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// Halloween 
// Story: Nightmare Night 
// by Admiral Biscuit 
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Neither of us had gotten invited to parties, and inside I was actually relieved. We’d get to experience it as it was meant to be experienced; we’d have hordes of kids and various kinds of costumes arriving at our door and while some of them might not prefer the candy on offer, they’d all love Cinder Glow, I was sure of that. She was a kid magnet which was a constant danger when shopping but also relentlessly adorable.

I think deep inside she loved it, too.

Cinder’s signal to get dressed was when I put on my costume. I was ready to offer her help with hers if she needed it, but she didn’t. Of course in her modifications, she’d made it kirin-friendly.

Her stockings went on her back legs, the bat-wings and bat-ears adorned her back and her actual ears—the latter was overkill, in my opinion—and she’d even taped a drawing of a pumpkin on her flank and hung one of the leftover spiders from her horn. As theming went, it was all over the place, but it was very much in the spirit of the holiday, and she looked as adorable as ever.

The porch light was lit, and so was the pumpkin. Against all odds, it had survived, even after the last of its flesh and seeds had been eaten.

I’d expected that we’d wait inside and greet the children as they came and rang our doorbell, but Cinder wanted to be on the porch, so that was where we went. The firefighter costume hadn’t come with a turnout coat, which was a shame. It would have helped keep me warm.

By mutual agreement, I was on candy duty. I knew she had a plan, but I didn’t know what it was until the first trick-or-treaters came up our walk. Just as they stepped onto our porch, the pumpkin erupted in blue balefire, and Cinder let out a long, menacing laugh.

There were some shrieks of terror; one little kid went running back down the walk towards his mom, but the others took it in stride. The flames around the pumpkin subsided, and I handed candy to the remaining kids, then after a moment of thought gave them an extra treat for their friend.

As the night went on, we developed a routine. I’d fake putting out the fire, spraying it with an imaginary hose. If there were really small kids, Cinder would forgo her evil laugh. Plenty of kids and a few adults petted her mane or nose or scratched her ears and it was a good time until a cluster of drunken college students stumbled up our walk demanding candy.

The balefire pumpkin set them back a step, and then Cinder let out a guttural growl as flames started to flicker across her eyelids and rise from her mane—melting the plastic spider in the process. Baring her fangs at them wasn’t really needed, but she did anyway.

They were drunk but they weren’t stupid, and hastily departed for greener pastures. Cinder and the pumpkin flickered out, and she bumped my hip with her head. I rubbed my hand through her mane and then tied on a new spider while we waited for the next group of kids to arrive.


🎃🎃🎃


By nine, all the kids were gone and the streets were empty once again. We had half a bag of candy left, and I unwrapped a celebratory mini Mr. Goodbar and handed it to Cinder, wondering as I had every Halloween if there were any full-sized Mr. Goodbars anywhere. I’d certainly never seen one.

She ate the candy and also had a bite of the jack-o’-lantern after I indicated that it was no longer needed.

I had a nibble, too, and then the two of us went back inside. I turned off the porch light and she took off her fake wings and the two of us settled together on the couch with a bucket of candy and a pumpkin—minus one bite—on the table in front of us.

Apple cider to share from a plastic jug, and as I started absently scritching her ears, I started to think ahead to Thanksgiving, and how much better it would be with a kirin friend.