CHAPTER III - Again

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When Arvin woke, Mrs Bell was lighting the pumpkin beside her door.

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The sky outside was the same dark blue it had been before he fell asleep.

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Outside, the tune reached its high notes, paused, and started again.

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“Did I miss it?” he asked, sitting up.

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“Not at all. You're just in time.”

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On the table was his toffee apple.

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He knew it was his because the stick leaned to one side. Only now, the apple was whole.

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He checked the back of it.

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He ran a finger over the place where he'd bitten it. The toffee was smooth and unbroken.

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“I bit this.”

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Mrs Bell looked over.

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“Then have another.”

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He thought she meant another apple. Perhaps she had thrown the old one away.

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Outside, Arthur stood by the table in the square with the same crooked hat. Someone had put fresh cakes on the plates. The woman in the purple cardigan waved a tray of mummy sausages.

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“Happy Halloween, Arvin!”

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He smiled despite himself.

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Another Halloween. A whole extra one.

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This time, he tried a biscuit from every house. Arthur showed him how to throw little beanbags through the mouth of a wooden pumpkin. When Arvin missed, everyone clapped anyway.

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Arthur bent to pick up a beanbag. A strip of silver tape was peeling away from the toe of his brown shoe. He pressed it down with his other foot, then handed Arvin the bag.

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Near the gate, more decorations hung between the trees. An old woman in a long skirt. A man in a knitted vest. Their feet turned above the fallen leaves.

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“Did you make those?” Arvin asked Arthur.

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Arthur followed his gaze.

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“Been there a while.”

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Before Arvin could ask anything else, the woman with the cushion called him back for another turn.

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Later, he fell asleep in Mrs Bell's chair.

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When he woke, she was lighting the pumpkin.

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The same high notes came through the doorway. Arvin knew exactly when the pause would come.

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He sat very still.

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His bucket stood beside the chair. He had filled it to the handle, but now there was only a mint and the sweet with the stuck wrapper.

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“Where did my sweets go?”

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“Well, that won't do,” Mrs Bell said.

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She picked up the bowl.

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Arvin pulled the bucket away.

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“You said that before.”

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Her hand stayed above the bowl for a moment.

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Then she smiled.

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“Did I?” 11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVpxOjbaXu1

─── ※ 🎃 𝖧𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 🎃 ※ ── ─ 11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡilHFTFUXnX

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He tried to count after that.

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One Halloween. Then another. Then another.

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He made a small mark on his wrist with a pen from Mrs Bell's kitchen. After he slept, it was gone.

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He asked Arthur what day it was.

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“Halloween.”

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“I know. But is it Monday?”

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Arthur held out a beanbag.

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“Your turn.”

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Arvin didn't take it.

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He couldn't remember seeing the sun since he arrived. Sometimes the sky became almost light, but then a door would open, someone would call him over, and the pumpkins would be glowing again.

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He didn't want cake anymore. Every house smelled of the same warm pastry and cinnamon. Even with nothing in his mouth, he could taste it. His stomach felt tight.

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He wanted the toast Mum made when he was ill, with the butter right up to the edges.

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He wanted his own bed.

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That evening, when Mrs Bell came towards him with a plate, he began to cry.

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“I want to go home.”

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She put the plate down at once.

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“Oh, sweetheart.”

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“I want my mum.”

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Mrs Bell knelt beside his chair and wiped his cheek with her apron. He could see a little orange pumpkin near the hem, with one eye coming unstitched.

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“You've hardly eaten.”

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“I don't want anything.”

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Around them, the square had gone quiet.

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The old woman in purple lowered her tray. Arthur stood with a beanbag in his hand.

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“I want my mum,” Arvin said again, louder.

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Mrs Bell looked towards the road.

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“She came looking,” she said.

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Arvin stopped crying.

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“When?”

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Mrs Bell didn't answer.

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He climbed off the chair.

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