Chapter Text
Boney’s ribcage bobbed up and down. Santiraphale stepped back. Gaston keened and reversed into a tree.
The tallest girl raised her fairy stick above her head, clenched in a fist. It flashed rainbow lightning. “Pet. The. Dooooog!”
All the tiny feet set off running. “I want to paint its nails!” “I want to braid its tail hair!” “I want to put a costume on it!” They screamed and aimed their sticks. Gaston turned on the spot, skidded a couple of times and then sprinted back home. A stampede of witches stomped past Boney and Santiraphale, one of them accidentally mending the hole in Santiraphale’s hand.
“Whew! That was close!”
Boney collapsed against the closest fence. “I’m never going trick-or-treating with you again!”
“Don’t let this dampen your spirits, my dear!” Santiraphale bounced. “There are plenty more houses to go and knock at!”
So, Boney, groaning and whining, was pushed to the door adorned with a wreath and fairy lights. Santiraphale bounced behind the skeleton, the adrenaline of the chase setting his lights into a mad rave of colours.
“Go on, knock!”
“I dunno, Santi,” Boney scratched its skull, “I don’t feel very spooky after, well, everything.”
“Fine. I knock,” Santiraphale gave the door a hefty punch, “you talk.”
“Bastard!” Boney growled as dragging steps rushed closer. An owl-looking man in an oversized flannel shirt and duck slippers emerged, his tussled hair sticking out in all directions like little antennas.
“Oh, hullo - can I help you?”
“Trrrrrrick or trrrrrrrrreat, morrrrrrrrrtal!” Boney shook as its voice deepened.
“Wait, I can barely hear you. Let me switch on the lights,” the man said, reaching somewhere behind the door. The next second, an explosion of sparks kicked him out the hall, and the town sank into darkness. Most people took half a second to start screaming, except a certain Mildred Dunning, who was giddy, as she always kept her great-grandmother’s lamp ready for an apocalyptic blackout. The only raindrop on her parade was that she didn't light it beforehand, and the matches weren't where she usually kept them, so she sat in the dark and ate chocolates instead.
“Newton! What did I tell you about NOT messing around with electricity tonight?” At the darkened door where Boney and Santiraphale waited, a tall young lady appeared holding a medieval torch. All three backed off, intimidated by the flame.
“We’re terribly sorry, Miss,” Santiraphale murmured, his lights dimming. “It was our fault.”
“Shut it!” Boney hissed.
“Huh?” She scrunched her nose. “Are those animated decorations?”
“That’s why I wanted to switch on the lights,” Newton remarked weakly.
Boney growled again and spun its skull. “Trrrrrick orrrrr trrrreeeat!!! Bleeeeeeehhh!!!!”
The lady pinched the bridge of her nose. “Shit, not again!”
“Eh? Anathema?”
“Do you remember our first Halloween? The… spell?”
Newton nodded, blushing.
“Well, it seems like it happened again.”
“You were-”
“NO!” Anathema’s howl startled two passing ghosts. “Not with the torch, dummy.”
“But you can fix it, right?”
Anathema shrugged and snapped her fingers. A bright purple lightning bolt slit the sky. All the giant spiders petrified, all the spirits turned back into bedsheets, and the gnomes stood still; only Boney and Santiraphale remained, hand in hand. The lights came back on lamp by lamp, and people all around started cheering.
“Hmm,” Anathema circled the pair. “There seems to be some protection against my counterspell.”
“Does that make us real people?” Santiraphale’s lights went mad again.
Boney tugged on Santiraphale’s hand and stuck it through its ribs. “I don’t think you can do this to real people.”
“Right.” The lights dimmed.
“But we don’t need to be people to, um, have each other, eh?”
“Oh, Boney!” Santiraphale flashed bright red.
Ever since then, whenever Tadfield's children reimagined stories of Halloween’s horrors, Anathema and Newton made tea and scones and left them in front of an abandoned tree seat. When night fell, one could occasionally hear someone near the seat talking softly, eating, and, when the forest briefly flashed red, kissing too.