something wicked this way comes

[intrinsicworth]

While Glen had decided long before that he would be attending the Gala on Halloween along with the Landons, he hadn't figured on the particular turn of events that would transform a good portion of the island population into zombies, mummies, werewolves, and vampires all from the era when movies when technicolor was still a thing of dreams and

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[the_adversary]

So, it turned out that the stick up the island's ass was maybe not quite as firmly lodged as Flagg had previously thought. Halloween came to the island, but instead of magical candy trees or a complimentary performance of It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!, the island had morphed into the kind of bad dream that came after a night of smoking up while watching a string of grotty sci-fi/horror flicks. With Thriller playing in the background.

Anyway, what was impressive is that if all the islanders noticed the change (and Flagg didn't really see how anyone could miss it), they didn't batten down the hatches nor head for the hills with Fay Wrayesque screams as he might've expected. Instead, it seemed like most of Goody Two Shoe Island was doing the monster mash at Tony Stark's costume party. Seemed like a waste to stay in on such a beautiful night, but Flagg wasn't a party pooper, either, so after heading to the Compound and fishing for awhile in the clothing box, he finally headed in that direction. The reaper costume wasn't the most

[intrinsicworth]

"Kojak!" Glen called, standing in the ridiculous vampire costume and calling to his 24-hour-feral-dog. "Come back here you ridiculous mutt," he said quieter, shaking his head.

He'd hoped to catch Kojak quickly, close him up inside of Little Woodsville where there was truly nothing he could harm, and head back to the party before Lloyd or The Landons could miss him.

"If you make me track all over the island..." he muttered the idle threat before he suddenly became aware that there was someone near him.

[the_adversary]

The approaching figure resolved itself into that of a tall, cloaked man, face totally hidden by the shadows cast by his monk's hood. His head canted slightly as he regarded the old man, and one hand emerged from ragged sleeves, clutching a plastic scythe. It was the Reaper, classically portrayed-- with the exception that his dread silence had been replaced with a happy, hale and all-too-familiar voice.

"Guess who?" he asked excitedly, gesturing widely at his costume. "And if you say the Ghost of Christmas Future, I'll kill ya."

[intrinsicworth]

Glen half turned and opened his mouth to ask a question of the costumed stranger before he registered the voice, and more importantly registered its owner. In that moment he hated himself for the sharp jolt of fear that shot all the way through him, feeling his arthritic spine stiffen and his face tense. His eyes narrowed as he made to completely the turn and face his old enemy, but before he could complete the movement he felt a sharp pain and then felt nothing at all.

As angel of death struck him, Glen Bateman's eyes rolled up in his head and he dropped to the ground senseless.

[the_adversary]

Flagg watched the immediate comprehension surface in the old man's eyes, then pulled out the pistol and rapped the butt of it soundly against his skull with a fantastic crack. Old Man Chuckles fell to the ground just as if the maker had cut his strings.

"Death, Mr. Bateman," the man in black said airily, throwing the old man over the back end of Lloyd's horse. "Practically gave you that one."

As it turned out, spontaneous crime was considerably more complicated without the assistance of magic, and Flagg stood staring at the concussed old man and the horse for nearly a minute before getting the idea to use the black cord from his costume to secure him. Still, the geriatric fuck was slippery, and if he dropped off somewhere between here and... oh, who knew, dino country? it would be annoying. So Flagg kept one hand on the reins and another clamped around Bateman's collar for insurance. Then, he rode