THE NIGHT THE MAGIC WENT MISSING

A Whimsical Halloween Tale

In the enchanted town of Halloweentown, Halloween was more than a holiday. It was the most magical night of the year.

Pumpkins floated above cobblestone streets like glowing orange balloons. Black cats wore tiny purple hats, skeletons danced the Charleston in shop windows, and friendly ghosts drifted between houses carrying trays of freshly baked pumpkin cookies. The streetlamps were shaped like crooked witches fingers, and the moon always seemed to smile a little wider on October 31st.

But nothing in Halloweentown could compare to the famous Halloweentown Masquerade Ball.

Every Halloween night, the grand doors of moon shadow manor opened to the entire town. Witches, werewolves, vampires, fairies, goblins, and ordinary humans with extraordinary imaginations, gathered beneath its enchanted chandeliers for a night of dancing, feasting, and harmless mischief.

Everyone was invited.

And everyone was expected to wear their most enchanted costumes.

This year the excitement began weeks before Halloween.

Madame Thistlewick, the town’s elderly witch and official organizer of the ball had decorated Moon Shadow Manor with floating candles, singing spiderwebs, and thousands of tiny stars that twinkled even indoors. The grand ballroom floor had been polished until it reflected the constellations and the musicians-a band of skeletons known as the Rattling Bones-had rehearsed their spookiest waltzes.

At the center of it all stood the enormous Midnight Clock.

The clock was older than Halloweentown itself. Its silver handles moved only on Halloween, and when the clock struck midnight, its magic renewed the enchantments that protected the town for another year.

Without the magic, Halloweentown would become an ordinary town.

And in Halloweentown, ordinary was practically a curse.

Madam Thistlewick had one important responsibility: she had to wind the clock before the ball began.

Unfortunately, she had misplaced her spectacles.

Again.

“Oh, botheration!” she grumbled, rummaging through a basket of enchanted ribbons. “I’ve looked everywhere!”

Her black cat Pickles, sat on the windowsill washing one paw.

“Have you checked your head?” he asked.

Madame Thistlewick froze.

Then she reached up.

Her spectacles were perched on top of her purple hat.

“Not another word, Pickles.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Pickles replied. “I was merely wondering how you managed to become the most respected witch in town when you can’t find your own face.”

Madam Thistlewick pointed her wand at him.

Pickles promptly turned into a pumpkin.

“Oh, that’s better,” she said.

The pumpkin meowed indignantly.

Madame Thistlewick sighed, waved her wand again, and restored him.

“Now, where was I?”

Unfortunately, she had forgotten all about the Midnight Clock.

And that was when the trouble began.

By seven o’clock, the streets of Halloweentown were alive with enchantment.

The first guests arrived at Moon Shadow Manor in a parade of extraordinary costumes.

A young witch named Hazel rode through the air on a broomstick that left trails of glittering green smoke. The baker Mr. Crumble, wore a dragon costume complete with wings that occasionally sneezed sparks. The mayor arrived dressed as a vampire king, although his cape kept getting caught in the carriage door.

A family of werewolves came dressed as a family of sheep.

Nobody found this particularly surprising.

Then came the fairies, the goblins, the talking scarecrows, and the ghosts who had borrowed sheets from their grandmothers.

Even the town’s grumpiest resident, Mr. Grimsby attended wearing a magnificent costume of a fire-breathing dragon.

“I don’t enjoy parties,” he announced to the doorman.

His dragon tail immediately knocked over a flowerpot.

Or flowers.

Inside, the ballroom shimmered with enchantment.

The chandeliers drifted overhead like golden jellyfish. The walls changed colors whenever someone complimented them. A fountain in the corner poured sparkling apple cider instead of water, and tiny enchanted mice in waistcoats hurried between tables carrying trays of candy corn.

At the far end of the ballroom, the Rattling Bones struck their first chord.

The music sounded like moonlight dancing on a frozen pond.

Couples twirled beneath the stars. Fairies scattered silver dust over the dance floor. A vampire and a werewolf performed an elaborate tango, each insisting the other was leading incorrectly.

Everything was perfect.

Until the clock struck midnight.

BONG!

The sound echoed through the manor.

Every candle went out.

The music stopped.

And somewhere in the darkness, a voice whispered, “Oh dear.”

A single green flame flickered to life above the midnight clock.

Then the clock began to spin backward.

Its silver hands whirled faster and faster until they became a glowing circle.

With a tremendous POP! every enchanted costume in the ballroom came alive.

The dragon costume swallowed Mr. Grimsby whole.

The mayor’s vampire cape grew enormous bat wings and flew away with him still attached.

Hazel’s broomstick sprouted legs and galloped around the room like a wild horse.

The family of werewolves turned into actual sheep.

And the Rattling Bones?

They became an orchestra of living instruments.

The violins sprouted legs. The trumpets grew enormous lips. The drums bounced around the ballroom shouting Boom! Boom! Make way!

Pandemonium erupted.

MY COSTUME IS EATING ME!” Mr. Grimsby shouted from inside the dragon.

MY CAPE HAS BETRAYED ME!” cried the mayor, disappearing through an open window.

BAAAAAA! Bleated the werewolf family.

Madam Thistlewick rushed into the ballroom, her hat crooked and her wand clutched in one hand.

“Oh, fiddlesticks.”

Pickles followed her, still wearing his tiny purple hat.

“I told you that clock needed winding,” he said.

“You told me no such thing!”

“I thought about telling you.”

“Well, thinking doesn’t count.”

A trumpet galloped past them.

Madame Thistlewick stared at the chaos.

Then she looked toward the midnight clock.

A tiny black shadow was darting around its base.

It was no bigger than a mouse, with glowing yellow eyes, spindly legs, and a tail that curled into the shape of a question mark.

It wore a miniature jester’s hat.

And it was laughing.

“Oh, no,” whispered Madame Thistlewick.

Pickles narrowed his eyes.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Worse,” said the witch. “It’s a mischief sprite.”

Mischief sprites were ancient magical creatures that fed on confusion and badly timed practical jokes. Most were harmless, provided they were kept away from enchanted objects.

Unfortunately, the Midnight Clock was the most powerful enchanted object in Halloweentown.

The sprite had crawled inside its workings and tangled the magic.

Madame Thistlewick raised her wand.

“By moon and mist, by star and flame, I command thee to stop this game!”

A shower of pink bubbles burst from her wand.

The sprite giggled.

“Too slow.”

It leaped onto the clock and pulled a silver lever.

Suddenly, everyone in the ballroom began floating.

Guests drifted toward the ceiling, waving their arms and shrieking.

A goblin sailed past Madame Thistlewick upside down.

“Do something!”

“I’m trying,” she shouted.

Pickles leaped onto the witch’s shoulder.

“You can’t defeat a mischief sprite with a spell,” he said. “It feeds on magic. The more you use it, the stronger it gets.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Pickles flicked his tail.

“Something it can’t eat.”

Madame Thistlewick frowned.

“What on earth can’t a mischief sprite eat?”

“Common sense, apparently. Look at it.”

The sprite was now attempting to ride a floating chandelier while wearing the mayor’s stolen cape.

Madame Thistlewick groaned.

“We need to stop it before midnight. If the clock isn’t repaired the protective enchantment will fail.”

Outside, the pumpkin lanterns began flickering. The crooked streetlamps dimmed and the ghosts drifting above the rooftops started turning transparent.

Halloweentown’s magic was disappearing.

The witch looked around the ballroom.

The guests were still floating. Costumes were still misbehaving. The dragon had swallowed Mr. Grimsby shoes and was now hiccupping smoke rings.

Then Madame Thistlewick had an idea.

A ridiculous idea.

Which in Halloweentown was often the very best kind.

“Everyone!” she shouted. “Listen carefully!”

Nobody could hear her over the bouncing drums.

She took a deep breath.

“Free candy!”

Silence fell instantly.

Every floating guest turned toward her.

Even the living instruments stopped bouncing.

Madame Thistlewick smiled.

“Anyone who helps save Halloweentown will receive a lifetime supply of enchanted candy.”

The guests exchanged glances.

The sprite stopped laughing.

“Enchanted candy?” It squeaked.

“Chocolate frogs that sing opera,” Madame Thistlewick continued. “Lollipops that change flavor with every lick. Caramel apples that tell you your future.”

The sprite’s yellow eyes widened.

“And gummy bats?”

“Naturally.”

The sprite scrambled down the clock.

“Where do I sign?”

Madame Thistlewick pointed her wand at a blank sheet of parchment.

“First you must release the magic you stole.”

The sprite hesitated.

Then it grinned.

“Catch me if you can!”

It darted between the guest leaving a trail of purple sparks.

But this time, the townspeople were ready.

Hazel grabbed her runaway broomstick and rode it through the air, her glittering smoke forming a net behind her.

The mayor’s cape swooped down from the ceiling and her clung to it as it chased the sprite around the ballroom.

The werewolf family, still transformed into sheep, formed a woolly barrier around the clock.

Mr. Crumble’s dragon costume sneezed a cloud of cinnamon smoke making the sprite sneeze so hard it somersaulted into a punch bowl.

Pickles stood on the rim.

“Lovely dive,” he remarked.

The sprite scrambled out dripping pink punch.

Then the Rattling Bones struck up a lively tune.

The instruments began dancing around the sprite, playing faster and faster until the little creature couldn’t resist joining in.

It twirled.

It hopped.

It spun on its head.

And with every ridiculous dance move, a little spark of stolen magic escaped from its tail.

The ballroom began returning to normal.

The sheep became werewolves again. The dragon costume spat out Mr. Grimsby shoes. The mayor’s cape folded itself neatly around his shoulders.

Finally, the sprite tripped over its own tail and landed directly in front of the midnight clock.

A final burst of purple light shot from its body.

The clock stopped spinning backward.

The silver hands settled into place.

And the entire ballroom erupted in cheers.

At eleven fifty-nine, the guests gathered around the midnight clock.

Madame Thistlewick had repaired its tangled magic, and the mischief sprite sat inside a glass jar, sulking.

“You promised me candy,” It muttered.

“You shall have it,” said the witch. “After you apologized.”

The sprite crossed its tiny arms.

“Sorry I ruined your party.”

“And”?

“Sorry I made the mayor’s cape grow wings.”

The mayor sniffed.

“And?”

The sprite sighed.

“Sorry I turned the werewolves into sheep.”

The werewolves growled.

“And?”

“Sorry I ate three of Mr. Crumble’s caramel apples.”

Mr. Crumble gasped.

“THREE?”

The sprite sank to the bottom of the jar.

Madame Thistlewick smiled.

“Very good.”

At precisely midnight, the clock began to chime.

One.

Two.

Three.

With every chime, golden light spread through Halloweentown.

The pumpkin lanterns blazed brighter than ever. The crooked streetlamps glowed. Ghosts became solid again and the enchanted trees shook silver leaves over the streets.

The Midnight Clock renewed its magic.

Halloweentown was safe.

The Rattling Bones struck up the grand finale, and everyone returned to the dance floor.

Even Mr. Grimsby, who claimed he hated dancing was soon performing an enthusiastic waltz with a broomstick.

The mayor danced with his cape.

The werewolves danced with the sheep costumes.

And Madame Thistlewick danced with pickles, who complained about the music the entire time.

As for the mischief sprite, it received its promised candy, along with a very strict warning never to tamper with the Midnight Clock again.

It promised to behave.

Nobody believed it.

But the sprite looked so pleased with its gummy bats that everyone decided to let the matter rest.

By the time the first hints of dawn appeared over Halloweentown, the guest were exhausted, the punch bowl was empty, and Mr. Crumble began selling cinnamon dragon cookies.

The masquerade ball had been the most disastrous in the town’s history.

It had also been the most unforgettable.

Years later, the residents would tell their children about the night the costumes came alive, the clock spun backward, and a tiny mischief sprite nearly stole Halloween.

And every year after that, Madame Thistlewick made one small change to the festivities.

Before the ball began, she checked the Midnight Clock twice.

Then she checked her spectacles.

Then she checked her hat.

And finally, she checked pickles.

Because in Halloweentown, everyone knew that magic could be unpredictable, costumes could be mischievous, and Halloween could go terribly wrong.

But as long as the town stood together, even the strongest disaster could turn into a wonderful adventure.

Besides, as pickles often said, while licking frosting from his whiskers.

“What’s a little magic without a little mischief?”