Like most creatures of the night, Rassmussen loves Halloween. It is the one night of the year when he actually fits in with the majority, at least physically. His demeanor, eating habits, and foul smell are open to question.
You would think one such as he—ageless, worldly, hateful of children the rest of the year—would be content roaming the streets as himself, but no. Not my Rassmussen. He dresses in costume and escorts the neighborhood children from house to house.
Why, already the calls have begun, asking when my nephew—they know him as my nephew—arrives for his annual visit. For the one night, he becomes my costumed nephew, the neighborhood prankster, guardian, and all-around pal.
Most amazingly of all, he does not go as a gargoyle. No, he must go as a dragon, a bat, a superhero, but never a gargoyle. Do you know how hard it is to find a costume that accommodates wings? Oh, sure, there are fairies and angels, butterflies and birds, but he just grumbles when I mention those.
"The costume must reflect my personality," he says.
"Then go as a gargoyle," I say.
"Bah! No sense of adventure," he complains before storming out.
I know I shouldn't argue. It is only one night, but I get no pleasure from his dark costumes that are meant to intimidate and scare. Why he wouldn't even let me put body glitter on his dragon wings last year. He said it was too feminine, and he was an evil dragon, not a child's plaything. So, instead of glitter, he smeared blood around his mouth and bit down on a blood pack, like the ones moviemakers use in melodramatic death scenes.
At least I talked him out of carrying a torch and doing his fire-breathing act around the children. Can you imagine fire around those mass-produced, flimsy nylon jumpers and plastic masks? One stray spark and the neighborhood would be left childless in one big ball of flames.
This year, he wants to be an alien, complete with ray gun. Apparently, alien attire requires a gallon of pea-green body paint, black, gray, and white face makeup, an eyeball-tipped tentacle wig, and a gold-plated loincloth featuring a jewel-encrusted map of his planet across his rear.
At least there is no blood or fire involved.
Do you know? Does a ray gun require a shoulder holster or a hip holster?
Never mind. I'll do a Google search for an answer. You can find out anything on Google.