HOW DARK AND STORMY WAS IT? : ‘Jason’

The kid was mean. His idea of fun was to make other kids cry. Like the time Mike and Kurt were riding their bicycles around the street. Jason decided it would be fun to see what would happen if he threw sand in the boys’ eyes while poking a stick through the spokes of their wheels . . . real fun. Or the time he wanted to see how fast 3-year-old Melissa could run. He chased her on his bike, cutting in toward her, almost running her over as she ran and fell scraping her toes and knees. Jason never laughed so hard.

The neighborhood kids could not escape him. Jason climbed fences and trees, hanging upside down, peeking and spying into gardens and homes, cackling out reports of what was going on inside--his white, pointed teeth opening and shutting with the rhythm of his jeers. As he hung there, his eyes would narrow into yellow slits, his raven black hair would fall along the sides of his skull into two ear-shaped peaks.

The adults on the street would try to reason, first with him, later with his parents. But the only response they would get was: “You just don’t understand boys. They all love to be mischievous.”

When Halloween night arrived, the neighborhood kids were afraid to go trick or treating because of what they thought Jason might do. The parents got together and agreed to take turns walking with the children. One mother dressed up in a particularly scary costume, rimming her eyes with black, painting her face death white and her mouth blood red.

“Sometimes you have to fight evil with evil,” she declared, “and Halloween night is the night to do so.” As she escorted the youngsters from home to home, she spread her cape to shepherd the children and protect them from evil.

The mother’s costume, however, was no protection against the evil of that Halloween night. Jason was dressed up, too: all in black with shimmery, sheer wing-shaped draperies suspended from his legs, extending even to the webs between his fingers. He almost disappeared into the night darkness, except for the golden yellow slits of his eyes. He rode his bicycle, his black wings soaring in the night wind. As he flew, he cackled; his laughter becoming so high pitched it hurt the children’s ears. His eerie cries echoed, searching for mischief.

Mischief was easy to find that night. Jason filled a huge bucket with ice water. A young boy should not have been able to lift such a weight, but he balanced it easily on the crossbar of his bicycle as he swooped toward the children. The black caped mother swirled at Jason as he flung icy water toward the group, but she was not able to shield her flock from the cold, wet torrent. The children’s costumes clung to them in icy, dripping folds. The paper sacks that once held treats were shredded. The candy lay in muddy puddles on the street.

Frustration and fury grabbed the mother as she swung toward the flying bicycle. Her cape arched toward Jason, and he made a quick turn as he cackled with evil delight. But that cackle took an unearthly screech as he lost his balance. His drapery wings caught in the chain of his bike, jerking his hand into the spokes of the wheel. The children looked in horror as one finger was severed and thrown, twitching into the mud alongside their ruined treats. When the group looked upward, toward Jason’s screams, they saw a bat jerking away, one wing dripping blood.

The drops of blood lined the street and did not wash away with all the winters’ rains. As years went by, the bloodstains almost faded but glowed anew each Halloween.