Chapter 1
Dusk crept into night as the trick-or-treaters scuttled and scampered through leaf-laden streets. Miniature zombies, pirates, witches, and ghosts, not to mention the endless parade of capes and crowns, rang and banged doors holding outstretched bags and hollow plastic pumpkins. Clamoring to get to the good houses first before they turned out the lights. Chocolate twists and turns and gummy worms. No apples nor popcorn balls lest a razor influence your taste. Never anything that wasn’t wrapped and vacuum-packed in a hermetically sealed Chinese factory.
Few dared make the trip up the long walk at the end of the road which led to the old woman’s house. They teased the old woman every chance they got and made it clear to anyone and everyone that she was a witch. A “bitch witch,” they would say as they laughed, threw rocks, and ran away. The old woman kept quiet and chose to keep to herself in hopes of avoiding any further conflict. Children can be so cruel.
On that particular Halloween Eve, the old woman at the end of the road filled one of her grandmother’s ornate serving bowls with the best Halloween candy that she could find and afford, even though she knew there wouldn’t be any trick-or-treaters again this year. She left her outside lights on and had several carved pumpkins illuminating the pathway up to her doorstep. She had placed several peel-off bat silhouette stickers on her window in celebration of the autumnal mood. She just wanted a small bit of social camaraderie and celebration with her neighbors on this All Hallows’ Eve. It was, after all, her favorite holiday of the year.
As the sun grew dim and was mimicked by the fireplace in her hearth, the old woman finally nodded off in her recliner while reading an old tome. Finally, there was a knock at the door and a ring of the bell. Until now, she hadn’t realized how old and creepy her doorbell sounded echoing through the foyer. It’s no wonder the kids were skittish. She hopped up out of her chair and checked herself in the mirror on the way to answering the door.
Her costume was that of an old witch, just like last year, and the year before. She was getting too old to do anything but recycle Halloween costumes. Not a sexy witch. Nor an expensive period piece witch ensemble. Just a simple old witch costume worn over her pajamas since she planned on going to bed after the trick-or-treaters had dispersed for the evening.
She opened her door with exuberance at the sight of the children’s costumes and held out the candy-filled antique container. Suddenly, from the back of the group of children, a hail of raw eggs were thrown at the poor old woman, smashing all over her face and torso.
Shocked and dismayed, the old woman dropped her grand-mother’s heirloom and it shattered with shards of porcelain and candy flying everywhere. She fell to the ground as the assault of eggs and now rocks continued to rain down upon the bloodied elderly woman, smashing windows and her temporary solace.
“Bitch witch! Bitch witch!” they shouted as they scooped up the candy remnants on the ground around her, ignoring her pain and needs despite her cries for help. She lay there on her front porch bruised and bloodied, listening to the laughter of children fade away down her street.
Slowly, the old woman crawled onto her feet and looked at her broken windows and the pieces of the bowl, the one memory of her grandmother she had left. She quietly moaned and groaned, which turned into a giggle. Her giggle turned into laughter, which then crescendoed into hysterical cackling. The inside joke was turning out.
“Those precious little devils don’t know how right they were the first time.” The old witch chuckled and spat and squealed, wiping the blood, spittle, and egg off her face, all the while planning her revenge. She was, in fact, an actual witch. An honest-to-goodness practitioner of the dark arts, a purveyor of the impure, the Wiccan custodian of evil, malignant supernatural powers.
Just then another child, dressed as a ghost, appeared at the front doorstep of the witch’s house and said, “Trick or treat!”
The old, haggard witch leaned in close to the tiny ghost face and whispered, “Trick.”
