness for her, but she didn't want to be the spoilsport or mood-killer by suggesting they did something else. A brief sigh escaped her as the round-robin went back to Brenda to start a new tour.

"And," Brenda said in a cheery voice, "then it became obvious we were in the middle of an Invasion of the Bunny-Girl Snatchers. Dennis The Forest God took a firm grip on his mighty lightning rod and set off fighting the evil barbarian invaders with plenty of heart and thrust. He threw the rod at an ugly fellow…"  To set up the proverbial passing of the baton, Brenda found the sound effect of a thunderclap on the SoSpookyLib app.

Grinning, Beatrice sipped a non-alcoholic Double-Zero that she had bought from Wynne for the nominal amount of 75 cents. "But missed!  The ugly barbarian charged ahead and attempted to wrestle Dennis to the ground. The beefy men grunted and groaned and tore off each other's clothes as they struggled."

An "Oooooooooh!" escaped Brenda before she broke out in a cheesy grin.

Wynne just sat there, sucking on her teeth. "Yuh. Okeh. Tell ya whut, Bea, I reckon I'mma-gonn' hafta say pass fer this he' round o' ou'ah game. Anyhows, I gotta admit it be gettin' jus' a li'l too ca-razy fer mah tastes an' all. All y'all keep playin' all yer like, yuh?  But I'mma-gonn' check up on li'l Renee an' them sittahs like I done promised Estelle. Y'all don't hafta stop or nuttin', but I jus' gotta… yuh?" she said as she clambered to her feet.

"Do you need a hand?" Mandy said, moving into a more regular sitting position after flaking out like a proper hippie girl.

"Much obliged, darlin', but naw. I'mma-jus'-gonn' knock on that there do'ah there an' ask if they need anythin'. I don't reckon I'mma-gonn' need backup fer that," Wynne said and tipped her beloved cowboy hat.

Mandy nodded as she made herself comfortable once more. "Okay. So… where were we?  Mmmm… the attacking barbarian was so ugly that Dennis couldn't tell the difference between the man's face and backside. They wrestled for a moment longer before Dennis was overcome with the fumes of the barbarian's B.O."

Brenda continued the story in her inimitable style, but Wynne had lost all interest in the party game. Before she could go over to the Tooleys, she had to get rid of the couple of beers she'd had, so she made a quick detour to her own trailer first.

---

Five minutes later, she peeked through the living-room window of the Tooley residence. Estelle's trailer had been built by a different company and thus had a different layout to Wynne's. Instead of the main entrance leading to a kitchenette and a narrow corridor that featured a tiny bathroom, the front door went directly into the living area. Two small bedrooms had been placed at opposite ends of the trailer with the kitchenette located nearer the smaller of the two.

The windows at the sleeping areas were dark, but lights were on in the center section. Craning her neck to see better, Wynne cast a glance inside. It seemed the demented Santa Claus and both the latter-day punks had hooked some kind of video game to Estelle's flatscreen TV - all three stood in the center of the living area wiggling along to some kind of music game playing on the TV.

Bright, flashing colors and plenty of cutesy sounds and music filtered through the windows to underscore the fact that the three siblings were busy, and would remain so for a fair while yet.

Renee sat on a couch by a coffee table drawing something on a sketch pad. A wide selection of crayons and felt-tip pens had been spread out on the table so she could easily reach the various colors when she needed them. She had stepped out of the robot's cardboard box so she would have better control over her hands while drawing, but it had been placed on the floor next to the couch - comically, she continued to wear the silver gloves and the odd-looking bathing cap.

Wynne gave the rest of the living area a close study to see if there were any cigarettes, marihuana joints or cans of beer in plain view. The only can she could see was a red one - containing a noname brand of cola - that stood on the coffee table where Renee sat. There were a few empty or half-full bags of potato chips here and there, but those were hardly cause for concern.

"Okeh, that be som'tin at least," she mumbled as she stepped away from the window and began shuffling back to the fire. "But whah'dahell them young folks these days insist on wearin' them there aggressive an' jus' plain ugly costumes fer Hallah-Ween, I ain't nevah gonn' figgah out. Lawrdie, I 'membah bein' a propah cowgirl an' a li'l angel an' a librarian… an' dang, I wus even a cactus once!  But now it all gotta be so in-yer-face an'- aw, who done cares a stuffed turkey. I jus' be an ol' Cowpoah-ke who ain't hip an' with'it no mo'."

-*-*-*-

Back at the bonfire, the round-robin game had fizzled out now they were only three to add to the story. The tall tale had ended with Brenda's contribution that Dennis The Faun God was being treated to a warm sponge bath by a group of scantily-clad Forest Nymphs after the brawl. Beatrice had run out of things to say to steer the game away from triple-X territory, and Mandy just wanted Wynne to come back so they could snuggle up tight.

Wynne finally emerged from the darkness to return to the fireside chat. "Ev'rythin' goin' along fih-ne, Sheriff Mandy. Them teenagahs be playin' some kind o' video game or some such. Renee be sittin' all bah her lonesome… that sure is a shame, come ta think offit." Crossing her legs, she sat down on the blanket and promptly dove into the cooler box to get her whistle wetted - an immediate Pssshhhht! proved she was well on her way to her target.

"Eh, I dunno… mebbe us oldies oughttah stay outta their bizzness. Beyond checkin' up on 'em, yuh?" she added after a moment devoted to drinking a 1910 Special Brew. "So wotcha been doin' he'?"

Brenda grinned as she closed the SoSpookyLib sound effects app and put the telephone in her pocket. "Oh, we were just talking about getting a sponge bath, Wynne," she said, delivering a saucy wink.

The expected Splutter! came at once.

A croaked "Yuh, haw?" escaped Wynne as she wiped excess Special Brew off her chin and cheeks. She glanced over at Mandy before she concentrated on the can once more. "I be perdy dang handy with a sponge… jus' sayin'," she added under her breath a few moments later.

"I believe you," Brenda said with a new wink. "With your long arms, you can get to all the hard-to-reach places easy-peasy."

Beatrice broke out in an embarrassed grimace and a deep-red blush that eventually made it all the way around to her ears. She stared intently at the can of H.E. Fenwyck Double-Zero to avoid locking eyes with any of her companions.

It was high time for the much-sought after snuggling, so Hippie-Girl-Mandy slipped over to Cowpoke-Wynne for a little close encounter of the lovely kind. "Well," she said as she made herself comfortable in the warm nest created by her partner's long arms and legs, "if you gals are looking for any kind of sponge action, you better find yourselves a spongee of your own. This is a one-life, one-wife household and I'm not sharing."

A second Splutter! followed at once, but at least Wynne's mouth was pointing away from Mandy when it happened.

Beatrice blushed even harder at the implications, but by the time Brenda made another saucy remark, her skin reached the same temperature as the bonfire:

"Oh, I already have what I need back home," Brenda said. "Vaughn's a little slow on the upswing, but once he's in position, he really knows what he's doing."

Wynne and Mandy let out similar chuckles, but Beatrice produced a croak that would have made even the world's biggest toad envious. "God, can we find something else to talk about?!  Please!  You're killing me!"

"Yuh, okeh, Bea," Wynne said and reached over to Beatrice to slap her shoulder - even with her long reach, the Deputy was just out of range. "So… this he' bein' Hallah-Ween an' all, yuh?  So how 'bout we done shared some creepy horrah stories from ou'ah kiddie years?  Mebbe whut we wus afraid of or som'tin? Haw?"

The burning logs and kindling inside the bonfire snapped and crackled to show their approval of the spooky topic; the action sending a shower of dark-golden sparks skyward to add some mystique to the scene.

"Sounds like a good idea, Wynne," Brenda said while she shuffled around to lie on her stomach. "Is there any hot cocoa left?"

"No," Mandy said, "we're all out. And this is my night off. I can't be bothered to go back to make some more."

The uncharacteristic comment from the usually so duty-bound Sheriff drew plenty of laughs from the rest of the group. Brenda pretended to sulk before the proverbial light bulb went off over her head. "I guess I'll have to buy a beer, then. Wynne, I need the kind of satisfaction only you can give me," she said, adding yet another saucy wink.

Before Wynne could even open her mouth to answer, Beatrice broke out in a new toady croak and a "Ohhhhh-Gawwwwd!  Brenda, please!"

The Naughty Nurse - a.k.a. Brenda Travers - put her hands to her cheeks in the classic Who Me? pose. "What?  I didn't say anything!  All I did was to ask for a beer!"

Beatrice was too busy croaking and blushing to make a comeback, so Wynne popped the lid of the cooler box and looked down into it. "Haw, I got them Dubbel-Zerah non-alcoholic beers. Pale Lagahs. Dark Lagahs. Nineteen-Tens. Two cans o' Centennials an' two cans o' Midnight Velvet Stout. Aw, an' an Extra Strong, but I got dibs on that."

"Well… I better ease my way into it-"

A croaked "Brenda!" came from Beatrice's spot by the fire.

"-so I'll just have a Double-Zero. Seventy-five cents, right?"

Wynne shook her head as she reached down for the can. "Naw, that wus jus' Bea bein' her ol' righteous self befo'. It don't cost nuttin'. Here ya go," she said as she lobbed the can over to her neighbor.

Brenda caught it before it could make any kind of hard impact. Cracking it open at once, she only needed to wait a few seconds for the suds to settle. "Thanks, Wynne. Who wants to start?"

"It wus mah ideah so I reckon I'mma-gonn' flah that there green flag, yuh? Okeh. All y'all know 'bout mah treehouse accident, but I almost done got mahself killed even befo' that."

A chorus of "Ohhhh…" spread among the other women.

"Yuh. It wus da Fourth o' Joo-lah back hoah-me in Shallah Pond, Texas, in… shoot… 'seventy-six I reckon. Yuh, it wus the gigantoh event for the Bi-Centenary Celebra-shuns or whaddahell-evah they wus called. I wussen mo' than fo'ah an' change. Jus' a tiny li'l thing, but mah folks insisted that I done rode one o' them there parade ponies. I done seen pic-chures o' that day so I know I done wore one o' them there all-white Rhinestone Cowgirl outfits that wus so pop'lar back in them seventies. 'Membah?"

Another chorus of variations of "Yes," reached her.

"Yuh. Well, long story short… there wus clouds o' barbecue smoke an' loads-a flutterin' flags an' noisy marchin' bands an' plentah o' Texas yellin' an' a whooooole buncha racket ev'rywhe', yuh?  An' that there pony done got jittery. Worse, mah tiny buhh-tt didden fit inta that there saddle so I done slipped off the dang-blasted hoss. Them hind hooves trampled me but good. Missed mah head, thank the bearded gah in da skah, but they done broke mah shouldah an' mah collah boah-ne an' two ribs an' all. I got scraped all ovah tha dang place. An' mah white duds wus blood-red, lemme tell ya. Yuh. Wussen no fuh-n."

A stunned silence spread among the others. It didn't end until Mandy shuffled around to place a large kiss on Wynne's lips. "And that's why you don't like large animals now. Love you."

"Haw, I be scared stiff whenevah large animals be around an' all!  Luv ya dubbel, darlin'," Wynne said before her lips were too busy reciprocating the kiss. "I reckon I know whut y'all gonn' tawk 'bout. That there thing there in ya apartment back then in San C.?"

"Yes, but I think I'll go last because it's a little different," Mandy said and shuffled around once more so she could snuggle down into Wynne's solid grip. "Brenda, why don't you take over?"

Nodding, Brenda took a swig of the non-alcoholic beer while she compiled her thoughts. "Okay. Well, my biggest fright as a little girl can't measure up to yours, Wynne, but it scared the bejeebus out of me at the time. This all took place near my parents' house over in Northern California. I guess I was seven or eight when my neighbor- every neighborhood has an old grouch, right?  One of those 'get off my lawn!' people who spend their days yelling at the kids. Well, I played hide and seek with my friends one day. The old grouch had warned us about it, but you know… we were kids. We didn't have time for warnings. Well, he caught me and locked me into his pantry-"

"Aw, whadda sombitch!  Dirty, rotten low-down skunk!" Wynne said around the long, final swig of the 1910 Special Brew.

"Yeah," Brenda continued. "I mean, he wasn't a child molester or anything so I was never in any real danger… but it was a small room. Dark and creepy. It smelled bad, too. The worst part was that I really, honestly thought I'd never get to see my mom and dad again. God, that alone tore my soul to shreds. It felt like I was locked up for days, but it wasn't even fifteen minutes before he let me out. I ran home as fast as I could and told my mom everything. She called the police who came and talked to the old grouch, but he denied all of it. So… the officers believed the adult and not the kid. I guess that's not uncommon. But anyway, it took me months before I could go to sleep without having the lights on."

Another mumbled "Sombitch," escaped Wynne before she cracked open a can of Double-Zero with a Pssshhhhtt! to quell her annoyance with the angry world in general and old grouches in particular.

Mandy and Beatrice briefly locked eyes before the Sheriff nodded at Brenda's tale. "You're right, it's not uncommon. We do tend to side with the adults in such cases. In our experience, kids often come up with fanciful stories to cover for something they've done. But, of course… sometimes, that lets the actual perpetrator off the hook. Do you know if he ever did that again to anyone else?"

"I don't," Brenda said and took a long swig of her beer. "We moved the same year. Not as a result of the incident, but because my dad found a better job as a lecturer at the North Bay University over on the Pacific Coast. He's still a professor there… well, he's actually going to retire from teaching early next year. N-B-U has a strict age policy, so… oh, enough about me. How about you, Bea?"

The 'scarecrow' shuffled around on her blanket almost as if she didn't know how or where to start. She looked at each of her companions in turn before she let out a sigh. "This is nothing compared to what you guys have been involved in. I have a phobia about not being able to see someone's face. Halloween masks, bandannas, motorcycle helmets, you name it. They just freak me out. The worst part is that it stems from how I treated someone back in junior high. There was a guy in one of my classes who'd been in a bad road accident. He'd suffered horrible burns to his face… well, he didn't have a face, even after months of reconstructive surgery. It must have been Hell on Earth for him. Everyone stared at him and whispered mean things behind his back. I was one of them. I hate myself for it now. I guess that's why I kinda freak out whenever I see a mask or something. I'm reminded of what I did."

Wynne let out a grunt. "I been stared at plentah an' I done plentah o' starin' o' mah own. It stinks, but that jus' be human na-chure. Ain't nuttin' nobodda can do 'bouddit. I woudden beat mahself up if I wus y'all, Bea. Saints only exist in that there Bihh-ble there. We only be human. Yuh?"

"I suppose."

"Naw, I be perdy sure we be human," Wynne said with a wide grin - a moment later, her expression turned thoughtful. "Okeh, it would explain some o' tha weirdness goin' on 'round he' if we wussen… naw, I reckon we be human, awright. Ain't nobodda out dere clevah enuff ta come up with us gor-guss gals… an' that be a dog-gone fact!"

Chuckling, Mandy smacked another sloppy kiss onto Wynne's lips. "I can attest to that!  All right… my own story is a little different from what's been told so far. First of all, it didn't happen when I was a kid. I hope that doesn't matter?  Hon?"

"Naw. I be coo'."

When Brenda and Beatrice both nodded, Mandy drew a deep breath and assumed a darker expression. "It happened when I was already an adult, but it was the worst fright I've ever had. This took place in San Cristobal just over a decade ago. Well, I guess it's more than that now… yeah, it's been over fifteen years already. Time flies. In any case, I was a regular Deputy Sheriff assigned to the office in Coleman County. We were located in the city police's Third Precinct downtown and we often helped the boys in blue with crowd control and things like that. At the time, a couple of mid-level gangs had a feud going over the drugs trade in the inner-city neighborhoods. The feud hit the local headlines when it was discovered that several beat cops from the Third had been bought and paid for by one of the bosses. To cut a long story short, some of the regular uniformed units… who weren't even directly involved… thought the Coleman County deputies had ratted out on their brothers-in-arms. It was all bull, but they decided to get even with us regardless. One deputy had his car torched. Another had his pets killed-"

"A-holes," Wynne said in a deep, dark grumble.

"Yeah. And one deputy came home from the late shift only to find uninvited guests crawling all over her apartment… rats. Dozens of them. The kitchen… the bathroom… the bedroom. Everywhere. And they had shit all over."

Mandy's voice trailed off as she revisited the horrors of returning home to such a sight. A long sigh escaped her before she took a can of Midnight Velvet Stout from the cooler box and snuggled up close to Wynne.

"Wait… that was you?" Brenda said - when Mandy nodded, Brenda clutched her head. "And your fellow cops did that?!  I mean… Jesus!  With cops like that, who needs criminals?  And that meant you transferred out or whatever you guys do-"

"Yes. Honestly… the incident rattled me to the core. If they could do that, they could… well, you know. Get to me. I went on sick leave for as long as I could while I tried to figure out what I wanted to do. I had come too far and had sacrificed too much to quit law enforcement, so… after returning to active duty… well, I was reassigned to the Goldsboro office. A quiet, rural corner of the state where nothing ever happened. Or so I was told," Mandy said and took a long swig of the stout. "Two weeks later, I introduced myself to Artie Rains. He was still the Senior Deputy then. I guess the rest is history. Eh, hon?"

"Deffa-nete-ly, darlin'," Wynne said and placed a kiss on Mandy's golden-blond locks next to the wreath of daisies.

Brenda added her two cents' worth to the conversation: "Were you living here by then, Wynne?"

"Yuh. I'd been he' a-cuppel-a years alreddy, ack-chew-ly."

Beatrice shook her head in amazement. "No offense, Sheriff, but you must have been one of the oldest deputies once you got here… right?"

"Not just 'one' of the oldest… I was the oldest regarding age and seniority except for Rains, and he's only a year or so older than me," Mandy said before she took another swig of the strong beer. "It wasn't all that long ago, but the culture was radically different. My fellow deputies would never dream of taking orders from a woman, so I was obviously put at the bottom of the roster."

"But Rodolfo was the Junior Deputy, right?" Beatrice continued.

"He wasn't even that when I first got here. He was only the Deputy-in-Training, but he became Junior a few weeks later. If Rains had made me Junior, I would have walked away. Even he had more brains than that, though," Mandy said before she took another long swig of the silky-smooth but potent stout.

"Unbelievable," Brenda said, shaking her head. "Simply un-be-lievable… but look at you now!"

"Yeah. Now I'm the best damned Sheriff Goldsboro has had in forty years," Mandy said in a strong voice that earned her a nudge and a Wo-hooo! by Wynne and a matching pair of wide grins by Brenda and Beatrice.

"I'm better than Lionel Pershing who ended up as nothing more than a desk ornament. He'd started out strong, but by then, he'd been Sheriff for so long that he just didn't give a damn about anything. He was my chief for the first full year so I know what I'm talking about. All of it was spent behind his desk. I'm way better than Artie Rains ever was. I obviously never knew Ben Keating who ruled the roost from seventy-two to eighty-four, but from speaking to retired Deputy Darnell Scott, I get a sense that I'm at least as good as Keating was."

Wynne celebrated her partner's large and small victories by reaching into the cooler box. Her long fingers found one of the limited-edition Centennial Brew that H.E. Fenwyck had made for their special anniversary the other year. Although it was getting close to its sell-by date, there was still enough fizz in it to make the characteristic Pssshhhht! when she cracked it open, and that was good enough for her.

A moment later, Mandy shuffled to the side to leave the warm and comfortable nest. "I need to go to the bathroom, hon… then I'll go over to the Tooleys' to check on Renee and her sitters."

"Okeh… be mah guest, darlin'," Wynne said before she dug into her jacket pocket to find her telephone - she could hardly believe her eyes when she read the time. "Lawrdie, it be a quartah ta eleven alreddy!  Whaddinda-wohhhhhhhhh-rld?  Time sure does flah when we be in such good comp'ny an' all. Haw. Anyone o' ya gals be up fer anothah beer or som'tin?  Naw?"

"Not right now," -- "No, thank you," Brenda and Beatrice said at the exact same time.

"Even if y'all ain't gonn', I reckon I'mma-gonn' grab one fer da road an' all… tho' it be nuttin' but peace an' quiet he' now, ya nevah know when da poop gonn' hit tha fan. Yuh?  'Spe-shually not this he' close ta Goldsborah. Ooooh, a Nineteen-Ten!  Luv me some Nineteen-Ten," Wynne said and put the familiar, dark-golden can containing the 1910 Special Brew down on the blanket for later - first up, she intended to enjoy every last drop of the Centennial Brew.

-*-*-*-

"All clear. They're still playing that video game you talked about, hon," Mandy said when she returned from the reconnaissance mission ten minutes later. "I checked Diego as well. All the lights are out so he's probably gone to bed early. Vaughn said hi, by the way."

"Howdy, Vaughn!" Wynne shouted, holding the can of Centennial Brew high in the air - that it had lasted that long was a miracle, but the time for miracles had been and gone as it was emptied down to the last drop a scant second after being used as a handy tool for a Howdy.

Brenda snickered as she shuffled around on the blanket. "A couple of companies sent out feelers. I believe Vaughn's working on an estimate and a risk-assessment analysis for a structured implementation of a third-level core protection program."

"Aw. Okeh. Ain't got no clue wotcha tawkin' 'bout, but I ain't doubtin' it be awesome an' all. 'Membah back in the ol' days when we gals could always count on them guys readin' comic books or adult magah-zeehns whenevah they wus alone an' all?  Haw. Anyhows, I'mma-gonn' stay with mah beers, pork rinds an' stock cahhh-r racin'… at least I know whaddahell 'z goin' on there."

The small circle of friends fell quiet for a moment to allow the crackling bonfire to take over the conversation. Golden sparks and plenty of bluish-gray smoke continued to rise from the fiery top like a message from the ancient past. The stars were out in force high above, even if they were more obscured than usual due to the light pollution created by the fire.

Brenda in particular seemed fascinated by the fire, the smoke and the starry sky above. She shuffled around to lie flat on her back so she could give the heavens a closer study. "Girls, I have a suggestion. I think we should do something profound," she said out of the blue. "You can say no if you don't like it, but wouldn't it be fun if we danced around the fire and howled at the moon and stars like our Amazon ancestors?  I believe that's how they defeated all the evil spirits who threatened them. I mean, that's who and what we are, right?  We're modern-day Amazons."

Mandy, Beatrice and Wynne shared a long, somewhat skeptical look. "Weeeellll," Wynne said, "I ain't sure 'bout no howlin' at them stars or da moon or nuttin', but it woudden be no trubbel fer me ta wiggle mah buhhh-tt 'round da fiah an' all. I done weirdah stuff in mah life. It sure ain't gonn' be no ballroom dancin', tho'… catch mah drift?"

Brenda squealed and rolled over onto her stomach. Propping her head up on her arms, she promptly sent Wynne a kissy. "Cool!  And you girls?"

Mandy and Beatrice shared another look that was even more skeptical than the first. After a few seconds, Mandy said: "Okay to dancing. No thanks to howling. Bea?"

"I feel the same, Sheriff," Beatrice said, nodding. "And nobody's going to film it, okay?  Nobody. That means you, Brenda!"

Brenda broke out in a mock, pearl-clutching gasp. "I can't believe you'd even think I'd do that!  Okay, I absolutely would!  Hah!"

"Brenda-"

"But not tonight. That's a promise," Brenda said, jumping to her feet. She whipped out her telephone once more and went on a quick browse of all the usual music platforms. "I'm going… to find… some suitable… music for… okay, B.C.-period Thracian Tribal Music. Is that perfect or what?"

"Whaddahell that there strange word there mean, Brendah?"

"Thrace was a geographical region in ancient times, Wynne. It covers part of southern Bulgaria and northern Greece," Brenda said, cueing the music. Soon, the characteristic sound of a South-Eastern European woodwind instrument started playing.

"Aw. Okeh," Wynne said. After a few seconds, she added a muffled: "Still ain't got no clue wotcha tawkin' 'bout, but I don't give a hoot if y'all don't." It had come out under her breath, but she quelled it by emptying her latest can of beer.

Brenda hurried over to the fire, spun around and clapped her hands twice. "Everybody on your feet!  We're gonna partake in some wild and uninhibited Amazonic tribal dancing!  It'll go a little something like this!"

She had barely finished speaking before she went to work performing a frenzied jiggling-wiggling, twisting-turning, dipping-diving, hopping-shaking and all-out gyrating dance spectacle that even the surliest judge in the Amazonic version of Dancing With The Gods would have approved of.

"Holy shittt…" Wynne said, growing short of breath just watching Brenda's acrobatic proficiency. "Aw… haw… yuh… okeh… that sure wussen whut I done signed up fer… but… okeh. Ain't no chicken so I reckon I gotta dance a li'l…"

"Not too wild, Wynne," Mandy added hastily. "Don't forget your back."

"I sure won't, darlin'. An' it sure won't lemme ferget it, neithah," Wynne said before she doubled the number of Amazon fire-dancers by joining the party.

Squealing, Brenda grabbed hold of Wynne's hands to lead her on a tour around the bonfire. "C'mon, girls, it'll be fun… I guarantee it!"

Mandy and Beatrice shared yet another long, somber look before they performed identical shrugs - a few moments later, they moved around the fire while engaging in an activity that could perhaps be called dancing in some faraway alternative reality or parallel dimension where standards, if not slacker, were at least substantially different.

After a few wiggling trips around the base of the bonfire to the tribal music, Brenda instructed everyone to hold hands and form a chain. "Yes, like that!  Great!  And here we go!" she cried, calming her furious dancing to go off on a merry run-around of the fire's base.

A safe distance from the bonfire, Blackie, Goldie and Freddie could hardly believe their doggy-eyes. They let out a long sequence of greatly puzzled woofing, yapping and muted barking to figure out what on Earth their owners and the other Humans were up to with their uninhibited behavior.

Freddie - still not fully accustomed to the strange habits exhibited by the two-legged creatures - sat up and began to look for an escape route into the desert. It took several woofs by Blackie to make him understand that it was most likely a fun event and not a general outbreak of insanity among the Humans. Goldie's yapping was less convinced, mostly because she was a scaredy-dog, but even she could tell the difference between dancing and real panic.

After scratching his black coat a couple of times with a meaty paw, Freddie decided to join the fun by letting out a full-bodied howl that threatened to tear the fabric of time and space into shreds. The resounding howl rolled back and forth over the wide-open expanses of the desert just like the night where everyone had heard the mythical Hellbeast of Rattler Gulch.

Goldie promptly let out a series of frantic, high-pitched, squealing yaps and inarticulate shrieks that were almost as loud as Freddie's efforts - then she disappeared into the desert at a blurry-legged Warp K9 that left no trace of her save for little puffs of desert dust that slowly fluttered back down to Earth.

Over by the dancing Amazons, the effect of the surprise arrival of the Hellbeast was instant and oh-so-typical: Wynne let out a "Hoooooooooooly shittt!" before she stumbled over her own cowboy boots and wound up face-first into the sand. Since she held onto not only Mandy but Beatrice as well, she single-handedly - well, double-handedly, to be exact - managed to take down half of the Goldsboro office of the MacLean County Sheriff's Department in one fell swoop.

The only one of the dancers remaining upright was Brenda who jumped up and down while clapping her hands and squealing with glee. "Ohhhhh… wipeout!  I'll bet that happened all the time back in the day!"

"Mebbe it did, mebbe it didden… ain't no tellin'. I sure know I need one o' them there vacuum cleanahs som'tin fierce," Wynne mumbled as she scooped sand out of her collar, her sleeves, her dark locks and even her right ear - how her nose and mouth had escaped the sandy doom could only be chalked up to a rare instance of good luck.

Her hat had been blown off by the sudden impact, but it was soon back on her head and pulled down to cover her eyes. Still kneeling, she slammed her hands onto her hips and assumed a perfectly insulted expression.

Mandy chuckled as she dusted off her flared jeans. "Brenda, we better call it a night. I think we've had our fill of Amazon dancing for a while. Right?" she said as she put out a hand to help Wynne back on her feet.

Wynne let out a mumbled "Yuh. Deffa-nete-ly," while she stomped back to the cooler box for some liquid nourishment.

"It was far more fun than I had feared, though. Thanks for the suggestion, Brenda," Mandy continued. Once their spirited neighbor had given her a small wave and a big thumbs-up in return, she continued in her regular I'm The Sheriff So You Better Listen voice: "All right, let's relocate to our trailer now. Wynne and I have made some midnight snacks for us that only need to be re-heated to be ready. Beatrice, I'll douse the fire. Please make sure the dogs are safe."

"Yes, Sheriff," Beatrice said, saluting her superior by sheer reflex - that doing so looked strange while wearing a scarecrow costume only caught up with her afterwards.

-*-*-*-

It took a stick of chicken jerky, a full dog dish of prime-quality dry feed - Lafayette's rather than Cazamore, obviously - and a bowl of fresh, cool water to coax Goldie back from wherever she had been hiding. Once she returned, she scowled at Freddie whose dark coat even gained a slight blush at the unfortunate development.

With the bonfire in the process of being extinguished by Mandy, who walked around it emptying the large bucket of water onto the flames at the base, their light and heat were shrinking rapidly. To counter the encroaching inkiness, Mandy and Wynne had brought a few camping lamps that were strong enough to send cones of light onto the desert floor while they doused the flames, packed up the blankets, closed the cooler box and stored the other items they'd brought with them out there.

Blackie, Goldie and Freddie had gotten back together after the small hiccup created by the latter's enthusiasm, and the three dogs once more rested side by side on the blanket Wynne had laid out for them.

Freddie wasn't too pleased with all the Human activity so close to them, especially not with the one dressed as a scarecrow as he didn't know that one, so he had chosen the middle of the blanket to be protected on both sides by his female companions. He tried to woof a few questions about the Humans to Goldie, but she was too busy chewing on the stick of chicken jerky to answer.

Blackie kept her keen eyes on the smoldering bonfire, her owners and the trailers in the background. A sound that shouldn't be there suddenly reached her sensitive doggy-ears. Moving herself up, she began to pay far closer attention to her immediate surroundings in case the sound that had alerted her was repeated - a few moments later, she heard it again, but Goldie's noisy champing was so loud that it almost overpowered the fainter noise from afar.

Woof… - 'Would you mind taking a break from chewing on that thing?'

Suddenly interested, Freddie looked at Blackie, then Goldie.

The Golden Retriever only had a one-syllable answer to the question: Yap - 'You better believe I would. This snack is yummy.'

Freddie looked at Goldie, then Blackie.

Woof, woof… woof!  - 'I heard something before… will you quit eating that!'

Freddie joined the party with a deep-register Woooof? that meant 'Now what?  More Humans?'

Goldie's noisy chewing continued at unabated speed and volume, so Blackie got up and let out a louder Woof-woof-woof-woof! that meant 'There's something unusual going on somewhere around here. Not sure where or what, but there's definitely something unusual going on. Stay here. I'll check it out.'

A 'Suits me fine,' in the shape of a low-register Woooof was Freddie's response before he snuggled up next to Goldie. A moment later, the Golden Retriever shot him a new scowl that made him shuffle a few inches away from her.

Blackie's ears were up and rotating so she could hear any and all sounds in her vicinity. The strong hissing created by the fire being doused added such a layer of noise to her surroundings that she decided to run further back toward the trailer she called home.

The sound didn't seem to come from the rear of the trailer, so Blackie continued around the corner of the building and onto the central lawn - she had soon slipped into the dark shadows to remain undetected for as long as possible.

---

Over by the fire, Wynne noticed Blackie's absence from the dog-pen. She glanced around a couple of times without seeing anything that could have alerted the black German Shepherd. "Mah good buddies, did any of all y'all see ol' Blackie run off somewhere?  She ain't with them othah dawggies all offa sudden."

Mandy shook her head - she continued to walk around the fire to extinguish it the proper way. "No. I've been too busy over here, Wynne."

"Okeh. Mebbe she done needed ta use that there realllly large bathroom or som'tin. Eh. Bea, did y'all-"

"No. I've been folding the blankets," Beatrice said before Wynne could even complete the sentence.

While the others spoke, Brenda held up her smartphone. "And I've been looking at this thing the whole time. I'm actually texting Vaughn which is a little silly, but… you know. We're slaves of the technology."

"I ain't nobodda's slave," Wynne mumbled before she stood up straight to give everything a second look. Shrugging, she returned to sorting the remaining beers down in the cooler box.

---

Blackie had reached the lawn that covered the area between the trailers. Lights were still on in two of them while the other four were dark. An undefinable 'something' continued to poke a stick at her sixth sense, so she did a full tour around the central lawn's periphery to see if she could find a clue that she could use to persuade her owners to check it out.

She came to a sudden halt when her super-sensitive nose picked up a scent foreign to those she knew and was familiar with. The trail of the scent seemed to cross over the lawn, so she set off toward her home trailer. A moment later, she let out a growl at the sight of the living area window standing open.

Upping her tempo, she tried to jump up to the windowsill, but even her muscular frame wasn't agile enough to fight gravity. The scent was far stronger there, so she had no problems re-acquiring it - it led her directly to the metal box on wheels the visiting Humans had arrived in.

She ran around it a couple of times without finding a way in. Moving up on her hind legs, she placed her front paws on the hood and tried to peek into the passenger compartment. It was too dark for her to see anything, so she moved back down on all fours and sought out the scent down in the grass instead.

Once she had it, she discovered it went from the small car and over to one of the two trailers where the lights were still on. She set off toward it with her sensitive nose buried into the grass so she wouldn't lose the trail. Halfway there, she came to a halt as the scent seemed to branch off to the right as well as continue straight ahead.

The new branch ran over to the other trailer where the lights were on. Following it, she soon discovered it didn't make it all the way there but ended at the large, dark-bronze vehicle that was parked outside the trailer - the rear door on the right-hand side was ajar by an inch or so.

She ran back to the central branch-point and continued onto her original target: the trailer that had been placed along the eastern boundary of the small trailer park. The front door was closed, but she didn't let it stop her. Moving up the metal flight of stairs, she scratched and clawed at the door to get one of the residents' attention. Though scratching and clawing proved insufficient, several strong barks did the trick.

The door was soon opened but her presence clearly wasn't appreciated. The next thing that happened was that a Human dressed in a red coat threw an opened can of beer at her - only her well-honed reflexes made her avoid the resulting golden shower or even a full-on sticky-bath.

She jumped off the flight of stairs and poked the leaking can of beer with her nose. Despite the penetrating smell of the golden liquid, she was able to identify the scent she had been following around the central lawn.

It was high time for some good, old K9 action, so she ran a few feet away from the door, jumped into an aggressive stance and let out a series of thunderous barks that would carry for miles on such a cool, clear night.

---

A second later out at the bonfire, Freddie jumped up and shook his large head. As Blackie's barking continued, he let rip with an ever louder WOOOOOF! that almost made the ground shake - then he took off at an incredible pace that belied his huge frame.

"Hooooooooooly shittt!  Whaddahell jus' happened?" Wynne cried, slamming her hands onto her hat so it wouldn't get blown off by the wake created by the running Rottweiler. "Where ol' Freddie go?  Haw?  Wait-a-minnit, ain't that… yuh… haw, that be Blackie barkin'. Yessirree, that sure be Blackie barkin'! But whaddahell she be barkin' at ain't too obvious or nuttin'…"

Over by the dog-pen, Goldie let out a supremely annoyed Yap! at being disturbed while eating. She got up and shook her back, but the sight of the quality dog food - Lafayette was her number-one favorite of the forty different blends her owner had tried to buy for her - pushed all thoughts of action or escape out of her mind. Settling down once more, she went to work emptying the dish so nobody else would get as much as a morsel of the scrumptious dry feed.

Mandy stopped putting out the fire to listen to the intensity and volume of Blackie's barking. "Whatever it is, we need to react. Deputy Reilly, you're with me. Wynne, Miss Travers, you stay here."

"Haw!  Yes Ma'am, Sheriff, Ma'am!" Wynne said, saluting the sheriff who didn't stick around to see it.

While Mandy and Beatrice took off toward the central lawn, Wynne picked up the bucket intending to continue Mandy's work dousing the flames. "Haw…" she said when she realized there was hardly any water left in it. "Lissen, Brenda, I be goin' ovah ta mah trailah fer some mo' watah, yuh?  Y'all an' Goldie can keep each othah comp'ny while I be away… okeh?"

"Sure, sure, Wynne," Brenda said with a smile. "I'm not that afraid of the dark anymore. But thank you for telling me before you left."

"Yuh… ya sure be welcome an' all," Wynne said, thinking back to the terrible event where a human-sized, blood-sucking bat creature had dragged Brenda back to its lair down at the abandoned mining camp at Silver Creek - she had been rescued through a few well-placed sticks of dynamite that had trapped the beast in a cave-in, but it was a long story they didn't often talk about as it only brought along a bad mood for all involved.

---

Stepping up onto the crooked porch of her trailer, Wynne swung the screen door open so she could work the handle on the inner door. She let out a puzzled grunt and a mumbled "Whaddahell?" when she realized the door had already been opened. It was only an inch or so ajar so anyone would need to get very close to it to see that something was wrong.

She stepped into the dark kitchenette and put down the bucket without giving it an extra thought. Nothing seemed untoward in the kitchenette, the bathroom or the sleeping area, but the living area was a different story:

"Whadda-frickah-frackah?" Wynne mumbled as she turned on the ceiling lights to see the details. For starters, the few items she'd had on the coffee table had been thrown onto the floor. All four doors to the low sideboard stood open, but none of her NASCAR Winston Cup video tapes and DVDs seemed to be missing from either of the shelves.

She came to an abrupt halt when she clapped eyes on the open window over behind the TV, the satellite receiver and the DVD player. Moving over there in three long strides, she pulled the window shut and twisted the locking handle to prevent King Frost and his minions from entering the trailer. "I know fer a fact I didden open no dang-blasted windah befo' I done left!  Lawrdie… somebodda wus in he'!  Well, who-evah-da-hell that wus, he sure be a rotten, low-down, no-good sonova-skunk, ain't no two ways 'bout dat!"

The commotion out on the lawn continued at unabated volume. Wynne leaned forward to try to see what was going on, but it was too dark out there to pick up any details - that the commotion was created by Blackie and Freddie was undeniable.

Turning away from the window for a second time, she let out another grunt when it dawned on her that something was indeed missing from the top of the low sideboard: the polystone Halloween figurines that she had put up earlier in the day were gone.

"Whaddinda-wohhhhhhhhhh-rld?!" she said out loud. She stomped over to the sideboard to see if the figurines were playing hide-and-seek with her, but there were no signs of the delicate sculptures anywhere.

In the middle of the whole mess, her telephone rang - the caller-ID said it was Diego. "Shoot, jus' when we done thunk it coudden get mo' chaotic… whah, howdy, pardnah!"

'Hiya, Wynne… tell me, what the hell's going on out there?  Are the dogs having an orgy or something?'

"Naw… naw, I don't reckon they are. I ain't too sure whaddahell's goin' on. Wus y'all sleepin'?"

'Yes!'

"Shoot, I sure am sorry that ol' Blackie an' Freddie done woke y'all up, then. We be havin' li'l issue ovah he'-"

'A monster issue?'

"Haw?  Naw, ain't nuttin' like that. Aw, Sheriff Mandy an' Quick- I mean, Bea gonn' deal with it, no worries."

A resounding HAAAAH-CHOOOOOOOOOO! suddenly blasted through the connection.

"Lawwwwr-die!  I sure be glad I wussen anywhere ne'ah that there sneeze, ol' buddy!  I betcha phoah-ne got coated, haw?"

'Missed the phone, nailed my bedside lamp and a hunting magazine…'

"Oooookeh… that be whut I done figgah'd. Lissen, buddy, I need-a do som'tin he' perdy dang urgently, so I'mma-gonn' hafta push off givin' y'all da A-B-C's on whut done happened he' until tamorrah, okay?  Hey, I could make y'all some chili soup an' spicy meatballs or som'tin. Yuh?"

'All right… I'd like that, Wynne. Thanks. Talk to you tomorrow.'

"Bah-bah, Diego. This he' be the one an' only Wynne Donnah-hew signin' off."

Once the telephone was back in her pocket, she gave the sideboard a second, even closer inspection with regards to the potential whereabouts of the missing polystone figurines - her rapidly tapping fingers proved that the Halloween decorations were nowhere in sight.

A moment later, she stormed out into the kitchenette, grabbed the stepladder and climbed up onto the top step so she could reach the upper shelf of her kitchen cabinets. She let out a sigh of relief when the small strongbox was still there. Even better, it was still locked, and it didn't appear as if anyone had tried to tamper with it.

Once the stepladder had been shoved back into its broom cupboard, she spun around and stomped over to the refrigerator. She had left the cooler box out at the bonfire, but the moment called for an urgent beer - unfortunately, instead of the two six-packs of Double-Zeros and one of H.E. Fenwyck's Dark Lagers she expected to see, all she clapped eyes on was a whole lot of empty shelf space.

"Whaddahell… somebodda… somebodda done nabbed mah… holy shittt, that be a declara-shun o' war right there!  Ain't nobodda gonn' nab Wynne Donnah-hew's beer an' get away with it!  Whah, I'mma- I'mma- I'mma-gonn'- I'mma-gonn' do a buncha stuff when I done get mah hands onnem!  Soooohm-bitch!"

A deep, guttural growl burst from her throat as she stomped out of the trailer. Her mission was twofold: 1) to inform Sheriff Mandy they'd had an uninvited guest, and 2) kick said uninvited guest's backside around the moon in case they were fortunate enough to catch the individual.

-*-*-*-

At the same time, Blackie and Freddie concluded their barking frenzy now they had been joined by the occasionally strange two-legged creatures. Satisfied with what they had accomplished, they moved back from the door at the Tooleys' trailer to give the Humans room to do their thing - their doggy heads remained together, however, to hammer out the best strategy for attack and/or hot pursuit if it came to that.

While Beatrice formed a secondary line of defense, Mandy stepped up on the metal stairs leading to the front door. A quick peek through the window next to the door proved that the living area was devoid of life even if the lights were still on. "Blackie, what's wrong, girl?  What did you hear?"

Woof!  Woof-woof-wooooof… woof?  - When it became obvious the communication channels between the Canines and the Humans suffered from all kinds of static, she pointed a paw at her owners' trailer before she put her muzzle to the ground to illustrate she had picked up a scent.

Mandy furrowed her brow. Then she narrowed her eyes. Then she scratched her neck. Then she did all three things at once. "Man, I shouldn't have had the stout… I can't figure out what she's-"

A strong cry of "Darlin'!  We got trubbel!" burst out of Wynne the second she strode around the corner of their trailer and moved onto the central lawn. "Some mean, ol' skunk done broke inta ou'ah trailah!  The sombitch musta come in thru' that there front do'ah an' left thru' da livin' room windah 'cos they wus both open. Whoever that there sombitch wus, he done made a mess an' stoah-le mah beer!  Mah dang-blasted beer, dad-gummit!  An' mah li'l Hallah-ween figgah-reenes, too!"

Blackie broke out in a series of nods, woofs and stomps to show that Wynne had echoed the exact same sentiments that she had tried to convey. Freddie just let out one of his typical deep-register barks.

Mandy let out a growled "Dammit!" before she turned to Blackie. "And you heard something, ran over here and picked up their scent, didn't you, girl?"

Woooooof!  - 'Yes!  Like I've been trying to tell you for the past three minutes…'

Freddie understood Blackie perfectly, and added a deep-register Woof of his own just to show he was on her side.

"All right," Mandy continued. "Deputy Reilly, stay here in case there's any activity inside. Blackie and I will retrace her steps so I know what's what."

"Yes, Sheriff," Beatrice said, stepping forward to keep an eye on the door.

Mandy and Blackie soon set off tracking the scents over to the Travers' Ford, back to the Honda the babysitters had arrived in, and finally over to Wynne's trailer.

Wynne came to a halt, whipped off her cowboy hat and gave her scalp a strong scratch-and-rub. Once the hat was back on her locks, she looked at Freddie who had sat down on the lawn looking as if he was a little confused as to what was going on. "Haw. Somebodda done stoah-le mah beer… this is Goldsborah in a dang-blasted nutshell. Ain't nuttin' but trubbel, trubbel an' mo' trubbel. Mebbe we oughtta pack up an' move ta Noo Mexicoh or som'tin… naw, haulin' them Fenwycks ovah yondah prolly be hella expensive an' all. Yuh. We bettah not."

Woof?

"Yuh, like I done said, Freddoh. Haw, wouldya lookie there!  Whah, if it ain't da Sheriff lookin' all Sheriffy!  Ain't dat sheriffic?  Aw, dat wus a bad joah-ke, Wynne Donnah-hew…" - Snicker, snicker - "Yeeee-hawwww!  Ovah he', darlin'!"

Freddie jumped to his feet and let out a puzzled Wooooof? at the tall Human's strange behavior. He turned his large head to see what had gotten her so excited, but could only spot Blackie and the mop-topped Human walking back toward them. Another Woooffff? escaped him before he sat down in the middle of the lawn to wait for something to happen that made a little more sense.

Through Blackie's sterling efforts, Mandy now had a clear picture of the path followed by the perpetrators. Her hippie-girl costume had suddenly become inappropriate, so she had hurried back to their trailer to swap the denim jacket and the psychedelic T-shirt for her uniform shirt that identified her as the Sheriff of Goldsboro - she hadn't had time to make the necktie presentable, so she had omitted that for once. Similarly, the wreath of daisies had been traded for her Mountie hat.

The utility belt carrying her handcuffs, pepper spray, nightstick, flashlight and service firearm hugged her hips once more - and her face was contorted into a deep, dark scowl that proved without the shadow of a doubt that she didn't exactly think the world of the individual who had messed up her first night at home in a month. "Can anyone recall the sitters' last name?" she said as she strode along.

"Lawrdie… I ain't even sure nobodda done tole me," Wynne said with a shrug. "Or mebbe they did… ain't sure. In any case, I plum fergot."

Beatrice narrowed her eyes as she racked her memory banks for the correct answer. "I believe it was Holmgren, Sheriff."

"Thank you, Deputy. That rings a bell," Mandy said as she went up the short flight of metal stairs for the second time. She knocked on the door in a soft but insistent fashion. "Listen up in there!  We need to have a word."

The request garnered no response, so she moved left to peek in through the window once more. A grunt escaped her when she caught a glimpse of a shadow hurrying behind a couch. "Miss Holmgren!" she said as her knocking grew far more intense. "This is your last chance to come out voluntarily. I have a spare key and I intend to use it if you do not answer the door."

The door did eventually open, but instead of Melissa Holmgren appearing in the doorway, it was the demented Santa Claus - Lance - who held a can of beer in his hand. His demonic facepaint had mostly gone the way of the dodo, and a huge, wet, smelly patch on the front of his Santa coat proved that the contents of another can of beer had missed his mouth at some point earlier in the evening. His bleary-eyed, slack-jawed expression offered a strong hint that his stay at the trailer park had been an eventful one that had involved several beers. "We don't have to tell you shit," he said in a slurred voice. "Unless you're strippers, bug off-"

Down at the back, Wynne let out a sound that could be described as a cross between a growl and an amused snort - the growl came from seeing the can of H.E. Fenwyck Dark Lager in Lance Holmgren's hand, and the snort came from his comments. "Haw!  I reckon y'all jus' done stepped in it, son. Yuh. Wussen da smahr-test thing ta say… nosirree, it sure wussen."

Even Lance seemed to realize his mistake after he blinked a couple of times to get the bleariness to recede - it allowed him to see the Mountie hat and the Sheriff's Star on the uniform shirt. Taking a quick step back, he threw the can at the people outside before he tried to slam the door shut.

Mandy moved faster and put her foot in the doorway.

"Awwwwww-ya didden!  Y'all gonn' wish ya wus nevah born, ya li'l crittah!  Throwin' mah dang-blasted beer!  Whaddahell-z-a'madda withcha, son?" Wynne roared in a fit of pure, unadulterated outrage as she watched the can hit the ground with such a thump that the golden nectar exploded out of the small opening.

Once the can came to a rest, it did so next to one identical to it which proved that it wasn't the first time Lance had pulled that stunt. "Haw!  Lookie there… y'all done wasted two beers!  That does it!  I'mma-gonn'- I'mma-gonn'- good shittt almighty, son!  Yer ass is grass an' mah foot's a lawn mowah!  Lemme at 'im!  Lemme at 'im!"

Wynne would have to join the tail-end of the line in her quest for retribution as up at the leading edge of the confrontation, Mandy put her shoulder to the door and shoved it open.

The forceful entry caused Lance Holmgren to stagger backwards. He had been unsteady on his feet even before the door-opening shove, so he ended up falling into a chair the wrong way around - his legs and sneakers hung limply in the air over the armrest while the rest of him filled out the chair's seat. The rough landing caused him to let out a beer-breath-belch that could have set a world record had an official timekeeper been there to take notes.

It seemed that half of Nevada swarmed into the trailer as Mandy, Beatrice and Wynne all moved inside. Blackie joined them a moment later, but Freddie's paws weren't a good match with the metal stairs leading to the door, so he had to stay outside. The contented bark he let out proved he wasn't too disappointed.

Wynne let out an appreciative grunt at the clean, elegant look of Estelle Tooley's living area. Gone were the old, rickety pieces of low-grade furniture that Estelle's estranged husband Frank had brought to the trailer once upon an eon ago. Everything had been replaced by much newer, nicer furniture, decorations and knick-knacks that had come from Keshawn Williams' Second-Hand Treasures thrift-shop - supporting Estelle and Renee Tooley had been a community operation where the other residents of the trailer park had chipped in to add a little ray of sunlight to the Tooleys' somber lives.

"Mr. Holmgren," Mandy said, "I'm Sheriff Jalinski of the MacLean County Sheriff's Department. Deputy Reilly and I would like to ask you a few questions-"

"You can't arrest me!  I'm a minor!" Lance said and broke out in a beery laugh. He grunted several times as he moved around to get into a better position in the chair.

Though Wynne stood at the back of the group, her additional height meant she had a good look of the demented Santa Claus. "That sure ain't no fi'ah escape y'all can use fer nuttin', son!  Y'all can be detained jus' fihh-ne!  Aintcha nevah heard o' juvenile court?  Eh, ya barrel o' monkey nuts?"

"Wynne," Mandy said out of the corner of her mouth, "a little less fire and brimstone, please."

"Haw. Sure thing, darlin'. Beg' pardon an' all," Wynne said as she tipped her beloved cowboy hat. "I'mma-gonn' shaddup now. Yes, Ma'am."

Turning back to the young man in the Santa costume, Mandy took a step forward that he shied back from. "Lance… that's your name, right?" she said in a measured, unthreatening tone.

"Uh-huh…"

"I think you understand that we need to talk. Where's your brother?"

Lance tried to focus on the Amazon strike force towering over him, but his bleary eyes made it almost impossible. "Dunno… honest. I dunno where he is… he's not here."

"All right. Deputy Reilly, go around the back. Their car's still here so the other Mr. Holmgren must be close by."

"Yes, Sheriff," Beatrice said before she hurried out of the trailer.

Blackie soon filled the space vacated by the Deputy. Standing on her hind legs, she put her front paws on the armrest to have a good angle for getting up close and personal if need be. Although she maintained a neutral expression - save for baring her impressive canines - her sheer presence made the demented Santa Claus inch back even further.

"Mr. Holmgren," Mandy continued, "we also need to speak with your sister-"

"She's got nothing to do with it. Nothing!  She's in the little brat's bedr-"

Wynne zoomed into place right behind Blackie. To underscore her words, she thumped a hand onto the top of the chair's backrest. "Y'all watch yer beery mouth!  Li'l Renee ain't no brat. Y'all wanna see a brat?  Then look in a dang-blasted mirrah, pal!"

"Okay, okay…" Lance said in a mumble. "Melissa's in the bedroom. She's keeping the… the girl occupied with a bedtime story or some shit 'cos she got scared when those nasty junkyard mutts started barking."

Wynne drew a deep breath to fire off another forty-cannon broadside to defend her dogs' honor, but Mandy stopped her cold by putting a hand on her arm. "Not now, Wynne… please. Lance, we need to talk to all three of you at once so we don't have to repeat anything. Do you understand what this is about?"

Lance Holmgren was about to shake his head in defiance when he seemed to realize what was at stake. Instead of the shake, he nodded.

"That was the smart thing to do. All right. Wynne," Mandy said and turned to the Cowpoke, "here's what needs to happen now. Once we have all three Holmgrens together, someone has to look after Renee. We'll most likely need you to identify the figurines, so I want you to call Brenda and ask her and Goldie to come here. Renee loves to play with Goldie… and they can also comfort each other."

"Haw, that sure be one helluva fa-bew-luss ideah, Sheriff Mandy!  I'mma-gonn' do that right this he' minnit, yes Ma'am!" Wynne said and dug into her jacket pocket to find her telephone. The tension was too thick inside the trailer for any kind of unrelated conversation, so she moved back out to stand next to the resting Freddie while she made the call.

'Hi, Wynne!  What's up?' Brenda said a moment later.

"Howdy ag'in, Brendah. Haw, a buncha things iz up, that's what. Lissen, we be havin' a li'l situa-shun he', so Sheriff Mandy done tole me ta ask y'all if ya would mind swingin' bah he'. Y'all an' Goldie. Li'l Renee needs a new sittah 'cos them Holmgrens wus… aw, y'all can see fer yerself when ya get he'. Okeh?"

'Uh… sure. Do you want me to bring the cooler box and the lamps and all those things, Wynne?'

"Lawwwwwwr-die!  I plum fergot 'bout that there dang-blasted coolah!" Wynne said, smacking her forehead. She rolled her eyes at herself and the horrible thought that she had forgotten all about the beers inside it. "Jus' leave them lamps be, but please bring that there coolah ovah if ya don't mind or nuttin'."

'Okay!  Will do… oh, the fire has gone out fully, by the way. It's not even smoking anymore.'

"That sure be nice ta heah, Brenda. See ya in a li'l while."

'I'm already on my way,' Brenda said and closed the connection.

Mortified at her forgetfulness, Wynne slammed her hands onto her hips and just stood there like a marble statue. "Haw, Freddoh… fergettin' a nah-me or a face or an address or da year when som'tin done happened or whutevah iz perfectly innocent an' commonplace, yuh?  But fergettin' a coolah box three-quartahs full o' H.E. Fenwyck's fih-nest?!  Whah, that be borderlihhhh-ne crimmi-nal!"

Woof?

"Yuh, 's whut I done said, Freddoh. Crimmi-nal!  Dang'it, I be gettin' old…"

---

Ten short minutes later, a grumbling Wynne and a puzzled Freddie formed the rear guard of the group of people walking around the trailer park.

Beatrice had found Timothy Holmgren trying to hide underneath an old, overturned zinc bathtub behind the dilapidated trailer that had once belonged to the late Zoltan Petrusco. The family of eight-legged critters who already considered it their home had objected to his squatting arrangements in such a convincing fashion that he had run straight into the arms of the waiting Deputy Sheriff to get away from them.

The purple-haired Melissa had broken down in tears when she was informed of the suspicions raised against herself and her brothers. The tears made her exaggerated make-up run, but even that inconvenience couldn't stop her from continuing to sob into a handkerchief as Mandy, Beatrice and Blackie led the three siblings from one trailer to the next to show how their scent was literally everywhere.

"Melissa," Mandy said once they had reached the Honda Civic. "Would you mind unlocking your car?"

"No, Sheriff," Melissa croaked as she reached into the hip pocket where she always kept her keys. When they weren't there, she patted all her other pockets without achieving any kind of success. "I… I don't have my keys… I must have lost them…"

"I see. Lance… Timothy… would either of you happen to know where the car keys are?"

Lance shrugged, but Timothy's lips grew into a thin, gray line in his face. He stared down at his shoes and the torn skinny-jeans.

Before Mandy could speak, Melissa did it for her: after thumping her brother's shoulder, she grabbed hold of his sweatshirt and crumpled it into a ball in her fist. "Did you take my keys, Timmy?  Answer me!  Did you take my keys?!"

"Let go… let go of me!" Timothy cried as he tried to wrestle free of his sister's strong grip. "Yes!  Yes, I took your stupid keys!  Okay?!"

"No, it's not okay, you little shit!" Melissa bellowed directly into his face. "Gimme the frickin' keys!  Now!"

When the car keys were finally dug out of a pocket, Melissa stomped around the Civic to get to the driver's side door. After unlocking that, she moved back to the trunk and did the same there. "The central locking-thing is broken," she said in an embarrassed tone of voice.

"Haw, I done had that happen once. It wus them wires who done got a crimp at da wrong spot. Yuh. Wus a pain in da buhhh-tt ta fix, lemme tell ya. Aw, I reckon y'all alreddy know 's a pain in da buhhh-tt ta fix," Wynne said with a grin that faded when she realized the humorous comment may have been made out of turn.

Mandy moved over to the Honda's trunk but abstained from opening it. "What will I find in here, Melissa?"

"A spare tire, a jack and a plastic box with some old CDs… the radio's way too old so I can't connect my telephone to it."

"Let's have a look," Mandy said and pulled the trunklid fully open. It was too dark to make out any details, so she took her flashlight off her utility belt and let the strong LEDs work their magic.

In addition to the three items Melissa had mentioned, the trunk revealed two six-packs of H.E. Fenwyck Double-Zero non-alcoholic beers, a collection of polystone Halloween figurines that seemed rather familiar, a pair of designer sunglasses and a coiled-up, bright-red power cable that still had a few straws of grass stuck to it from the last time it had been used.

"Melissa, come over here and tell me what you see," Mandy said and waved the young girl over.

Melissa's tears came back with a vengeance when she stared at the items in the trunk of her car. "What's this, Timmy?  What the frick is this, Timmy?!" she croaked in a thick voice.

"Nothing…"

"Don't tell me nothing, you frickin' jerkface!  Look at that!  Those shades alone are… what… a hundred bucks, easily!  And where do those Halloween decorations come from?  Look at me when I'm frickin' talking to you!" - As Melissa spoke, the volume and pitch of her voice grew higher and higher until both reached the stratosphere.

Mandy kept a close eye on the scene, ready to step in at a second's notice if matters got out of hand. All that happened was that Melissa cried harder, so instead of intervening, she waved Wynne over. "Miss Donohue, I need you to identify a collection of Halloween figurines."

"Okeh, Sheriff Mandy," Wynne said and shuffled through the small group of crying or obstinate Holmgrens. "Yuh, them things there be mine, awright. They don't even look worse fer wear or nuttin'. Whaddahell!  Mah beer!  Yuh, them sure be mah beers as well, Sheriff. Las'seen on da shelf in mah re-fri-gy-ratah,"  Wynne reached for the items to reclaim her lost property, but Mandy's hand on her arm made her pause.

Melissa's eyes grew wide with the same speed as if someone flicked a switch. A moment later, she spun around and grabbed hold of Lance's filthy, red Santa suit. "You told me you'd bought those beers from her!" - Melissa nodded in Wynne's direction - "But you stole them?!  Did you steal those beers, you frickin' moron?!"

"She can't prove shit!  They're just beers!" Lance said, brushing his sister's hands off his costume.

"Where did you steal those designer shades, Lance?" Melissa continued, once more grabbing onto the red suit. "And that power cable or whatever that is?  Answer me!"

Lance let out a strained "I didn't have shit to do with that!  And getcha hands off me, for frick's sake!" before he gave his sister such a hard shove that she nearly went onto her rear - it earned him a strong bark by Blackie and an even stronger growl by Wynne.

"Y'all can pull that there oh-no-it-sure-wussen-me act fer as long as y'all want, son," Wynne said, pointing into the trunk. "I can tell all y'all 'xactly where them things come from. Them there sunglasses be Vaughn's so they wus prolly ovah yondah in their Foh-rd, yuh?  An' that there red powah cable is the one ol' Diegoh always uses for his Weed Whackah. It be extra-shielded 'cos that there Whackah done pulls so many amps… or volts… or watts… or whaddahell-evah it done pulls that it needs a top-quality powah cable or else it gonn' pop them fuses."

Lance remained mum, so Mandy closed the trunklid. "Let's get that confirmed. Mr. Benitez is too ill to identify his cable, but the lights are on in Mr. Travers' trailer so I presume he's still up. Miss Donohue, would you mind asking him to come over?"

"I sure woudden mind a dang-blasted bit, Sheriff Mandy," Wynne said and stomped off toward the trailer at the far side of the central lawn.

---

"So, just for the record," Mandy said a short ten minutes later - Vaughn was already on his way back to his trailer as he had been in the middle of a video conference with a software developer in the Netherlands. The Sheriff moved her finger down the lines of text she had written in her indispensable notepad. "Mr. Travers made a positive ID of the sunglasses. The pair belongs to him and was taken from his SUV. He also made a positive ID of the power cable as he had helped Mr. Benitez mow the lawn last week. Mr. Holmgren… both of you. Will you please tell us how those items ended up in the trunk of your sister's car?"

Timothy, the silent one, just shook his head and stared down at his shoes. Lance, the mouthy one, broke out in a nasty, beery grin. "We don't have to tell you shit, cop. So we won't."

"Very true, Gentlemen," Mandy said and closed the notepad. "But it'll be in your best interest to tell the Juvenile Court judge up in Barton City tomorrow morning. Mr. Lance Holmgren, Mr. Timothy Holmgren, the MacLean County Sheriff's Department is hereby detaining you both on suspicion of three counts of breaking-and-entering and burglary. Lean against the vehicle with your legs spread and your hands on the hood. You have the right to remain silent-"

Wynne had to chew hard on her lips to stop herself from letting out a celebratory cheer and a few curses at the two brothers. Down on the grass, Blackie did in fact produce a Woof-woof-woof! that sounded as if she was saying more or less the same thing. Freddie only added a single Woof to the doggy-conversation, but that was in his customary deep register so it seemed more effective.

"Look what you've frickin' done!" Melissa screeched at the top of her lungs while Mandy continued to search and Mirandize the two detainees. "Daddy's gonna frickin' kill you!  And then I'm gonna kill you!  I'll never get a frickin' job here ever again because of you two frickin' shit-for-brains!"

"Deputy Reilly," Mandy said, "please separate the siblings. There's been enough drama already."

"Yes, Sheriff," Beatrice said and put a comforting arm around Melissa's shoulder to lead her away from the others. When the young girl's tears came harder than ever, she even lent her a clean handkerchief.

Mandy let the moment sink in for the brothers before she shoved them over to the white-and-gold Dodge Durango she had used to drive home from work. "Do you understand your rights as they've been explained to you?" she said as she opened one of the rear doors. When all she got in return were two mumbling responses, she added: "I need a clear yes or no, Gentlemen."

"Yes, for frick's sake… bitch!" Lance said with such a mouthful of venom it nearly dripped onto his chin - Timothy squeaked a far more subdued "Yes."

Once the brothers were seated on the rear bench and the door had been secured, Mandy let out a deep, long sigh at the nonsense of it all. She was about to take one of the breathalyzers from the pouch on her utility belt when Beatrice came over to her.

"Sheriff, you don't need to do that. I'll drive. I've only had non-alcoholic beers all evening. I don't have my uniform with me so it'll look a little weird, but…"

"Weird is the norm here, Deputy. You ought to know that by now," Mandy said with a tired grin. "But thank you. I need five minutes to jump into the rest of my fatigues."

"Very well, Sheriff. I'll keep an eye on the Holmgrens in the meantime," Beatrice said and climbed behind the steering wheel.

Mandy made a detour to get over to Wynne, Blackie and Freddie on her hurried way back to their trailer to change her clothes. Blackie got a quick but fair-sized hug-and-rub for her excellent police work, but that was nothing compared to the kiss placed on The Last Original Cowpoke's lips. "Here we are again, hon… up to our eyeballs in weirdness. Can you believe it?"

"Naw. Lissen, darlin', when y'all reckon I'mma-gonn' get them beers an' them decora-shuns back an' all?"

"Not for a few days, I'm afraid. We'll need to dust them for fingerprints and compare them to the brothers'."

"Okeh. Durn. I bettah put a-cuppel-a new six-packs in that there fridge there, haw?" Wynne said and pushed her hat back from her brow. "Lawrdie, I sure can't bah-lieve that some kids done stole mah beer!  The nerve o' them folks!  That ain't nevah happened befo'…"

Mandy let out a tired chuckle. "There's a first for everything… and since we're so close to Goldsboro, the firsts tend to be weird or dramatic… or both."

"Sure ain't no lie, darlin'. Okeh, drive safely, yuh?  This he' Hallah-ween be plentah ca-razy enuff alreddy. Ain't nuttin' good ever done came outta wreckin' inta a ditch or som'tin… yuh?"

"We'll try," Mandy said and got up on tip-toes to place another kiss on Wynne's lips. "I need to go. Don't wait up for me-"

"But o' course I will. Ain't no point in keepin' on sayin' it, darlin'. I may go ta bed befo' y'all come hoah-me, but I sure ain't gonn' be findin' no sleep until y'all be beside me on them sheets an' all… an' that jus' be a dog-gone fact, Ma'am."

Mandy grinned before she added a final kiss for good measure. "Whatever you say, hon. Bye for now."

"Bah-bah, darlin'!" Wynne said and whipped off her cowboy hat to swing it high in the air in true Texas-style.

-*-*-*-

Not too long after the sweet goodbyes had been exchanged, the Dodge Durango left the trailer park with a scarecrow behind the wheel and the Terrible Troublemaker Bros. safely locked up in the back - a strange sight for most places, but Goldsboro had seen stranger things in its checkered history. A tearful Melissa Holmgren drove behind the large SUV in her small Honda Civic that remained as a one-eyed traveler as there hadn't been time to change the faulty bulb.

Wynne remained planted on the central lawn, looking like a true Last Original Cowpoke with her cowboy hat down low and her hands firmly ensconced on her hips. She stood like that for nearly a minute before she broke out in a shrug and headed for home. Blackie seemed more interested in patrolling the area than exploring her doggy-basket, but Freddie, who had had more than enough excitement for one evening, followed Wynne over toward the crooked back porch of her trailer for some R&R.

The familiar ringtone and a vibrating hum from Wynne's jacket pocket made her reach for her telephone just as she turned the corner to face the rear side of the trailer - the caller-ID said it was Brenda so the call was quickly accepted. "Howdy, Brendah. Y'all got tha one an' only Wynne Donnah-hew he'. Whazzup?"

'Hi, Wynne. Renee has fallen asleep now. I don't want her to wake up alone so I'll spend the night here. I can sleep on Estelle's couch. Would you mind coming over to get Goldie?  I think the darling girl is a little hungry.'

"Yuh, I reckon she might be. She only done ate half a bag… aw, fih-ve pounds or so… o' that there brooh-tally expensive Lah-fah-yette drah feed an' all," Wynne said with a chuckle. "Okeh, Brendah, I'mma-gonn' be right ovah. Tawk ta ya in a minnit."

Once the connection had been closed, Wynne spun around on her heel and headed back to where she had just come from.

Down below, Freddie came to a stop and let out a puzzled grunt that sounded just like a 'Huh?'  He looked at the trailer, the porch, the trailer once more and finally back at Wynne's retreating form. It was all too much for him, so he continued onto the back porch and made himself comfortable on the planed, but crooked, planks.

---

Returning home five minutes later, Goldie zipped into the kitchenette and soon stuck her muzzle into the water bowl and the adjacent dog dish that held her favorite dry feed.

Wynne chuckled at the ferocious feasting before she went back out onto the porch. She crouched down next to Freddie and ran a hand over his black coat. "Haw, I sure am glad I ain't be needin' ta feed y'all, big boy. Holy shittt, y'all would eat me inta tha po'ah how-se in no time flat, woudden ya?"

Woof…

"Yuh, I reckon y'all would. Haw."

Once she had dug into the re-discovered cooler box for a beer that wasn't nearly as chilled as she had expected, she cracked it open with the familiar Pssshhht! and sat down on one of the deck chairs. "Shoot… and da beer be warm. Yuh, whah'dahell not," she said before she took a long swig of a lukewarm Dark Lager. It made her grimace, but a beer was a beer, so down it went.

"Y'all know whut I'mma-gonn' do next year, Freddoh?"

Woof?

"Mah darlin' Mandy always done gives me one o' them there flip-ovah calendahs as a spe-shul mornin' present at ou'ah breakfast table on Jan-ooh-ary First an' all. But next year, I'mma-gonn' tear that there page featurin' Octobah Thirty-first clean outtah that there calendah the minnit I unwrap it. Yuh."

Woof…

"Yuh. 'Cos, dang, we sure ain't been havin' much luck with them Hallah-weens lately. Nosirree… an' I coudden even get mah Dubbel-Zerahs back 'cos they be evidence or some such. Dag-nabbit. Well. Anyhows, les'hope all them othah fine folks out dere done hadda bettah Hallah-ween, yuh?"

Woof!

Wynne leaned her head back to take another long swig of the lukewarm beer. A quiet belch escaped her before she reached down to run her hand over Freddie's smooth, black coat.

"All we can do now is ta wait fer Sheriff Mandy ta come back hoah-me from throwin' them foo's inta them there holdin' cells up in Goldsborah. An' we didden even get 'round ta them there awesome Tex-Mex chili beef pies we done made a dang bunch-a!  Dad-gummit… aw, well. Tamorrah is anothah disastah waitin' ta happen… ain't nuttin' we can do 'bout dat but wait fer it ta arrive. Cheers, dawggie!  An' Happy Hallah-ween, y'all!"

 

*
*
THE END

 

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