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: : : —TRICK OR TREAT, SAYS LEANDER, with Cassandra and Fletcher providing backup.
—Well, hello there, says the woman at the door. Her black hair is kind of teased up and she's wearing a long black dress; she's working a faint Elvira vibe. She drops a Three Musketeers in Leander's bag. —You look very cute, she says.
Leander stands there on the doorstep, in his Blue's Clues outfit, saying nothing, seeming rather uncertain of exactly what is expected of him in this particular social transaction.
—Say thank you, says Cassandra.
—Thank you, says Leander dutifully.
—You're welcome, says the woman. —Seriously, the woman says to Cassandra, —that's a great costume. Did you make it yourself?
—No, Cassandra says. —My mom made it for him last year.
—Thank heaven for grandma.
—Seriously, says Cassandra. —I thought he might want to go as something different this year, but he wanted to be Blue again; I think he thinks that's what Halloween is, you know? Another opportunity to wear the Blue's Clues outfit. Next year he won't even fit in it.
By this point Leander has lost interest in the conversation and has begun to stare at the detail work on a Styrofoam gravestone.
—Just be glad he still wants to go as something cute, Elvira says. —You never get that back. My boys are now into a whole slasher thing now, you know, hockey masks and bloody hooks and all that. She shakes her head distastefully. —Anyway, she says, —Happy Halloween.
Cassandra and Fletcher wish her the same and they head on to the next house. The guy answering the door there is wearing a rubbery skull mask and he holds a mysterious black box out towards Leander. The box has a hole cut into it, just the right size for a child's hand, but this does not tempt Leander one bit; he shrinks back and holds onto Mom's pant leg.
—Reach into the box, child, says the guy, in what he clearly believes to be a spine-chilling voice. Leander goes saucer-eyed.
—Go ahead, Leander, says Cassandra. —He's not going to hurt you. It's just make-believe.
Leander shakes his head vigorously no and presses his face into her legs. This is a matter, apparently, on which adults cannot be trusted.
—Okay, says Cassandra. —Thanks anyway, she says to Joe Skeletor, who recedes creepily back into his home, chuckling.
—Sorry about that guy, says Fletcher, as they're walking away. This was his idea, bringing Leander out to the burbs for trick-or-treating rather than trying to find a way to do it in the city, and so he feels responsible when little things go wrong, as though maybe before he suggested bringing Leander out here he should have somehow made sure that nobody was going to try to scare the bejesus out of the poor kid first.
—No, it's cool, says Cassandra. —He didn't mean any harm. He probably thinks it's good for kids to be scared a little bit; I'm down with that. It helps make them tough. She watches the kid for a second, then calls out—Hey Leander! I'm gonna eat you up!
She swoops down and digs her fingers into his ribs. He shrieks with laughter.
—I'm gonna cook you over a fire, she says. —And make soup out of your bones!
—No, Leander says, and he falls over into a drift of leaves. Cassandra leans over him, tickling, and he tries to wiggle away, and Fletcher smiles watching this, and feels a wave of pure affection go out towards them. It is not the first time he has felt this watching them, the mother and the child together. And it suddenly occurs to him that if his relationship with Cassandra were ever to end, he would miss both of them, her and the kid both. He thinks about that for a second, about just how fucking weird that is.
—Come on, says Cassandra, and she helps Leander up out of the leaves, and they run towards the next house, hand in hand. Fletcher just stands there for a second. He just stands there, watching them.
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