|Go ahead. Eat as much as you want. We'll be there for you.|
-The American Dental Association
The young wife pulled her sweater tight as a sudden gust whipped a handful of dead leaves past her ankles. Sure was getting cold, she thought.
Glancing down at the half-full candy jar at her feet, she was thankful she’d bought enough goodies for the hordes of trick-or-treaters that continued to rampage through her neighborhood.
|Oh, your house is getting egged|
In a pinch, she wondered whether she’d be able to get away with handing out those ketchup packets stashed in the cupboard over the stove.
For some reason, though, she doubted the kids would buy her assurances that ketchup was “nature’s candy.”
So, mercifully, her house would be spared the ravages wrought by pint-sized wrecking crews denied their sugar fixes.
With a break in the action, she picked up a Fun-Size Milky Way. No, check that. TWO fun-size Milky Ways-more fun that way. With a weary sigh and mouth full of chocolaty goodness, she plopped into the chair set by her open door.
|"Your movies sucked!"|
"Oh, yeah? Well at least I didn't have George Clooney play me!"
"True, but Richard Pryor in one of yours? Please!"
"Okay, but I think we can both agree that Robin is a real pussy!"
Quickly stashing the empty candy wrappers in the pocket of her sweater, she stood to welcome her visitors. They looked harmless enough, even the good Captain, who held his trousers up with one hand while dragging a sack full of tooth decay with the other.
Greeted by a cheery chorus of “Trick or Treats,” she extended the candy jar to the tiny defenders of truth, justice, the American way, and proper hygiene.
Their needs sated, the junior crime fighters excitedly scampered towards her neighbor’s house. Relieved her home continued to be spared, she noticed a lone figure standing at the end of her driveway.
Her visitor was fairly large-probably one of those kids from the middle school. Usually they just grabbed a pillowcase and headed door-to-door, their menace masked only by a surly, “I’m an egg-thrower” when asked what their costume was.
|"Do you have a couple of minutes|
to talk about the Lord?"
This kid was dressed up, though, but he gave her the willies. He sported blue jeans and a red flannel shirt, which were innocuous enough. But, what really creeped her out was that hockey mask he wore and...was that a knife in his right hand? He looked just like that...Freddy? Michael? No, he looked like Jason! Yeeks!
With a trembling hand, she presented the jar to the motionless figure. “Hey, there. Do you want some candy?”
Hmm, she thought, not too crazy about this. Why doesn’t he just toss a couple rolls of toilet paper in my trees and be done with it?
She closed her door and frantically tried to figure out what to do.
At that moment, her husband’s car pulled into the driveway.
“Oh, look,” he thought as he parked, “one of those Halloween trick-or-treaters. Kinda big, though.”
He got out of his car and cheerfully called out to the kid, “Hey, howzit goin’?”
“That’s weird,” he thought.
Quickly turning his back, he entered the side-door and saw his wife, who looked a little freaked-out. “Hey, you see that nut out there? What’s going on?”
Wide-eyed, she shrugged her shoulders and whispered, “You got me. He’s just been standing there for the past ten minutes. Uh...you didn’t see if he had a knife or anything, did you?”
His eyes went wide and he stepped to the closed door. Glancing through the curtains, he said, “Yeah, sure looks like one. Man, I don’t like this. I’m turning off the outside light.”
Casting the porch into darkness, he motioned for her to join him. Together, they peered at the motionless form bathed in the yellow light of the streetlamp.
“Maybe he’ll get the idea we’re done for the night,” she hoped.
“Yeah, I-hey! He’s starting to walk this way!”
His wife shrieked. Clapping her hands to the side of her head, she dropped to the kitchen floor. “Oh, my God! What’re we going to do!?”
He joined her. “I don’t know. I’d better call the cops!”
They heard shuffling footsteps as their visitor scraped along the loose rocks of their driveway.
Starting to lose it, she begged, “No, don’t leave me!”
|"He doesn't look like a Mormon."|
As he turned toward his almost-catatonic wife, he heard the footsteps suddenly stop.
And the doorbell ring.
The two of them inched their way to the window and cautiously peeked through the bottom of the curtain.
They heard low snickers of laughter behind a hockey mask which bounced up and down.
Standing bolt upright, the husband flung open the door and shouted, “You idiot! You gave us both heart attacks!”
The Moral of the Story: It’s a good thing my brother has a sense of humor. Otherwise, I mighta got stabbed that night.