The Monkees' Halloween Special
Davy and Mike sat in the kitchen table that afternoon eating their lunches; Mike occupied by the morning paper, Davy preoccupied with his slices of bologna in his bologna sandwich.
"Davy, don't flick pieces or your sandwich across the table," Mike said not bothering to look up from the paper. "We don't want the rats coming back."
"Why?" Davy replied. "It'd just be one more thing to scare Micky that won't be our fault."
"I don't think the landlord wants rats either," Mike commented.
Davy stopped for a moment and thought. "You're right," he answered quickly scraping up the bits of bologna and bread over the table. "So what do you think about Micky's prophecy that the Pad's haunted?"
"Well, it's hard to tell," Mike answered reaching for his tuna sandwich.
"Well he convinced Peter," Davy argued. Mike looked over the paper, one eyebrow up. "Well, c'mon."
"I think we're doing a great job with lettin' him scare himself," Mike answered. "Let him bring Peter along with him. What kinda damage can the two of them do?"
"I'm still wondering about what they were saying," Davy said. "I mean, Peter doesn't just hear nothing in the middle of the night and Micky wouldn't make anything up while he thinks we're scaring him, y'know?"
"Alright, you wanna know what everything was?" Mike retorted folding up the paper and putting it in his lap. He folded his arms and leaned down on the table staring at Davy with an annoyed smile. Davy subconsciously began leaning away from Mike in fear. He had never seen Mike like this before; annoyed, frustrated, and smiling at the same time. At least, not in this manor. "First, Micky was up at two in the morning. He opens the fridge. It doesn't want to shut so he shuts it again but since it's two in the morning, he's still weak and it doesn't shut all the way and it flies back open. Now, the breadbox. Remember back when Peter spilt the jelly all over the breadbox last month and we never could clean it up enough?" Davy timidly nodded. "It's two in the morning and Micky can't even close the fridge. How do you think he's gonna be able to open a sticky breadbox?"
"OK, I can dig that," Davy began with a tad more ease knowing Mike was not about to throw him across the room. "But what about Peter? He heard something."
"Perhaps the wind was blowing the tree limbs against the window," Mike offered as a reason, "or maybe since it's getting cold the walls are creaking. Maybe it was a dream. Peter's been known to dream around Halloween."
"OK so if that's all true," Davy began with confidence he could stump his companion, "then why is Micky dragging Peter through the garage with baseball bats and pots on there heads looking for ghosts?"
"It's Micky and Peter," Mike answered annoyed as if it was the simplest answer. "You need me to draw you a diagram?" Davy shrank in his chair blocking his pretty face with his arms. Mike had frightened him again.
"OK big Peter," Micky began, creeping through the darkened garage holding a baseball bat in hand and a pasta pot covering his curly hair, "I know they're somewhere. I heard something creeping along in here."
"Hey Micky," Peter asked, following close behind with a net in both hands and a pot on his head, the handle off to the side, "maybe there's aren't any ghosts in the Pad. I mean, it was late at night."
Micky pivoted around running into Peter's nose. The two squinted and rubbed their noses and Micky continued, "I'm sure there's something here. I saw them last night."
"You *saw* them?"
"Well, I saw evidence of their presence," Micky amended. He turned back around and continued creeping through in the dark. "Besides, it's the garage what all is gonna happen that we won't see?" Suddenly, as if on some director's cue, the garage lights flickered on and off at rapid speed. Micky and Peter paused and then, in unison, screamed for dear life. Then the source came forward.
"If you guys are done in here," Mike began standing at the garage door, "we can get to practicing."
"Don't *do* that," Micky screeched at his mischievous friend at the door.
"Ad kids," Mike continued, "don't forget to put the pots away when you're done." Then, Mike turned around and walked away leaving the lights on and chuckling to himself.
Peter took the pot off his head and threw the net over his arm using his other hand to fix his hair. "Man, I don't think there're ghosts in here after all," Peter admitted. "I mean, it's just noise."
"For *you* it was noise; for *me* it was..." Micky stopped to think. He lost his argument.
"For you, it was a refrigerator and a breadbox," Peter completed his friend's thought. "I give up. But hey, when I hear or see a ghost, I'll let you know. " Peter then handed Micky the pot and net and walked out the garage. Micky was left standing alone in the well-lit garage, pot on head and a tangled mess of props in hand. Perhaps his friend was right and the place was not haunted. Perhaps he was just tired. That was it, he was tired. He giggled to himself at the realization. He was getting worked up for nothing. They were not scaring him at all. Peter would not lie about that. He shook his head and began walking towards the garage door. Imagine, he though to himself, I thought this place was...
Suddenly, a small breeze emanated from behind the young man and there, floating past him were the cars tools followed by the toolbox, beach umbrella and his surfboard. Micky watched in horror as the items floated in front of his eyes. He dropped the props he was once steadily holding and ran out the door hollering, "THERE'S GHOSTS IN THE GARAGE!! THE PAD IS HAUNTED!!" Then, at the second his foot hit the threshold, each item once floating fell hard to the ground. But Micky, in his haste, did not whiteness this occurrence and so could now not prove that what he saw actually happened. And still, the prophecy
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