This is for Mr. Miller’s class!
Trick or Treat
Someone is following me. I’m sure it’s a man, though I haven’t seen him clearly yet. Perhaps I should duck into the yard now. Yes, the gate is ajar. I push it almost shut behind me and turn.
Vast and Victorian, the house looms above me like the prow of a ship. A window on the second floor is broken, one shutter hanging askew from a bent hinge. I hear footsteps on the other side of the fence.
The porch is in deep shadow. I mount its steps, pause and turn. The gate creaks open and an enormous man dressed in black slides through. His shaved head reflects moonlight, as do the broken teeth in his grinning mouth. Also gleaming is the blade of the machete he clenches in his right hand.
Fatso, as I shall call him, believes he has cornered his victim. Not just yet. The front door yields to my pull and I enter a hallway. Shadows dart and skitter as mice flee my intrusion. A greater scrabbling indicates the departure of a King Rat. I hesitate, though rodents don’t disturb me greatly.
A heavy tread on the porch steps urges me forward. I step through deep dust across the hallway and into what must have been a parlor. Rodent chewed chairs and sofas offer no refuge. I move past a rickety side table through another door.
Stairs! An eccentric stairway, narrow and winding, ascends to an upper floor. I take it two steps at a time. An upper hallway lined by closed doors awaits me. A door at the hallway’s end is open and I make for it.
I hear a crash and a shatter from below and then footsteps on the stairs. I reach the hallway’s end and enter the master bedroom. Moonlight shines through two tall windows before me. A massive oak armoire stands against the wall to my right. A canopied bed rises to my left like a clipper ship under full sail.
Fatso’s heavy tread wrings squeals from the hallway’s floorboards behind me. He’s faster than I thought. I turn and face him as he enters the room.
He grins and his teeth reflect moonlight. “Just stand still, little lady. It will be over quickly.”
I’m sure it will. I note the anticipatory bulge of his biceps as he clenches the handle of his machete. Its blade quivers with his eagerness as he raises it slowly. He takes a sudden step forward and swings his blade in a vicious arc.
I step inside of his swing, grip his right hand with my left and stop the blade inches from my throat. His eyes widen with shock. I smile and murmur, “I’m stronger than I look.”
His muscles flex and he tries to snatch his hand out of my grip. I tighten my hold. His hand doesn’t move. Sweat springs out upon his forehead.
My stature is somewhat variable, but I’m in petite mode tonight – five foot two, eyes of blue – you get the picture.
He gasps, “What are you? Some sort of vampire?”
I smile sweetly, showing my normal dentition. “Vampires are a fad, dear. I’m an old-fashioned ghost and I’ve lured you into my house.”
I nod, “A ghost. I had bad luck with men, you see, and I have unfinished issues.”
Still gripping his hand I step back and inspect him. “I could use a familiar, a nice black ghost cat.” I shake my head. “But I’m afraid you’d make a very chubby kitty.”
He tries to thrust me away. I lean closer and whisper, “Have you any last thoughts you’d like to share?”
His lips make round gasping motions like those of a beached trout.
“I thought not. None of the others did either.” I raise my right hand and give it a shake to extend my claws. I turn them and they catch stray gleams of moonlight. “Do you like my needles?” I flick his right earlobe with my longest claw.
His face contorts. “Please!” he gasps.
I nod. “Certainly!” I plunge my needles beneath his chin, through his throat into his brain.
“Silver is becoming and so lethal.”