Putting the foil on

Xander sat on his bed, fuming: his mother, in one of her rare sober moments, had given his old combats to the local homeless shelter, leaving him with nothing but a toy gun for his Halloween costume.

He was deep in thought, trying to find some way to make it work, when the doorbell went. Knowing full well that his parents were both passed out drunk on the sofa, Xander walked down stairs and opened the front door, holding a stake behind his back in case it was a vampire.

"Package for Alexander Harris." The young woman in the DHL uniform handed over a box, "If you could just sign here?"

"No problem." Xander checked the document to make sure he wasn't signing away his soul, and then scribbled his signature on the dotted line, "Thanks."

"No problem." The woman nodded as she turned to walk back to her van, "Happy Halloween."

"Yeah, sure." Xander closed the door, trying to remember just what he'd ordered. He ripped the box open as he headed back upstairs, grinning as the blue and white jersey came into sight. Running to his room, he counted along the line of book on top of his wardrobe until he reached the one he was looking for.

Grabbing it, he opened it upside down over the bed, spilling out his secret stash of money he was saving to buy a car as soon as he got a licence. He counted it, making sure that his parents hadn't fount it and spent any on beer.

Thankfully it was still all there.

Putting most of it back, Xander checked his watch: he still had time to get back to the costume shop before it closed. He only hoped that he could find what he needed there.


Ethan completed the spell and felt the magical energy flow out of the room.

One slight doubt crossed his mind; the young man who'd come running in just before closing time had crabbed a hockey mask and stick, but hadn't taken the offered jersey. There was a possibility that he wouldn't be affected by the spell…


"SON OF A…" Spike yelped with surprise as the hockey player knocked him flat on his ass with a shoulder barge before swinging his stick round with enough force to knock him senseless.

Another vampire tried to grab the suddenly violate target from behind, only to be punched in the face by a fist wrapped in tinfoil. It held its bloody face as the enraged intended-victim swung his hockey stick round at head height, decapitating the demon with one blow, turning it into a surprise looking pile of dust.

"Old time hockey!" Steve Hanson smiled, shaking the dust from his pristine Charlestown Chiefs jersey.

The End