The Monkees' Halloween Special
"What?!" Davy asked in the shear shock of Mike's plan
"You heard me," he reiterated. "I'm gonna let him scare his own self."
"But what if it don't work?" Davy asked
"Then we all told the truth and then there'll be no big deal in the end," Mike concluded.
"That's the cruelest thing I've ever heard," Davy commented. And evil grin formed on his face. "I love it."
"But fellas," Peter began, "it's just as mean. I mean, if he gets scared then you *did* trick him."
"Oh Peter, it's alright," Davy assured. "I mean, c'mon. What can possible scare Micky in the Pad anyways?" <Famous last words...>
Micky came down the stares at around two o'clock that night. His "tummy was grumbling and the antidote for that was a tuna fish sandwich. He opened the refrigerator and searched for the bowl of tuna made that previous afternoon and the half tomato he had used that same afternoon for his first tuna sandwich he had made and eaten--that afternoon. He pulled out both items and proceeded to close the refrigerator door with his elbow. He turned the place the food on the counter when this sudden freeze blew on his arm. He turned and saw the cause: the refrigerator door had swung open again. He humphed once and took a step forward closing the door once again. As he turned back to the counter, The same chill blew on his back. Once again frustrated, he turned and slammed the door again hard enough that it was sure to stay closed. For a third time, he turned to the bowl and tomato on the table. The breeze he had felt twice before blew on his back once again. He turned quickly to catch the culprit who was playing with the door but as he stopped, the door slammed itself. Puzzled, Micky went back to his task at hand
The young man pulled out a fork from the drawer and reached into the breadbox for the bread. He put his hand on the handle lightly pushing up as he normally did and, to his surprise, the cover refused to budge. He proceeded a second time but to no avail. In a rapid motion, he pushed up several times on the handle but all it did was bang the breadbox on the counter making a rapid beating, remarkably with a constant rhythm but then again, Micky was a percussionist. He stopped and took his hand back. He scowled at the box. Then, anchoring himself with his left hand to the counter he charged at the box handle hoping the thrust would dislodge it but it remained stuck. The only damage done was lifting the box off the counter. What would cause a breadbox of all things to become this difficult to open? Grumbling in irritation, Micky gave up the task and placed the box back in its place and went to the cabinets below to fetch crackers instead.
As the young man cam back up with sealed packed of salted crackers, he proceeded to remove the plastic from the bowl as he did, he chanced to glance over at the breadbox. To his astonishment, the cover was slid up! Micky slammed his fists on the table in frustration and reached over to get the bread inside. As his hand reached mere inches from the box, the cover slammed shut. His hand went strait to the handle but, as before, the handle would not bunch.
"ARRRRRRGGGGG," he exclaimed fighting with the cover once again. "Why won't you open?"
He soon gave up and decided to go back to his crackers. As he stuck the fork into the mushy tuna, a slow sliding sound came from the direction of the breadbox. He looked over; the cover was sliding up by itself. He quickly, almost instinctively, went for the cover but before he could reach it, it slammed shut again.
"Fine," he said to it frustrated. "Be that way. Stay closed. I don't care. I don't need bread."
"Who're you talking to?" said a voice from behind Micky. The drummer quickly turned towards the voice preparing to attack and assess what it was. It was Peter half-asleep, rubbing his eyes, clutching a teddy bear.
"Man, the breadbox is playing tricks on me," Micky answered lowering his defense to his tired and obviously innocent friend.
"What time is it?" Peter yawned.
"I dunno. 2 o'clock maybe?" he answered. "What're you doing up?"
"I heard this tapping by my head and it woke me up," Peter answered.
"Oh, I'm sorry man. That was me fighting with the breadbox," Micky apologized. "You can go back to bed."
"Uh-huh," Peter sleepily yawned and slowly turned around trudging back to bed.
Micky turned back to his tuna and crackers chuckling to himself. *Fighting with the breadbox* he thought to himself. The image was funny. Him and a breadbox. Then, the young man had an epiphany. He stopped scooping the tuna and looked up.
"How could he have heard me fighting the breadbox," he whispered to himself, "when his bed is closest to the window?"
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