It was a rather cold late October evening in Elmwood. The week before, the land had been covered with the first of the year’s snow, that was until a chinook had sped through leaving damp, gray, slush piles in its wake. All along the winding roads that led to town, the sidewalks were peppered with ugly sublimated honeycombs, blistered and cracked; yet another sign that life would have to put itself on hold until the spring.
More snow would soon be arriving and the weather forecast predicted two more reasonable days until the temperature would plummet to levels well below zero. Tonight, though, there was a biting wind bringing an extra chill to Halloween, as it crept its way over the Rocky Mountains, its pervasive touch reaching out to the fields and the farmland below and anything that stood before it. It was unsettling, uncomfortable, and seemingly inescapable, but B-Jay, the red Beetle car, didn’t seem perturbed. He had other things to occupy his mind. He stared out of the garage window watching it slowly envelop everything, as if hiding like a child might, underneath the safety of familiar, warm bedcovers. Except he wasn’t hiding; he was waiting. Not long now.
"What a great atmosphere for an adventure," he thought, when it was finally time to leave the confines of the garage. The air was crisp and the smell of woodsmoke and pumpkin spice wafted on the slight breeze, its sweet aroma lingering on the murky air. He turned on his lights, and making sure the road was clear, exited the garage.
He was always excited when sharing adventures with his friends, but tonight he was filled with anticipation. Not only was he going for yet another night adventure with his friends, but, this time, they had planned the evening and left nothing to chance. Tonight they were going to join the Halloween Parade in town. Halloween in the town of Elmwood was a very serious celebration and tonight they wouldn’t just be observing the festivities from afar. No, tonight they would join them, each wearing a disguise to keep them safe from the humans. It was the idea of Aruna, the wise Great Horned Owl, and it was perfect and quite possibly, foolproof. B-Jay marveled at how clever his friend was.
B-Jay's owner would not be using him this evening as he was staying home to watch scary Halloween movies with friends that he had invited over from work. The coast would be clear for an adventure and he was feeling like a royal carriage from a fairy tale, decorated in shimmering gold tinsel and purple ribbons. His tinsel streamers fluttered wildly in the wind like golden wings as he flew along the driveway toward the road. He couldn’t wait to see what his friends were wearing.
“I feel absolutely ridiculous,” Cressida, the proud black cat, huffed, adjusting a tiny golden crown with her paw. She was dressed as an Egyptian Queen, complete with a beaded collar that she insisted was far too itchy for a cat of her stature. She extended her claws before giving her beaded collar a sharp, annoyed scratch, before continuing. “A cat of my pedigree should not be wearing sequins in public. I guess that is what I should have expected relying on a dog to bring me an outfit.” She started pruning, hoping that her magnificent coat would draw attention away from her outfit.
“You look wonderful, very demure!” exclaimed Aruna, who was wearing a tall, star-speckled wizard's hat, which kept flopping forward due to the size of his rather large ears. He bobbed his head forward in an effort to realign the problem, grabbing at the hat tip with a gentle talon.
“Dee what?” asked Digger Bo, the tumbling badger, who himself was rather sparkly, dressed in an all-black outfit painted with glow-in-the-dark spots. He was so excited that he was practicing his high-speed tumbles, which made his spots look like the blurring light show from a disco ball. As he spun, the spots turned into a glowing, rainbow circle on the grass.
“Demure!” voiced Aruna again, his hat now behaving, but before he could explain what it meant, Cressida butted in rather sharply, her claws now retracted back into place. “Let it go, Aruna—let it go! I fear it would be so uninteresting the boredom will send the dog to sleep.”
B-Jay arrived just in time to change the conversation, pulling up next to them with his usual toot-toot from his horn. As he did so, Zippo, the tiny ant, appeared from behind the tree and marveled at their fancy carriage for the evening.
“You look awesome, B-Jay!” he chirped. The tiny ant was a perfect Jiminy Cricket, wearing a custom-made green top hat and tiny coattails that he swept backward with one hand, while the other tapped a toothpick "umbrella" on the dashboard; then inquired aloud. “Now, has anyone seen him? My conscience is telling me he’s nearby.” He strutted back and forth like the Lord of some historically significant manor.
“Seen who?” Maxwell, the large St. Bernard dog, asked. His voice was muffled because he was wearing a giant, fluffy sheep costume. He looked like a very large, very confused cotton ball. He was shaking his head side to side in an amusing manner in an effort to peer through the thick forest of white wool, not wishing to miss the night’s action-packed adventure.
“Pinocchio!” Zippo cried, hopping into a dance pose, swiveling his top hat around in mid-strut—much like he usually did when wearing his baseball cap. “A cricket is nothing without his puppet!”
Just as he said that, Aruna flew down from the tree, grabbed the puppet with his rather large talons, and placed him squarely in the front seat next to Cressida who turned sharply in response, her tail twitching with a "don't touch me" rhythm. Cressida always took the front seat and shoved the wooden puppet up against the door with a flick from her hind quarters, not wishing to give an inch of comfort away. Zippo didn’t notice as he was so excited standing on the dashboard, looking out of the window, and Digger Bo and Maxwell, who was busy gnawing at the cotton above his furled eyebrows, were unconcerned as they took up their usual seats in the rear. Meanwhile, Aruna clung to the headrest looking wizardly.
Once they were all seated they headed in the direction of town. It wasn't long before the houses appeared and they fell silent, looking this way and that. It was a spectacle none of them had seen before. The leather creaked and squeaked, as each torso spun around, excitedly, at the world that was unfolding in front of them.
The neighborhood gardens were tangled and weaved together with faux cobwebs; cobwebs that came to life with the wafting of the breeze, reflecting and shifting under the purple lights and the dim streetlights that lined the sidewalks. The streetlights cast long shadows across the lawns, partially hiding the ghouls and the goblins, the witches and the skeletons and all manner of things that hinted not to enter. Behind this macabre theater were the crumbling, cracked paint, desolate looking, weathered porches, guarded by an army of grinning pumpkins, all carved with different expressions, their candlelit eyes flickering menacingly as they offered bowls of candy, a prize for the trick-or-treaters who were brave enough to venture to the front door. It was quiet and eerie as they headed toward the center of town.
A few minutes later their spine-tingling spirits were lifted to more jubilant feelings as B-Jay turned into the town square. It was a sea of orange lights and cheering crowds throwing candy. People were shoulder to shoulder as they lined both sides of the street, cheering at the parade as it came toward them. The parade had just started and they snuck in unnoticed, under the cover of torrential candy as it descended from high above their heads, stealing covertly into line, just in front of the pirate ship which had fallen short, hampered by the waves of spinning taffy, leaving a gap that could be exploited. Cressida immediately started waving at the crowd in order to blend in, sitting on her haunches, her back straight and head held high.
“Wow—she really is taking her role seriously!” exclaimed Maxwell still pulling at the cotton wool flapping in front of his wide eyes, with a few sharp tugs from a hind leg.
“Well, you do remember that her son was called Ludwig Gustav Clawhauser Fritz the 1st, so maybe she really is a queen,” mused B-Jay tooting at the cheering faces and flashing his lights to match their enthusiasm.
They traveled slowly along 1st Street North, marveling at the other floats and the masses of people lining the sidewalk. There must have been more than 50 floats in total. They could see a Cinderella float, a Haunted House float with several occupants dressed in large white sheets looking like a box of Kleenex had exploded, some dancing jack-o'-lanterns, and a witch and wizard float adorned with bubbling cauldrons—the witches stirring the potions intently while the wizards waved sparkle wands above their heads, chanting several spells that they had obviously stolen from Harry Potter movies.
A few minutes later the parade veered sharply left down Main Street and, just as B-Jay turned the corner, a single wave from Cressida's regal paw sent Pinocchio tumbling to the sidewalk. She carried on with her regal performance, never giving the tumbling puppet the time of day or a second thought. This was her moment to shine, so good riddance to the annoyance that had invaded her sacred space.
The puppet tumbled and bounced as it hit the curbside, snapping to a motionless posture, after a final violent jolt. The incident was unnoticed by everyone in the car and the hundreds of people outside of the car. The spectators were too busy waving their arms around, clapping and waving American flags with the kind of zeal that would signify they were greeting some returning armada of proud heroes. Those in the car were similarly awestruck, all eyes wide and alert as they focused on dodging the flying candy that whizzed past their bobbing heads.
Unnoticed to all, that was, except one. A small, grinning, ginger-haired chubby child, who leaped from his mother’s side picking up the discarded Pinocchio, before hurling him as hard as he could into the night sky watching it descend, to his apparent delight onto the passing pirate ship.
It was several minutes before Aruna remarked at the puppet’s disappearance, glancing by chance at each seat, checking everyone’s welfare, afraid that one of them might have a Tootsie Roll lodged somewhere it shouldn’t be lodged.
Zippo grew frantic realizing that Pinocchio was no longer with them. “What is a Jiminy without his puppet?” He began to wail uncontrollably, pulling his hat downward in a crumpled fashion to hide his obvious distress.
Aruna, who was very calm in desperate situations, immediately took charge, shouting orders like they were wizardly spells, his beak clicking very loudly above the wailing noise: “Maxwell! Use that nose! Sniff out the puppet! We’re looking for pine with a hint of varnish!”
Maxwell, grateful that his eyesight wasn’t needed—still half blind from the white balls dangling in front of his face—and confident that his sense of smell could penetrate any ball of inhibiting cotton wool, began sniffing the air furiously, his sheep-suit wobbling like a jiggling marshmallow as he inhaled several intakes from the night air. “I smell popcorn… I smell hot dogs… wait! I smell… wood!” With that smell deep in his nostrils, his ears pricked back and his tail stood upright, he turned sharply around on his seat, his gaze squarely centered on the pirate ship. “There!” he bellowed gruffly. “10 o’clock and high!”
Suddenly, everyone turned in the direction he was facing, and one by one they saw him, not 20 feet behind them, stuck in the crow’s nest, his feet dangling from the rafters and his body crumpled like an unwelcome hostage! His posture jiggled in the raftered webbing as the float veered forward and Pinocchio gazed back at them with a look that screamed… “Help me.”
“Shiver me timbers—he’s been kidnapped by pirates!” Zippo screamed, dropping to his knees on the dashboard, sobbing. “Eeeee-heeee! Pinocchio! Stay brave!” His top hat was in his hands at this point, his plea causing his hands to respond by squeezing at the green velour like a tear-soaked handkerchief that needed wringing out.
“I say we mount a rescue mission immediately,” said Cressida, pretending to be concerned and sounding almost serious, her eyes narrowing and drooping at the edges as if to show solidarity with the group, while at the same time trying not to let her unseen guilt show. “I will wave furiously and distract them while you boys go and board their vessel.”
“You could,” voiced B-Jay, maintaining a slow and steady pace, while trying to console his tiny friend, “but what would it look like if the people watching were to see a dozen heavily armed pirates swinging their swords at a very fluffy, unarmed sheep? That would surely draw attention.”
“Yes, that is an excellent idea,” said Maxwell, feeling brave, having only heard the first part of the conversation. “My sheep costume is very fluffy and the padding will stop their swords from doing any real damage. I am ready when you are!” Maxwell stood high, arching his back and in his deepest voice replied, "Raise the Jolly Roger B-Jay, they'll be walking the plank in no time!"
“That’s it!” cried Aruna sharply, raising one foot that exhibited seriously sharp talons. “That's actually not a bad idea, Cressida!”
“Are you serious?” Cressida looked at him with a look she generally reserved for the dog, her eyebrows contorted inward. “Don’t tell me we are actually going to send the sheep. That’s really your plan?”
“No, no, of course not. We need a distraction, although I am not sure you waving is the kind we need,” replied Aruna, his head turning with purpose. “Digger Bo is the kind of distraction we need for this mission.” They all turned toward the badger, who had been relatively quiet until now, satiated with his usual tumbling, just stopping every now and then to observe the parade.
“Who, me?” he replied, looking rather confused, creeping backward toward the safety of the door.
“Yes!” replied Aruna authoritatively. “What is the longest you think you could tumble for?”
“Is forever long enough?” replied Digger Bo, thinking that it had to be a trick question seeing as he very rarely stopped. His whiskers flickered with excitement at the mention of tumbling and he inched his ruffled body forward again.
“That should be long enough indeed,” replied Aruna pointing the taloned foot at Digger Bo. “When I say go, I want you to tumble as fast as you can for as long as you can and hopefully, that light display you call an outfit will blind the pirates while I swoop in to rescue Pinocchio from the rafters. You must keep going, though, until I am safely back on board. Hopefully no one will see me as they will be too busy watching the light show.”
Zippo stopped his wailing. He knew how wise Aruna was, and the plan certainly had merit. He gripped the dashboard with both hands, the hat having been restored to its original position. Everybody sat very still as Aruna began a countdown, anticipating a most daring rescue.
“Fingers crossed,” voiced Cressida sarcastically, adjusting her crown once more with a wry smile.
“3-2-1 and.................... GO!”
Digger Bo was so excited at being the hero of the story that he began tumbling on the count of two, and by the time Aruna had reached "GO," he was at full speed. The lights from his outfit reflected everywhere. The crowd gasped and several cries of “ooooh” were heard as the street lit up like a 4th of July firework display. Cressida actually stopped waving and, for a fraction of a second, seemed quite impressed.
“Stay strong, Pinocchio!” cried out Zippo adopting the position generally reserved for prayer. “Your suffering will soon be short-lived.”
Before he had finished the sentence, Aruna swooped back on board, wings spread wide upon arrival, and dropped the wooden puppet back to the front seat where he was eagerly greeted by a relieved Jiminy. The mission had been successful.
“My boy!” Zippo cried, hugging the puppet’s wooden leg. “I knew you’d come back to your conscience!”
“Well,” Cressida sighed, licking the tip of her tail as if unconcerned, secretly relieved that she hadn’t been found out. “At least the badger’s constant spinning was finally useful for something other than making me dizzy.”
“That was the best rescue adventure ever!” voiced B-Jay, tooting his horn in tune with the parade's drumbeats, synchronizing his lights at the same beats per minute. “Now, though, I think we should head home before another tragedy befalls us.” Everyone agreed.
As they reached the end of Main Street they veered off, leaving the parade as it turned down a side street toward the final part of its route. Another mile or so and they would reach the cottonwood tree. As they negotiated the side streets, heading out of town, they watched the multitude of children, flitting from house to house, dressed in all manner of fancy costumes, accompanied by adults carrying buckets. The adults stood at the edge of the paths while the children bravely skipped toward the pumpkins, returning with smiles and handfuls of candy. They all marveled at how brave the children were and similarly wondered why the adults didn’t like candy. Slowly the people faded into the darkness behind.
The moon sat high as they arrived back at the cottonwood tree, reflecting off Cressida’s sequins, and for a moment she really did look like an Egyptian Queen.
“You know,” Maxwell said, finally shaking off his sheep-hood with a violent double twist from his head. “That was the best adventure yet, even if no one could recognize what I came as tonight.”
“I know what you came as tonight,” said Aruna, who was back on his favorite branch, eyes scanning familiar places, “but I will let you explain it to everyone if you feel it is important.”
“A big bowl of cotton candy?” questioned Cressida, alighting elegantly from the vehicle, thinking that food was always the answer where Maxwell the dog was concerned.
“A sheepdog!” replied Maxwell, thinking he had finally outsmarted her, smiling as he revealed his genius. His jaw was slightly agape as if he were grinning.
Everyone laughed—even Cressida, who managed a light chuckle—as B-Jay readied his engine with a few presses on the gas pedal. As his friends regrouped under the tree, their costumes glittered under the light of Elmwood stars. One look at Pinocchio suggested it was indeed their best adventure yet!
B-Jay closed the garage door, locking the cold night air on the other side and fell asleep by the warmth of his engine.