"Steve Rasnic Tem - Tricks And Treats" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tem Steve Rasnic)

he carried and tried to comfort her when she cried. He pulled her arm up to his
lips and teeth and tasted her frightened skin: he couldn't figure out if it
tasted sweet or if it tasted sour, and finally decided it was both.

He ate as much of his favorite candy as he could steal, until he was almost sick
with it. Almost, but not quite. Sweet and sour. Sour and sweet.

Rhubarb and honey. Sugar and alum.

He liked being the biggest one out on Halloween Street, using just his sweetest
smile and his most twisted snarl for a costume. But that didn't mean he wanted
to be an adult. Adults didn't know a thing, for all they acted like they knew
everything. They didn't know that clover stems were sweet, or that dandelion
stems were as sour as can be. They never tasted them like kids did.

Adults had the power, but they were just a few trick or treats away from dying.
Sweet and sour. Sour and sweet. The boy didn't want to die, although sometimes
he didn't much like living. Limes and strawberries. Hugs and teeth.

He ran up to each house on Halloween Street, knocking on doors and ringing
bells. Sometimes the curtains moved, but no one came to the door. Sometimes
someone came to the door, but you couldn't see their face.

A little goblin came around the comer, an ugly mask on the beautiful little
body. The boy smiled and frowned, took out his knife and went to give the goblin
a little kiss.

The goblin reached up its arms to hug the big boy, but the goblin's little
fingers were too sharp, and the big boy's skin too thin.

The boy smiled and frowned, and turned upside down.

He lay there until morning came up and his eyelids went down, smelling the fruit
trees and tasting his own blood.

Was it Delicious? Or was it Granny Smith? The boy couldn't decide.

BUTCHER PAPER

Jean had spent weeks arranging the outing. The terminal kids got out all too
rarely, although most of them were still ambulatory. Just bureaucratic hospital
regs that made no sense. Anxieties over lawsuits. But she'd gotten to the right
people and worn them down. And they put her in charge.

The kids were given any materials they wanted so that they might construct their
own costumes. The first few days they'd just stared at the materials -- picking
up glue and markers and glitter and putting them right back down again, touching
the giant roll of butcher's paper again and again as if it were silk -- as if
these were alien artifacts that they were handling, objects which might have
been contaminated with some rare disease.