Not A Joy

The sun had long since gone down.  The previous few Trick-Or-Treaters had been high school students, wearing little more than some smeared makeup and those plastic vampire teeth, holding out their pillow cases expectantly.   The bowl was nearing empty.  I had eaten at least more than a share of the Kit-Kats from it, and tucked a few more bits of the good stuff away for tomorrow.  The few Almond Joys and Smarties left would satisfy those last few who came to the door.

Just as I was about to return to the TV to catch more ‘Buffy’ specials, a knock came to the door.  I brushed the hair from the long dark wig out of my face and adjusted the pointy hat.  Opening the door revealed the little creature, shorter in comparison to those pubescent undeserving individuals.

Trick or Treat the petite zombie groaned, forcing out a dark raspy voice.

What a great costume! I repeated for the 40th time that night, staring into his dark eye circles. I quickly glanced up at the walkway to my house, looking for any sign of a mom or dad.  Across the street, the neighbor flicked off their porch light, any remaining signs of Jack-o-Lanterns vacant.

It’s a bit too late to be out without your parents, isn’t it? I said as I leaned over to plop the candy into his sack.

The boy looked down as the blue package dropped into the bag.  As I extracted my hand, I felt something upon it.  I yanked my hand back, pulling with it the chitinous body of a cockroach, clicking loudly at me.  I swung my hand back, causing it to fly off and into my living room where it scuttered off under my futon.  I glanced back at the boy, who continued to stare blankly into my house.

There was… I uh…  I stumbled.  You should get on home, kiddo. My voice shook.  I shut the door with the child still staring at me.  I turned back and ran to my coffee table, pulling a magazine out of the collection atop it it and rolling it up into a weapon.  I ducked down on the vinyl floor and peeked under the furniture, seeking out the disgusting insect.  The sickening clicks of whatever part of the thing made that sound were distant.

A slim arm crept up against mine while my head was turned sideways to peer into the dusty gap.  I slid myself out from under the futon frame and sat up.  The zombie child had crept up next to me.  I looked back at the door that laid hung open to the dark night.  I heard an inhuman squeal, prodding me to turn back.

The offending roach was wiggling in the boy’s fingers, letting out a noise reminiscent of a scream.  The boy silently stood before shoving the head of the insect into his mouth, biting down upon it with a sickening crunch.

I turned my head back and tried to hold my stomach back from returning the milk chocolate I had consumed earlier that night.  My hand over my mouth, I heard a small slap upon the floor.  A blue wrapped goodie slid back at me, the same one I had distributed to the strange child.

Keep it.  Coconut is gross.  

One thought on “Not A Joy

  1. You can certainly see your skills in the work you write. The world hopes for even more passionate writers like you who are not afraid to say how they believe. Always go after your heart.


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