ONLY IN GOLDSBORO…

by Norsebard

Contact: norsebarddk@gmail.com

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DISCLAIMERS:

This classic spooky / horror / humor mash-up 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 3rd-9th and 21st-22nd, 2024, for the 2024 Royal Academy of Bards' Halloween Invitational.

This twenty-fourth entry into the long-running series featuring Wynne Donohue and Mandy Jalinski is a bit of a blast from the past. All twenty-three previous stories are available at the website of the Royal Academy of Bards.

Thank you very much for your help, Bard Of New Mexico! :D  Hi, Phineas! *Wave*

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 sure ain't no laughin' matter. Wynne 'The Last Original Cowpoke' Donohue and Sheriff Mandy Jalinski discover that when a vengeful spirit arrives in Goldsboro, Nevada hellbent on collecting fresh corpses for its evil master to experiment on. Wynne and Mandy eventually get help from an unexpected source, but there are plenty of scares along the way - at one point, Wynne even runs out of beer…

 

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ONLY IN GOLDSBORO…

 

Thursday, October 31st. 2:45pm. The sheriff's office in Goldsboro, Nevada.

The bright but wintery sun beat down on the small desert hamlet's three streets: the original Main Street, the aptly named Second Street and the newish Josiah Street that had added another 80 or so residents to Goldsboro's population. The town had typically been in the region of 420-440 residents for the past few decades, but the new section had boosted that number well into the 500s. Not all lived in Goldsboro itself, however, as the residents of the trailer park down south and the Old Boys' Haven - strictly for grumpy old men - further north were also included in that number.

When Josiah Goldsboro had founded the town in 1881 in the exact spot where his prairie schooner had broken down en route to California, he, his wife Clarissa and their children Josiah Jr., Mary and little William, could never have envisioned what the tiny settlement would become. Among a surprising number of things it had going for it, it would be home to one of the biggest poultry farms in the entire state, it would be known for its top-quality eatery, Moira MacKay's Bar & Grill, and it would even be the hub of a great deal of Nevada's knitting community in the shape of Dorothy Tyler's Yarn Spinners store.

Despite the Goldsboro Town Council's tireless efforts in branding the town a place Where Magical Things Happen, it had obtained an unfortunate nickname as a direct result of the hundreds of strange, weird or downright bizarre things that had happened since the day when the prairie schooner's rear axle had snapped in two. Goldsboro had simply come to be known as the Calamity Central Of The World - a somewhat derogatory nickname that could only be called wholly justified.

Thus, it was nothing out of the ordinary to see a pint-sized Count Dracula, a Wolfman, an Egyptian mummy and a green spaceman walking along Main Street accompanied by a full-sized Bigfoot, a scarecrow and even Frankenstein's monster. The excited yakking going on between all those classic monsters proved that everyone had a good time. Although their bags of candy were still only half full, there were plenty of apartments and houses left to Trick Or Treat at so nobody was concerned.

Nobody except Sheriff Mandy Jalinski. At present, the compact, athletic shape of the 50-year-old tough gal had her shiny uniform boots firmly planted on the sidewalk outside the sheriff's office. Keeping a watchful eye on the goings-on, she seemed ready for anything Goldsboro could throw at her and the rest of the MacLean County Sheriff's Department. She would do her damnedest to keep Halloween a fun, positive affair for the residents, but at the same time, it was obvious by the glum tones that tainted her fair face that she knew the special Goldsborian curse could strike at any moment.

She wore her full winter uniform now the temperatures had dipped into the mid-50s. Above the warm boots, she wore a double-layered version of her standard light gray pants that featured black stripes on the outside of the pant legs.

Further up, a black, wool-lined, three-quarter-length winter coat covered her regular long-sleeved shirt. Circular patches with the words MacLean County and Sheriff's Department had been added to the outside of the coat's shoulders to adhere to the latest amendment to the uniform code. To make sure everyone could tell the difference between the law enforcement personnel in town, a row of fluorescent letters spelling out S-H-E-R-I-F-F had been sewn onto the coat's upper back above a golden star identifying the wearer as the Sheriff of Goldsboro. An identical, though far smaller, star had been added to the coat's left front as well.

Her shaggy mop of dusty blonde hair was protected by the expensive Mountie hat as always. Earmuffs and wool-lined gloves were actually part of the winter set, but she kept those in reserve for the bleakest days of mid-January.

A few minutes went by without any monster sightings, but her hazel-green eyes soon picked up a mummy dragging its feet on the opposite side of Main Street. After a few paces, the mummy turned to give the sheriff a big thumbs-up. Chuckling, Mandy waved back before she went inside to warm her hands on the portable oil-fired radiator that had been donated by Wyatt Elliott, the owner of the largest hardware store in the county.

The cooler ambient temperatures meant the glass door's wooden frame didn't stick as badly as it did during the height of summer, but she still needed to put her shoulder to it to get it open.

The sheriff was greeted by an enthusiastic Woof-woof-woof-woof! from her German Shepherd Blackie who had been forced to up stakes and relocate her blanket, doggy basket and water bowl to another part of the office. Not only did the old frames surrounding the windows gape worse than they ever had, the heating elements that ran underneath the large panes had gone on the fritz.

The fierce black dog had found a new spot for her blanket over by the smallest of the three desks. The distance to the windows meant that King Frost couldn't send his minions after her - in the shape of icy winds - but it also meant she couldn't keep an eye on Main Street. It had left her a little grumpy to begin with, but anything was better than frosty teats.

Unzipping the winter coat at once, Mandy put it over the backrest of her swivel chair before she strode over to the oil radiator that had been put centrally in the office.

Barry Simms sat at the watch desk as usual. The thirty-year-old civilian employee of the MacLean County Sheriff's Department seemed to have stepped out of a fashion advertisement from the mid-1970s by wearing loafers, brown corduroy pants and a spring green shirt featuring wide cuffs and even wider lapels. A brown pullover in the shade best known as 'dark chocolate' sealed the deal. Unusually for the time of day, his hair was wet-combed and neat.

The watch desk was less neat: pastry crumbs, pencil shavings, spent lollipop sticks and empty candy wrappers retold the old tale of idle minds and idle hands. Several coffee stains had been added to the pages of Barry's crossword puzzles and sudoku magazines, and even the important, official incident report sheet had received a coffee ring right in the middle of the page. The ashtray with its inch-tall cone of ash, forest of spent matches and pile of cigarette butts was a horror story unto itself.

Mandy scratched her eyebrow as she took in the sorry sight of the watch desk, the ashtray and Barry's '70s garb that would have made The Brady Bunch green with envy. "Mr. Simms, is that your costume for tonight?" she said to have something to talk about apart from the cold snap or the messy end to the sheriff's election back in September.

Barry took a deep, final puff of a cigarette before he lit the next one with the dying embers of the old one. He furrowed his brow as he looked down at his clothes. "No, Sheriff… I felt sorry for them 'cos they were at the back of my closet."

"Okay…"

Grinning, Barry took another deep puff of the new home rolled cigarette. To keep up with his habit of smoking five dozen such death sticks a day, he had taken to buying huge bales of waste tobacco directly from the factories. The special arrangement left both parties happy as not only could Barry smoke to his heart's delight, the factories made a buck or two selling him the worst of the worst. Their stench was legendary: the one he had just ignited smelled of camel dung while the old one had smelled of wet soil.

"My real costume for tonight is a top quality Count Dracula," he said as he knocked off some ash into the already overfilled ashtray. "Pointy shoes, skinny pants and a black cape with a red liner made of silk!  And a tuxedo-like vest that obviously fits under the cape. The set comes with a wig, white facepaint and a pair of plastic fangs!"

Mandy nodded a couple of times while she chewed on her cheek. "That's nice, Mr. Simms," she said after a brief delay that she had spent searching high and low for a suitable comment.

Their conversation was interrupted by the familiar howl-crackle-whine-hiss of the radio base station on the watch desk. To cut Barry some slack, Mandy picked up the portable unit and depressed the transmit key. "Base to unknown caller, base to unknown caller. Message not received. You need to try again. Over."

Crrrrackle-whine-hiss-hiss-snap-crackle-poppp!

'-ile Unit Three to Base. Mobile Unit Three to Base. Are you receiving me now, over?'

The transmission had been so garbled it might as well have been spoken by a Klingon or someone from Ancient Greece. Sighing, Mandy shook her head. "Mr. Simms, who's got number three today?"

"That would be Deputy Reilly, Sheriff."

"Thank you," Mandy said as she put the portable radio back onto the base station. Sighing again, she dug into a pocket to find her own telephone. Beatrice Reilly's number was soon found in the registry. "Deputy Reilly, this is the Sheriff. Your radio is FUBAR so you can only use the telephone for the rest of your patrol. Go ahead with your report, please."

'Those worthless pieces of…' Beatrice said in a growl before she cleared her throat and got down to business: 'Yes, Ma'am. I had to break up a fight that took place in the alley adjacent to Mr. Iverson's bar. Two of the patrons got into a heated argument over a spilled beer. It never grew worse than flying fists. One of the gentlemen in question carried a three-inch pocket knife, but it wasn't used in the fight so I let him keep it.'

While listening, Mandy walked over to the large windows that offered a good view of Main Street and the large number of families who were Trick-or-Treating. "Very well, Deputy. With all those families out and about today, we need to keep the street clean of trash."

'Ah… yes, Ma'am. At present, I'm up at the movie theater. They have a matinee showing of a Casper The Friendly Ghost cavalcade at a quarter past three, so the kids are pretty excited. Some ran out onto the street while playing tag, so I helped the adult supervisors usher everyone inside the lobby to keep them safe. Not sure about the state of the lobby, though…'

"Good work, Deputy. All right, once you've completed your patrol, I'll take Blackie for a swing over on Josiah just in case someone is scheming to nab some candy."

Woof!

Smiling, Mandy turned to look at the eager dog who had already jumped to her paws. "Please keep me posted on anything unusual," she continued into the telephone. "Well, beyond all the little monsters roaming the streets."

'Will do, Sheriff. Deputy Reilly out,' Beatrice said before the connection was terminated.

When Barry suddenly jumped headfirst into a rattling coughing fit, Mandy hurried over to the big desk to be out of the firing line of spittle or worse secretions. Shaking her head, she sat down to get busy with the inevitable paperwork.

---

At half past three, Senior Deputy Rodolfo Gonzalez returned from his task of manning the speed trap camera at the southern city limits sign. The suave, mid-thirty-something Mexican-American took off his Mountie hat and unzipped the winter coat the moment he stepped into the office. His slick hair and pencil-thin mustache were as impeccable as ever, but he still picked up a small hand mirror and a comb to make sure no strands had become dislodged by the hat.

The Bar & Grill's short-order cook A.J. 'Slow' Lane had been by with the regular afternoon provisions in the shape of coffee, cookies and pastries, so Mandy warmed her hands on a mug of The Good Stuff while she perused the final version of a case file. After doodling her signature on the dotted line, she tapped the pages into an orderly stack before she added a paper clip and put the file into the tray labeled To Long-Term Storage.

"Sheriff," Rodolfo said, "there were no speeders today. Nine out of ten vehicles coming into town were families with kids. It actually seems that one of the Town Council's PR campaigns worked… how about that?"

Letting out a dark chuckle, Mandy took the final swig of coffee before she got up from the swivel chair. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. It's just too bad they had to go through ninety-nine poor ideas to get there."

"Yes, Sheriff."

"All right," Mandy continued, grabbing her coat, "Blackie and I will be over on Josiah Street for the next hour and a half. Mr. Simms, call me at once if anything weird starts happening."

Barry was too busy puffing on a cigarette to acknowledge the request in a verbal fashion, but he nodded, waved and ultimately offered the sheriff a bobbing thumbs-up to show that he understood.

Mandy needed to scratch her eyebrow a couple of times before she shrugged and moved on. Instead of dealing with Barry, she whistled and patted her thigh.

The command made Blackie jump up from the blanket and run over to her owner. A pair of merry Woofs! proved she was looking forward to the challenge of finding the real bad people while avoiding those who were merely playing make-believe.

"Let's go, Blackie," Mandy said before she yanked the sticking door open to venture out into the often bizarre world of Goldsboro, Nevada.

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At ten to five in the afternoon, a matte-black shadow entered Main Street from the south. The rumbling, pre-historic beast came to a halt in the middle of the street before it reversed into the alley next to Moira's Bar & Grill. A spooky song - It's The Devil's Night by The Midnight Wanderers - filled the airwaves for a few moments before it faded out to give way to a block of commercials.

Wynne 'The Last Original Cowpoke' Donohue reached up to turn off her Chevrolet Silverado Trail Boss Midnight Edition's infotainment system just as a cheery voice began telling the world of the countless benefits the consumers would get when buying Century Co.'s brooms and brushes.

A Yap? was soon heard from the footwell on the passenger side. The furry head of a Golden Retriever popped up from its safe room to rest on the vacant seat. The bright, though easily frightened, Goldie quickly took in her surroundings to see if the world around was tolerable or simply too evil to endure.

"Yuh, that sure ain't no lie, Goldie," Wynne replied in her regular inch-thick Texan dialect. "We done bought a Century broom the othah month… tha handle snapped tha third tihhh-me we used it. Haw. Junk."

Yap…

Instead of getting out, Wynne picked up a small plastic bag and pulled out a peculiar, fuzzy object. She scratched her neck several times while studying it, but ultimately broke out in a shrug. "Yuh, I reckon I'mma-gonn' trah. Coudden hurt, right?  If it done tickles too hard, pullin' it off shoudden be much trubbel 'cos I got that there glue-removah solu-shun thing there. Okeh, it ack-chew-ly done says 'add watah ta remove'… shoot, wheredahell am I gonn' find watah?  Wynne Donnah-hew an' watah don't mix, yuh?"

Yap… yap?

"Yuh, like I done said."

Yap…

Wynne soon reached up to pull the rear-view mirror into a position where she could see her face. She needed to maintain a neutral expression in spite of her natural instincts telling her to scrunch up her features when concentrating on something, but applying the fuzzy object was less bothersome than she had feared.

"Haw!  Yuh, I reckon that oughttah do it," she said as she smoothed down the edges of the wide, fuzzy, 1970s-style mustache. "Awesome!  Dontcha reckon I look jus' like 'im?  Eh, Goldie?"

Yap…

"Izzat a yep or a naw?  Aw, it don't mattah none. Les'go see whut mah fellah Goldsborians done think. Yuh?  C'mon, girl."

Stepping out of the matte-black truck, Wynne made way for Goldie to jump down. The golden dog ran around the alley for a few moments to sniff a little here and there, but soon lost interest and simply sat down to wait for her owner.

Wynne wore her regular pair of decorated cowboy boots, but everything was new from the ankles up. She wore retro blue jeans that featured wide flares straight out of the mid-1970s. The jeans were held up by a leather belt that carried a buckle the size - and indeed shape - of Texas.

Further up, she wore a bright red, nine-button shirt with a soft collar and wide lapels instead of her usual long-sleeved sweatshirts advertising the H.E. Fenwyck Brewery Co. or one of her favorite NASCAR drivers or sponsors. It was far too chilly to walk around in shirt sleeves, so she had dug through her closet to find something period correct to use as a windbreaker.

The digging had been successful as she had rediscovered a genuine, old school denim jacket in a plastic bag that she had put there when she had moved into her mobile home. That the plastic bag carried a label that said 'for immediate sorting' only added to the humor.

She had bought the jacket for herself for her twentieth birthday in 1991 so it wasn't period correct as such, but the many colorful patches of trucks, fast cars and svelte dames she had sewn onto it when it had been new made it a timeless classic.

She had needed to do something about her long, dark hair since it wouldn't fit the rest of the costume, so she had asked her ever-friendly neighbor Brenda Travers to give her a helping hand. Thus, Wynne's long locks had been folded up twice and locked in place by no less than four hairpins so they only reached the shirt's collar.

Her beloved cowboy hat completed the ensemble. Although battered, bruised and sweatstained, it was a perfect match with the image she tried to convey. "Awright… ain't no stoppin' us now, yuh?"

Yap!

---

The wide grin on Wynne's face melted into a puzzled frown the moment she stepped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk in front of Moira's Bar & Grill. Coming to a halt, she turned around to look behind her. She kept the street under close observation for a few moments before she looked up to study the darkening firmament high above. Turning around slowly, she studied the skies all the way from Goldsboro's southern tip to the far end up at Cletus Browne's used-car dealership.

"Haw… that sure wus spooky," she mumbled, rubbing her chin. "I coulda sworn somebodda wus watchin' me… but ain't nobodda he'. An' no blinkin' lights up there, neithah. Weird. Whadda-y'all reckon, Goldie?  That there Hallah-ween be' goin' ta mah head alreddy?"

Yap…

"Y'all didden feel nuttin' befo'?"

Yap.

"Okeh, if y'all didden… bein' a scaredy-dawg an' all… there sure wussen nuttin' there. Okeh. Weird. There deffa-nete-ly be som'tin in da air, tho'. Aw, I need-a wet mah whissle."

Yap!

"Ain't no mistakin' whose dawg y'all is, Goldie!" Wynne said before letting out a laugh. Moira's Bar & Grill beckoned, so she opened the door to allow the golden dog inside.

Main Street was given a final inspection that didn't reveal anything scary, spooky or horrific. Even so, a concerned frown formed on her brow as she followed her dog inside.

---

Forty-five minutes later, Wynne pushed away the empty plate that had held a double-decker burger known as Chili-Cheese. She still had a handful of the original 80 or so fries left, but they were soon dunked in the last of the hot sauce and washed down with the last swig of an H.E. Fenwyck Double-Zero non-alcoholic beer.

Goldsboro had never been a haven for lovers of Halloween decorations as the streets and front lawns were mostly free of all the usual seasonal ornaments. Here and there, residents had tried to boost the spookiness by putting the typical black cats, witches' cauldrons, ghosts, skeletons, Jack O'Lanterns and cobwebs on their lawns, but most agreed that Goldsboro saw so many natural calamities on a yearly basis that there was no reason to add any fake ones.

Just about the only thing that most people put on their doorsteps were the traditional carved pumpkins, but that was undoubtedly a result of the rare opportunity it provided for the families to do something together that didn't involve electronic doodads of any kind.

Moira's Bar & Grill did in fact have a few decorations here and there, but the most colorful features of the popular eatery sat at the tables eating supper. Over by the pool table, a zombie chatted with another freshly dug-up ghoul while trying to perform a trick shot. Elsewhere, it seemed that Doctor Frankenstein needed to work a little more on his monster as he had to guide a drinking straw in between the static lips of the gray-skinned, square-headed beast sitting opposite him. Up at the row of bar stools at the counter, the Wolfman sat next to a space alien whose golden onesie, mirrored sunglasses and sparkling makeup reflected every single light in the entire establishment.

The video poker machine played its customary merry trill over to the left. The person sitting at it, Tucker Garfield, let out a long stream of less merry trills as he lost another $4 on a hand that didn't amount to anything. The tow truck driver with the permanent scowl and sour disposition didn't believe in dressing up for Halloween or any other kind of holiday, so he continued to wear his oily, filthy, canary-yellow coverall and clumsy safety boots.

Tucker's favorite pastime was to complain about what other people were doing, so he kept a running, mumbling commentary on how stupid and ridiculous it was that everyone looked like clowns, idiots and buttheads just because the calendar said it was October 31st.

Another patron who didn't have company was Wynne. Goldie had stormed over to the cave underneath the pool table after taking a single glance at the terrifying clientele, so the Cowpoke sat alone save for three little helpers who all bore striking resemblances to cans of Double-Zero. A resounding Psssshhhht! soon meant that only two little helpers remained intact.

The door to the bar and grill opened to reveal Mildred Herzberg, the bluehaired, cheroot-smoking aunt of Barry Simms. The elderly lady, who wore a knitted hat and a coat that covered a flowery dress, was without her regular dinner date Albert Rossmann who hadn't been up to the challenge of going out. The lady did a double take as she eyed Wynne and especially the fuzzy patch of hair under her nose.

Lighting a cheroot, Mildred shuffled over to Wynne's table to offer her two cents' worth. "Wynne," she said as she sat down opposite the Cowpoke. "I know what you're going through."

"Haw?"

Mildred nodded and even put a hand on Wynne's for effect. "Believe me, I experienced the exact same thing when I was your age."

"Haw?!"

"The doctors always think they know best, but we beg to differ. I'm telling you this as a friend, Wynne… you need to reduce the dosage. It won't get any better before you do."

Wynne's eyes grew wider and wider as Mildred spoke. "Mildred, it ain't that I don't 'preciate y'alls con-suhrn, yuh?  But them beers be non-alco-"

"No, I mean your hormone replacement therapy."

"Mah… mah whut?"

Mildred touched her own upper lip so she wouldn't have to spell it out. "That. I had to shave twice a day for almost a month before I convinced my doctor that the daily dose was too high. Just telling you as a friend, Wynne. All right?"

"Uh… yuh. Okeh. Much obliged…"

Mildred winked as she got up from the chair. "That's what friends are for," she said and added another little squeeze to Wynne's hand before she left for the bar counter.

Wynne tracked the helpful lady for a few moments before she fell back against the backrest to practice her thousand-mile stare. She reached up to trace the patch of fuzziness on her upper lip. "Lawrdie… it jus' ain't right that nobodda but me 'membahs that mooh-vie. Smokey an' tha Bandit be a true-blue American mastahpiece, fer cryin' out loud!  I mean… whaddahell?  Shoot, now I gotta wet mah whissel all ovah ag'in…"

-*-*-*-

The first real low point of Wynne's late afternoon came twenty minutes later when Mandy and Blackie's latest foot patrol came to an end at the bar and grill.

They had barely entered the eatery when the German Shepherd lost a step. Woofing in a puzzled voice, Blackie seemed to do a double take at the odd sight of her owner having a strange head on top of her usual body. A few moments went by before she let out a prolonged Woooooofff… that proved she had really no idea whatsoever what the whole thing was supposed to mean. Since none of the Humans present could provide an answer, she spun around and ran over to the cave under the pool table to seek out some doggy companionship.

Even Mandy seemed surprised at Wynne's costume and the fuzzy patch on her upper lip. She remained at the door for a short while longer before she winked and waved at her partner. First things first, though, so she was soon moving among the tables to be seen and to see if there were any new faces among the patrons.

Word of Goldsboro's frequent calamities of an otherworldly or supernatural kind had spread among certain groups on the Internet, so it was no longer out of the ordinary to see complete strangers eat at the famous bar and grill. All Hallow's Eve was the biggest draw for the guests - who brought plenty of the almighty tourist dollar to the local shops - but other seasonal events were celebrated as well among the Goths, the Mystics and those who swore to more general esoteric notions.

Mandy was able to recognize most of the patrons in spite of their elaborate costumes, but she drew a complete blank at the true identity of Frankenstein's monster until she heard Nancy Tranh Nguyen's disembodied voice speaking from somewhere in the vicinity of the gray-skinned brute's square headpiece.

Chuckling, Mandy returned to Wynne's table where she sat down opposite the Cowpoke. "You're looking a little glum tonight, hon. Headache?"

"Nope. An' mah knee ain't misbehavin', neithah. Naw, it be mah costume," Wynne said, playing with the three empty cans of Double-Zero. "Ain't nobodda seems ta know who I sapose ta be. I done thunk it wus obvious, but I guess it ain't."

Mandy cocked her head as she took in her first real sighting of the flared jeans, the bright red shirt and not least the fuzzy mustache. "Well, you did say your costume would be a surprise. It certainly is. I have to admit I can't quite place it."

A long sigh escaped The Last Original Cowpoke. "I be tha Bandit, yuh?  Ya know?  From Smokey an' tha Bandit, yuh?  We only done watched it las' week an' all…"

"Oh… that's right," Mandy said, reaching out to give Wynne's hand a little squeeze just like Mildred Herzberg had done earlier. "It's just that everyone else wears some kind of horror outfit-"

Wynne began shaking her head even before Mandy had made it to the end of her sentence. "Naw. Ain't got no int'rest in that. I done seen plentah o' spooky shit in mah life. Hell, I seen enuff spooky shit ta last a-cuppel-a lifetimes, yuh?  An' when I think back ta Hallah-ween in Shallah Pond, Texas, us kids wore all sorts-a costumes. We wus rodeoh ridahs an' astro-nawts an' beauty queens an' doctahs an' robots an' race cahhh-r drivahs an' librarians an' salt an' peppah shakahs an' all sorts-a stuff. Yuh?  But now, ev'rybodda only wanna be som'tin creepy like monstahs or serial killahs or bloodsplattah'd nurses or demented dentists or whutevah. Naw, them things ain't fer me."

"I understand," Mandy said with a smile. "Could I tempt you to join me for a foot patrol?  We're in one of those 'all hands on deck' situations so we need to keep a constant presence around town."

"Yuh!  Yuh, y'all sure could, darlin'!  Yes, Ma'am, I be reddy in a very, very li'l while. I jus' gotta pee first, yuh?  An' then I reckon I bettah stock up on some beers an' all. Yuh. Okeh?"

Grinning, Mandy hurriedly leaned across the table to place a kiss just below Bandit-Wynne's fuzzy mustache. "Okay… but you have to promise me to get rid of that thing as soon as we get home tonight," she said with a wink.

"Haw!  Dat be a done deal, darlin'!  Whah, I oughttah be a poet an' all…"

---

Ten minutes later, the Sheriff of Goldsboro walked north on Main Street accompanied by a Golden Retriever, a black German Shepherd and a mustachioed Bandit whose flared jeans gave her a funny gait. The Bandit in particular attracted a lot of puzzled glances from the mostly younger trick-or-treaters they encountered along the way. Wynne responded by assuming a glum look and shoving her hands into her rear pockets.

As the late afternoon gave way to early evening, the people on the street grew older and their costumes gorier and more outrageous. Where the little kids had been perfectly happy to dress up as cartoon characters, pumpkins or pretty flowers, their older siblings insisted on wearing grotesque makeup, torn clothes and gruesome prosthetic wounds.

One specific ghoul almost made Wynne throw in the towel in disgust: the person had dressed up as a headless corpse which was bad enough in itself, but it was the wheelbarrow full of severed heads - sandbags with faces painted on them - that he or she pushed around that nearly made Wynne spin around and stomp back to her truck.

"Fer crap's sake, I be channelin' Tuckah Garfield all offa sudden," she said in a mumble, " 'cos I jus' done realized I hate Hallah-ween with a pas-shun… an' them folks be starin' at mah costume!  I mean, whaddahell?"

Mumbling, grumbling, moaning and groaning, she reached into one of her denim jacket's pockets to find a Double-Zero that she cracked open at once.

Pssshhhht!  Glug-glug-glug…

"I know exactly what you mean, hon," Mandy said after a short while. "There's so much death and despair in the world today. I fail to see the fun in celebrating it. And some people seem to think that hiding behind a horror costume gives them a free pass to behave like immature a-holes."

"Yuh, sure ain't no lie. O' course, some o' them folks be like that twentah-fo'ah-seven, yuh?" Wynne said, glancing across the street at Derrike Iverson's notorious dive where three boulder-sized meatheads were chugging beer and comparing facial hair and tattoos.

Goldie, who had insisted on wearing a leash that matched her leather collar, happened to look across the street as well. When she caught an eyeful of the hellraisers, she let out a whimper and hurried ahead.

Beer nearly shot out of Wynne's nose as her arm was suddenly yanked forward right in the middle of another swig, but she literally took it in her stride and soon had the situation under control once more.

Blackie let out an amused Woof! at her golden companion's antics, but a mere moment later, reality caught up with them.

A strong flash of light and a resounding Bang! echoed back and forth between the buildings along Main Street. Blackie came to an abrupt stop, spun around and let out one of her trademark thunderous barks. As expected, Goldie did the exact opposite.

"Holy shittt!" Wynne cried as her arm was yanked forward all over again. She even lost her beloved cowboy hat as she had to scramble to keep up with the fleeing scaredy-dog who aimed for one of the covered outdoor displays at the Goldsboro Town Museum.

A split second later, Goldie whimpered even louder before she made a hard about-face and fled back to where she had just been. This brought her onto a direct collision course with her owner's legs, but she managed to avoid the denim-clad timberlogs by performing a swift evasive manoeuver that saw her aiming to the right and jerking to the left at the very last moment.

Another split second on from that tiny success, the leash snagged on Wynne's boots which made everything come to a crashing halt. Upstairs, Wynne howled and threw her arms in the air to remain aloft. Downstairs, Goldie let out a strangled Ydddrrrk! as her forward momentum was brought to an immediate halt by the collar digging into her neck.

While all that took place, another hard Bang! could be heard from further down Main Street. One such loud report could have been an accident of some kind, but two indicated a pattern, so Mandy and Blackie took off at high speed to clamp down on whatever it was that had begun.

"Dang-blasted, this he' kinda shit jus' hadda happen," Wynne mumbled as she tried to extricate herself from the leash that had tied itself into a knot around her boots. "Goldie, whah'dahell didya run back he' fer, haw?"

Yap…

"Haw?"

Yap!

"Sombitch, I ain't nevah gonn' get outtah this he' mess-"

YAP!  Yap-yap-yap-yappety-yappety-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yappety-YAP!

"Aw, now whaddahell be tha mattah, girl?  Y'all sense som'tin- GAH!"

The dark shadows at the Town Museum parted to reveal a foot-dragging mummy that shuffled closer and closer to Wynne and the scaredy-dog. A suitably freaky Roaaaaaaaaaa-rrrr! emanated from the wrapped ghoul as it reached out for the stranded travelers, but the terrifying noise was soon replaced by unbridled laughter. "Man, I should've brought my camera!  Your expression was priceless, Wynne!"

"Tabitha?!" Wynne said in a voice that began at a higher pitch than usual but ended somewhere down in the growly basement. "That wussen funny, girl!  Naw, it sure wussen. Y'all know Goldie scares easily… an' I coudda dropped mah beer!"

Tabitha Hayward, the expert curator at the Goldsboro Town Museum, relaxed her ghoulish stance as she shuffled over to her friend. "Oh, are we a little cranky today?"

"Naw!  We be a-lotta cranky taday… but yer costume sure be coo'  an' all."

"Thanks!  Uh… I have to admit I'm not sure who you're supposed to be… and I'm not sure about the 'stache, either."

Wynne shook her head. "I'm tha Bandit. Yuh?  From Smokey an' Tha Bandit. Lawrdie, don't nobodda 'membah that mooh-vie?  It wus tha second-most watched mooh-vie o' tha year behind that there Stars War thing."

"Star Wars?"

"Yuh, like I done said."

Tabitha nodded a couple of times before she broke out in a shrug. "I'm sorry, Wynne… it doesn't ring a bell."

"Okeh. Now I ain't cranky or grumpy or nuttin' no mo'. Now I be a sad Cowpoah-k," Wynne mumbled before she reached into a pocket to find a Double-Zero. Once she had a good specimen, she cracked it open with a Psshhhht! and took a long swig. "Y'all want one?"

"No thanks. I don't drink beer."

"Lawrdie… okeh. Shoot. Okeh…"

"Say, what were those loud bangs all about?" Tabitha said, looking up and down Main Street. "That's why I came back out… it almost sounded like homemade fireworks or something."

"I ain't got no clue whaddahell that wus. But Sheriff Mandy an' Blackie done took off like a-cuppel-a bats outtah hell an' there ain't been no bangin' since so I reckon they musta stopped it. Yuh."

"Okay… I think I'll head out for another trip around town. Roaaaaaaaaaa-rrrr!" Tabitha said as she moved up her arms and assumed a perfectly horrific, mummy-like stance.

"Yuh, bah-bah, Tabitha… haw, if y'all happen ta run inta mah darlin' Mandy, wouldya mind tellin' her that me an' Goldie be up at ol' Cletus-ses-ses used-cahhh-r lots?"

"Will do. Catch you later, Wynne."

Wynne reached up to tip her cowboy hat, but soon discovered it had yet to re-appear atop her dark locks. Sighing, she shuffled over to the spot where it had ended up when Goldie had been frightened by the loud bangs.

-*-*-*-

A full hour later, Goldie had found herself a nice patch of grass to lie on while her owner studied Cletus Browne's used cars and trucks from all conceivable angles. The look of utter resignation upon her doggy face proved she was bored out of her skull.

Wynne was anything but bored as she walked among the large, larger and humongous trucks and SUVs for sale. Ignoring all the Blue Oval and Chrysler Corp. vehicles, she turned her entire attention on the selection of Chevrolets and GMC products.

High above Goldsboro and the rest of MacLean County, the firmament grew ever darker as the sun made its final trek toward the horizon. The last rays soon caressed the scattered clouds to paint them in glorious shades of red and gold.

Waves of heat rising from the vast desert made the stars twinkle at first, but it wasn't long before the temperatures were equalized enough for the twinkling to come to an end. The familiar white splash of the Milky Way soon stood firm high above as the itty-bitty town it kept a watchful eye on began feeling the effects of the usual night-time chill rolling in from the desert.

Wynne buttoned her denim jacket as the breeze picked up. Above her, colorful paper flags that were attached to strings hanging between the various poles began moving as if they were dancing a manic Macarena.

Over on the patch of grass, Goldie yawned and let out a Yap-yap-yappp… that meant 'This is getting tedious… can't we go home now?  I'm hungry.'

Just before the encroaching darkness grew scary, the automated lights came on at the used-car lots. Otto Kulick the Third had - reluctantly - invested in a security package that included surveillance cameras and an advanced lighting system to stop vandalism and vehicle theft.

The tall poles that cast a harsh, bleak light onto the lots didn't really help the camera in Wynne's telephone, but it didn't stop her from taking a bunch of pictures of the vehicular wonders that included both trusty workhorses and temperamental, shiny thoroughbreds.

The camera suddenly turned blank when the actual telephone part began ringing. With the caller-ID proclaiming it to be Mandy, Wynne mashed her finger onto the Accept Call bar and put the phone to her ear. "Howdy, darlin'!  Didya find them folks who done blowed up whutevah ta make them there bangs an' all?"

Behind the chatting Wynne, a small, bright blue flash briefly illuminated the night-time skies. It seemed to come from somewhere on the ground rather than up in space, but it had been too brief to make a positive assessment of its origin.

Goldie, who'd had a good view of the flash, moved up into a sitting position and began to sniff the air. Though she was a scaredy-dog of the highest order, the odd flash seemed to puzzle rather than frighten her.

'Yes I did,' Mandy said at the other end of the connection. 'It turned out to be Kenny Tobin, Torsten Jensen and Richard Lee-'

"Haw!  Them Three Muskete'ahs, yuh?  Lawrdie, even ol' Ritchie?"

'Yes. They threw cherry bombs into the public garbage cans-'

"Oooooh, dat be such a classic, yessirree… not that I evah done such a jooh-venile thing, Sheriff!"

'But of course not.'

Just as Wynne chuckled at her own comment, the blue flash made a comeback with another, much brighter, illumination of the night-time skies. This time, it lasted for several seconds before it faded once more.

With the increased duration, it would have been possible for Wynne - had she been looking in that direction instead of at a 2018 GMC Sierra featuring chrome wheels and tinted windows - to establish that it came from a short distance further down the dirt trail that ran along the used-car lots at the northern tip of Goldsboro.

Goldie reacted for both of them by jumping up and letting out a long sequence of yaps that ended in a whimper. The golden dog whipped her head around to search for somewhere to hide, but since she was on strange shores, so to speak, she didn't know any of the secret passageways or good hiding spots.

'Cherry bombs may be fairly harmless,' Mandy continued at the other end of the connection, 'but not something I want on the streets of my town. Wait… is that Goldie whimpering in the background?'

"Yuh… dunno whaddahell be wrong with 'er all offa sudden…" Wynne said, scratching her neck as she looked at her frightened companion. "There wussen nuttin' wrong five seconds ago. Mebbe tha darkness up he' gives her tha spookies."

'Okay. In any case, I gave the three teens a stern warning that I hope they'll heed.'

"Aw, I be sure they gonn' do jus' that. Lissen, me an' li'l ol' Goldie he' still be up at them used-cahhhh-r lots, yuh?  'R all y'all comin' back up he', or should we mosey on down t'ard Moira's?  Where all y'all at, anyhows?"

'Blackie and I are at Doctor Gibbs's clinic. Well… I think I better stay here for the time being. There's something in the air tonight-'

The third bright blue flash in as many minutes proved Mandy's words right. This time, the flash remained active for several seconds. One or more dark shadows soon roamed across the light thus upsetting the firm sheen. When they did, a strange, buzzing noise akin to arcs of electricity emanated from within the cone of light.

Wynne, who continued to look in the other direction, didn't see any of that, but Goldie certainly did. Spinning around in a flurry of fur, the golden retriever didn't care if she had to run to the end of the world to find shelter. A moment later, she let out a loud whimper and took off at the speed of sound.

The eerie light flickered several times as the dark shadows seemed to want to push through. A long, ethereal groan could be heard from somewhere deep within the sheen of light before it flickered twice more and suddenly faded out.

"Lawwww-rdie, there deffa-nete-ly be som'tin weird goin' on tanight. I be feelin' that too!" Wynne said, finally turning around to look out into the pitch-black desert. There were in fact moving lights out there, but they were clearly headlights heading toward Goldsboro on the State Route. "Yuh… deffa-nete-ly som'tin weird. Ain't sure whut, tho'. Aw, it kinda comes with tha day, yuh?  Anyhows. Okeh, then me an' Goldie be comin' down ta tha Doc's, yuh?  Luv ya, darlin'!"

'Love you too. See you in a little while.'

"Haw, ya betcha!  Bah-bah, darlin'!"

Wynne soon swapped the telephone for Goldie's leash. Once she had untangled the inevitable knots, she held the snap hook ready and began to shuffle over toward the patch of grass. "Whaddahell?" she mumbled as she came to a halt in front of the empty patch. "Now where she be at?  Awwwww-shoot… Goldie?  Goldie, girl?"

Even the world's most inattentive Cowpoke couldn't miss the fourth bright flash - especially not since it took place directly behind her - but it soon became apparent there was a big difference between noticing and understanding. "Haw!  Who dat dere takin' pic-chures?  Son, I reckon yer flash done spooked mah dawg!  That sure wussen nihhhh-ce, nosirree!" Wynne said in an annoyed tone as she turned around to offer the inconsiderate photographer a square piece of her mind.

She already had the next barb lined up and ready to go, but it got stuck in her throat as she took in the scene that played out across the dirt trail. Instead of an inexperienced youngling or one of Artie Rains's faithful lackeys sent out to torment her, she found herself experiencing an eyeful of spookiness.

Everything was bathed in an eerie shade of blue that set the scene perfectly: across the trail, dirt had been piled up next to what looked to be a shallow grave. A shovel and a pickaxe had been put at the edge of the freshly dug pit. The person who could have wielded the tools was sprawled across the open grave in an immobile state that could range from mere unconsciousness to a bad case of being deader than a doorknob.

"Wynne Donnah-hew, eithah y'all jus' found theee best Hallah-ween setup in tha history o' mankind… or y'all stumbled inta somebodda else's fihh-ne mess all ovah ag'in. Naw, this prolly be a good tihhh-me ta skedaddle," Wynne mumbled to herself as she took a probing step backward.

She had only made it two steps away from the chilling scene when a shadowy, faceless figure dressed in a black cloak burst out of the cone of ghostly light that continued to shine. The shadowy figure briefly glanced at the body splayed across the grave before it turned toward Wynne with a whoosh.

"Hooooooo'ahhhh-boy!  Deffa-nete-ly skedaddlin' tihhhh-me!" Wynne cried as she spun around, clamped onto her cowboy hat and took off further into the lots at the used-car dealership. The persistent whooshing behind her as she hurried through the first lot proved she really shouldn't slow down unless she wanted to get intimately acquainted with the darker side of life and death.

"Aw!  Jus' so… dang-blasted typical… ain't nowhe'ah… ta hihhh-de…" she croaked as she continued her frantic escape. The most logical thing was to jump up onto the bed, or in under, one of the trucks parked there, but none of those she came across suited her needs. "Fohhh-rd… an' anothah Fohhh-rd… an' anothah Fohhh-rd!  Whaddahell, Cletus?!  Whaddinda'wohhhhh-rld all them dog-gone Fohhh-rds be doin' he', son?  Haw!  Chevy… fihhh-nally!"

As her rotten luck would have it, the truck had been lowered so she would never be able to get her backside in under it; instead, she put a boot on the rear tire and hopped up onto the bed. The landing wasn't perfect as her rear end made contact with a tall signboard that had been put there, but that soon turned out to be the least of her concerns.

She continued to clamp down on her hat as she pressed herself up against the rear of the cab. Her notion was to try to stay out of sight of her pursuer, but the cunning strategy only worked for all of three seconds. Then, two things happened at once.

The first was a negative in that the shadowy, faceless pursuer simply floated upward until it had a clean, unrestricted view of the human-shaped lump lying on the truck's bed.

"Aw, fer Pete's sake… that shit always works in them mooh-vies!" Wynne croaked as she took in the chilling sight of the black-clad figure floating into view. "Now I'mma-gonn' get it in tha neck wearin' a dang-blasted 'stache!  Awwwww-dag'nabbit!  Whaddahell did I evah do ta desuhrve all this he' crap?!"

The second was a positive, although Wynne's ears didn't exactly agree with that adjective at the time. Just as the creature reached out for her, the truck's integrated alarm system went off at maximum volume. The electronic siren installed under the hood began playing a pattern that rose and fell four times in rapid succession before it sent out a burst of white noise.

A robotic voice akin to a parody of The Terminator said Step. Away. From. The. Vee. Hickel, twice before the electronic siren took over once more.

"Gahhhhh!" Wynne croaked, moving her hands from her beloved cowboy hat to her even more beloved ears. The shadowy creature stalking her let out an otherworldly howl before it took off with a strong Whoosh!

"Haw… haw… haw… dog-gone, this he' alarm shit be loudah than a loud thing!" Wynne croaked as she sat up to peek over the edge of the bed's side. A quick peek left, right, up and down proved she was all alone once more. "Tha coast be cle'ah an' I be outtah he'!  Whah, I oughttah be a poet…"

Swinging her leg over the side of the bed, she jumped down onto the soft gravel. She winced as her bad knee chose the moment to send out an official statement that it wasn't too pleased with all her frantic action. A few rubs cured its foul mood, but there was still one issue that needed to be resolved: "Shoot, ain't no leavin' yet 'cos I be missin' a dawg… Goldie?  Goldie, where y'all at, girl?  Goldie?  Hawwww-shittt!"

The electronic alarm continued its infernal playing punctuated by the robotic voice, so Wynne hurried away from the noisy truck and back to the dirt trail at the far end of the used-car lots. Once she reached it, she came to a hard stop to stare at the shallow grave and the unfortunate individual sprawled across it. "Holy smokes, this he' Hallah-ween be tha ab-sah-lute worst yet!  An' that sure as stink on shoot be sayin' one helluva lot he' in Goldsborah!  Naw, this ain't fer Cowpoah-ks… I gotta call mah darlin' Mandy."

Her fingers trembled as she dug up her telephone and scrolled through the registry. She had time to curse the fact she had never been able to get the speed dial app to work as her finger missed the correct entry no less than three times in a row. "Aw, this he' dang-blasted thing…" she mumbled as she was finally able to put the telephone to her ear.

'Hi, hon… I thought you were going to-'

"Darlin', we be havin' a whooooole heap-a trubbel up he' at Cletus'ses-ses!  Yuh, we sure do!  I reckon Hallah-ween jus' done gave us a kick up da backsihhhh-de 'cos I almost got tickled bah some nightmare thing that done took off like ya woudden bah-lieve… an' that ain't all!  Naw, 'cos I be lookin' at a dead gaaah he'!  This he' be one o' them there emergencies, Sheriff Mandy!"

'We're on our way. ETA two minutes,' Mandy said before the connection was terminated.

Wynne nodded twice before she realized the conversation had already come to an end. "Aw-haw… okeh… yuh… jus' enuff tihh-me ta chug a beer!"  The telephone was soon swapped for a can of Double-Zero that was cracked open and poured down at record-setting pace.

-*-*-*-

One minute and forty-eight seconds later, Blackie came storming around the corner of Main Street and the dirt trail. She played an entire vocal symphony of her trademark thunderous barks as she jumped into an aggressive stance to show all the ghouls, critters, ghosts, zombies, nasty space aliens and every other type of otherworldly, supernatural or just plumb evil being that they really ought to return to the realm they had come from.

The loud barking continued for a few moments until the fierce German Shepherd realized that she and her tall owner were in fact all alone save for a figure lying on the ground. She tried to let out another bark at the prone individual, but even her best efforts didn't do much of anything. A puzzled Grrrowl? escaped her as she sat down and looked at her owner.

"Yuh, I dunno whaddahell be goin' on he', neithah, Blackie," Wynne said with a shrug. She still held onto the empty can, but it was soon replaced by a full one.

Woof?

"Haw?"

Woof…

"Naw, I ain't got no clue where Goldie be at. She done upped stakes an' took off befo'. I reckon she be 'round he' somewhe'ah… but I be gosh-darned if I know where."

Getting up, Blackie let out a Woof?  Woof-woof-woof! before she sniffed the air and the ground a couple of times. Picking up the scent she was looking for, she set off to find her golden companion.

Mandy came racing around the corner fifteen seconds later. Just like Blackie had done earlier, she whipped her head around to take in as much of the scene as she possibly could. She quickly eyed the prone individual at the grave. "Dammit, I can't believe this is happening!" she said as she came to a halt.

"Howdy, darlin'!  Yuh, dat be perdy much whut I done said befo'. I ain't got no clue who that there fella there might be, but I reckon he or she be D-E-A-D, catch mah drift?"

"Wynne, just the facts… please. Okay?  From the top," Mandy said as she ran over to the body. She stared in wide-eyed disbelief at the shovel and the pickaxe that had the appearance of museum pieces. The rugged, coarse clothes on the prone body seemed to be of the type typically worn by ranch hands or other manual laborers back in the days of the mythical Old West.

"No trubbel, darlin'!" Wynne said, inching closer to Mandy's spot near the shallow pit. "Okeh, this wus one o' them there weird, weird deals, sure ain't no lie!  I wus admirin' them there trucks ovah yondah when Goldie started yappin' her head off… y'all done heard that, too!  Ovah tha phoah-ne, I mean."

"Yeah. Go on."

"Well, there ain't much I can tell y'all. There wus a buncha flashes an' I done thunk somebodda wus playin' with a camera, yuh?  Nobodda wus he' 'cept that there person there… but that ain't half offit, darlin'!  Naw, 'cos then some freaky dude or dudette clad in a big ol' black hoodie or som'tin done chased aftah me!  I hadda run ta save mah buhh-tt… an' all I could find wus Fohhh-rds, yuh?  But I found a Chev that I used fer covah. Wussen no good, tho', 'cos that darn freaky thing floated offa tha ground an' nearly said howdy in an uncoo' way, yuh?  If that there truck alarm hadn't gone off, I woulda been bacon on somebodda's fryin' pan by now!"

Mandy shook her head. "That's a crazy story, Wynne."

"Yuh, I reckon. An' it also happens ta be true."

"If anyone else had told me what you just did, I would have called HQ up in Barton City to have them set up a padded cell, but… dammit!  Just when we thought we'd seen everything. You're a regular ghoul magnet!"

"Haw. Yuh. Story o' mah life, darlin'," Wynne said in a somber tone. A few seconds went by before she broke out in an embarrassed snicker. "I be a perdy good gal magnet, too!"

Mandy fell quiet to listen for strange sounds or noises at or near the scene. They could hear Blackie continue to let out the occasional woof or bark in the middle distance as she searched for Goldie, but those sounds were easily recognizable so they didn't count. A red truck drove north on Main Street a few seconds later, 100 yards or so east of the pit that resembled a shallow grave. The driver of the vehicle soon increased the speed as Main Street turned into the State Route at the northern city limits sign.

"All right," Mandy said as she strode over to the body, "let's see who this is."

"Aw-shoot… do we hafta?" Wynne said, scrunching up her face.

Mandy soon crouched down next to the prone individual. "Well, you don't, but I do," she said in a firm voice. Though her eyes made a quick tour of the body's back from top to toe without finding anything she needed to be wary of - like signs of a contagious disease or illness, or indeed forensic evidence that needed to be protected - she was reluctant to touch it. "Dammit, I should've brought some gloves. Hon, do you have your-"

"Naw. Sorry. Tha Bandit didden wear no gloves in da mooh-vie. Mah sheepskin pair be in mah othah jacket."

Grunting in defeat, Mandy reached out to put her hand on the body's arm. A hoarse, croaking "What the hell?" came past her lips as it dawned on her that the situation had just turned even crazier than she had originally thought. An effortless push flipped the body over onto its back where it came to a clattering stop.

The moldy clothes fell apart to reveal the brown bones of an old skeleton.

Wynne drew a breath deep enough to sing an entire operatic aria if she so desired, but she used the air to let out a croaking "Hooo'ah-shittt!" for the second time in the past fifteen minutes. "Whaddinda-wohhh-rld that there thing be?  Whaddinda flyin' frick-frackah-rooh be goin' on he', darlin'?!"

"Oh, just the usual Goldsboro crap!" Mandy growled as she studied the skeleton spread out in front of her.

Clumps of dirt stuck to the skeleton's pelvic area, the partially collapsed rib cage and the skull that had flopped over onto its side. Roughly half the teeth were missing, and the majority of those that were left were in a bad condition. The cranium was smooth and had suffered no pre or post-mortem fractures. No tufts of hair existed anywhere on the skull.

A single look at the empty eye sockets and the loose jaw made Wynne break out in a wild shiver and reach for another beer at once. "Snakes Alive, somebodda be havin' an even wohhh-rse evenin' than li'l ol' me… an' that sure be sayin' som'tin!" she croaked as she cracked open the can with the familiar Psssshhhht!

She inhaled half of it in a single gulp before she wiped her lips on the back of her hand. "Darlin', know whut I reckon?" she said while looking at everything near her that wasn't connected with the skeleton. "I reckon that fella there wussen diggin' no grave fer hisself or nobodda else or nuttin'. Naw. I reckon that somebodda done dug 'im up!  We be dealin' with a graverobbah he'!  Mebbe even them graverobbahs from outah space or som'tin… haw, wussen dat a mooh-vie?  I gotta 'membah ta ask ol' Barry 'bout dat. I'll bet he knows-"

"Wynne!  Let's stay in the here and now, all right?" Mandy said in a stern voice.

"Haw!  A-yup. Sure thing, darlin'. We still got anothah li'l spot-a bothah, tho'… that there cloak-wearin' thing that done chased me. That sure wussen in no mood fer jokin', lemme tell y'all. I durn near filled mah shorts when it floated ovah the side o' that there truck I wus hidin' in…"

"Yeah," Mandy said as she got up and moved away from the skeleton.

An ethereal voice could suddenly be heard saying 'Wynne?' but the faint sound was carried away by the breeze rolling in from the desert.

The situation demanded something stronger than the regular non-alcoholic beers, but Wynne needed to drive home so she hadn't brought any of the more potent beers.

'W-y-n-n-e…'

The only thing the Cowpoke had in her pockets that could give her a boost was a Go-Faster-Longer Apricot energy drink. Taking it, she studied the cover art for a moment or two before she shrugged and cracked it open.

'Wynne!'

"Yuh?" she said before she had been able to take the first sip. "I be right he', darlin'. Y'all don't hafta whispah or nuttin'."

'Wynne!'

Wynne spun around to look at the sheriff. "Yuh, dang'it!  Wotcha whisperin' fer?  We been tawkin' fer da pas'… five… minnits… alreddy…" Her voice trailed off into nothing when she realized that Mandy had moved a short distance away while speaking into her telephone. "Awwwww-shittt, som'tin else jus' happened, didden it?" she croaked before she took a long swig of the apricot-flavored energy drink.

'Wynne!  Look behind ya!'

"Aw-haw!  Aw-haw, som'tin else jus' done happened, dad-gummit!" Wynne cried, spinning around once more to look at the skeleton and the shallow grave across the dirt trail. Much to her surprise - perhaps she shouldn't have been given Goldsboro's checkered history when it came to such matters - the fresh pit and the skeletal remains were now part of a much larger graveyard that featured fifty or so wooden crosses.

Next to all that, a female figure that could be described as petite at first glance arrived out of nowhere. A closer view revealed the figure was in her late sixties or perhaps slightly older. She stood at five-foot-six and had emerald green eyes, a symmetrical face and a dusty blond moptop.

Though on the small side in general, the woman's buff arms that appeared south of the rolled-up shirt sleeves proved there was real power in her presence. She wore workboots, a checkered shirt and sturdy britches held up by narrow suspenders. A corncob pipe of the type favored by Popeye The Sailor was stuck into the corner of her mouth.

"Yuh, I ain't sure I be likin' these he' Hallah-weens no mo'," Wynne mumbled as she took in the ethereal apparition standing in front of her. "Howdy, Mizz Mandy… sure iz nice o' y'all ta drop bah," she said, eventually tipping her cowboy hat.

A reply of 'Howdy, Wynne,' seemed to be brought to the Cowpoke on the wind. 'Tell me… what's going on with that mustache?'

"Aw, it be part o' mah Hallah-ween costume an' all…"

'Oh… I don't like it.'

Wynne let out a deep sigh. "I ain't likin' it too much now, neithah. I sure wish I hadden chosen it, but I jus' wanted ta do som'tin fuhhh-n instead o' tha reg'lar scary stuff… an'… yuh. He' we be."

A bit further up the dirt trail, Sheriff Mandy turned around and held up her telephone. "Please, Wynne, I'm on the phone-"

Wynne nodded and waved at the two Mandys like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Yuh, I know, but I reckon there be som'tin ovah he' that y'all might wanna take a gandah at… or somebodda, ta be exact."

The sheriff's eyes grew wide when she noticed the ghostly figure and the graveyard in the background. "Mr. Simms, I'll call you back," she said in a strangled voice.

The two Mandys were soon face to face. They studied each other for a moment or two before Old West Mandy removed her pipe to blow out a cloud of smoke, and Sheriff Mandy reached up to scratch her neck.

"Ah, Wynne…" Sheriff Mandy said as she moved backward to stand next to the Bandit-Cowpoke. "Would you mind telling me how I can be looking at… at… at a ghost of myself?!"

"Whah, I woudden mind at all, darlin'. This he' be Mizz Mandy who be workin' at Moira's as a boun'sah. Yuh?  She came ta Goldsborah on a wagon train in 'eighty-fo'ah or so… yuh?  Aw, an' that be eighteen-eighty-fo'ah, ain't dat right?"

Old West Mandy nodded before she stuck the pipe back between her lips. 'Yeah, though I quit workin' at the restaurant at the turn of the century. Then I started my own ropin' and saddle repair shop here in town. I worked there 'till I died some years later.'

"Okeh. Well, this he' gal be Sheriff Mandy, yuh?  She' came ta Goldsb-"

The sheriff grabbed hold of Wynne's jacket before she could go on. "Who cares when I got here!  This is frickin' nuts!  What the hell is going on here?!"

"Aw, me an' Mizz Mandy go back ta when I done passed out on Main Street, yuh?  Back at the Westuhrn Parade, 'membah?  When I wus a Texas Rang-"

Sheriff Mandy shook her head vehemently. "That was a fever dream, Wynne!  None of that ever happened in real life… except now I'm talking to my own frickin' ghost!  We're hallucinating. We must be standing in a bubble of swamp gas or something!"

"Haw, whut swamp?  An' I sure didden break wind, neithah!"

Old West Mandy cackled at the joke before she took a deep puff of her pipe and assumed a serious expression. 'Heed my warnin', Wynne. Don't get too close to the Dark Shadow. It's an evil spirit… a fanatic disciple killed and resurrected by the Reverend Light-'

"Lawwwwr-die!  Reverend Raymond stinkin' Laaaaaah't!" Wynne cried, grabbing hold of her hat. "We done had a run-in with them hordes o' undead crittahs a buncha years ago… ain't dat right, darlin'?  Aw, she still be kinda discom-bo-bah-lated an' all… but we sure did."

Old West Mandy smacked a fist into her open palm. 'Tarnation!  We decided against callin' in the Army because we thought the reign of terror would come to a natural end… we should ha' known there was nothin' natural about those hellish fanatics. You must take care, Wynne!  You and everyone here. The Dark Shadow won't rest until it's fed its master's hunger for fresh corpses. Once the Shadow has killed someone, the other disciples come and drag the corpse out to the Reverend's hideout in the desert so he can use it for unholy experiments!'

"Good flip almighty, them ravin' loon'atics… okeh… okeh…" Wynne said while rubbing her forehead, rearranging her hat, scratching her neck and carrying out half a dozen other nervous tics, "an' that there Dark Shadah there prolly be extra-P.O.'ed 'cos that there body ovah yondah wussen fresh or nuttin'… Lawrdie, ain't no tellin' whut kinda trubbel that sombitch may cause 'round Goldsborah!  Haw, y'all got a sugges-chun how we can kick it da hell outtah he'?"

Old West Mandy had just taken out her pipe to offer a few nuggets of knowledge when the bright blue light surrounding the ghostly scene flickered twice. A split second later, the graveyard, the skeleton, the open grave and Old Mandy herself vanished into thin air.

Though the lamps atop the tall poles on the used-car lots continued to cast their orange glow onto the dirt trail, the sudden absence of the ghostly pale light seemed to bathe everything in an inky darkness.

Wynne just stood there all agape, staring at the vacant spot where it had all taken place a few moments earlier. She eventually turned to her own Mandy who fanned her face with her Mountie hat.

Woofing and yapping heralded the return of Blackie and Goldie from wherever they had been for the past ten minutes. The Golden Retriever still moved with cautious steps as if she was reluctant to return to the site of all the trouble, but Blackie led the way to show everything was all right.

Then Sheriff Mandy's telephone rang. The ringtone wasn't set at a louder volume than usual, but the sudden attack on everyone's eardrums seemed so loud in the spooky semi-darkness that an entire sequence of events transpired: Wynne let out a "Gahhh!" and jumped up on tip-toes; Mandy dropped the telephone onto the dirt trail with a rasping curse; Blackie let out a thunderous bark, and Goldie spun around and took off at the speed of Dog all over again.

Blackie let out a deep growl when she noticed that the noisemaker had ruined all her hard work. Shaking her black head, she ran off again to write a new chapter in the book known as Where Did Goldie Go This Time?

"This better be good, Deputy Reilly!" Mandy barked into the telephone once she had picked it up and accepted Beatrice's call.

'Albert Rossmann is dead, Sheriff!'

"Goddammit!"

'I spoke to Mildred not two minutes ago. She was on the brink of hysteria so I couldn't understand everything she said, but she told me they're together in her apartment here on Main Street. The lights dimmed for a second and when the power returned, Rossmann was dead… and I gather it's not a pleasant sight.'

Mandy smacked her hand over her eyes. "All right. I'm on my way. ETA two to three minutes. Call Barry and get him to come over and comfort his aunt."

'Will do, Sheriff. Deputy Reilly out,' Beatrice said before the connection was closed.

Wynne, who had been unable to hear any of the conversation, stood with her hands akimbo. "Haw… y'all got that there expres-shun y'all get when-"

"Mr. Rossmann is dead."

"When som'tin like that done happens, yuh," Wynne continued, mashing her hat down to cover her eyes. "Shoot, whah did I hafta ask… aw, the ol' geezah wus ill so that prolly wussen-"

"There's a risk it was the thing you saw, Wynne," Mandy said while she whipped her head around to find Blackie. "Mildred told Deputy Reilly there was a power loss just as it happened… what if it was that shadowy thing zooming into the apartment instead?"

"Lawwwwr-die…"

"No, I need to go," Mandy said before she whistled the loudest she could.

The signal worked as Blackie came storming out of the darkness a moment later. Mandy quickly patted her thigh and pointed back to Main Street. Blackie acknowledged the command by barking and taking off in a fast sprint. The sheriff soon followed at a pace that was better suited for the Humans among them.

"Yuh, don't mind me, Sheriff Mandy!" Wynne cried, waving her cowboy hat high in the air. "I be right down an' all… I jus' gotta find Goldie first, yuh?"

Since nobody was left to reply, Wynne chuckled and shuffled across the loose gravel to find the scaredy-dog among all the vehicular hiding places.

---

Mildred Herzberg lived on the upper floor of the two-story townhouse where 'Friendly' Sam McCabe had his gunshop. Two staircases went up to her apartment: a steep one that offered a direct connection to Main Street, and a sloping one at the back of the building that was much easier to climb for the elderly and others whose walking was impaired.

Mandy could easily scale the steep one even going at full blast, but the steps were so tall that Blackie couldn't use it. Therefore, the duo raced up the back staircase until they came to a stop at Mildred's kitchen door. Mandy clenched her teeth at the sight of the door being unlocked and standing ajar.

Drawing her service firearm, she held it in the regulatory two-handed grip as she used the tip of her boot to push open the door. Moving quietly, she and Blackie entered the dark kitchen. A split second later, a shadow whooshed into sight directly in front of them. Blackie immediately let out one of her legendary thunderous barks, and Mandy whipped up her pistol.

"No!  No-no-no-no-no-no, no!  It's me!  It's me!" a male voice squeaked in a register that men generally couldn't reach unless they had turned into a eunuch.

"Barry?!" Mandy barked just as loudly as Blackie had done. "Sonova… will someone turn on the Goddamned lights!"

Barry inched over to the light switch to follow the Sheriff's command. Once the shaded lamp hanging over the sink came to life, it was revealed that he wore his full Dracula costume that included black patent-leather shoes, black pants, a red vest, a black cape, black gloves and plenty of white makeup on his face.

The kitchen was simple and old-fashioned as a wooden table and two matching chairs had been placed in the center of the light gray linoleum floor. Just like over in the sheriff's office across the street, the linoleum squares were cracked in several places. A small electrical stove featuring two burners and an oven had been placed between a counter and a narrow refrigerator that sported an integrated ice box.

A wooden shelf hung on the back wall presenting earthenware jars of sugar, salt, flour and various spices. The shelf was somewhat rough and crooked, so chances were that it had been a woodshop exam project for Barry in his school days.

Blackie let out an amused snort the moment she caught wind of Barry's costume, but Mandy's mood didn't allow her to see the humor. "Where's Mr. Rossmann?  And where's your aunt?"

"Aunt Mildred is downstairs at Sam McCabe's. He heard her screaming so he raced up here…" Barry said in a croak. He needed to swallow several times before he moved aside. "And Al is in the living room… God, it's horrible, Sheriff… just horrible…"

Mandy moved closer to her former Deputy Sheriff so she could put a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, Barry. I got it. You might as well go downstairs, okay?  Please tell Mr. McCabe that I need to speak with him once I've conducted my initial investigation."

"Will do, Sheriff…"

"Oh, and if Miss Donohue shows up, tell her to leave Goldie downstairs. This might be a crime scene. We really don't need any puddles on the floor."

"Okay…"

A glum mask fell over Mandy's face once Barry hurried down the rear staircase to get around to the front. The kitchen was separated from the living room by a 1970s-era bead curtain, so she swept it aside to carry on with her plan. Blackie ran ahead to sniff out the scene.

Similar to the kitchen, the living room was held in a simple and old-fashioned design. The furniture was old and used, but it had been of such high quality when it was new that it hadn't become worn out. A crimson carpet graced the floor and a shaded lamp hanging down from the ceiling provided the light. The flowery wallpaper certainly wasn't new, but it was in good shape and mostly unblemished.

Elsewhere, a low sideboard put between a pair of tall bookcases carried a flatscreen TV as well as a couple of vases that held dried or artificial flowers. A couch arrangement consisting of a two-seater sofa, a coffee table and two satellite armchairs had been put opposite the sideboard at such an angle that everyone would be able to watch TV without hurting their necks. Pillows wrapped in elaborate home-made needlework covers graced all the seats to offer plenty of homey comfort.

The abandoned items on the coffee table - two half-full coffee cups, two plates with half-eaten pastries and an open cookie jar - told a tale of a hasty retreat after the dead body had been discovered.

Only one of the two armchairs was occupied. The top of a head could be seen above the backrest as Mandy approached the chair from the rear. Steeling her resolve, she inched around the chair to get a better view of Albert Rossmann.

Blackie went the other way around the chair, but even the experienced K9 officer needed to take a hurried step back at the sight that greeted her.

A croaking "Gawd almighty…" escaped Mandy as she took in the horrific sight of the elderly gentleman. Rossmann, who had been a school teacher for decades before his retirement, was pushed up against the inside of the high-backed chair's armrest. His arms and hands were still pulled up to his chest and face as if he had tried to protect himself from something terrifying.

The expression etched onto his face sent a river of ice washing down Mandy's spine. Rossmann's eyes were as wide as saucers, his mouth stood open, and his cheeks and lips were pulled back in a silent scream. Dying should have relaxed his features, but everything appeared to have been frozen into a mask of raw horror.

Mandy wasn't about to ruin any potential physical evidence by touching the body with her bare hands, but since she had no forensic gloves at her disposal, she had to come up with another plan. Ultimately, she dug into her pocket to find a handkerchief. Holding two fingers against the side of Albert Rossmann's neck confirmed the death. The body wasn't entirely cold yet, but it wouldn't be long.

A quick sniff and a resulting growl by Blackie proved it beyond doubt.

Sniffing the air didn't give Mandy anything apart from the smells of the coffee and Rossmann's natural bowel and bladder movements upon the moment of death. There were no signs of forced entry on either the kitchen door or the one that led to the steep staircase. The front door was unlocked and the safety chain hung loose, but that was only logical as it had most likely been the route Mildred had taken when escaping the horrors in her apartment.

A bead curtain identical to the one separating the living room from the kitchen had been put up to cover the doorway to the bedroom. Peeking in, Mandy noticed the bed had been made and that Mildred preferred bedlinen in the old-fashioned color known as Faint Rose.

None of that brought her any further. She rubbed her brow and reached for her telephone, but before she could call the office, a familiar voice spoke up at the kitchen door.

'Darlin'?  Where y'all at?'

Blackie let out a Woof! at once to show where she and the Sheriff were.

"In the living room, Wynne," Mandy said, moving away from the bedroom. "Perhaps you shouldn't come in here. It isn't pretty."

'Aw, I reckon I can stomach it,' Wynne continued. Her bootheels clicked a few times on the linoleum floor in the kitchen before she turned up walking through the bead curtain. "Howdy, darlin'!  Haw, ol' Mildred sure lives nice, yuh?  Ya know, I ain't nevah been up he'- hoooooly shittt!  Whaddindahell be goin' on he'?!  Wouldya lookie at that… that… that… awwwww-shittt!  He be dead, awright…"

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Mandy said in a grumble.

Blackie just woofed and shook her head at her denim-clad owner.

"Yuh, I reckon y'all did!" Wynne croaked, wearing a horrified expression that wasn't too dissimilar from the one still etched onto Albert's Rossmann's face. "Lawrdie, that ain't perdy!  Nosirree, that sure ain't perdy… Snakes Alive, I be gettin' them goosies all ovah… hot-dang, I be glad I didden eat nuttin' 'cos I woudda upchucked fer sure!"

Mandy eyed the spooked Cowpoke for a moment before she continued her previous task: calling the sheriff's office. "Deputy Reilly," she said once a connection had been made, "please get in touch with HQ up in Barton City. We need the County Coroner and a forensic team on the double. All right?  Very well. Jalinski out."

Pssshhht!  "Down tha hatch, Albuhrt!  Sure hope there be beer where y'all done ended up, haw?" Wynne said, saluting the deceased by holding up a can of Double-Zero. A moment later, half of it had been chugged down in the first gulp.

Blackie sensed the excitement had fizzled out yet again, so she sat down and let her tongue hang out. A Woof! escaped her to show she was in fact a little disappointed in the outcome.

"Wynne, do you really think this was caused by that Dark Shadow thing we were warned about?" Mandy said as she put her hands on her hips.

"Haw. Can't say fer sure, darlin'. But Goldsborah be Goldsborah, yuh?  Plentah o' weird, weird stuff been known ta happen he'."

"Yeah… like talking to my own ghost from, what, a century ago?  More than that?"

"Shoot, I ain't got no clue when ol' Mizz Mandy done died, but… yuh. Two things be fer sure, tho'," Wynne said before she drained the last of the beer. "Ol' Albuhrt be dead. An' he didden fall down them stairs."

Though Wynne's comment clearly required some kind of verbal reply, Mandy only had time to scratch her eyebrow once before her telephone started ringing. "Let's hope the Senior Deputy has something positive for us," she said as she read  the caller-ID that said SnrDpt Gonzalez.

"Yuh, it be bound ta happen soonah or latah…" Wynne mumbled, shuffling behind the chair so she wouldn't have to look at Rossmann's hideous visage.

Woof…

"Haw, ya reckon, Blackie?  Dunno 'bout that, 'xactly, but we sure be due some good luck an' all."

Mandy accepted the call and put the telephone to her ear. "It's the Sheriff. Go ahead, Senior Deputy."

'Sheriff, I'm over on Josiah Street responding to a call for help by Keshawn Williams. An aggressive person in a Halloween costume frightened Keshawn's wife and children to such an extent they tripped and fell when trying to escape-'

"Dammit!"

Woof?!

"D'aww… that sure didden sound positive or nuttin'," Wynne said, rolling her eyes. She had already stuck her hands into her jacket pockets when she came to the shocking revelation that she had run out of beer.

'Keshawn and I are currently engaged in a foot pursuit, but the perpetrator has disappeared. We need Blackie over here on the double.'

Mandy rubbed her brow with such vigor it almost looked as if she wanted to massage her brain. "We're tied up over on Main Street… she's clever, but I doubt I can make her understand that she needs to get over to-"

Suddenly baring her teeth in a worried grimace, Mandy continued in an even more intense voice: "Do you have a description of the assailant?"

'Yes. It's a tall, perhaps overweight individual wearing a black hooded cloak over a classic hobo costume. Laurelle Williams told me she thought it resembled some kind of Victorian highwayman-'

"Don't get anywhere near that thing, Rodolfo!  Make sure that Mr. Williams understands!  That's… that's- there's a risk it's the prime suspect for a murder on Main Street!"

Blackie let out an excited Woof!  Woof-woof-woof-woof! as the prospects of a new wave of action grew ever larger.

'A murd-'

"Just stay away from it!  We're on our way. ETA… dammit, I can't say. We'll be there as soon as possible!  Jalinski out!" Mandy said in a voice that rose to near-shouting. "Wynne, stay here… please-"

"Naw, I don't reckon I will, Sheriff Mandy," Wynne said, shaking her head so hard she needed to adjust her cowboy hat. "I wus able ta hear whut Rodolfoh done said. Tha thing I saw wussen fat an' it sure wussen wearin' no hobo costume, but there ain't no safe place if that thing really be on da loose. Anywhere be jus' as dainnn-gerous as anywhere else, yuh?  An' there ain't no way in stinkin' hell I'mma-gonn' leave y'all fightin' that there Dark Shadah all bah yerself. Nuh-uh. We be goin'!  C'mon, Blackie, it be gnawin' tihhhh-me!"

There was just enough time for a quick but heartfelt kiss before Blackie, the Sheriff and the Last Original Cowpoke stormed out of the apartment, down the rear staircase and into the maze of back alleys that formed a shortcut over to Josiah Street.

---

Wynne nearly regretted her decision to come along after scaling a mesh wire fence, jumping a hedge, thumping against the wall of a hot house and narrowly avoiding falling over a doghouse and into a kid-sized wading pool on their way over to Josiah Street.

She, Mandy and Blackie had barely made it there before they were intercepted by Rodolfo Gonzalez and Keshawn Williams. While the Sheriff conferred with the Senior Deputy and the complainant, Wynne needed to bend over and put her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

Her wheezing and panting soon turned to moaning and groaning as she got a nasty stitch in her side and an unbearable urge for a beer of some sort. Unfortunately, the mad dash hadn't allowed time for a pit stop at Moira's to restock.

She debated with herself whether or not to call the Beer-bulance, a San Cristobal-based emergency service for thirsty souls everywhere, but settled for looking at the white digits on her telephone. "Lawwwr-die… it ain't… even… close ta… ta… it ain't even… haw… ten yet… awww-shoot. An' he' we be, chasin' aftah anothah big-ass crittah out ta kill us all… but I ain't gettin' no youngah, dag-nabbit!"

Woof?

"Yuh, sure ain't no lie, Blackie…"

Woof!

"Whah, much obliged. I reckon y'all jus' done tole me I look good fer mah age an' all. I 'preciate it, but I feel like I be a hundred an' six!  Yuh… an' I be outtah beer too, dang'it…"

Screaming from further up Josiah Street made everyone spin around and stare in that direction. Soon, a young woman dressed in a Naughty Nurse costume came running along the sidewalk with a poor imitation of the cult horror movie icon Wacko Cop close behind. Before long, the two teenagers stopped running to engage in a classic bout of teen mischief that involved a few roaming hands and plenty of making out. The woman's constant snickers proved it was all in good fun, and she was even filming the little scene on her telephone.

"Goddammit!  That's all we need!" Mandy barked, slamming a fist into her palm. "A bunch of drunken, horny teens running around raising hell!"  She took another step ahead before she changed her mind and spun around to face Keshawn. "Mr. Williams, we'll take over from here. Take your family back to your house. Lock the doors and draw all the curtains. I'll call you when it's all over."

The mid-twenty-something African-American - who owned Goldsboro's very popular thrift store The Second-Hand Treasures - stared at the sheriff with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Frankly, Sheriff, I think you owe us an explanation first… has there really been a murder in town?  And was it the same guy who frightened my wife and my children?"

"There's been a suspicious death, yes. Until the County Coroner has been here, that's all I can say. Please, Mr. Williams… go home. All right?  Please. We'll take it from here."

It was easy to tell from the look of pure skepticism on Keshawn's face that he wasn't convinced, but he eventually nodded and hurried home.

Woof?  Woof-woof-woof?

"Yuh, an' that goes dubbel fer me, Sheriff Mandy," Wynne said, wiping her glistening brow on the sleeve of her denim jacket. "Ol' Blackie done asked howdahell we evah gonn' stop that there thing?"

Before Mandy could reply, Rodolfo butted in: "Thing?  So it wasn't just a fat guy in a hobo costume?"

Wynne shook her head. "Ain't no tellin', Rodolfoh. That wussen who I done saw or who done chased mah buhh-tt 'round them used-cahhh-r lots up yondah. Naw. Sure wussen. Mebbe I oughttah let tha Sheriff relay that there tale there 'cos it be a li'l weird an' wacky an' mebbe y'all gonn' accept her wohhh-rd bettah… yuh?"

Rodolfo nodded a couple of times before he shook his head and turned to the sheriff. "I didn't get more than half of that. What's actually going on here, Ma'am?"

The sigh Mandy let out proved she really had very little idea. "We don't even know if it's related to the attack on the Williams family. I have a sneaking suspicion it isn't. I'll bet that was just a drunken, aggressive guy in a hobo costume."

"Okay, but-"

"Something else is on the loose. I don't know how we can stop it," Mandy said, putting her arms out in a classic shrug. "I don't even know what it is… Senior Deputy, this is going to sound crazy. Miss Donohue and I were told by a ghost that the thing we've chasing is an undead evil spirit originally resurrected by Reverend Raymond Light probably at some point in the early years of the twentieth century. It was somehow able to break through a dimensional portal and end up in our time."

"Okay-"

"There's more. Reverend Light commanded the evil spirit to kill indiscriminately. Then he had his army of fanatics bring him the corpses so he had something fresh to experiment on. The undead spirit has only been here for less than half an hour, and there's already been one fatality."

Rodolfo looked at Mandy, Wynne and Blackie in turn before his wide eyes returned to the sheriff. "Oh, that doesn't sound crazy at all… no, it's absolutely frickin' loco!  L-O-C-O on a gargantuan scale!  And you still haven't told me who's been murdered!"

"Mr. Rossmann," Mandy said, putting her hands on her utility belt.

"Al?  Old Al?"

"Sure is, Rodolfoh," Wynne said with a somber nod. "Unless I gone even softah in mah noggin than usual, there only be one Mista Rossmann in Goldsborah. Shoot, an' he ain't even he' no mo'!  Nosirree, he sure ain't. 'Cos he be dead-dead-dead an' lookin' as if he done saw tha ghost o' J. Edgar Hoovah or somebodda."

"Hoover?!  Don't tell me that's who told you about it!" Rodolfo said, shaking his head.

"Naw… naw, it wussen. Aw, dat be a li'l mo' complicated-"

"More complicated?  How can it be more complicated than the ghost of J. Edgar Hoover?"

Woof?

"Yuh, Blackie, that sure be right. Lawrdie, y'all jus' gonn' hafta take mah wohhh-rd fer it, Rodolfoh. It be plentah complicated!" Wynne said before she dug into a pocket to find a beer. When she only found lint instead of a can, she let out a mumbled curse and began looking around for a beer hydrant or something similar.

Mandy thrust her hands in the air. "All this talk won't get us any closer to a solution!  Midnight is just over two hours away… all the teens will be out on the street by then. We can't have an evil spirit flying around killing at will!"

"Darlin'-"

"Wynne, please… not now."

"Yuh, okeh, but this be kinda im-pahr-tant. There be a point we plummm' fergot in all this he' activity, yuh?  We both tawked ta tha ghost an' heard whut she done tole us, yuh?  But we left ol' Albuhrt all alone up in Mildred's apartment, yuh?  So whut if Reverend Raymond's helpahs swing bah ta steal his corpse or som'tin while we be ovah he'?  Don't ferget I done saw that there Dark Shadah thing… it wus meaner than a Texas skunk, lemme tell all y'all. An' it sure wussen coo'!"

Mandy spoke for all of them when she smacked a hand across her eyes and let out a long, tormented groan. "All right. Senior Deputy… this is where you'll make your contribution to the greater good. I want you to guard Mr. Rossmann's body while Blackie and I go after the evil spirit. Do you understand your orders?  Thank you."

Woof!  Woof-woof-woof!

Rodolfo just stood there all agape. When he finally spoke, it was a highly eloquent "Buh…"

"Wynne," Mandy said, turning to the Cowpoke, "please go with-"

"Nope."

"Hon, we don't have time to argue-"

"Aw, I agree. An' we be goin' tagethah. Ack-chew-ly, I be goin' right now 'cos it gonn' take me longah ta get there." Even before Wynne had finished speaking, she took off at a medium-paced jog that was all she had left to offer after running out of canned fuel.

"For cryin' out loud!  Where is 'there'?" Mandy said, throwing her arms in the air.

Wynne performed a quick spin so she faced the assembled law enforcement officers once more. "The ol' graveyard, darlin'. Where it all began."

Blackie let out another, even more enthusiastic, Woof!  Woof-woof-woof-woof! before she took off at full blast to get a head start on all the Humans around her.

Before Mandy left, she turned back to the Senior Deputy: "Do you understand your orders?"

"Uh… yeah," Rodolfo said, scratching his neck. "Stand guard over old Al's body just in case the body snatchers decide to pay him a visit. Right. Not loco at all."

---

Terrified screaming somewhere up ahead made everyone focus even harder on finishing off the Dark Shadow before it could wreak too much havoc in the small town. Just as Wynne had predicted, Mandy raced past her even before they had made it to the backyards they were going to use as shortcuts to get back to Main Street.

The screaming turned out to come from the last house on Josiah Street before it ended in the cul-de-sac where, among others, the Jensens lived. Mandy and Blackie raced on through the backyard and jumped over a low fence leaving Wynne to bring up the proverbial and literal rear.

A croaked "Holy shittt!" escaped her when she clapped eyes on a chicken coop that had fallen prey to a large-scale massacre. "Whaddahell kinda sh-toopid evil spirit we got he', anyhows?  Fer crap's sake, killin' a-buncha chickies ain't gonn' earn it no brownie points with tha Rev'rend or nuttin'. Aw, whaddahell I be sayin' he'… tha Rev'rend alreddy been dead fer fiddy years or som'tin!  Mercy Sakes!"

She was about to move on when she caught a glimpse of something that shouldn't have been in a chicken coop: the sole of a human boot. Stopping at once, she reached for her telephone to activate the flashlight. Then she wished she hadn't.

The person who had dressed up like a hobo was flat on his back among the dead chickens. Mirroring Albert Rossmann's expression, the face of the unknown fellow was forever frozen in a mask of boundless terror. The hobo costume hadn't been too elaborate - nothing more than a pair of torn pants, a striped shirt and a coarse, old cloak - and the makeup only consisted of a few scars and some general swarthiness, but his death had made it all come together to create a gruesome spectacle.

"Haw… shittt…" Wynne croaked as she took a quick step back from the dead body. Mandy and Blackie were long gone by then, so Wynne flipped the telephone around to call the sheriff back to the latest crime scene. "Darlin'!  Yuh, it be me… lissen- no, darlin', y'all need-a lissen!  All y'all jus' ran pas' anothah dead gaaaah he'!  Yuh, in da chicken coop. Yuh. Tha hobo- okeh. Okeh, I can hear Blackie now, yuh?"

With the prompt return of Mandy and Blackie, there was no need for speaking into the telephone, so Wynne flipped it around once more to point the flashlight at the dead individual on the ground.

A predictable "Goddammit!" soon burst out of Mandy followed by a loud and insistent Woof!  Woof-Woof-Woof-Woof-Woof-Woof! from Blackie.

"Yuh, dat perdy much sums it up," Wynne said, scratching her neck. "Ain't nevah saw that there fella befo'. Or I don't reckon I did. Y'all know him, Sheriff Mandy?"

Kneeling next to the body, Mandy checked the missing pulse before she got back on her feet. "Not by name, but he's living out in the Old Boys' Haven trailer park north of town. I believe he was arrested on a DUI charge last year. Even if he doesn't carry a wallet now, his name will be in our archives."

"Okeh…"

Mandy whipped up her own telephone at once to call the office: "Deputy Reilly, what's the ETA on the County Coroner?  No updates?  All right. Once they get here, tell them we have another DOA on our hands- yes, at 27 Josiah Street. In a chicken coop out back. It's a John Doe in a hobo costume. No, it's clearly a costume. Yes. All right. Thank you, Deputy. Sheriff Jalinski out."

Wynne and Mandy locked eyes and held the contact for as long as reality allowed them to. More screaming from Main Street - though of a humorous kind - brought them back to the oppressive world surrounding them. "Hon, please stay alert… this creature is worse than anything we've ever fought," Mandy said softly, caressing Wynne's cheek.

"Yuh, I hear ya, darlin'. Same goes fer y'all, yuh?  An' y'all, Blackie!"

Woof!

"Now git, Sheriff Mandy. I be bringin' up da rear like I done befo'," Wynne said, wiping her brow on her sleeve.

---

Moving back out onto Main Street close to Doctor Byron Gibbs's animal clinic, Wynne had to come to a halt so she could wheeze and moan for a minute or two. She only had a few hundred yards to go until she was back at the Bang 'n Beatin' Body Shop and Cletus Browne's used-car lots, but she was so winded it might as well have been a few hundred miles.

"Hawt-dang!  I ain't eighteen no mo'… nosirree," she croaked as she took off once more. Ten semi-running paces into her journey, she gave up the unequal struggle and simply walked the rest of the way northbound on Main Street.

All Hallow's Eve was getting into full swing all around her. As the hands of time had gone past ten PM and were creeping closer to the witching hour at midnight, Goldsboro's teens - who always seemed to crawl out of the woodwork in large numbers whenever the town celebrated a festival or a holiday of some kind - had taken to Main Street to parade their trucks or sporty cars.

A good portion of the trucks had parties going on up on the bed with costumed teens wiggling to loud music playing from huge speakers. Other teen drivers engaged in the age-old contest known as Mine Is Bigger Than Yours by challenging each other to burnouts that created reams of foul-smelling, suffocating tire smoke all along the street.

When Wynne moved past 'Friendly' Sam McCabe's gun shop, she couldn't help but peek into the fully-lit store that offered hundreds of firearms on almost as many shelves. She caught a glimpse of Barry Simms who still wore his Dracula costume, but she couldn't see Mildred Herzberg, Goldie or indeed McCabe himself anywhere.

A cold shiver spread rapidly over her body when she imagined what it must have been like for Mildred. Another shiver came on the heels of the first one when she thought of Rodolfo who had to stay with the dead Albert upstairs.

---

By the time she made it to the gas pumps in front of the Bang 'n Beatin' Body Shop, she was in the middle of letting out an impressive blue streak at her own expense: "Wynne Donnah-hew, ya dumb so-an'-so!  Whah'dahell diddenya head down ta Moira's ta grab some mo' beers?  Y'all wus halfway there alreddy!  An' then y'all coudda taken yer dang-blasted truck. Lawwwwwr-die, y'all coudda been up he' in a third o' tha time ya jus' done spent… shoot!"

Turning the corner onto the dirt trail at the used-car lots didn't provide any clues as to where Mandy, Blackie or indeed the Dark Shadow were. Wynne looked high, low, left, right and just about everywhere else she could think of, but none of it helped her in the least.

More screaming from somewhere behind her made her spin around and put a hand behind an ear to hear better. "Haw?  Haw?  Whazzat?  Who dat dere screamin'?  Aw, them dang kids in their dang trucks!  They be too dang noisy!"

She had time to take a single step ahead before she realized what she had just said. "Lawwwwwr-die, I didden say that… good flip almighty, I did say that!  Mercy Sakes, I be gettin' old an' cranky… 'z whut done happens when I run outtah beer. There be a life lesson in there somewhe-"

A second, higher-pitched and far more intense scream that suddenly burst out of the lobby of the movie theater across Main Street swept all thoughts of beer aside. Standing up straight, Wynne stared across the street to see what might be going on. One or two moviegoers soon ran out with their arms flailing all over the place.

"Shittt!  These boots ain't made fer runnin'… but that be all I be doin' tanight!" Wynne croaked as she ran out onto Main Street to get to the sidewalk on the opposite side.

Just as she made it to the crimson carpet that Abraham Rosenthal's event team had rolled out for the late-evening showing of a classic horror movie, she was nearly bowled over by a swarm of howling, screaming, panicking moviegoers who ran the other way at full blast.

"Ho'ah-brothah!" she cried as she threw herself to the side up against one of the billboards advertising the coming attractions. A second later, the fleeing crowd knocked over the movie theater's Halloween decorations. A witches' cauldron and three life-sized mannequins of classic movie monsters - Dracula, the Wolfman and Gill Man - were pushed aside and stepped on without mercy.

Wynne had already opened her mouth to let out another slew of complaints when the severed head of the poor Wolfman mannequin rolled across the carpet to end up at her boots.

Instead of the loud complaint, she let out a mumbled: "Dang'it, I shoulda stayed at hoah-me an' watch some rasslin' or an ol' Winston Cup race… can this crap get any wohhh-rse?  Don't noboddah answah that!"  Shaking her head in despair, she moved away from the billboards and the massacred mannequins to enter the lobby that carried delightful smells of soft drinks and warm popcorn as always.

More screaming from somewhere ahead proved that all was not well in Goldsboro. Undaunted and with a bone-dry throat, the mustachioed Last Original Cowpoke tip-toed toward the final doorway to the theater auditorium itself. A distant Woof! proved that Blackie was in there somewhere. "Okeh… okeh… one accounted fer,  one ta go. Darlin'?  Yoohoo, darlin', y'all in he'?  Darlin'?  Dahhhh-rlin'?"

More woofing and shouting ensued prompting Wynne to move into the auditorium. A slasher movie continued to play up on the silver screen although no one was left to watch it. She had zero interest in any of those films apart from her own horror Western that had been filmed in Goldsboro, so she was able to ignore the masked, knife-wielding maniac who seemed to take great pleasure in carving up young, nubile womenfolk.

She glanced left, right and straight ahead without seeing much as the lights were still dimmed. She didn't look up, but she should have. At the exact same moment, someone cried "Wynne!  Watch out!"

"Haw?  Who dat-"

Out of nowhere, a dark shadow whooshed down from the ceiling and came to a halt just in front of the Cowpoke. It wasn't just any old dark shadow, but The Dark Shadow that the ghost of Old West Mandy had warned them about.

As it spread out its cloaked arms to give Wynne an embrace she wouldn't forget in a hurry, she had time to let out a "I reckon that wus bound ta happen, haw?" before she spun around on her bootheel and headed for the proverbial hills. Or more to the point, the popcorn stand over by the glass counter where the moviegoers could buy snacks and candy.

She tried jumping up so she could slide over the smooth counter like all the cool gals did on TV, but all she succeeded in doing was to thump her thighs against the edge and thus come to a dead stop. The hard impact made the entire counter wobble which in turn caused a cardboard standee to tip over and smash against the base of the popcorn machine. In some mysterious fashion, it set off the popping procedure that soon made all the little corns fly about.

Wynne was more concerned about keeping her hat on her head and her head on her shoulders, so she clamped down on the former while she hobbled around the counter to find some protection from the murderous shadow. Main Street seemed to have calmed down which gave her a chance to listen for any weird whooshes; not that there were any.

Once she had moved into position next to the popcorn stand, she peeked over the edge of the glass counter to see where her pursuer might have ended up. The warm, delightful smell that wafted out of the crackling popcorn machine made her empty stomach groan and growl. Unfortunately, the mere thought of devouring a tub or two of the salty snacks made her even thirstier than she had been earlier.

Eyeing the large refrigerated display case across the lobby made her lick her lips. She knew the movie theater had a strict no-beer policy, but a Go-Faster-Longer energy drink certainly wouldn't be out of place in such a situation. "Okeh… lemme see… naw, ain't no crittah nowhe'ah," she mumbled, looking in every direction but above her. "Okeh… les'see if this he' Cowpoah-k can't-"

A loud whoosh that swooped down directly behind her proved she couldn't.

"Awwwww-shittt!" she cried as she jumped up, cleared the counter in a single though somewhat uncoordinated leap, sprinted across the lobby, yanked the sliding lid for the refrigerated display case aside, dove headfirst into it and slid the lid shut once more. She needed to fold herself up twice to fit, and the hard edges of the soda cans poked her backside, but they were the lesser evils in the present situation.

Rummaging around underneath her, she finally grabbed hold of a can that she brought up to her face. An "Awesome!" was soon replaced by an "Awwww-sombitch!" when she realized she had found one of the few beverages she detested: a cherry cola. That was bad enough in and by itself, but the lettering on the can that spelled out Cherry Cola Extra Cherry! made it even more undrinkable.

She inched around and used the flashlight app to take a gander at the pile of cans she had landed in. Much to her shock and horror, they were all cherry colas. In short, the refrigerated display case was a special promotion of the new and improved recipe that added even more cherry flavor to the already horrible mix.

The can was let go with a thump. "Lawrdie. Dyin' o thirst sittin' on top o' seven'y cans o' cherry cola… Yuh. Okeh. If that ain't Wynne Donnah-hew in a dang-blasted nutshell, I ain't sure whut would be…"

Two minutes went by with no activity save for plenty of butt-poking. Just as Wynne moved up to look through the glass lid, a shadow whooshed past the display case. "Aw, that sombitch be persistent… I gotta hand 'im that. How'dahell am I evah gonn' get outtah this he' mess- gahhh!"

From one moment to the next, the glass lid was shoved aside. Wynne had already armed herself with a can of cherry cola when she noticed the intruder was somebody altogether more pleasant. "Haw!  Darlin'!  Whah, I sure be gladda see y'all…"

Even the peculiar spot where Wynne had been found didn't make Mandy break her stride: "We got it on the run!  It's headed for the old dirt trail!" she cried before she took off with a barking Blackie hot on her heels.

"Aw, that sure is good ta he'ah, yessirree!" Wynne said from somewhere down in the cherry cola bunker. "Yuh… okeh… I jus'… jus'… jus' gotta get mah legs an' mah buhh-tt outtah he… shoot. Okeh… buhh-tt ovah he'. An' then a knee ovah the- Owch!  Okeh… buhh-tt ovah he'… an' othah' knee ovah there. Yuh!  Yuh, I be comin' 'round, I be comin' 'round. Okeh… head up… an' poke out."

Sticking her head out of the refrigerated display case, Wynne squinted hard and leered to the left, then to the right, then to the left all over again. This time, she remembered to look above her as well. "No monstahs. Whah, I reckon that be mah cue, that."

It took the Cowpoke three tries to wiggle her rear-end out of the cherry cola depository so she could put her boots on the lobby's carpet, but she got there eventually. "Awright!" she said as she swung her cowboy hat high in the air at the success. Once it was back on her locks, she made a shimmy-shake to get everything else back in place. "Now, I woudden hold mah breath fer an encore any tihhh-me soon, lemme tell all y'all… not that anybodda be he' or nuttin'… anyhows!"

---

An insistent bout of thunderous barking coming from the old dirt trail across Main Street formed all the clues Wynne required to find Blackie. She had run more than enough over the course of the evening, so she walked out onto the street at greatly reduced pace.

The party trucks had all fled to get out of the Dark Shadow's reach, but their hasty retreat had left behind several items: a Phantom Of The Opera mask that had been cracked in two, a Critter hand puppet that had ended up stranded on its back like a big bug, and finally a princess pink brassiere.

Wynne snickered out loud at the sight of the bra. "Haw, dat gotta be chilly tanight, yessirree. Or mebbe tha person who done wore it got somebodda ta warm their chesty peaks… haw!  But nobodda seems ta ha' dropped any beers anywhere, dang-it…"

---

Returning to the spot where it had all begun didn't take Wynne too long. Swinging onto the dirt trail, she quickly spotted the Dark Shadow whooshing back and forth 20 feet or so off the ground. Blackie kept barking somewhere, but there was no sight of Sheriff Mandy or even Old West Mandy anywhere. "Darlin'!  Where y'all at?" Wynne said in a strong stage whisper so she wouldn't draw the attention of the flying shadow.

'Under a truck!  To your left!'

"Haw… okeh, makin' a left-hand turn an'… aw-shoot, darlin'!  Y'all ended up undah one o' them Fohhh-rds!"

'I had no choice!  Get down here!  It's too close for comfort!'

"Aw… yuh… okeh. All right. A Fohhh-rd. Okeh," Wynne said as she got down on her knees and crabbed in under the 4x4 Ford F250 that seemed to have a lift kit installed to add extra height. "Howdy, darlin'!  So now whut?"

Mandy, who had been flat on her stomach, rolled over onto her left shoulder to shoot Wynne a look. "So now you and I team up to force it back to the graveyard it came from. Blackie too, of course."

"Whah, that sure be extra-easy-peasy, haw?  Yuh," Wynne said, pushing her cowboy hat back. "An' how y'all reckon we gonn' be doin' that considerin' we be hidin' in a-buncha rear-end grease an' tranny oil an' whutnot undah a truck I woudden spend a second lookin' at outside o' this he' situa-shun?"

Instead of answering the question, Mandy inched to her left to peek past the wide, knobbly off-road tires. "It's still up there."

"Yuh?  Okeh. Izzat y'all's way o' sayin' y'all ain't got no clue?"

"Oh no," Mandy said as she inched back. "I do have a clue how we do it. We'll fan out in a triple-threat sweep. We're just waiting for the other Mandy to show up."

Wynne needed to rub her eyes, scratch her neck, wipe her brow and pinch the bridge of her nose before she could speak: "I jus' done figgah'd this out!  Yessirree, I sure did!  We gonn' be wakin' up in a li'l while an' it gonn' be las' evenin' jus' after we done nuked an' ate that there can o' mushroom soup, yuh?  'Cept they wus prolly psychedelic shrooms instead o' them there reg'lar mushrooms. It done tasted really nihh-ce, tho'… I liked it so I hadda bunch offit!"

"Since when was it ever that simple here in Goldsboro?" Mandy said with a bitter chuckle. Before Wynne had time to answer in her occasionally long-winded fashion, a strong flash of blue heralded the reopening of the dimensional portal.

The scene was soon in full swing once more as the graveyard with the fifty wooden crosses appeared out of nowhere. Like before, it seemed as rock-solid as everything else in the vicinity, including the 4x4 F250 Wynne and Mandy used for cover.

As Blackie came racing along the soft gravel barking her head off, Mandy reached over to slap a quick kiss on Wynne's lips. "Go, go, go!" she cried before she rolled to her left to escape the Ford's underside.

"Awwwwww-shoot… I ain't sure I wanna be goin' nowhe'ah," Wynne croaked as she rolled in the other direction. Once she was right-side up, she clambered to her feet and adjusted the jeans, the red shirt, the jacket, her mustache and finally her beloved cowboy hat. She took her spot on the rightmost flank a moment later with a barking Blackie filling the center and Sheriff Mandy on the left flank. Upon the sheriff's signal, the trio moved ahead one step at a time. Wynne was the only one there with a hat, so she whipped it off and let out all sorts of Rebel yells and general "Yeeee-hawwwwwws!"

Not that The Last Original Cowpoke needed to do much this time around as a sudden flash of blue from the brightest spot in the graveyard proved to be Old West Mandy brandishing - of all things - a sparkling lasso. Even more unusual, she still puffed on her indispensable corncob pipe. 'Force it over here!' she said in an ethereal voice as she began swinging her lasso. 'Keep pushing it this way until I can reach it- almost there!  Almost there!  Just another-'

Flinging the rope at the Dark Shadow, Old West Mandy managed to trap the evil entity in her first try. They wrestled for a moment before she won out and brought the hellish presence to its proverbial knees. It tried fighting back at once by bucking and struggling like a stubborn bronco, but the sparkling lasso was too strong to break for even the dark forces that fueled it.

"Awright!  Saved bah tha ol' gal!" Wynne cried, throwing her hat in the air. As expected, she couldn't catch it as it came down, so she ended up chasing it around the dirt trail. After knocking off some fresh filth, she plonked it back onto her dark locks. "Yuh. Sure is awesome. Dag-nabbit, if only I done hadda beer it woudda been one o' them there purr-fect moments."

Blackie stopped barking now the worst threat had been defeated. Sitting down, she panted with her tongue sticking way out to show that all that woofing had been tough work.

Sheriff Mandy ran as close to the spooky spectacle as she dared. The arcs of blue lightning that seemed to come from the lasso and the creature it held made her shield her eyes. "It is strong enough to hold that thing?" she said loudly so be heard over the electrical buzzing.

'I hope you're not questioning my rope skills, young lady!  I'll meet you gals some other time. Right now, I need to haul this fiend back to where it came from,' Old West Mandy said as she dragged the Dark Shadow over toward the brightest spot of the ghostly graveyard.

From one moment to the next, the entire graveyard scene disappeared in a bright blue flash strong enough to make all three of the living spin around and hurry away. "Hawt-dang!  I gone blind," Wynne said, rubbing her eyes while leaning against the side of a GMC truck. "At least I ain't bumped mah nose yet… okeh, I bumped mah hip an' mah buhh-tt an' I be perdy sure I stubbed a toe earliah taday, too… but ain't mah nose."

Blackie soon returned from her brief escape. The German Shepherd shook her head and let out a few short and long woofs to show that even she was getting a little tired of all the weirdness.

"Are you all right, hon?" Sheriff Mandy said as she strode over to Wynne's spot by the GMC.

"Aw, sure. Mah whissel be drah 'cos I be outtah beer. Ain't no real biggie compared ta whut coudda happened he'." Sighing, Wynne stepped away from the protection of the square-body truck to find a safe port in Mandy's arms instead. "Yuh. Lawrdie, there I wus, thinkin'… how 'bout a li'l kiss or som'tin?"

"How about a big one?"

"Yuh, I could live- MMMMMpppff!"  The kiss - that was one of those glorious 'glad you still have all your bits and pieces connected' types of liplocks with just the right amount of tongue for the date and the hour of the evening - didn't perhaps last as long as it would have had they been home, but it left plenty of gas in the tank for another run around the block later on.

"Wynne Donohue, this is the Sheriff speaking," Mandy said in a stern voice once they had separated. A wink was added to take the worst of the sting out, but Wynne knew what was coming so she played along by nodding. "I am giving you an ultimatum. The minute you get home, you remove that mustache!  Is that understood?  No more facial hair between us when we kiss!  Ever!"

"Yes, Ma'am!  Will do, Ma'am!  Right away, Ma'am!  That there glue there requires some kind o' watah solu-shun ta peel off, but I got dat at hoah-me, Ma'am!"

"Good. Halloween's not over by a long shot, hon," Mandy continued as she hooked an arm inside Wynne's and began leading the Bandit-Cowpoke back toward Main Street, "but let's hope the rest of the evening won't be as bad as the early part."

"Lawrdie, this he' is Goldsborah, darlin'!  It can always get wohhh-rse…"

They moved on in silence until they reached the sidewalk at Main Street. Once they had turned right, Blackie let out a Woof! and took off southbound at a fair speed to get some exercise and to catch up with Goldie to tell her about all the exciting things she had missed.

The worst of the supernatural dangers had been defeated so life on the street had returned to its regular, colorful sights and sounds. Plenty of store-brought or home-made monsters walked up and down the street with bags of candy. Some of them required adult supervision, and some had been forced to help their adult supervisors who had perhaps sampled a bottle of nectar too many over the course of the evening.

The party trucks had resumed cruising Main Street with their loud music and squealing passengers, but everyone adhered to the strict speed limit as well as all the other traffic laws while the sheriff was present.

"Lookie ovah yondah, darlin'!" Wynne said, pointing across Main Street at a foot-dragging Egyptian mummy. "There ol' Tabitha be ag'in!  I swear, she be tireless. She done roamed these he' streets all evenin'."

Mandy shook her head. "No, Miss Hayward is right there, Wynne. Down by the Town Museum," she said, pointing ahead at Tabitha's familiar figure who was in fact busy unwrapping herself from the miles and miles of cloth she had used for her elaborate costume.

"Okeh… haw. So… who dat othah mummy be, anyhows?" Wynne said, looking across the street at the spot where she had seen the other foot-dragger. When the sidewalk turned out to be completely empty, she broke out in a horrified grimace and upped her tempo to get away from it all. "Only in Goldsborah… only in dang-blasted Goldsborah…" she mumbled, shaking her head again and again…

*
*

THE END

 

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