Mimicry

It sat alone on the porch, a solitary Jack-o-Lantern. Not unusual on Halloween, but for the fact that the house had been abandoned for as long as Tommy could remember. Finn and Shona pelted up the street, streaking toward old McLeods house, screaming like banshees. Already sticky with sweets and juice, they would stuff themselves with what the old lady had to offer, listening to her rambling tales for as long as the sugar kept flowing.

He'd go with them... soon. But who had carved it? Who put it there. The crudely carved pumpkin seemed to wink at him, the flickering glow spilling from its eyes shining on the plastic bucket before it. There were sweets in it. So many sweets. It didn't make sense. Shug Gogan and Billy MacPherson had been in front of them, but they weren't anywhere ahead and fat Shug wasn't likely to leave unattended mars bars for someone else.

Tommy took a step into the wild garden, looking around like a rabbit checking for foxes before moved further in. At any moment his mam would pop out of nowhere and start howling at him, he thought; she always knew when he was doing something he shouldn't. She didn't, though; the only sounds were laughter from further up the street. The street light in front of number 12 stopped working last year... no-one bothered to fix it. Why would they? No-one lived here.

In his cheap grim reaper costume, he was nothing but a shape in the dark garden, the dim light of the candle and the distant street lights caught the mask only. To anyone looking, it would have seemed like a skull floating hesitantly along on its own.

Up close the Jack-o-Lantern looked better. It had little details that made it look knobbly from a distance, but upon closer inspection they were patterns. Someone had taken a lot of time making it. He could smell chocolate and burnt sweetness of toffee, almost feel the shiny wrappers under his fingers. But he couldn't step onto the porch. He was frozen by a feeling, a feeling like plunging down on a rollercoaster. The carved eyes seemed mean, the toothy grin a little nasty. The solitary flame inside the Jack-o-Lantern shivered.

"Stupid," he muttered and took the two steps in one bound, snatching a handful of sweets as if someone might pull them away before he retreated. Buoyed by success, he turned away, stopping as a soft thump sounded behind him. On the porch beside the bucket of sweets was a bar of chocolate. He must have dropped it. Somehow that made him feel sick.

He kept his eyes glued to the Jack-o-Lantern as he approached, but it was the steps he should have been wary of; they opened like great jaws as he stepped forward and swallowed him whole. In the morning, they would find his mask, but no-one lived at number 12 so they passed by the empty porch without glancing that night.