A wimp of a man in too-tight black trousers and a yellow knit shirt shuffled and stumbled out the front door of Walnut High, oblivious to the two husky youths in maroon and gray school jackets leering at him from across the concrete walk.
George Sergeant, the school’s star quarterback, elbowed his best friend, Fred Sinclair — better known as Monster. “Here comes that geek teacher, Mr. Otis Proffer.”
“Yeah. He’s goo-goo eyed over your Cynthia.”
George’s own dark eyes narrowed to slits. “Too bad for him.”
“Look at ‘em,” Monster said, chewing a toothpick protruding from the corner of his mouth. “He’s gonna ride his little red bicycle home. Ain’t that cute.”
“It’s a wonder he don’t split the ass right out of those tight pants, straddling that rusty old bike.”
Monster sniggered. “I hear he buys his clothes in Goodwill.”
“No. I think they are hand-me-downs from the Fifties. And that ridiculous straw hat he wears tops it.”
Just then a tall, attractive girl in navy blue pants and a white sweater rushed out the front door, her long chestnut tresses streaming behind.
Otis Proffer spotted the attractive Cynthia Adams and tipped his uncomely hat and smiled hugely. She nodded politely and went over to George, who’d been waiting for her.
“What the hell you even look at ‘em for, Cynthia? Proffer is the nerd of nerds.”
“He’s also my history teacher.” There was a note of aggravation in her otherwise pleasant voice.
“Substitute,” George corrected.
“Whatever. He’s still a teacher and deserves respect.”
“Sorry. I have a bit of a problem respecting geeks.”
Her hazel eyes flared with anger. “Shame on you, George. Mr. Proffer really is a very nice man. And ... a very good teacher ... even if he is a substitute. In fact, he makes our lessons much more interesting than old Mrs. Fletcher.... But all you see is the outside. Right?” Without waiting for a response, she briskly walked away.
“Hey! Don’t you want a ride?”
“No!” she called back without even glancing over her shoulder. “I’d rather walk than ride with the likes of you!”
Monster sniggered and shrugged his broad shoulders and headed for his black Toyota Camry. George ambled behind, obviously frustrated. He stopped at the car for a moment and shivered. There was a chill in the air that had not been there earlier, and a pile of red and brown leaves stirred at his feet.
“Coming or not?” Monster asked.
“Yeah ...” George ducked in on the passenger side.
An hour before dark, Cynthia was sitting on the front stoop reading her history lesson for the next day, when the big tan boxers from next door started barking and carrying on. She glanced up from her book to see Otis Proffer frantically peddling his red bike down the street, desperately trying to flee from Mr. Thompson’s dogs.
“My God! They’ll eat him alive!” She tossed her book aside and ran out to the street, reprimanding the dogs harshly. They knew her well and reluctantly obeyed, loping back to their own yard, but still barking. The largest one, the male, turned and faced Cynthia, curled his upper lip slightly, almost as though he were going to speak, then sighed disappointedly and flopped down beside his mate.
“Better,” Cynthia said. Now facing Mr. Proffer and gazing into his reddened face, she realized how much he resembled the actor who had starred in all those old Jaws flicks. What was his name? Roy ... something or the other? Of course, the actor was no geek and was certainly better looking, but there was a definite resemblance. And she would have never thought the actor a wimp.
“T-Thank you!” Proffer managed to sputter, still winded from his mad peddling. “Those dogs would have devoured me with great relish.”
“I don’t doubt that. The dog warden has fined Mr. Thompson more than once for letting them run loose.” It struck her then that she never had seen Mr. Proffer in her neighborhood before. Did he have certain motives for being there? Could it be he was purposely riding by her house? Perhaps to catch a glimpse of her? Or was she being egotistical? “I didn’t know you lived close, Mr. Proffer?” she bated.
Sheepishly, he rolled his light-brown eyes up to hers. She was a good inch taller than he. “I ... I really don’t. I ... I am gathering cans.” He indicated to the bulging, dark green garbage bag that was tied neatly to his bicycle bars. “I save them ... to sell for extra spending money.” He half-chuckled. “Don’t tell anyone. I get teased enough as it is. If certain persons were to find out, they would never leave me alone.”
Cynthia knew all too well who he was referring to and nodded that she understood. “Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Proffer.”
“Thank you. And please ... call me Otis.” He flushed a deep crimson. “I don’t mean to sound like I am getting personal ... but I’d like you to call me Otis.”
“I’m honored, Otis. But at school, I think I’d better stick to Mr. Proffer.”
“Yes ...yes. Of course, you are so right. I didn’t consider that. Point made. I’d best be on my way. Saving money to buy treats for Halloween. Coming up in about a week, you know. Can’t let the kiddies down.” He seemed to consider what he had just said for a moment, then added, “It’s not that I don’t have the money, I simply just try to save all I can of my paycheck for the future.”
“Your finances are you business, Otis. You don’t have to explain.”
He blushed again. “Well ... some folks think I’m weird. Guess I have this need to explain things because of it.... Have a good Halloween.”
“Yes. Halloween,” Cynthia said with a warm smile, then added, “Just about my favorite time of year, with the jack-o-lanterns, spooks and what have you. I may be seventeen, going on eighteen, but when it comes to All Hallow Even, I am still very much a little kid at heart.”
A deep smile kindled in his eyes. “Mine too,” he said softly. “It is my favorite.” He started to peddle off, and then stopped, looking hopefully back to Cynthia. “Have anything special planned this year?”
The question surprised her. Had he actually gathered sufficient nerve to ask her for a date? “Well, I usually do something with George. There’s always a party at someone’s house. I believe Monster’s mother is putting one on this year.”
Otis’ face darkened.
“Is there ... any particular reason you asked? I have no specific plans, as yet,” she carefully added.
His face brightened instantly. He appeared to think it over for a moment, and the brightness faded. “No ... You wouldn’t have any fun. It is just that, for a moment, I got this insane idea that maybe you would like to drop by my place, see the way I decorate for the little ones. They really get a thrill out of the spooky delights I fix up for them.”
He looked so pathetic, she felt sorry for him. She didn’t hesitate in saying, “I’d be honored to drop by and see it, Otis.”
“Really?” The lights in his eyes were suddenly doing a twinkling dance.
“Really.” She assured.
He cocked his head to one side and his brow furrowed. “You’re not putting me on, are you?”
“Never, Otis. I am not like the others. You should know that by now.”
The corners of his eyes wrinkled in a smile. “I know. That is why I like you so much. You are so much nicer than the rest.”
She reflected his smile and thanked him.
“I’d best be on my way. Have a lot of cans to sell. Want this Halloween to be extra special!” He winked in a timid sort of way, waved and was on his way, peddling fast and stirring up dust from the road.
The boxers sprang to their feet and were about to pursue Mr. Proffer again, but Cynthia challenged them very vocally. They whimpered, made slight grunting noises and plopped back down.
“Better.” Before picking up her book and entering the house, Cynthia stopped to savor the brightly colored leaves floating onto the lawn from the big maple in the front yard. Fall was such a wonderful time of year. The air already had that crisp, refreshing tingle. She loved it! As always, it gave her a strange inner warmth, kind of a glow. Almost like a rebirth. Most people would say that about spring, but with Cynthia, it was autumn.
“Finished with your studying?” Margaret Adams asked her only daughter, her only child, as she stirred the homemade vegetable soup. She was a short stocky woman of Irish descent and attractive in a matronly way.
“I’ve read the chapter three times. If I don’t know the answers now, I never will.”
“And while we are on the subject of history. Wasn’t that Otis Proffer you were chatting with outside?”
“Yes, Mom.” She laid her book on the kitchen table. “He really is a nice little man. I detest the way the jocks tease him.”
“No denying that. But you’ve got to admit he does dress a bit weird ... especially for a teacher.”
“Mom, everyone is weird in some way or the other. He is just very conservative.”
“Now that’s a new way of putting it. If he really buys all his clothes in junk stores, he is more than conservative. Eccentric would be polite.”
“Mother!”
“Okay. But I am sure he could afford better.” Margaret placed the lid on the boiling soup and turned the burner down to medium and sat down to the table. “You kind of like him, don’t you? Otis, I mean.”
“Not romantically. Otherwise, of course. In his own unconventional way, I think he is kind of cute.” She moved to the window, admiring the gold-yellow leaves hanging on the maple tree just outside the mullioned window. “You know, there is something about fall, Mother, that makes me feel so ... so ... new inside. It is almost sexual. You ever feel that way?” she said and turned her face towards her mother.
Margaret had just selected an oatmeal cookie from the maroon crystal platter on the table and her mouth was open to take a bite, but she stopped. An odd expression came over her.
“Did I say something wrong, Mother?”
Margaret pondered for a moment, bit off a small portion and chewed, waved the cookie in the air, then spoke, “Course not. It is just that you have never mentioned it before.”
Cynthia took a seat next to her mother. “It was just a statement. You act as though I’ve said something ... a bit unusual. Have I?”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean anything. Nothing unusual about it at all. Lots of folks love fall.”
Cynthia scrutinized her mother. She wasn’t telling all. “Why do I have this gut feeling you are keeping something from me?”
“Forget it, Cynthia. I’ve just had a busy day. I love fall too. And, yes, I do feel that newness you were speaking of — a wonderful feeling.” She scooted her chair back and got up to stir the soup that was bubbling up the lid. She turned it down as low as it would go.
Cynthia could see her mother wasn’t going to fess up. She knew her mother all too well. Subject-change time. “Mom? You think it would be okay for me to spend Halloween with Otis? Instead of going to some goofball party with George?”
Margaret sat back down heavily in her seat. “Isn’t he a bit old for you? He’s got to be forty, at least.”
“It’s not a real date, Mom. I know he’s too old for me. Wouldn’t even consider him that way. He told me he gets a big kick out of decorating his place for the kids. He really wants me to see it. And, frankly, I am sick of George and his friends. They’re all such ... such ... jocks.”
“If I know George, he isn’t going to take this very well. He’s going to be a little upset.”
“Pooh! Let him get upset. I have been seriously thinking of breaking up with him for a long time, anyway.”
“Well ... since you put it that way.... Only, I hope George doesn’t try to kill poor Mr. Proffer.”
“He’d best not even go there. He will have to come through me first.”
“Well ... since you feel that strongly about it, maybe you should. Just hope this is what you really want and you aren’t making a big mistake. You have been seeing him for quite some time.”
“Mother, believe me. I really don’t think that breaking up with that goofball is a mistake.”
Margaret didn’t look so certain. “You have always been so crazy about him, Cynthia.”
“Not lately, Mom. I have had it with him.”
“Well, okay.” Margaret rose from the table once more to tend the soup.
“Give me a reason!” George bellowed, his face turning crimson. “Give me a damn good reason!”
“Already have. I just don’t feel about you the way I used to.”
He threw his hands up to the side of his head, breathing heavily. Then threw his hands down in frustration. “It’s someone else, isn’t it?” he gasped.
“No ...” she shook her head. “No! Absolutely not!”
He looked at her straight on, jaw twitching. “You’re lying!”
She slapped him hard across the face. He lunged back, more from shock than pain.
“What the hell did you do that for?”
“Don’t ever accuse me of lying again!” Everyone, including teachers, had stopped in the hall, curious as to what was going on. “I have been totally and completely honest with you. I am just sick of jocks. And, unfortunately, you are the epitome of jocks! We’re through! Finished! That is all there is to it.” She swirled on her heels and stomped off in a huff, leaving George stunned and embarrassed in a way he had never experienced before.
At his locker, Monster had been honed in on the conversation. He slammed his locker shut and shuffled up to George. “Bet it’s that geek — Proffer.”
It was as though true enlightenment swept over George. His face changed rapidly from red anger to sweet revenge. “Yeah! You’re right! Since that little freak started filling in for our history teacher, Cynthia has been acting strange.... Only, I can’t really dig what she sees in him?”
“You know how some chics are. Could be she’s developed a thing for the nerdy type. You’ve got to admit that if there ever was a nerd, it is Otis Proffer.”
George laid an arm around his buddy. “You know what, dear friend. I think you are absolutely right.” The two boys started walking down the hall and everyone turned back to doing whatever it was they were doing.
“You gonna let that geek get away with it?” Monster asked.
“Hell no!” George said. “Halloween’s coming. I’ve heard ol’ Proffer gets his kicks outta doing special things for kids. Well ... this year, we are gonna do some special things for Mr. Proffer.”
Monster sniggered. “Sounds like my kind of fun. But what about my Mom’s party?”
George looked up to the top of the door of his next class — Spanish. “No problema, mi amigo. No problema. We can sneak in and out while she is putting everyone through those stupid games she thinks we want to play. We will never be missed.”
Monster grinned hugely. “I hear ya, George.”
Margaret emptied the large cellophane bag of multi-colored suckers into her largest salad bowl and placed the bowl on the mantel. It wasn’t good dark and already she could hear the high-pitched laughter of excited children down the street. She glanced out the living room window. The moon was full. She released the olive green drapes and stepped back. She hadn’t realized Halloween fell on the full moon this year. A faint whimper exuded from her throat. She had been in denial so long, she had put off warning Cynthia? But Cynthia had already left for Mr. Proffer’s house. Maybe she should call? She started across the room for her cell phone on the counter by the sink, then stopped. No. Cynthia would not believe her. There was always the chance that nothing would happen.... Still, what if it did? Before she could make up her mind, a gang of trick-or-treaters came to the door. She went to hand out their treats.
“So delighted you could make it, Cynthia,” Proffer said, making a sweeping gesture, showing proudly, the elaborately decorated room. The east wall was midnight blue with a large full moon in the center. Underneath the moon, was a wooden bridge. An owl swooped low, between the moon and the bridge and dozens of bats flittered by in circular patterns. The entire wall was a well-done mural. In front of the mural was a hand-carved wooden horse. Straddling the horse was the headless horseman, very realistic. Hours of work had gone into such a magnificent display.
Cynthia was more than impressed. “I love it!” she shrieked. “You did all this yourself? I’m absolutely amazed,” she added as an afterthought, absorbing the eerie view in front of her.
Proffer flushed slightly and nodded in his shy manner. “Yes ... I did. Took me close to a year. Believe I started it right around the end of last November.”
“Maybe you should be teaching art instead of history, Mr. Proffer.”
“Otis,” he politely reminded her. “I do teach art sometimes. Night classes. Mainland College.”
“I hadn’t a clue. That’s great! You’re very, very good.”
“There’s more,” he said proudly, proceeding to show her the west side of the room. A werewolf hovered over a terrified female victim on the dirt floor. Behind them, was another mural of a deep, dark forest and a cloudless night. All kinds of night birds and bats hung from the ceiling, all carved from wood.
“You didn’t do all this in one year,” she said, amazed.
“No. Much of it has been done over time. The bats were made about five years ago. The werewolf and his lady were made two. I have older carvings stored in my shed out back. I like a change of scenery from time to time,” he said, smiling pleasantly.
“It is all so realistic!” she said, getting goose bumps. And it wasn’t cold in the room. “All this doesn’t frighten the kids?”
He pondered the question momentarily. “Sometimes. Halloween’s supposed to be the night of fright and thrills, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “Of course, Otis. You’re so right.”
“Anyway,” he breathed softly (she noticed it to be a little sensual), “I get a bigger and bigger following each year. More and more children coming to see what Mr. Proffer has new to offer in chills and thrills.”
Cynthia didn’t doubt what he was saying. After all, wasn’t she one of the crowd that always flocked to see a Stephen King or Clive Barker flick? But this --! So real! “Well, I am very impressed.” She noticed a small table in the center of the room, covered with a bright-orange cloth, and two black candles were on each side of a shoe box in its center. The box was piled high with what seemed an endless assortment of candy delights for the children.
There was an interruption of rapping on the front door and a child’s voice calling, “Trick-or-treat!”
Otis’ face lit up and he grinned hugely, hurrying to the door. It was obvious; he was a kid all over again.
George and Monster huddled in the bushes just outside Otis Proffer’s home and peered in from the side living room window. “Wow!” Monster blurted, unwittingly. “That werewolf looks genuine!”
George nudged him hard in the ribs with his elbow. “Not so loud, dork. They might hear.”
Monster ignored George’s warning. “You think he really made those all by himself?”
“Who gives a rat’s ass?” George said, irritated, not caring if Otis Proffer had built the Brooklyn Bridge. The geek was making goo-goo eyes at his Cynthia. What made matters worse was Cynthia actually looked like she was enjoying it.
After what seemed an endless parade of clowns, vampires, ghosts, monsters of every fantasy and nightmare, the evening quieted, only an occasional trick-or-treater dropping by. Otis had switched on his stereo — Fifties music — and asked Cynthia to dance. Cynthia’s slight hesitation, if there really was one at all, lasted only for a fleeting moment. For she found herself much more attracted to the nerdy teacher than she ever dreamed possible. She was locked in the arms of Otis Proffer and gazing into fascinating green eyes that danced with mysterious lights and promised something, but she wasn’t sure what.
As Otis whirled and dipped Cynthia around the room, she became more and more drawn to him, sensing he was alert to what she was feeling. He was pleased. He whispered her name, ever so provocatively. She trembled, realizing the feeling of newness she had spoken of to her mother only a few short hours before, dwelled and thrived in this little man.
“Who are you ... really?” she suddenly asked, surprising herself, pulling back from him just enough to look deep into those enchanting eyes.
He smiled with obvious amusement. A spark leapt between them. “Don’t you know, Cynthia?”
“You’re my teacher ... Otis Proffer. But who are you ... really?”
He glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall over the kitchen door. “Eleven-thirty,” he said, seeming to ignore her question. “Half an hour until the witching hour.” Then he grinned a charismatic grin and gracefully swirled her around the room in a magnificent manner.
Cynthia knew none of her friends would ever believe this. Otis’ appearance was so out of sync with his true self. He was anything but a nerd — he was fabulous!
“That does it!” George said. “We’re gonna end this little party right now!”
Monster grabbed George’s shoulder just as George stood. “We aren’t gonna just burst in, are we? Can’t we have a little fun? You promised.”
“Sure, Monster. We’d be stupid not to take advantage of Halloween. Go get our masks out of the car. Proffer will never know who or what hit ‘em.”
“Right. Got ya.” He was off to grab the masks.
Margaret could not take it any longer. Twenty minutes until midnight. What if it did happen and she hadn’t told Cynthia? She would regret it for the rest of her life. Quickly, she scribbled a note for her husband Ralph. He worked evenings, a security guard for the First National Bank. He would be home before she returned. She didn’t explain where she was going or why, only that she had an important errand to run. She snatched her blue sweater up from the back of the sofa and rushed out into the night, praying she was worrying over nothing.
There was a knock at Otis’ front door, followed by a falsetto, “Trick-or-treat!”
Cynthia looked at Otis. Each had a strange hunch. Otis headed for the door.
“Wait, Otis. Maybe you shouldn’t. It is awfully late for kids to be out.”
“Don’t worry, Cynthia. I can take care of myself.” He swung the door open. But ther
