Excerpt from “Masquerade,” from Twelve Tantalizingly Twisted Tales, a spooky middle-grade reader by David C. Hughes, illustrated by Christina Evans.

“So what’s up, bro?” Sam dug into his coat pocket and pulled out another bar of soap as they trekked through the woods toward the bus garage. He offered it to Reginald, but his younger brother shook his head. Sam dropped the soap back into his pocket. He thought his brother would’ve been more excited about the prospect of soaping up the school busses, especially good ol’ number 111. Sam had loved riding that bus when he was in elementary school. He sighed. For some reason his brother had shrunk into a world of his own tonight, more than usual. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Naw,” Reginald said. “I think I got its tongue instead.”

Sam chuckled. Reginald’s magic skills were improving nicely. He only wished his confidence would catch up to his talents. “Yep, that was pretty funny what you did with that rubber mouse, bro,” he said. “I’ve never seen a cat jump so high before. Seriously, though,” Sam prodded. “You okay? I thought calling in that colony of bats and swooping them at the cars on Main Street would make your night. I mean, did you see the look on Mrs. Lance’s face when she drove by? That’ll teach her to keep her windows rolled down on cold nights like this. I think one of them grabbed the cigarette right out of her hand! That was awesome stuff.”

Reginald nodded but didn’t look up. “Yeah, it was great. I mean, really cool.”

Sam frowned. Reginald was definitely not himself tonight. “Okay, spit it out,” he said. “Something happened at school today.”

Reginald sighed. “They got me again.”

Sam stopped. His heart fell. He put an arm around his brother. “Who? That bully? What’s his name . . . Roger Morris?”

“And Jerry Bartholomew. Pelted me with eggs this time. I washed up before you guys got home.”

“Why didn’t you tell Mom and Dad?”

Reginald shrugged.

“You need to tell them, bro. I mean, truly.”

“Why?” his little brother finally looked up at him. Moonlight glistened from the tears running down his face. “It won’t do any good.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Sam put his hands on Reginald’s shoulders and squinted. “Why won’t it?”

“Because Mom and Dad need us to blend in,” Reginald moaned. “Remember?”

Sam grimaced. “That doesn’t mean we can’t defend ourselves.”

“I know,” said Reginald, “but I figure it’s easier this way.”

“Easier? To just take it? It doesn’t look like it’s easier to me. Cripes, Reggie. We’ve been ‘just taking it’ since we got here, and look where it’s gotten us. Jeez.”

Reginald gave his brother a half-hearted smile. “I’m happy.”

“Are you?”

“Sure . . . for the most part, I really am.”

Sam started toward the bus garage again. He felt for his brother. Yeah, he was odd, but in a good sort of way, always with his nose buried in a book, living in his own world, a world far away from their own. He played the part well. Maybe too well. He resolved to talk to his parents about his brother, but in the meantime Devil’s Night was still young, and they still had three bars of soap left. As they approached the bus garage, an idea popped into his head. “I got it!” he blurted.

“Got what?” Reginald asked.

“Mom and Dad are always telling us to blend in, right?”

“Sure.”

“The costume parade is tomorrow night, right?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, instead of just watching it this time, let’s blend in. Like in the old days.”

“The old days?” In the moonlight Sam saw Reginald’s face bloom. “Oh . . . like in the old, old days.” He smiled. “Yeah. . . .” He looked at his brother. “Yeah! That’d be awesome.”

Sam laughed, and for the first time that night, Reginald joined him.

Copyright ©2016 by David C. Hughes