A note in the town newsletter laid out the times of the races and the costume parade, during which the Willard Park fire truck would make a special appearance. In the afternoon the kids were invited to trick or treat at the local shops. The day would be capped off with a potluck, followed by ghost stories and music on the green after dark.

Residents were reminded that the town council supported the healthy Halloween initiative sponsored by the town Halloween Fun Committee. They offered a list of suggested alternatives to candy such as carrot packs, stickers, and pencils. What a bummer. Grant liked those little candy bars. He had looked forward to stuffing them in his suit jacket pocket to nosh on during stressful moments at work, of which there had been none too few in the weeks since he started. He anticipated more of them. Extended hours of them. “Can I have a pretzel?” he said, and Adam gave him one.

A faint buzz in his pocket. A text back from Marie: Giddy up, cowboy! R u seriously running in that? Haha. Then one from Dave that said simply, Dude.

The Beast was walking toward him. A small, matching blond boy accompanied him, a tiny groomsman. The Beast costume was clearly a rental: a purple velvet jacket and black boots, furry arms and horns. His beastly hair cascaded down his back.

“You missed my party,” the Beast said, his voice muffled through the mask. He extended a paw.

Grant shook it. “Cox? Is that you in there?”

Nick Cox took off his mask and held it in his arms like the head of John the Baptist. “I cooked bison on the grill. Did you ever eat bison? I have this idea about tasting every mammal on Earth before I die.”

“Humans?” Grant said.

“Why didn’t you come?”

“Never got an invitation, I guess.”

“You kidding me? I invited you personally.”

They introduced their sons, who looked about the same age. Adam extended his hand as Suzanne had trained him to do; Nick’s son looked at it as though he were handing him a fish. “Did you see the tree?” Nick said.

“The tree?”

“My neighbor, the tree.” He pointed to Ted Miller, standing on the café porch. Branches were stuck to Ted’s sombrero and his arms and legs were covered with leaves. He wore a green sandwich board, the front of which said DON’T STUMP ME OUT!

“I guess you heard about the petition,” Nick said.

“I heard something . . .”

“It says ‘Let’s run Nick Cox out of town.’”

“It does?”