Crimson

Hallows' Eve 1939

"Oh Bel, sweetheart, look at you!" Ms.Villeneuve cooed. The woman of no older than thirty tilted her head with a motherly smile as the boy's reflection peered up at her from the mirror.

He had the same canary hair as his mother, brighter then, and with a song like voice all the same.

"Can I go now?" He asked in a way that only children can.

The boy's mother rolled her pale green eyes, her hands on the shoulders of his wiry frame. Stray stalks of straw wove in and out of the tattered overalls- some coming out of patches, a few from under his straw hat.

However similar Belmont's hair to his mother's, it was not as handsome a comparison as his matching green eyes, a grassy field under the scope of binoculars in untrained hands.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" She asked, lifting his white mask to plant a kiss on his cheek, leaving the straw to crinkle under her touch.

Like a crustacean retreating into its shell, so too did Bel retract his neck sheepishly at his mother's kiss.

"No maman."

"Oh, you know I'm just pulling your leg,"

At the frigid autumn breeze that crept from the now open door emerged a tall man, hair darker than Bel's, with a cold jaw and warm eyes.

"Céline, I thought we talked about this." He said. The blonde fluttered over to him.

"It's once a year."

"I was working when I was his age." The man replied.

Belmont watched the two adults bicker from the eye holes of his faded white mask. Without them noticing, he adjusted his hat, and slipped out the back door. Their inaudible dispute grew more and more distant.

Hallows' Eve was fairly new to the eleven year old; back home they had their own celebrations. But he could feel adrenaline rushing all the way from his straw hat to the tips of his toes, even as he walked away from the secluded home and into the night.

"I should have been a ghost," The boy thought. "Then I'd be warm, under a blanket."

Suddenly Bel dropped his pillowcase, jumping with a start. A crow fled from the branch of a spindly tree, screeching loudly as it beat its magnificent wings.

With a sigh, Bel retrieved his pillowcase and adjusted his hat, but the relief was short lived. The snickering grew louder as a group of much taller boys whispered amongst themselves, their attention falling on little Belmont, much to his dismay.

"Dutch boy!" The one with the black eyes greeted. His off-colour teeth stood out against the white face. Bel was a fan of clowns- until now.

Silently tossing the case over his shoulder, he turned around to walk the other way.

"...probably doesn't know a lick of English..."
One of the boys mocked.

The four grinned at each other as Belmont proceeded to walk away.

"His pillow case is empty," one of the boys pointed out.

"He can't ask for treats because he doesn't know how." Snickered another.

Bel's green eyes narrowed. He turned around, wanting to say something. But the only sound between them was the singing of crickets. Or maybe it was a warning.