Old Man Cravitz

 “So, you ready to head home?”

The two teens trudged down the center of the street, jack-o-lantern buckets swinging with the weight of an evening’s worth of sugar. Evidence of a busy Halloween night was all around them: candy wrappers littered by younger, less environmentally conscious children; wilted pumpkins trying to stay upright; cobwebs strewn on every lawn. It was a clear, cool night - the best Halloween temperatures in years, and turnout had reflected that. But it was getting late, and there were half as many kids as two hours prior.

“There’s gotta be a couple more houses we haven’t hit,” the store-bought Thor said. His name was Easton, and he punctuated this thought by popping a Tootsie Roll in his mouth, though it didn’t prevent him from talking more. “This is our last Halloween trick-or-treating, man. We gotta make it count!”

“Yeah, I just can’t think of any places around here that we’ve missed,” Easton’s friend, an especially ratty Jack Sparrow named - aptly - Jack, said. “But no text from Mom yet, so that pressure’s off.”

“For now.” Easton surveyed the surrounding streets. He dumped the Tootsie Roll wrapper in his candy bucket, on top of the long blond Thor wig that he’d long since removed because it was too itchy. “What about Ashland Circle?” He stopped and looked up at the street sign, so Jack stopped too.

“There’s like two lights on down there, and nobody decorated.”

“That’s just to ward kids off. Everyone buys candy to give for Halloween, and if nobody turns up then that’s candy you get to keep yourself. My uncles do it all the time.”

“You realize how dumb that sounds, right?” Jack said. “Besides, I never liked this area. All those old houses give me the creeps…”

“Come on, where’s your sense of Halloween spirit? This is our last chance to do this!” Easton picked up his candy bucket and strode into the bowels of the cul-de-sac, straight towards the only house that still had lights on.

“Wait!” Jack cried out, gripping onto Easton’s red cape to stop him. He spun him around and clutched him by the shoulders. “Are you crazy? That’s Old Man Cravitz’s house!”

Easton shuddered. Stanley Cravitz was practically a household name in town. He was rude and abrasive to everyone, but he was particularly harsh on who he generally referred to as “the youths.” He’d call the cops on loitering students, he routinely confiscated toys from anyone unlucky enough to disturb him, some said he even ran an unsuccessful campaign in the ‘00s to ban anyone under 20 from visiting the local mall. If there was anyone you didn’t want to disturb on Halloween, it was Old Man Cravitz.

Easton, however, was unconvinced. "Come on, Jack. It’s our last chance to dress up and get candy, and we’ve been everywhere else. He’s not all bad, I think I saw him smile at a poodle once…”

“You’re insane, dude! I’m not getting on that man’s bad side if it kills me.” Jack backed away from his friend, returning to the cul-de-sac entrance. He called out “I’ll wait by the plaza fountain if you make it out alive!” before hurrying back down the street they arrived on and out of sight.

Easton stared up at the foreboding Victorian house at the end of the street. It was a shame the creepiest, likeliest-contender-for-being-built-on-a-cemetery, old house in the neighborhood was owned by the grouchiest, fun-hating person alive. It would have been perfect decked out for Halloween. Even now, swamped in darkness aside for a couple dull lights, it was terrifying to his young brain.

Easton gulped. Was he really that desperate for more candy? He couldn’t turn back now, he’d never hear the end of it from Jack. Besides, isn’t this what Halloween was all about? It would make an outrageous story to tell later on. Easton shook out his body in an attempt to get rid of his fears. Then he took several deep breaths before striding up to the dark house. His heart was thumping in his chest as he stepped up the creaky steps and onto the porch. His hand trembled as he brought it up to the wooden door and gripped the round, iron handle. The harsh crack of metal on polished hardwood echoed around him as he knocked.

Stillness followed, and then, from somewhere in the house: uproarious laughter. And not scary Halloween laughter, but the sound of genuine fun. Easton’s first thought was surprise that big bad Cravitz actually had friends…unless he was hearing the TV, or something. And then he wondered if his knock had been heard. If not, maybe that was a sign to go. He’d tried, and that counted.

Easton turned on his heels and walked to the stairs - and then, there was a boom so loud it made him jump. He froze. That was the sound of a door opening, wasn’t it…

“Leaving so soon?” rasped a deep voice.

Easton slowly turned, and there he was. Stanley Cravitz. The man was short and broad, with a big belly and bald head. There was a sneer on his face and a smoldering cigar in his hand. He coughed out a chuckle. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Sorry to bother you…” Easton stammered out.

Cravitz scowled. “Not like you’re the first. You’re here to bother me for free candy, I assume.” He elongated the word ‘candy’ as if it were profanity.

“No!” Easton said, quickly, and then he turned bright red. “Well, yeah…”

Cravitz took a step back. “I got some, I just have to go get it. Already put it away because I thought you brats were done for the night.” He took a drag off his cigar and blasted smoke into the air. “Come inside and give me a moment.”

Easton hesitated, but the temptation of being able to tell everyone what Old Man Cravitz’s house was like was too great. Had anyone EVER been inside of it? He took two cautious steps and then crossed the threshold, flinching as the door shut behind him. In the excitement, he failed to notice Cravitz lock the door behind him.

The Romans, and the Greeks

It wasn’t that the trip to the art museum was entirely boring. There was some really cool stuff in here, Roman and Max agreed. They were super into the room that had the sculptures that looked like balloon animals. The issue was that seeing all the interesting stuff took roughly fifteen minutes, which left them five hours to kill.

“Five…hours…” Roman grumbled dramatically, dragging his feet behind him like he was on invisible crutches. “I’m not gonna make it, man. Tell…tell Livi…I always thought she was hot as hell.”

“Man, I would, but I’m definitely gonna die of boredom too,” Max replied. “At least there’s food right?”

“I guess. Mmm yum, museum food,” Roman snorted. He pushed the mushroom fringe of his bangs out to the side even though he was fully aware it would flop right back over his eyes, which it did. “When do we have to meet the group? Like 40, 45 minutes from now?”

“Yeah, for the tour.”

“I can’t believe they’re letting us run wild here. Someone’s gonna break something.”

Max looked witheringly at Roman, who was grinning from ear to ear. “You mean YOU’RE going to try to break something.”

“I never try, it’s not my fault that I’m clumsy.” It was a running joke at school that Roman’s hands and feet didn’t match the rest of his body, at least not yet. He and Max were the same average height, yet Roman’s feet were four sizes bigger, and he tripped over them constantly.

Roman and Max were best buddies. Equals. Instead of a leader/follower dynamic, they were competitors; willful young men who didn’t take anything seriously except for their own opinions. They’d been friends since middle school, after a knockdown, dragout fight over a loose basketball, quite counterproductive since they were on the same team. But they both thought it was hilarious, and after that, they were almost always together, picking the same classes and ensuring they had the same lunchtime.

Their first jaunt was through a textiles exhibition, which they thought might be cool because it could be about texting, like some kind of digital art. It turned out textiles were fabrics, which was intensely uninteresting. “It’s…rugs,” Roman deadpanned, looking around the room. “Rugs and blankets. Dope.”

“Dude, you know who’d like this stuff? My mom,” Max said, which was the most damning assessment possible, and made them both laugh until a massive security guard glared at them. That was their cue to go, and as they headed out of the exhibition, Max’s phone vibrated. “Miller says he’s hiding out in some movie room. I think I’ll pass.”

“Nah, if I watch something I will definitely fall asleep, and then you’d both leave me there and I’d wake up seven hours later, and the museum would be closed, and I’d never be able to leave and that would be my life.”

“That makes complete sense, you’re exactly right,” Max said. “Hey look, Greek stuff.”

“I prefer Roman stuff.”

“God, shut UP,” Max groaned, giving Roman a shove that roused a “Hey!” from another huge guard nearby.

“Ah man, we gotta go in here,” Roman said, pointing to an exhibit entrance framed by multicolor stripes painted elegantly on the walls. “Rainbow Rebellion: Queer Coding Throughout the Ages,” he read out loud before turning serious. “I think this will be really good for you, to see the art of your people.”

“You’re the one everyone says is gay,” Max shot back.

“Literally no one says that, perv.” Roman was walking in. Max held back and then rolled his eyes and caught up, looking over his shoulder to make sure no classmates were around. The exhibition wasn’t big, only two rooms, and it was a departure from the others in that it had all styles of art. There was a painting from the 1800s of two young men on a beach, sitting side by side; nearby was a photograph of two muscle guys in leather and chains. Both Roman and Max ignored it, too embarrassed to commentate.

“This is, uh, really gay, man,” Max whispered with an evil smile on his face. “I just want you to know, if you have something to tell me, I’m your friend…”

Roman knew where he was going and cut him off. “Only one of us got a boner in the locker room after swimming, and it wasn’t me,” he sang, flouncing off in an exaggerated caricature of a walk before Max could punch him in the arm. 

They ended up by a large Grecian urn that didn’t seem gay at all. It depicted a side profile from the shoulders up of a bearded man embracing a feminine counterpart. That is, until Max and Roman looked at the other side of the urn and saw the same two figures in full, now plainly obvious that they were two extremely muscular men. It looked almost like they were wrestling at first glance. One man was sitting on top of the other, and that’s when they realized…they were fucking. The man on the ground had his dick in the man on top’s ass. Each man flexed a bulging arm, which formed the handles of the jar.

“Aw, GROSS,” Max tittered, as both boys cramped with laughter. “That’s…is that how they do it? Damn, dude. What the…groooossss.”

Roman’s entire face was curled up in laughter. “I can’t believe they’re just leaving this out here for people to see. This is education! Where’s one with girls touching each other, I’ll be all about that.”

“Dare you to touch it,” Max said evilly, pointing to one of the handles. “No guards around. Touch that guy’s big freaky gross bodybuilder arm.”

“No way! I’m not getting near that homo urn. These things have invisible guards and shit! What if the alarm goes off?”

“Then we bolt. Besides, if they didn’t want you to touch it, they’d have it under glass,” Max reasoned. Roman frowned. Max had a point. It was lousy but valid. He hesitated for a moment, then stretched out his index finger like ET, and gently poked the urn in the least homoerotic area he could muster. Max scoffed at his feeble attempt. “That doesn’t count!”

“Of course it does, I touched it.”

“Yeah, barely.”

“Well it’s more than you did!”

“You have to hold it. Caress that freaky bicep like the repressed homosexual you are.”

“Well maybe YOU should do it. I dare you!”

They looked at each other. “Fine. We’ll do it at the same time,” Max said, eyes darting around.

“Fine,” Roman grunted. They stood on opposite sides of the urn, raised their palms, and nodded at each other. Then, their hands darted forward and each of them grasped one of the handles. They locked eyes for a brief moment, daring the other to let go first. Eventually, the approaching squeak of rubber soles on marble flooring forced them to abandon the urn. Max and Roman scurried away laughing like the schoolboys they were.