The Longest Halloween, Book Two. Frank Wood

she went. A flash of light bathed the errant sisters with a horrific electrical sheen. When the light lifted, the Warlock Guards wasted no time in scooping up the sisters and their children and rocketing out of the room and into the dark night, headed toward places unknown.

      “Oh, we are undone,” Latrease moaned as they were spirited away.

      “Have a care, sister, there is yet a way to reverse this, I believe, but more to come,” Leticia hissed under her breath.

       Portersville, early twentieth century; Halloween night, just before the Halloween March.

      Rain spattered against the windows of the small home nestled on the outskirts of the sleepy farm and port city we have come to know as Portersville. The old witch had just inspected the crinkly sheet of paper inked by the wiry accountant. Flashes of what had just transpired with the wolf were still with her, as well as the hand-off that had taken place directly thereafter. It would be safe with him, she thought. He owed her that, at least. Though her eyes had grown dim with age, she seemed satisfied with what was now before her … the map that had been so painstakingly created.

      “That’ll be all,” she croaked to the accountant.

      “Yes, mum,” the accountant said and gathered up his outer coat.

      “You’ll tell no one of this meeting,” the witch said firmly.

      “You have my word,” the accountant replied.

      “Good travels to you then,” the witch said, sinking back in her soft armchair. “Tell the troll that I am grateful for his help.”

      As the accountant left the room, he surprised Dudley, the witch’s aide de camp, who was positioned right outside her door.

      “I trust my lord had a fruitful visit with the lady,” Dudley said.

      “As these sorts of visits go, Dudley,” the accountant said, as Dudley helped him on with his overcoat.

      “Will you or my lady need me to run any errands for you, or transport any valuable paperwork?” Dudley asked, itching for more information.

      “That would be her call, I’d wager,” the accountant replied. “Is there no end to this rain?” he asked as he stood at the door.

      The accountant made a hurried exit from the small home and it was all Dudley could do to make it back to his mistress’s room, where he gently pushed open the door. “My lady, would you care for a spot of elderberry tea this evening?” he asked, bringing in a tray of hastily prepared tea. “The weather being as it is, one can’t take too many precautions.”

      “Yes, the battle with the wolf took has taken its toll on me, I’m afraid, Dudley,” Elvira breathed. “I’ll be retiring early this evening, I suspect.”

      “Yes, my lady,” Dudley replied. He set down the tray and cranked up the fire in the fireplace.

      Elvira sipped tea, then made a face and looking at Dudley quizzically, asked, “What did you put in this tea, Dudley?”

      The butler smiled darkly, rose to his feet and turned to face his mistress. “You needn’t worry, mum,” he said, reaching out and snatching the map, “the treasure will be well taken care of.”

      Elvira felt her eyelids become like enormous weights. Her whole body screamed out for sleep. Her head was going limp. She had been drugged.

      “And now, you just need to rest your eyes.” Still clutching the map, the butler moved in close to his mistress, who was fading fast. “Don’t worry though,” he grinned lasciviously, “you’ll sleep long enough to give me the head start I need.”

      Elvira tried in vain to mount a protest, but she was undone. She slumped back in her chair, fast asleep. Dudley unfurled the parchment he had taken. His eyes greedily glittered as he wet his lips. He made his way out of the room and out of the house as quickly as he could, keeping the map tucked within his overcoat.

      Above him, the cool yellow eyes of Elvira Hanson’s owl looked down on the fleeing butler. She pursued him to his small apartment on the other side of the city and nestled in a perch on an old tree branch outside a window that peered into his room.

      “Did you get it?” Dudley’s shrill wife, Esmerelda, met him at the door.

      “Yes, love,” he replied.

      “I’ve cleared a space,” Esmerelda said, pointing to the table.

      Dudley produced the map and unfurled it onto the table. Their children, who were supposed to be asleep, stood quietly and looked with interest at the kinetic way their parents were inspecting the large yellow sheet that Father had brought home.

      “Can you imagine, my dear, a treasure such as that, kept hidden away for all time?” Dudley asked nervously.

      “The fools,” Esmerelda agreed with a snap. “Right there,” she went on, pointing to a far corner of the map, “that must be where she put it!”

      Just then, the windows to the room blew open with violent force. In flew a huge man, all in black and riding on a giant broom, the end of which held a fiery lantern. His eyes glittered like two diamonds from a dark mask that covered the top part of his face and his head was shrouded in a large pilgrim’s hat. He pointed a gloved finger at Dudley.

      “You have stolen what is not yours to have,” the man spoke in a deep, hissing voice.

      “Who … who are you?” Dudley stammered, he and his wife clutching each other and the map before the dark spirit.

      The being did not answer but reached out and grasped the map. He began to pull it from Dudley and head back out the window on his broom.

      “No, no,” Dudley cried, holding onto his end of the map, “I won’t let you take it!!”

      But it was no use; the specter yanked the map with such force that both Dudley and his wife went toppling out of their three-story home. The specter took the map and flew away, leaving the children to gape incredulously out of the opened window, down into the muddy hay where their parents were recovering from the fall.

      The specter gave the map to Elvira Hanson’s owl. “You know where to take this,” he grumbled, and the bird, on cue, took the map in its talons, flying high until coming to rest on what looked like a dead tree stump in a quiet and deserted area in the outskirts of Portersville. As if sensing the bird’s arrival, the tree stump sprouted a bush of branchy hair, unfurled as if standing up, and took the map into its hollow before returning to its prior state as if nothing had happened.

       Portersville, current day

      “Coach! Coooaachhhh!!” “COOOAACCCHHH!!”

      Gribbett Keith had been running all night. Sweat soaked through all his clothes and he was breathing heavily but he had made it. Eluding the wolves was something that he hadn’t been sure he’d be able to do; they had made off with his hoodie but at least he had emerged unscathed … and now he had to find Coach. They and the other members of the gang had started the night together, had located the map—figures, it had been in the last house that they broke into—but they had gotten separated in the following chase. Once those wolves started peeling through the underbrush, it was every bandit for himself. The last he had seen of Coach he was contending with a really big werewolf with jet black hair and a huge silver jacket. And now here he was alone at the rendezvous site. He scaled the wall to the elementary school building, dropped lightly through the window, and crashed clumsily to the floor in the room where he was supposed to meet the schoolteacher.

      It had already been a long day for Gribbett Keith. His confrontation with the private investigator earlier that day had left his mind with a lot of jumbled thoughts. He glanced down at the have-you-seen-this-person poster the investigator had given him, with a familiar face pasted smack dab in the center. Maybe someone did actually care