Because Graffiti Ghoul was on to us, Remi and I needed to go undercover to catch the criminal, and that meant finding great Halloween costumes like the Spider-Man outfit that sat unsold on a dusty shelf in my parents’ store. I wouldn’t have a problem convincing my mom to let me wear it since she constantly used the things that didn’t sell, from darning my socks with unsold needles to making sandwiches with stale bread.
In the kitchen, the smell of her cooking punched up my nose like dirty gym socks. Mom used alien ingredients she’d bought from a Chinese grocery store in Edmonton. A white turnip patty sizzled in a sesame-oiled wok. Brown soup with little red beans and pigeon meat stewed on the stove’s back burner. On the kitchen counter, crimped eyelash bits of beef tripe waited to be added to the pot.
“Mom, can I wear the Spider-Man costume for Halloween?” I asked. “I don’t think anyone’s going to buy it.”
She shook her head. “We can sell it next year if no one buys it.”
“But I have to wear something for trick-or-treating.”
Mom scooped up the tripe. “You not have to worry. I make you something to wear.”
“Mom, that’s too much work for you. I’ll just borrow the Spider-Man costume. I want to look cool.”
“Trust me. I picked your pants, didn’t I?” She waved the tripe like a witch about to brew an evil potion. She tossed it into the hot soup. The tiny eyelashes shrivelled like my hope of wearing a decent disguise.
On Halloween night, Mom cackled when she showed me the costume. Before I could get away, she wrapped me mummy-like in the horrifying outfit. Then she pinned me down in a chair and poked my face with tiny crayons. I tried to see what Mom was doing to me, but she blocked the mirror while she tinkered with my face like a mad scientist. When she stepped back, and I saw myself in the glass, I wished I had never looked. I bolted out of Mom’s “laboratory” and hid in the stockroom.
As I cowered in my hideous Halloween costume, I heard voices from the front of the store. My dad was talking to Remi.
“Marty! Your friends are waiting for you!” Dad’s voice boomed.
Friends? I sneaked out of the storeroom and stole a peek. My detective partner had come with his big sister, Monique. Remi wore a long black trench coat and a pair of sunglasses. His brown hair was slicked back and he looked just like Neo from The Matrix. Not only did he have a good disguise, but he also looked really cool. Monique, on the other hand, wore the same denim jacket and pair of jeans that she wore whenever I saw her. She had the same “life sucks” eye-rolling expression as the dog-collared stock boy from Mrs. Gervais’ hardware store. What happened on the way to high school that made teenagers permanently cranky?
“He’s probably in the back,” Dad told Remi. “Why don’t you get him?”
“Hurry up,” Monique said. “I don’t have all night to babysit you two.”
“Thanks, Mr. Chan,” Remi said as he walked toward me.
I scrambled back into the stockroom and hid behind a tower of boxes. Why did I let Mom make my costume? Why didn’t I tell her to put a sheet over my head and let me go as a ghost? I’d even go out in my fuzz-ugly corduroy pants.
“Marty?” Remi called out. “Are you ready for the wander out?”
Behind the boxes, I yelled, “Go without me. I’m not feeling so good.”
He walked into the stockroom. “Marty, this might be our only chance to catch Graffiti Ghoul.”
“I don’t care what he does. I’m staying home. I look stupid.”
“How bad can it be?” he asked. “Come out. I promise I won’t make fun of you.”
“Do you swear?”
“On my Wayne Gretzky hockey card.”
“Okay,” I stepped into the open. “What do you think?”
Remi lifted his sunglasses. His eyes popped wide open. A chuckle slipped past his lips. He tried to push it back in, but once the chuckle dribbled out, a stream of giggles followed. He clutched his belly and howled, unable to hold back the flood of laughter.
“You look like your mom,” he said, gasping.
“You owe me your Wayne Gretzky card.”
“Totally worth it,” he wheezed. “What is that thing you’re wearing?”
“It’s called a Cheong Sam.”
“It looks like one of your mom’s dresses.”
“It is.”
Remi laughed even harder.
“Forget it. I’m not going,” I said. The silky dress hung loosely on me like the wrinkly skin on a pug’s face. The wig slipped over my eyes. As I pushed it back up I thought that Mom must have secretly wanted a daughter.
“This is the worst costume in the world,” I sulked.
“Don’t cry,” Remi said, still laughing. “Your makeup will run.”
“How’d you like to look like your mom?”
“No way!” Remi finally stopped laughing. “Hey, the good news is that no one’s going to recognize you. It’s a great disguise.”
Monique called from the front of the store. “Are you guys coming?”
Remi yelled, “On our way!” He turned to me. “Think of this as going deep undercover.”
“You sure no one will recognize me?”
“I’ll bet your disguise will fool Monique,” Remi said.
“She didn’t know anyone named Ghoul, did she?”
“Nope. But she never tells me anything. Maybe she’d talk if you asked her. Let’s go.”
“Don’t walk so fast,” I said, stumbling after him in my mom’s shoes. By the time I reached Monique, my feet were cramped and sore. How could Mom wear these cruel pink shoes? My toes barely fit into the pointy ends.
As soon as they spotted me, Monique and my dad burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny,” I said. The wig slipped over my eyes again. I fumbled with the fake hair, but the wig became tangled with my glasses and I couldn’t take it off. Could this night get any worse?
FLASH! Mom had a camera.
“Move closer,” she shouted. “I want to get a picture of you two together.”
“No pictures,” I yelled.
But Monique herded Remi and me together. FLASH! My Halloween nightmare would live forever in Mom’s photo album right beside my naked-baby-bathing-in-a-kitchen-sink snapshot.
“Give Monique the camera so she can take more pictures,” Dad suggested.
“We’re going now,” I said. I stumbled out the front door in the cramped pink shoes.
In the neighbourhood, ghosts haunted the streets while superheroes half-ran, half-flew down the sidewalks. Two elves sprang past me, firing fake arrows at a skinny orc. Everyone carried pillow cases or bags of candy. No one had a can of spray paint. Graffiti Ghoul wouldn’t be in the open. He’d probably stick to dark alleys. I wished I owned a pair of infrared glasses, so I could see everything at night. At least this would make my glasses seem cool.
The first house Remi and I visited was a version of Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion. On the lawn, a mannequin in a business suit tried to crawl out of a black coffin. Huge mutant pumpkins filled the yard, while curvy plastic snakes lined the front path. Tiny rubber spiders dangled from a giant web above the door.
“Trick or treat!” we yelled.
A pale vampire with a bowl of candy appeared at the screen door. “I vant to thuck your blood,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“I vant to thuck your blood,” he said, drool dripping from his fangs.
“Is he speaking French?” I asked Remi, who shook his head.
Behind us, Monique translated the vampire’s speech: “He wants to suck your blood. It’s a line from a Dracula movie.”
“Can we have our candy now?” Remi asked.
The vampire dipped his hand into the blood-splattered bowl and pulled out a lollipop. He dropped it into Remi’s pillowcase.
“Vat about you, leetle girl,” the vampire said to me. “Vat do you vant?”
Monique laughed. “He thinks you’re a girl.”
“I am not!”
He turned to Remi. “Ith thee your thithter?”
Remi looked at me, puzzled. “What?”
“Ith thee your thithter?”
Remi turned bright red. “My sister? No way.”
Monique couldn’t stop laughing.
Droolacula leaned forward and dropped two lollipops in my plastic shopping bag. “You get two lollipopth for being tho cute.”
“Let me get a picture,” Monique said.
I tried to scramble off the porch, but the vampire grabbed my arm and pulled me beside Remi. Close up, the vampire smelled like garlic and sweaty armpit.
FLASH!
“Got it!” Monique put away the camera.
That night every person who gave me candy called me a cute little girl. When I told them I was a boy, they chuckled and gave me more candy. I hated that it was so easy to mistake me for a girl.
Remi tried to cheer me up. “Hey, at least you’re getting more candy than me.”
I said nothing.
“Plus, no one recognizes you,” Remi said. “It’s a good disguise.”
“You want to be a girl?” I growled.
“Duh. Do I look like a monkey butt?”
FLASH! Monique snapped another shot. When was she going to run out of film? We walked faster, hiding our faces from the camera.
“Did you see anyone who might be Graffiti Ghoul?” I asked.
“I didn’t see anything suspicious.
Maybe we’re on the wrong side of town.” I shrugged.
“I heard that bad things happen on the other side of the railroad tracks,” Remi said.
“How do you know which side is which?” I asked.
FLASH! Monique took another picture. “I’m going to blow that one up,” she said. “One more for good luck.”
I ran for cover, but there was no flash. Instead the camera whirred. The film was rewinding.
“At least things can’t get any worse,” I said.
“Think again.” Remi pointed down the street.
Jean and Jacques Boissonault lumbered toward us.