ALL HALLOWS By JLS919 To the casual passerby, Revello Drive was like any other tranquil suburban street. Neighbors tended to its lawns and gardens, parents drove their Ford Windstars across its asphalt, and the Sunnydale High School track team jogged down its cracked pavement. Not everything was so average on Revello Drive, though. Take, for instance, Buffy Summers: A beautiful, teenage girl whose evenings alternately consisted of sipping Diet Cherry Coke at the local dance club and eviscerating unholy creatures of the night – she was just one example of the not-so-typical nature of the picturesque California avenue. It was a crisp, autumnal morning and Buffy, bundled in a cozy mess of pajamas and flannel sheets, peered through the slats in her blinds, studying the dusty, run-down two-story across the street. Despite seeing it every day for the past year, she'd never paid it much attention. (Then again, even the minutest details are much more remarkable when dealing with a particularly aggressive bout of insomnia.) Today, however, she took notice as the pale, nascent sunlight streamed across the front of the dilapidated house. Is it still called a residence, she pondered, if no one actually resides there? Before long, the street lamps began to flicker off one by one. "That's my cue," Buffy chirped as she rose from her bed and grabbed a towel off of her dresser. She tip-toed to the bathroom, careful not to wake her still-sleeping mother, and turned on the shower. But as Buffy's day began, so did that of another Revello resident. The front door of the derelict building across the way cracked open and a burly figure stepped into its frame. Obscured by the murky shadows of daybreak, he surveyed the street. He took note of each home, its inhabitants still asleep, vulnerable and unaware. One house in particular drew his attention, though: The one belonging to Buffy Summers. As he stared at it, the only thought in his mind was the destruction that he had planned for that evening, and how he would carry it out. Back in her home, Buffy stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around herself, and wiped the steam-streaked mirror clean. She looked herself in the face and smiled. "Happy Halloween, Buffy." † † † Buffy and her closest friends Xander Harris and Willow Rosenberg were sitting around a table in the Sunnydale High cafeteria finalizing their plans for that evening. The smell of pumpkin casserole – good old SHS's way of celebrating All Hallow's Eve – permeated the room At sixteen years of age, the three found themselves simultaneously too young and too old to do anything remotely fun on Halloween. Instead, they languished at that awkward midpoint where their October 31sts were spent doling out treats while warily steering clear of tricks. After all, who wants their house to be on the receiving end of smashed jack'o'lanterns and recklessly strewn toilet paper? That'd just be embarrassing. "I'm thinking we'll start off with a softer selection," declared Xander as he shuffled through the collection of videos in his bookbag. "Maybe some lighter fare, like Cannibal Holocaust. Then we'll delve into the nigh-intellectual genre of the psychological thriller with Slumber Party Massacre. And finally, for the grand finale, we'll wrap up the night with a nugget of classic horror from the golden age of Hollywood cinema: 1989's Nightmare on Elm Street 5." "So long as plans include fun-sized confections, I'm in," quipped Buffy. "Just no Butterfingers," Willow warned. "They get all smooshed into your teeth and you have to pick them out with your nails. I mean, say you're in fifth grade and Harmony catches you doing that and she points it out to the entire class. Next thing you know, everyone's calling you 'Toothpick.' And, sure, it might not be the most cutting of nicknames, but still..." Buffy and Xander gazed concernedly at Willow. "I mean... Yay, candy!" Buffy picked at her casserole for a few moments before tossing down her spork in disgust and resting her face in her hands. "What's wrong, Buffster?" asked Xander. "Still suffering from lack of sleepage?" "Yuh-huh," she sighed. "I don't know what the deal is. My last few nights have consisted of copious amounts of fridge-raiding and infomercial-watching. If this keeps up, my slaying capabilities are going to be seriously affected." "I'm sure it's just temporary. You'll be catching those Zs again before you know it. And at least the whole slaying thing should be a non-issue tonight," Willow added, cheerfully. Buffy picked her head up. "That's true. It is rather convenient that demons and vamps make themselves scarce on Halloween. In fact, I'd say it's borderline considerate." "It's like, in spite of their wicked and murderous ways, they still have a sense of etiquette and decency," Willow mused. "Well, the Miss Manners column is nationally syndicated in cities such as Poughkeepsie, Sheboygan, Walla Walla, and various Hell dimensions," remarked Xander "Sounds about right," said Buffy. "All I know is that I'm looking forward a night off. Just an evening where I can remove my Slayer hat and put on my much more comfortable and far less death-defying kitty cat slippers; an evening where I don't have to be accountable for anyone, least of all myself." † † † "Babysit?" Buffy cried, incredulously. "What do you mean I have to babysit?" Despite the fact that she had literally faced certain death, the notion of babysitting paralyzed Buffy with an entirely new brand of fear, nearly causing her to toss her Thin Mints right there on the kitchen floor. "Just for a few hours," explained her mother, Joyce. Although she tried to make her voice as comforting and conciliatory as possible, it always seemed to her that it was a life-or-death situation whenever Buffy's plans were compromised. Little did she know. "Mrs. Crandell did me a favor last week by giving me a ride home from the grocery store after my car broke down. When I heard that she needed someone to watch Reese, I thought I'd express my gratitude by volunteering." "Okay, happy story so far. Now let's hear the twist, Oliver." "Well, I'd forgotten that I have a function tonight at the gallery and I couldn't rescind my offer, so I suggested that perhaps," Joyce paused, "you might be free." Buffy shot her mother an irritated look. "It's just down the street, and she even said that you can have one or two friends over. Maybe Willow and Xander could give you a hand." "I see." "And Reese is a perfectly sweet boy. He won't give you any trouble, I promise." Buffy narrowed her eyes. "What's in it for me, pretty lady? And I drive a hard bargain so don't even attempt to lowball me. I'm talking at least one pint of cookie dough fudge mint chip waiting for me when I get home." Joyce smiled. "Cookie dough fudge mint chip it is." "And quality mall time on Sunday, with an option for potential shoe purchase." "I have the most understanding, benevolent, conniving daughter I could ever ask for," Joyce teased while stroking Buffy's hair lovingly. "If only they sold that bumper sticker. I gotta book, though. I have to swing by the store and pick up some provisions for tonight." "Sure, honey. If you could just stop at Mrs. Crandell's on the way there and let her know that you're on for this evening, that'd be great – she said she'd like you to meet Reese, too." "No problem. And have a good time at your function. But – if I can be frank for a moment – someday you're going to have to learn the importance of responsibility." Buffy wagged her finger at her mother, "You can't neglect your duties like this. Life isn't all about the 'fun stuff' like work and grocery shopping." She put her hand on Joyce's shoulder and looked her in the eyes with all of the straight-faced mock-sincerity she could muster. "Maybe one day you'll understand that." With that, Buffy grabbed a soda from the fridge, winked at her mother, and walked out the back door. Joyce sighed. "She's going to drive some poor boy bonkers some day." † † † As she strode down the block, Buffy approached the Crandell house with a tinge of apprehension. In the time that she'd lived in Sunnydale, she'd never really taken the time to get to know her neighbors. Sure, there was Rollerblader Guy, and Lady Who Walks Her Cat, and Perpetually Bickering Newlywed Couple, but if you were to ask her any of their names, the answer you'd get would be a resounding "Um?" She cast her trepidations aside, however, stepped onto the porch, and rang the doorbell. No response. She tried again. After a few moments, the door opened and Mrs. Crandell greeted her with a smile whose warmth almost rivaled that of Joyce's. "Buffy?" "That's what they call me." "Hi! I'm Susan Crandell." She was a tall, professional-looking woman with curly, brown hair pulled into a sloppy bun. The typical harried businessmom frequently encountered in the suburbs. "Nice to meet you." Buffy smiled and offered her a handshake. Susan declined the formal gesture, though, and instead opted for a full-out hug, taking Buffy into her arms. "Or there's that," she murmured, bewildered and overwhelmed by the embrace. Oblivious to Buffy's uneasiness, Susan remained sunny. "Your mother told me all about you!" "Wow. I sincerely apologize." "Oh, don't be silly. She had nothing but wonderful things to say!" she beamed. "She said that you're very involved at school; that you're constantly putting in hours studying at the library. She also said that you were on the cheerleading squad, and that you even helped to organize parent-teacher night." Buffy paused for a moment to think. "Those are all things that are true, yes." "Well, we should be leaving at about eight, so if you could come by a few minutes early, that would be terrific. We'll be home between eleven or twelve, but I'm sure we'll call at some point during the night to check in. The restaurant is only about two miles away, and –." Before Susan could continue barraging Buffy with information, she caught herself. "I'm sorry. Look at me, being all presumptuous. It's a Friday night and you're a teenager. I'd completely understand if you had somewhere else to be," she said resignedly. "Oh, no, don't worry. I didn't come by to RSVP my regrets. I am definitely down for the babysitting." A look of relief washed over Mrs. Crandell's face. "Wonderful! My husband and I made these reservations weeks ago and, unfortunately, our usual babysitter had to cancel at the last minute. Obviously, we couldn't leave Reese at home by himself. Especially tonight, with all of these crazy kids running around..." Unbeknownst to Buffy and Susan, while they carried on their conversation, they were being watched. Standing behind a bush, the man who'd recently holed up in the long-abandoned house across from Buffy's observed the two women; he studied their every expression, scrutinized their every gesture, and listened intently to their every word. The man was six feet tall with a lithe but sturdy build. He wore dank grey mechanics' coveralls which were punctuated by crusty grease stains and smears of dried blood. His skin – what was visible of it, at least – was rough, almost charred in some areas. But his most striking feature was the mask covering his face: It was rubbery and off-white, a facsimile of a normal human face, except that it was completely devoid of any emotion. Its eyeholes were deep and empty; its lips were pursed awkwardly, neither smiling nor frowning; and its ashy hair was mussed and uneven. "…Speaking of which, I wanted you to meet Reese." Susan stepped back into the house and called up the stairs. "Reese, honey? I've got someone here who wants to meet you." Given Mrs. Crandell's somewhat-eccentric demeanor, Buffy wasn't quite sure what to expect. Maybe one of those uber-polished, conditioned-to-be-perfect prep school bots? Perhaps a kid who was overly-sheltered, hyper-anxious, terrified-of-his-own-shadow? Instead, she was relieved to see Reese appear at the door looking like your average 9-year-old, complete with tousled hair and grass-stained jeans. "Hi," said the young boy, waving shyly. "Hey there, big guy," said Buffy as she leaned over. "Ready to do some neat stuff and cool things tonight?" She looked up at the boy's mother. "Neat stuff and cool things are okay, right?" "Of course," Susan smiled softly. "And like I told your mom, feel free to have a couple of friends over to keep you company. I know kids this age can be sort of a handful." "Trust me, I know. My friend Xander? He probably requires more supervision than Reese. Whenever he's in the room with us, we have to remove all choking hazards and plug up any open electrical sockets." Susan chuckled. "So, as I said, eight o'clock would be perfect. I'll leave a list of directions and important phone numbers on the kitchen counter. Feel free to help yourself to anything in the refrigerator. Oh, and I'll pick up some candy for you to give out to any trick-or-treaters that stop by." "Sounds like a plan." "Thank you again," said Mrs. Crandell, gratefully. "You really are a lifesaver." "It's what I do," Buffy shrugged. † † † Buffy made her way to the grocery store, taking a shortcut that Xander had shown her shortly after she'd moved to town; it cut through a densely wooded area located not far from her neighborhood. On her days off, she'd sometimes wander down the oak tree-lined paths aimlessly, savoring the solitude and lost in her thoughts. Reviewing her mental list of things to do before heading to the Crandell's later that evening, Buffy began muttering to herself: "Okay, Xander's providing the videos, Wil's covering the snacks, while I'm left in charge of purchasing a humongous, DayGlo gourd for us to disembowel and then sculpt. This somehow seems less than fair." She exited the woods which emptied into a deserted playground lot. Suddenly, a figure followed her out of the thicket, emerging from the shadows, and clamped his hand onto her shoulder. She swung around to see who was behind her, but before she could get a clear view, the man lifted her off of the ground by her neck and effortlessly threw her against a nearby see-saw, knocking the air from her lungs. She grunted loudly as her spine cracked across the rusted metal bar. Buffy lay slumped over for a moment before looking up and attempting to identify her assailant. The afternoon sun blazing in her eyes, she squinted to discern his facial features, but she soon realized that what she was a mask bearing a pale, crude approximation of a human face. "Okay, A, thanks for the tear in the new jacket, buddy. Not like it didn't cost 120 bucks or anything. And B, what are you supposed to be? Some sort of albino janitor?" She raised herself and assumed her fighting stance, shoulders square and fists guarding her face. Without skipping a beat, she landed two jabs to his face – or at last where she assumed his face should be – and a roundhouse kick to his temple. Seemingly unaffected by the blows, he lunged towards her and wrapped both hands around her neck, squeezing the life out of her. For what felt like forever, she choked and gasped for air, until finally all went black and her body fell limp to the ground. † † † To be continued. † † † Notes: The story behind this, you know, story is pretty simple: I Buffy and I Halloween, so it was only natural that I'd combine the two to see what might happen if Buffy Summers came face to face with Michael Myers. Can The Slayer defeat Evil Incarnate, or has she finally met her match? I tried my hardest to stay true to Buffy's trademark incisive tone while retaining the hopelessly bleak ambiance of Halloween. Hope you guys enjoy!
