The Thief of Always. Clive Barker
only right. This was Hallowe’en, after all, and what was Hallowe’en without a few chills?
After a few minutes of searching he found a long black coat with a collar he could turn up, which Wendell pronounced very vampiric. Well-satisfied with his choice, he went back to the wall of faces, and his eyes almost immediately alighted upon a mask he hadn’t previously seen, with the pallor and deep sockets of a soul just risen from the tomb. He took it down and put it on. It fitted perfectly.
‘What do I look like?’ Harvey asked, turning to face Wendell, who had found an executioner’s mask which fitted him just as well.
‘Ugly as sin.’
‘Good.’
THERE WAS A flickering family of pumpkin-heads lined up on the porch when they stepped outside, and the misty air smelt of wood-smoke.
‘Where do we go trick-or-treating?’ Harvey wanted to know. ‘Out in the street?’
‘No,’ said Wendell, ‘it’s not Hallowe’en out in the real world, remember? We’re going to go round the back of the House.’
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