It's a Boo-tiful Day

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It was a hard day’s night at Carl’s Gym, as Carter Williams and Craig Carson finally took off the gloves and toweled themselves off. Craig applied a bit of jelly to the cut above his right eye, which had almost swollen shut, while Carter clutched his ribs.Definitely bruised, if not cracked. The two men played rough, with few compromises. “You sure you were operating without your superstrength?” he asked the Canadian hero.

Craig grinned back. “If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t be asking that question,” he told the rangy Montanan. “By the way, you have a sweet right hook.”

“Thanks,” Carter answered, taking a swig of PowerAid. His dog, a big, boisterous German shepherd, came immediately to his side, licking the salt off his arm. Carter smiled. “We’ve been meaning to do this in forever,” he added as he unraveled the tape from his fists and threw them into a waist basket.

Angel Anderson, the heroine known as Imp, gazed at the two brawny shirtless combatants taking considerable enjoyment at the sight of their bared bodies. She, as she happily admitted, did not possess a great sense of shame when it came to ogling the half-naked male form, especially those of two men who nearly broke the hunk-o-meter. “Hey guys!” she shouted.

“Yes Angel?” Craig replied.

“Let’s head over to my place and watch a movie!”

Carter looked up. “We’re not going to watch “Thundrax: The Movie” again?” he said, suppressing an urge to moan and not quite succeeding.

“Nope!” Imp said happily, and Craig sighed a sign of relief. “It’s almost Halloween. I figure we can watch the “Nightmare Before Christmas”!

“Sounds good, Ang--,” Carter said, and he turned and stopped, looking at Craig, who was visibly scowling at the suggestion. “Carson?”

“I’ll pass.” Craig muttered.

“Aw!” Angel said, and she tugged on the one glove that Craig had not yet removed. “C’mon Craig, it’ll be fun!”

“There’s nothing fun about Halloween,” Thundrax answered.

“Dressing up in scary costumes, running around trick or treating? Bobbing for apples?” Angel said. “Pumpkins?” Craig shook his head again. “Not even firecrackers?”

“Nope.” Craig insisted. Angel replied by spreading her arms and singing from the movie.

“I sense there's something in the wind
That feels like tragedy's at hand
And though I'd like to stand by him
Can't shake this feeling that I have
The worst is just around the bend

“And does he notice my feelings for him?
And will he see how much he means to me?
I think it's not to be…”

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Carter grinned, amused by Angel’s performance, and by the fact that her eyes were fixed on him when she sang the second verse. But Craig still shook his head.

“It’s just not my thing,” the big Canadian insisted. “Though I do have to thank you. You just reminded me that I need to find some time to help the city prepare for the annual visit of our favorite Turakian overlord. Because that’s what Halloween really means in Millennium. Takofanes. His appearances as clockwork as St. Nick.”

“Craig, if we let the bad guys steal the fun from us, they’ve won.”

“She’s right, Carson,” Carter agreed.

“Terror and the rising dead,” Craig countered. “And that wonderful corpse smell.”

“What are you planning to dress up as for Halloween, “squarejaw”?” Imp asked her boyfriend. Carter smiled.

“You’ll see,” the rangy Montanan answered with a hint of a smile.

“Kara and I are going as zombies!” Imp announced (ignoring the inconvenient fact that Kara hadn’t yet agreed to the plan). To emphasize the point, she groaned and did a zombie walk, threatening to eat Carter. He was saved by Ajax, who jumped in front of Angel, bouncing on his hind legs and barking, looking for his usual doggy treat. Angel was more than obliging.

“Great, more zombies for Halloween,” Craig blurted and he bristled at the thought. The sudden expression of dismay on Angel’s face softened his response. “Well.” He said after an uncomfortable silence. “I hope you two have fun,” Inwardly he hoped that would end the conversation.

“Craig, do you have to be such a Grinch about Halloween?” Imp said, dashing his hopes.

“She’s right.” Carter remarked, “You’ve fought against how many alien invasions? You were on the front lines of the last major Gadroon invasion. But you stlll watch science fiction films.”

“They’re completely different,” Craig stated. “Science fiction has a sense of wonder and discovery that uplifts the human condition. Horror has only fear. And I don’t see anything positive about being afraid.”

“What about the fight or flight impulse?” Sparrowhawk shouted from the back gallery. “Adrenaline is nature’s super-serum. Controlled fear can be a life-saver.”

“Craig doesn’t like losing control,” Imp noted. “Like other people I could mention.”

“Ha, ha,” Sparrowhawk replied, rolling her eyes. It wasn’t the first time that particular criticism had been hurled her way. Or the twentieth.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to keep Halloween in your own way and I’ll have to keep Halloween in mine.”

“Keep it!” Angel said. “But you don’t keep it!”

“If he says “Well, let me leave it alone”, I’m leaving.” Sparrowhawk quipped. “Though I do understand your position, Craig.”

‘Thank you,” Craig sighed. “I’ve been fighting occult horrors since I was a kid, I hope you can forgive me if I’m less enamored of it than most.”

“But you do need to get over it,” Sparrowhawk stated. “Do you know how many entities can turn your distaste of the occult against you? Do you really want a mentalist to convince you to attack Raz because she looks like a werewolf? Or Artifist because she’s a sorceress.”

“Or me because I’m me!” Imp added.

“That’s not happening, Angel.” Carter declared.

Craig sagged. “I’ll give it some thought,” he promised. “Maybe tonight I’ll be visited by three spirits and they’ll teach me the true spirit of Halloween. And I’ll come back to haunt you all….”

Sparrowhawk almost chuckled. Almost. Craig was one of the few members of her team she didn’t worry about very often – except that when Thundrax went off the rails, it had the potential to be disastrous in a very major way. Craig muttered a half-baked goodbye, changed into his uniform with a thought and headed home for a much needed night’s sleep.

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It had been a long, yet unpeaceful slumber. Craig rarely slept well alone, and since he and Sarah had fallen apart, he almost always slept alone. Usually, within minutes, he turned in bed enough to destroy any semblance of order. He couldn’t sleep in an unreinforced bed. He could have chosen to sleep in his human form, but that was too vulnerable to his enemies.

Then, there was a howl, a banshee wail that woke up Craig with a start, and his apartment filled with spirits. Craig recognized none of them, but charged up his body and issued a thunderclap that rattled his entire apartment, toppling his book shelves. The ghosts did not relent, unaffected by the display of living thunder.

“What do you want?” Craig shouted. The cacophony did not relent. The huge Canadian shook his head.

“Tivioq!” he commanded, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Get me Ravenspeaker. Billy should be able to take care of this mess.” There was no response. The Ai was silenced. Emergency plating was activated, and steel shutters fell down over the windows, so the room was only illuminated by the ghastly glow of the writhing mass of spirits. His bed lifted off the ground, and the bed sheets constricted around his body, their tensile strength now stronger than steel. Craig struggled in his bonds.

“Who the hell is doing this?” Thundrax snarled. “Declare yourself.”

Out of the host of spirits rose a tall figure, a robed man with a flaming pumpkin for a head.

“Booga? Is that you?” Craig said. But no, it wasn’t the pumpkin-headed djinn that Craig recognized from Club Caprice, a now reformed villain who once plagued him. Craig tore out of his constricting bonds with a casual surge of his strength; now naked (Craig slept in the raw, having lost his inhibitions years ago), he confronted the spirit. It wasn’t Booga. Nor was it Samhain, the spirit of fear who preyed on Halloween – that villain had a stag's head. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“I am the spirit of Halloween,” the ghost declared.

“Hi,” Craig answered. “I am the spirit of ****-kicking, at least when you break into my home without a good reason. So how about you give me one, now?”

“We understand that you dislike Halloween,” the spirit told him.

“I see,” Thundrax answered. “And just what business is that of yours? It’s not like I’m causing thunderstorms to make life miserable for trick or treaters, or stealing candy from Tiny Tim, or snapping at my employees just because they’re having an office Halloween party.”

“Are you attending?”

“Of course not,” Craig snapped. “I’ll be much too busy covering my body in zombie pulp and trying not to accidentally swallow any of the crap. Or I might be called to go up to Canada and referee a dispute between a homicidal pack of werewolves and an equally homicidal pack of werewolf hunters. Or I could always go someplace where vampires figure it’s an all you can eat buffet and tell them that dinner will be delayed.”

“Mortal,” the spirit said. “You have forgotten the joy you once had in this season…”

Craig cursed. “Seriously. Are we doing this? Are we doing the fricking Dickens thing? Maybe the spirit of Charles Dickens should be suing the **** of any hack spirit who copycats that novel.”

“Or superheroes who reenact it to gaslight a slumlord?”

“That was thirty years ago,” Craig protested. “And he was evicting an entire apartment building on Christmas Day.”

“Ends meet the means,” the spirit quipped. “Totally justified, right?”

Craig sighed and chose not to engage him on this subject. “Okay,” he said. “I could take action to get rid of you, but I’ll give you a chance to prove to me that I am being too hard on the season. You have the floor. Show me what a fricking awesome time that Halloween is.”

The spirit actually managed to contort its face into a tiny smile.

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It was 1974, Halloween. Little Craig Carson, five years old, was bouncing on the biggest sugar high of his life as he bounded into the living room of his apartment, wearing a “Six Million Dolla Man” costume. “Dad! Dad!” he cried. “Look at all this candy!” He rattled a pillow case that was bulging with Aeros, Kitkats, and Smarties, and he imitated the “bionic noise” as he jumped. “Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo!” he declared, almost singing the sound effect. “This will last me until Christmas!”

“It’ll be gone in two days,” Jack snapped. Craig’s brother was nearly seven years his senior, and was wolfing down his own haul of Halloween candy. He muttered something about getting too old for Halloween, as no self-respecting teenager would be caught dead trick or treating.

“Here we go,” said William Carson, bringing in a big, intricately carved pumpkin. “Who wants to see me light the candles?” Craig cheered and, running in sugar fueled circles around his dad, jumped up and down as his dad, with ritualistic flair, brought the Jack O’Lantern to life.

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“Right,” Craig said cynically.

The spirit would have raised an eyebrow if it could, and he rattled his chains in frustration. “Were you not happy? Did you not enjoy dressing up as Steve Austin that Halloween?”

“Okay, spirit, let’s go with the counterpoint.” Thundrax said. “Show me the Halloween from the following year…”

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Halloween, 1975. Jack Carson dragged Craig back into the house, as Craig was bawling his head off. His Red Ensign mask was torn and he was soaked from a sudden downpour of typical Vancouver weather.

“Shuddup!” Jack shouted. “I’m sorry mom couldn’t take you trick or treating, but she’s working late. And I am not dragging you from door to door when it’s pissing outside.” Craig continued to bawl his head. “And I’m NOT listening to you cry like a pansy! Go to your fucking room!”

“I hate you!” Craig snapped, and he ran upstairs to his tiny bedroom, its walls a shrine to hockey players, popular superheroes, and the Six Million Dollar Man. Jack sighed, and Craig slammed shut the door. Ten minutes later, Craig snuck downstairs again.

“Do we have any candles?” he asked in a soft, wounded voice.

“Candles!” Jack snapped. “What the—what have you done now!”

“Nothing!” Craig protested.

Jack growled and rushed up the stairs. Pushing Craig aside, he found a badly mutilated pumpkin, its guts spewn over the floor of his bedroom.

“Craig!” Jack shouted, and he cursed for several seconds. “What is all this crap?” he spat.

“I wanted a Jack O’Lantern!” Craig shouted.

Jack seized his brother Craig and, using the flat of his hand, gave him a quick spanking. Craig burst into tears again.

“Now clean up this mess!” Jack shouted

“I wanted a Jack O’Lantern!” Craig repeated. “Just like dad made last year!”

“Dad’s gone.” Jack snapped. “And he’s not coming back. Moron! Mom’s working two jobs and she has to come back to this mess? Stop being so selfish, Craig!”

“I hate you!” Craig repeated as his brother slammed the door, and then he wept as he scooped up the remains of his failed pumpkin.

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“Jeez,” Thundrax said, blinking at the sight. “Even I didn’t remember it being that bad.”

“Childhood,” the spirit shrugged. “Every moment is drama. But there is also fun and excitement. Why do you close yourself to it? Did that one bad year change all that?” Craig shook his head.

“I’ve been fighting supernatural forces since I was 15, since the first time we faced Zorasto. I went to Hell before I was old enough to drive a car.” Craig shuddered. He remembered the sight of his teammate, Inferno, a fire elemental who had joined SUNDER, as Zorasto sucked him back through the portal with a cacophony of demonic laugher. He had never seen Inferno again, even during the many times he clashed with the arch-demon. “I think the last straw for me was about four years ago,” Craig said.

“What happened?”

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Craig and Ursun looked about the wreckage of Millennium City, stunned into silence. Ursun cast a spell to ward them from the demons and the angels who had torn the city apart. Craig tapped frantically on his communicator. “UNTIL, can you hear me? Millennium is lost. UNTIL?”

He was answered by HUGIN himself. UNTIL’s AI sounded as dejected as any human. “Craigggg…” it croaked.

“Standing by for orders. Recommend me a fallback position, please.”

“There is no fallback position,” the AI said. “It’s all dead. All of it.” HUGIN displayed images from a hundred cities, all of them littered with corpses. Craig’s jaw dropped, and his entire body sagged.

“What?”

“They destroyed everything, Craig. Everything. Nearly seven billion people dead. This is the end.”

“No no no no no no NO!” Craig declared.

“Stay alive as long as you can,” HUGIN replied. “Or join the dead. It doesn’t really matter. Some things are bigger than we are, like metaphysics. We’re so little, Craig. And now we know just how small we are.”

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“But seven billion people didn’t die,” the spirit said.

“The apocalypse was triggered when an asshole named Testament murdered a girl with the intention of preventing the selfsame apocalypse. Fucking pragmatist. All the abusive little **** did was cause it. We managed to go back in time and prevent this catastrophe.”

“So no one actually died?”

“But I saw it." Craig insisted. "I remember it all. I’d love to forget, but I can’t. I won’t. I need that lesson in perspective. I need to remember how fragile we are.”

“But you’re strong?” the spirit noted. Craig shook his head again.

“Let me tell you about the last supernatural disaster to destroy my life,” he said.

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“Welcome to your prison,” the keeper of Belial remarked, casting Craig into a prison. He had been captured by the villain, Josiah Brimstone, and taken prisoner by one of the most powerful entities south of the Briah. “It’s called the Unconsummated Suicide.

“That doesn’t sound especially hospitable,” Thundrax said. The demon laughed. “Another portentous name? Hell can’t do anything that isn’t ridiculously overblown?”

“You be the judge,” the majordomo said, and he sealed the hero within a vast cave with no exits.

Immediately, darkness closed on Craig Carson, and at that moment, all hope had vanished. The Canadian was left within a gnawing darkness, a festering unlight in which no virtue could shine, especially those that could make a man stand tall and resist the irresistible. Every moment, Craig felt the urge to kill himself, and no train of thought could derail that wish. Every moment, despair grew within Craig Carson, the desire to violate himself in endless terrible ways, and bring his tormented life to its end, yet he could do nothing,

“Portentous name, eh?” the demon mocked, gazing upon Craig as he writhed in despair, and he laughed. “Little man, welcome to hell. Enjoy your severance from yourself, and let humanity’s endless capacity for weakness devour your soul."

Craig screamed, and he did not stop screaming for an entire month, until his friends found a way to liberate him from the Pit.

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"Okay!” the spirit shouted. “I get the message. You’ve had some really crappy experiences.”

“People say horror is fun. That it’s a thrill, a release.” Craig spat. “But—“

“Okay hero. Are we finished with the pity party down “Poor Me” Lane?”

“Excuse me?” Craig snapped.

The spirit shook its soulless head. “We’ve established that you’re on the front lines against supernatural evil. You don’t have a lot of tolerance for it. But you’re confusing fact with fiction. The fact sucks. Your life has really sucked. But the fiction, the joy of the brief scare followed by laughter, that doesn’t suck. In fact, it's why Halloween is the most awesome holiday of all."

"Ha," Craig snapped.

"Well, that's the sound of a closed mind snapping shut," the spirit goaded. "Such pettiness is beneath you, hero."

Craig huffed. "You have an argument to make, make it," he insisted.

"Fine," the spirit said. "But are you going to go with an open mind.Are you actually willing to experience other perspectives?"

"Do I have a choice?" Craig asked.

"There is always a choice," the spirit told him.

Craig inhaled sharply. If he said no, he could never call anyone else "closed minded" without being an enormous hypocrite. Screw that.

"Then I choose to give you a fair hearing," the hero declared. "Do your worst,"

The spirit howled, and Craig recoiled "Sorry," the ghost said. "I have to do that every once in awhile. Now let me show you scenes from this Halloween as it's being celebrated by other good men and women. Touch my robe.”

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Too tired to argue, Craig now did as he was told, and the spirit transported himself throughout the world on Halloween, at least in the places where it was celebrated. He wandered into the Project in Westside, where his friends Ted Beare, leader of the Guardians, and his beloved Ginny were entertaining the homeless and those who sought shelter from Takofanes’ hoards, Ginny chiding him for not dressing up as his namesake. Ted laughed and gave her a hug, and the room lit up with dozens of smiles. Even there, among the most destitute, among those whose lives were the most impoverished, there was laughter.

He took him down to Vibora Bay, where Black Mask, exhausted from fighting against the appearance of a ghost ship, was answering the door of her apartment and handing out candy to children.

He briefly visited Sparrowhawk's apartment. She was studying a tactical report, and there were no signs of seasonal trappings.

"I guess some folks are a lost cause," the spirit said. Craig shrugged.

Next they visited Champions HQ, during a lull in the Turakian infestation, the Champions celebrated with a host of children, acting out a ghost story, Witchcraft using her magic in creative ways. Children listened enrapt at the candy, while chewing down Foxbat bars, caramel, nougat and plenty of nuts.

"I can't believe they made chocolates for the guy..." Defender groused.

"They're not for him, they're for the guy on the old 60s TV show." Witchcraft noted. Saphirre, playing background music on an old twelve string steel guitar, shot her a dirty look.

"I can't believe they made chocolate bars for that asshat either." Craig said. "But they should be out there on the zombie front."

"They'll get notice of the Turakians when they appear," the spirit stated. "For now, they view it as more important to share themselves with those who need it. Now come."

Also during a break between zombie attacks, in another apartment in Millennium, Angel and Carter sat on a sofa, Ajax perched between them, watching “Scream”. Angel periodically threw popcorn at the German shepherd, who happily gobbled it.

“You know, if we really want a horror movie, we could go outside and wait.” Carter said. Angel shrugged.

“It’s more fun waiting in here,” she said.

“Craig was right about the smell,” Carter replied.

“Poor Craig,” Angel moaned, and she sniffed the air. “But yes, he was way too right about that. Thank God for fabreeze,” she added. ”P-U!

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"Do they look happy to you?" the spirit asked.

"Yes," Craig said.

"And how can so much joy be wrong?" the spirit asked. Craig didn't answer the question. "How many happy people must you see before you decide to stop being miserable?"

They pulled away from the apartment and floated to the rooftop. A chilly fog had descended on the city, and the city''s emergency message was proclaiming areas of the city to avoid, a male voice echoing slightly in the fog. Despite this, with the empty streets, it was almost serene. From there, traveling from party to party, from child to child, the pair walked, and Craig saw the expressions of joy on people’s faces, a day not for horror, but for the lifting of burdens. He visited his office party, where even his secretary, the normally dour Ms. Rimi, was smiling and laughing, dressed up as Vancouver's 30s pulp hero, the Wraith. He poked in on his distant cousin Catrina, as she and Lacey were together with a Defendroid, joining him in Champions dress.

"These people also fight against the darkness," the spirit said. "But do they seem diminished by it?"

"No," Craig answered.

"Then why should you be?" Again, to that, Craig had no good answer. He didn't even argue the question.

There was one major battle where Takofanes himself appeared outside Champions HQ, and the streets became lit with superheroes, emerging from their homes and headquarters, engaging in a mad scramble. Craig saw himself leading a pack of heroes against the lich. It was odd, seeing himself, seeing the purpose etched in granite on his face. In the end, Takofanes was dispelled to the netherworld, and all sa silent except for the breath of the wearied. Midnight struck, and the Bloodmoon at last faded, the glorious autumn moon restored to its natural, pale vigor. The last zombie dissipated like the chthonic horrors vanishing at the sound of church bells at the end of Fantasia’s Night on Bald Mountain, and Craig found himself back in his apartment, clutching the spirit’s robe. He was exhausted, mostly from emotion.

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“Did you see them?” the spirit said. “In a way, Halloween is a lot like Christmas. Though it seems to celebrate damnation, it’s a very uplifting time. And that’s why people find joy in it, even those who are in the worst situations.”

“Okay,” Craig huffed. “We’ve done Halloween past and Halloween present, I’m ready for Halloween Yet to Come.” The spirit shook his head.

“The Ghost of Christmas Future was meant to reinforce the lessons of the tale, and above all, to tell Scrooge that he needed to work on making his legacy a good one.” the spirit said. “Scrooge died, but he died with men speaking kindly of him. You don’t need to learn that. You’ll die one day, of course. All men must eventually pass through the dread gate, even the superhuman.”

“The way of all flesh.” Craig remarked bitterly.

“When you do, nations will mourn.” the spirit said. “This was not about your future, but your present. You cannot stop Takofanes from invading.You cannot prevent many of these horrors from appearing, you can only battle them when they do. What you can also do, however, is find happiness in the now, despite your past experiences. You can recognize the joy to be found in the season, and choose to set aside the desire to wallow in old, comfortable miseries and share in that joy. Or not. It’s up to you. But if I were you, I know what I’d choose….”

With that, the spirit’s voice and his guise faded, leaving Craig, like the protagonist of a French videogame, alone in the dark.

And, with a start, Craig Carson woke up.

“Great,” the Canadian remarked with an exasperated, defeated sigh. “Now I’m being lectured by my own dreams. I give up."

"Excuse me?" Kivioq asked. Craig had the power to even befuddle an AI.

"I give up," Craig repeated, and he started laughing. "I give up!"

"Craig, are you under psychic assault?'"

"Yes, from the Giggler!" he shouted, and he began to howl. It wasn't that funny, of course, but it was funny enough to break the floodgates, which he had erected decades ago to keep out the emotion. Now the gates had burst, and Thundrax laughed for two whole minutes.

"No assailant is detected on my senses. Informing Starforce..."

"Wait!" Craig shouted.

"It's too late. I've raised Justiciar. Do you have a message for him?"

"Yeah, sure," Craig said. "Hey David! Happy Halloween to you and the entire crew. Happy Halloween, buddy! Craig out." The channel was closed, leaving one very confused cyborg on the other end of the line. "And happy Halloween, Craig Carson," he added. It was a vow to himself.

"Justiciar is asking for an explanation."

"Tell him I'm fine. I'm fine, I'm more than fine. And while we're at it, Kivioq, please present a holodisplay of “The Nightmare Before Christmas”. Distance five meters. And start some popcorn."

“Of course, Craig.”

"If you're going to last in this business, you need to learn to cope. Coping with weirdness, the darkness, human depravity, and the sense of smallness that dealing with the cosmic can bring. And with yourself. I think this is an area where I haven't learned to cope very well."

"Shall I launch my psychology ap, Craig?"" Kivioq asked.

"No need, Kivioq," Craig said. "But there is one thing you could do for me."

"What is it?"

“Please add the office Halloween party to my itinerary.” The hero added.

“Of course, Craig.”

"I may not have made a promise." Craig stated. "But I'm going to take it as one. Everyone's right. It's time to turn the damn page."

With that, Craig relaxed in bed, and began to watch the movie, singing along with Jack Skellington by the quarter mark.

There are few who'd deny, at what I do I am the best
For my talents are renowned far and wide
When it comes to surprises in the moonlit night
I excel without ever even trying
With the slightest little effort, of my ghostlike charms...
I have seen grown men give out a shriek
With the wave of my hand, and a well-placed moan
I have swept the very bravest off their feet.

"Are you alright, Craig?" Kivioq asked.

"Well enough," Craig answered, and he continued singing. The film came to its conclusion, and Craig sat on his bed, his fingers sticky with melted butter and salt as he soaked them in the huge bowl that sat on his lap. “Happy Halloween, Craig,” he told himself, and he returned to a good night’s sleep. He was almost disappointed when no ghosts visited him that night. From then on, Craig Carson did not always keep Halloween well, but he became much better at it, and he was a happier man for it. Sometimes, that's the best a man can do.

cbn

*hearty applause*

Thanks for another damn good read.