by Anika H. (9th Grade)

October 30th was a dark and stormy night. Lightning flashed. Branches swayed eerily in the wind. Rain crashed against the window panes dramatically… and Biscuit O. Obberton snored softly in his bed, dreaming of lollipops and rainbows.

Biscuit O. Obberton was a boy of about seven years, who had been gleefully anticipating the day to come. Halloween, to someone of his age, was not yet redundant, but still held the thrill and excitement exactly akin to the excitement one might get from walking down the street dressed up in odd attire, and asking strangers for candy. That is, it was very thrilling.

The next morning, there were leaves strewn all across the yard, with several branches having cracked and fallen to the ground. However, there was a general air of excitement and anticipation as Biscuit practically leapt out of bed to join his family downstairs for breakfast. Unfortunately, no one else was awake yet. Curious, thought Biscuit, In books everyone else is already having breakfast or hurrying you out the door. Reality is nice like that. 

So Biscuit went back upstairs to his room, and spent an hour and a half reading comic books about superheroes, specifically Fantastic Guy, who was Biscuit’s role model. Fantastic Guy had a moustache, a beret, a flowing cape, and a very fine taste in art. And, like Biscuit, he was often caught in scenarios that put the blame on him most unfairly, when it was usually really the fault of the main villain: Rude Dude (or, in Biscuit’s case, whichever sibling happened to have been around when the crime occurred). Fantastic Guy made Biscuit feel understood, and he wished that one day he could meet him. 

Eventually, Biscuit was indeed called down for breakfast, as Biscuit knew was the common practice in literary works. “Biscuit, time for breakfast! It’s your favorite, cinnamon rolls!” But this was only wishful thinking. It was, of course, cereal. After breakfast Biscuit’s mother told him they were to go shopping for a costume, which Biscuit was much more excited about. 

At the store, Biscuit looked around in wonder at the tall display cases and sometimes even taller big adult people towering above his seven-year-old head. When they got to the costume section, Biscuit already knew he was going to dress up as Fantastic Guy. His mother sighed when she saw the price tag, but she knew she was not going to force Biscuit to be anyone other than his favorite hero of all time!

They returned home, happily listening to soft jazz and, in Biscuits’ mother’s case, mentally preparing for the night to come. She sighed again, thinking, Who thought of this holiday? Why on earth would I trust that no one will give my children poisoned candy? How much does a regular trip to the dentist take? Oblivious to that which was going on in his mothers’ mind, Biscuit sang along soulfully with the chorus as they drove through puddles, heading home. 

The rest of the day passed fairly quickly, as Biscuit was getting ready his costume and avoiding his sisters’ shrieks of rapture at the lovely costumes they had trusted their mother to get for them. As dusk approached, it was finally time… The trick-or-treating time had arrived. 

Biscuit carefully dressed in his Fantastic Guy costume, and grabbed a pumpkin-shaped basket off of the table as he headed out the door. Since this year he was to turn eight, Biscuit was allowed to go around without an adult (providing he stayed in their neighbourhood)! 

“HELLO?” Shouted Biscuit. “HELLO?” 

Several kids looked at him strangely, but other than that he got no response. Biscuit tried again. “DOES ANYONE HAVE… ANYONE GOING TO GIVE ME CANDY?” His small shouts carried above the crowd of people till his mother found him. 

“Honey, you need to go knock on their doors, remember?” She corrected him. 

Ah, yes, the doors! Those useful contraptions, Biscuit thought to himself. 

Biscuit strode determinedly towards a promising looking house, thinking, What was it again that I am supposed to say?

As he approached the door, it swung open, which meant that someone had been watching him. Biscuit climbed up the steps and told the person, “Deception or Delicious!”

They frowned, uncertain what to make of this. 

“Uh… Schemes or Sugar? Contrivances or Cookies? Ploys or Pavlova? Ruses or Raspberry Jam? Oh, I remember now. Trick or Treat.” 

But, during this contemplation he had not noticed the door slowly closing, and by the time Biscuit had thought of the correct thing to say, the door was no longer open.

By the end of the night, Biscuit had happily collected candy from at least twenty three houses, fourteen of them not being aware of this. However, he still felt a bit disappointed, because he thought that Halloween would be a bit more interesting. 

It was just as he was thinking about this that he heard a voice, deep and cool-guy sounding, right next to him, “Well there young man. Looks like you look like me!”

Biscuit looked up, and saw… Fantastic Guy! 

“Oh wow, all my dreams have come true!” Biscuit exclaimed, and after that Biscuit always remembered that day as one of the best in his life, and he realized that Halloween, although sometimes confusing, can be a Fantastic experience.