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Our Boston Terrier Elwood doesn’t bark much but this afternoon he stands on a chair and barks ferociously out the front window. I get out of my recliner and peek outside: there’s a small boy standing on the sidewalk, backed by his father, younger brother, and his West Highland Terrier.
Elwood glares at me as if to say, “It’s about time,” and stops barking.
I yell out for my husband Perry and open the door. It’s Quincy calling, though probably not to see us. At not yet four years old, Quincy is here to see the ghouls that populate Perry’s front porch Halloween display, and most especially Bob. Bob is a seven-and-a-half-foot tall skeleton dressed as a premedieval Viking warrior. Quincy named him Bob last Halloween when he first made his acquaintance.
The Viking called Bob.
Quincy has a longish mop of white-blond hair and wears large, dark-rimmed glasses. This year his parents have collected an assortment of free Halloween costumes from other parents whose kids have outgrown them. Each time we see Quincy he has a different one on. Today he is wearing a very large witches’ hat, which has settled down onto his ears. It has a shiny fake buckle which makes me think of Puritans. He has on a cape and is holding a plastic Halloween pumpkin for collecting treats. Excuse me, it’s a cauldron. And the five-inch-long baton in his other hand is his broom.
The next time we see Quincy, he’s ready for space with an astronaut’s helmet on, but he’s mixing things up with the witchy cape. In the next couple of days, he comes as a school crossing guard and a knight.
Quincy’s dad tells us that this year, he’s fascinated with the inflatable dragons that populate neighbor’s yards.
Sorry, Bob.
And his mother says Quincy is so obsessed with Halloween that the minute one is over, he starts thinking about the next one.
This Halloween Quincy will be visiting our house as a werewolf. Or so we've been told. We'll see.
Is this another Wes Craven developing before our eyes?
One of Bob's compatriots on the front porch.
Opmerkingen