Special Halloween Bumper Post!

With Halloween just round the corner, our thoughts naturally turn to what sort of costume we’ll be wearing come the festivities. But what will Lego Men be wearing at their tiny Lego parties? Well, pretty much anything they want. See, their heads are detachable. Here at FireStar, it’s our job to ponder such things. For instance, do Lego Batman and Robin turn up at spooky shindigs in their costumes, or do they wear butler digs for a change? Does Alfred get to wear the Batsuit? Would Lego Indiana Jones ever dress as Irina Spalko to get a laugh?

But the Lego mini-figures who really excel at Halloween preparations are those for whom Halloween isn’t just one sugar fuelled night, it’s a way of life. Yes, we’re talking about the very special Halloween Lego figures over at the main FireStar website. This fiendish cohort lives for October. In the days approaching the 31st, the normally rational and erudite atmosphere in their Pumpkin Hall reaches fever pitch, and the candy chandeliers shake with the hammering of decorative armour, the sharpening of scythes and the squelchy sounds of gourds being hollowed out ready for the carving.

We’re privileged to have secured an interview with prominent member of the shadow Halloween alliance, the Dark Lord.

FireStar: Dark Lord. Great to have you with us.
DL: It’s great to be here, Ken.
FireStar: That’s not our name.
DL: Sorry, I wasn’t really listening during the introductions. I was too busy polishing my luminous head.
FireStar: Yes! Your head. Would you mind telling us a bit about your look?
DL: Well, as we’ve already covered, my head is luminous. For those of you who haven’t been alive for millennia, following the development of language, that means it glows in the dark.
FireStar: There’s no need to be condescending.
DL: Right. Anyway, my look has changed very little over the thousands of years I’ve been a member of the Halloween family..
FireStar: How did you get into that line of work exactly?
DL: It’s a long story. Suffice to say, I was in the right grave at the right time.
FireStar: Grave! Because you’re a skeleton! Haha!
DL: Ha. Yes. Before you interrupted rather rudely I was telling you about my look…
FireStar: Yes, sorry. Please do continue.
DL: Well, obviously black never goes out of fashion. And my cape – I like to think it lends a certain air of suavity. It says, “Yes, I’m a creature of the utmost dread, but I still look in a mirror before I go out terrifying mortals”.
FireStar: And the staff? Where does that fit in?
DL: My staff is an item of terrible darkness and ancient power. It holds the skull of the foul demon Squa’roth, whose essence lives still within its calcified depths, and whose voice whispers to me of things to terrible to imagine.
FireStar: That sounds…nice?
DL: It’s really not. But we work well together. It’s important to have reliable employees.
FireStar: And what are your plans for the night of Halloween itself, Dark Lord?
DL: I already told you. I’ll be terrifying mortals with the rest of the shadow council. We prepare for this night all year long.
FireStar: Sounds great! Thanks for taking the time to talk to us, Dark Lord.
DL: No problem, Ken.

So, there you have it. Snap up the Dark Lord and his friends at the FireStar site before the big day! Convene your own shadow council! To celebrate the approach of the spooky season, we have exclusively for you another poem for you by darling of the rhyming establishment, 18th Century poetess Henrietta S Tweenote. Enjoy!

A Hallow’s eve, the shadows gloaming,
Cries echo from the naked trees,
And crows take flight. I shudder, closing
Fast my door, my fears to ease.

Yet suddenly the firelight flickers,
I feel the gasp catch in my throat,
The taste of that name, long unspoken
Shrieking in a high pitched note
Inside my skull.
But the skull of that which seeks me,
Keening in the autumn air,
Is under Earth – the dirt reclaiming
What was furred and now lies bare.

Yes, buried was it, months elapsing,
Thought of only now and then,
So why that sound; that haunted scratching
At my door? And there, again!
But now my thoughts are dizzy, rising,
Thinking on that friend of yore,
If it is he, and not some other
(By impious Satan’s dark accord)
Why should I fear he who has clawed?

“Is it you?” I whisper, breathless,
Tiptoeing across the floor,
Nearing what must be discovered –
The scratcher at the Hallow’s door.
With fingers stretching, trembling, paling,
I reach out for the lion’s head,
To meet the fate of Hell or Heaven
And turn it slowly; but instead-

My heart quails as the scratching quickens,
Outward grows a mournful wail,
At last I free the latch and sicken-
The scene which now my eye assails…
Is nothing. Save for night now pale.

Yes, morning’s fingers palely breaching
Night’s dark corners ever more,
No trace of ghouls or spectres creeping;
Banished by the light abhorred!

As dawn’s chill blush spreads o’er the fields,
I clutch my arms across my chest,
And wonder; was he truly wakened?
Yet my senses all attest;
That ‘eve the spirits found no rest.