Folklore of the Night

            Tiny  Jackson  was badly misnamed.    OK it wasn’t his actual name, but everyone had called him Tiny since he actually was.   Now, considering his ability to make mischief, his name might have been “Jumbo” Jackson .   His latest stunt had been directed as eleven-year-old Ray Haroldsen.               It was a rare thing that Mrs. Haroldsen had put anything special in her son, Ray’s lunch pail beyond her delicious oatmeal raisin cookies every Friday.   But this day being Halloween, she had done the unheard of thing, she had put in a glorious cinnamon roll, larger than father’s fist, richly covered in cream icing.   And now as he sat down on the steps of the Jarnigan School for lunch, it was gone.   But to make the disappointment even greater, there was in its place a slimy blight-infested potato, which had dripped black ooze and spoile...

        What a night.   Every house had at least two doomed jack o lanterns on the porch.   If Tiny and his gang didn’t get them, someone else would see that those triangle eyes would not see the light of day.   While pulverizing pumpkins was a genuine pleasure, what Tiny longed for was to tip a few outhouses, hopefully with some old coot inside, and hopefully while the old coot was under way.   But no luck.   Instead they just had to settle for tormenting little kids.   They prowled in the darkness of the trees that lined the road, looking for their next victims.   Fred and Ray held deeper to the shadows to make sure that Tiny remained unaware of their presence.   Then the blessed moment came that renewed their hopes for the night.      One of Tiny’s friends cried out, “Oh dang!   It has got to be close to ten o’clock .”      “Oh yah.   So what?” responded Tiny.  ...