The Noisiest Ninja's Halloween
10 pages · 8 min · ages 6+
“Bwa-ha-ha-ha!” laughed the skeleton in the hall. “Shh!” said Kit, because upstairs, Baby Sam had just gone to sleep. Kit had one mission this Halloween: get to the front door before any trick-or-treater could ring the bell. “If that doorbell rings,” said Dad, “Baby Sam will cry till midnight. And so will I.” Dad had bought the plastic skeleton in September, right next to the Christmas trees. It laughed at anything it saw move. It had once laughed at a moth for ten whole minutes. Nobody knew how to switch it off. For once, Kit was not the noisiest thing in the house. She tied her dressing-gown belt in a double knot. “Silent as a shadow,” whispered Kit. “Bwa-ha-ha-ha!” laughed the skeleton.
Mum had gone upstairs to put Baby Sam to sleep. It was her turn. “Back in five minutes,” she had said. That was forty minutes ago. Nobody had seen her since. Kit was dressed as a ninja, like every year. It was also her pyjamas, so Dad said it was the best costume in the street. Dad was in his pyjamas too. It was seven o'clock. Dad wanted to turn off all the lights and hide. Kit had a better plan: sweets for everybody, and no doorbell. Dad said yes, from behind a cushion. He would watch from the living-room doorway, cushion and all. Kit knelt at the front window with Mr. Panda, her back-up ninja. Out on the lawn, Dad's big blow-up pumpkin was already starting to lean. Then came footsteps on the garden path. Small ones.
Kit ran. Down the hall. Past the skeleton. “Bwa-ha-ha-ha!” Kit froze. Upstairs, Baby Sam gave a tiny squeak. Kit held her breath. Silence. Skeletons don't have eyes in the back of their heads. So she ran on, and opened the front door just as a finger reached for the bell. Three small superheroes in tea-towel capes took a big breath. “TRICK—” “Shh.” Kit put a finger to her lips. “Baby's asleep.” The superheroes whispered, “…or treat.” Kit gave each superhero a sweet. At the gate, their grown-ups had never heard them so quiet. One grown-up asked if Kit did bedtimes. “Ninja,” whispered Kit.
Dad marched into the hall to switch the skeleton off. “It's obvious,” said Dad. The instructions said, “Step one: have fun.” There was no step two. “Bwa-ha-ha-ha!” laughed the skeleton. Dad pressed its tummy. His finger went straight through. Skeletons don't have tummies. “Bwa-ha-ha-ha!” laughed the skeleton. It was not obvious. Upstairs, a squeak. “Shh,” said Kit, to Dad. “Baby's asleep.” Dad stood very, very still. He shut his eyes. “Just resting them,” whispered Dad. Then Kit tiptoed across the hall, tongue poking out. Slower than a snail. Slower than the last bit of ketchup. Slower than Mum's five minutes. The skeleton didn't see a thing. Neither did Dad. Kit sat Mr. Panda on the skeleton's head, with his round tummy over its glowing eyes. Not a peep.
From the window, Kit spotted a big crowd coming up the path. Little pumpkins, little bats, and one very small robot made of boxes. Dad had filled the bowl with his favourite toffees. From the doorway, he whispered, “Save me one.” Kit flew down the hall, right past the skeleton. Not one ha. Not even half a ha. Mr. Panda's tummy was on the job.
The door opened before a single finger touched the bell. The crowd took a big breath. “TRICK—” Kit put a finger to her lips. “Shh. Baby's asleep.” The crowd whispered, “…or treat.” The robot had beeped at every single house. Now even he whispered, “Beep.” Their grown-ups waved from the gate, holding everybody's coats. The bowl was nearly empty. The mission was going perfectly.
Dad tiptoed down the hall for a closer look. “Why is Mr. Panda on the skeleton?” he asked. Kit opened her mouth to explain. “It's obvious,” said Dad. “He wants a better view.” He lifted Mr. Panda off. “Bwa-ha-ha-ha!” laughed the skeleton. Upstairs, a squeak. Then a bigger squeak. Kit and Dad froze. Dad was very good at this. Baby Sam had taught him. Silence. Still no Mum. “Right,” whispered Dad. “It's obvious. It's an outside skeleton now.” Slower than a snail, he put his hand over the skeleton's glowing eyes, the way Mr. Panda had. He gave Mr. Panda back to Kit, tucked the skeleton under his arm and stepped outside. Kit opened her mouth again.
Click. The front door shut behind him and locked itself. It loved doing that. Especially on bin night. From the stairs, through the bumpy glass, Kit could see a Dad-shaped shape holding a skeleton-shaped shape. Pyjamas. Bare feet. No keys. Behind him, the blow-up pumpkin let out a long, sad sigh. It sagged all the way down onto the grass. Dad knew exactly how it felt. It was the bell, or a night on the lawn with the pumpkin. Dad's hand went up. Up. Up, towards the doorbell. Grown-ups' fingers do that, all by themselves. Kit ran.
Kit had never run so fast. Not even at bath time. Silent as a shadow. The door flew open just before the ding. Dad took a big breath. Then he whispered, “Trick or treat.” “I saved you one,” whispered Kit. It was the very last toffee. Mr. Panda had been guarding it. Dad reached for it with both hands. Even the hand over the skeleton's eyes. “Bwa-ha-ha-ha!” laughed the skeleton. They froze. They waited. Not one squeak. Very slowly, Dad broke the toffee in two. The bigger half was Kit's. Even more slowly, he gave the skeleton a time-out on the step, facing the wall. Until Christmas.
At last, Dad turned off all the lights. It was eight o'clock. It felt like midnight. They tiptoed upstairs and peeked round the door. Baby Sam was fast asleep, with his arms out like a starfish. Mum was fast asleep on the floor beside him, like a grown-up starfish. She still had her shoes on.