Give Me Something Good To Eat
By
Pamela K. Kinney
“Trick or treat! Smell my feet! Give me something good to
eat!”
Halloween again, when all those damn kids rang his doorbell
and asked, no, demanded, candy, money, and other assorted treats. But he’d be
double-damned if he’d break down and give the little hellions anything. In his
opinion, these days the only thing the brats deserved was nothing. Nothing at
all.
The noise escalated, changing to a persistent pounding at
his door instead. Jonas Perkins flung open the door and found two small
children, maybe five or six, standing on his porch. One was dressed as a witch,
the other a Power Ranger. Their loud, obnoxious father, Pete Quarters from next
door, stood next to them like the glowering Neanderthal he resembled. Jonas
felt pretty sure it had been him and not the kids that had been doing the
knocking. The man inched closer so that Jonas and he stood practically nose to
nose. Bile threatened to rise in Jonas’ throat as the odor of cheap beer lacing
the other man’s breath slammed into his nostrils.
“Hey, Perkins!” said Quarters. “Didn’t you hear Jenny and
Parker ringing your doorbell? It’s Halloween, you know.”
Jonas snorted and glared at Quarters. “Yeah, I heard. But I
decided not to give out candy to any kids this year. I thought the Dental
Association would have one less idiot handing out sugar products and causing
cavities. Felt it was my civic duty.”
Quarters’ piggish eyes narrowed. “Are you going highbrow on
me, Perkins? It’s Halloween and I’m sure that my kids’ dentist won’t mind them
having some candy. I should know, as he gave them a few Snickers bars when we
stopped at his place, so why should he care if you give them anything?”
“Well, I didn’t get any candy so I am not giving them, or
any other little monster, anything tonight. And that’s that. So no one better
play a trick on me either, or I’ll call the cops. Now get off my porch!”
Jonas slammed the door shut on Quarters and his kids,
locking it.
“Stupid idiots and their brats,” he muttered, as he stalked
into the living room and thumped down in his favorite chair in front of his
television. Picking up the remote, he surfed through endless channel after
channel, but only found monster movies, how to make Halloween treats on the
Cooking Channel, and the history of Halloween on the History Channel. With a
click, he turned off the TV and tossed the remote onto the coffee table with
disgust. Nothing but Halloween crap.
And nothing but more Halloween crap to his thinking as the
door bell sounded again and he answered it. Kids dressed in costumes of all
types, from vampires and werewolves to ghosts, super heroes, and simpering
princesses stood with their bags held up, the light spilling onto their masked
or made up faces. Their parents waited just outside the reach of the porch
light, hidden in the shadows of the night. He screamed at the little monsters,
making them run and their mothers and fathers curse him, but he slam the door
on them all, switching off the porch light. After a while he sat in the
darkened living room, ignoring the persistent bell. Finally, he got up and went
to disconnect the doorbell to get some peace. Snatching a book from a nearby
bookshelf, he relaxed in his chair under the light from the floor lamp as the
laughter and screams from the children faded to silence around nine o’clock.
After a while he began to nod off, so he laid the book on his lap and let sleep
overtake him.
The blare of the doorbell woke him. He leaped from his
chair, the book falling to the floor and almost knocking over the lamp.
Blinking the slumber from his eyes, a glance at the clock on the wall revealed
it was midnight.
Hadn’t he disconnected the doorbell earlier? Maybe he hadn’t
done the job right as he’d thought.
And what fool trick-or-treater would be out this late
anyway? He gritted his teeth. Must be teenagers running around while their
asinine parents were getting drunk at some Halloween party.
At first he wasn’t going to answer the door, but when he
spied something on a table near him he flashed a grin. He picked up a horn that
he kept to bugle at birds in the spring when they tried to get the grass seed
that he sowed his front lawn with. With his fingers curled around it he crossed
over to the door.
“I’ll give you a treat!” he yelled as he flung open the
door.
A trick-or-treater about his height stood silent in the
night-filled porch. Jonas had been right—some dumb-assed teen. His fingers
pressed the button on the horn and a loud high-pitched sound screamed out of
it. With another press of the button, he cut off the blast. The figure didn’t
move or appeared fazed.
Dumbfounded at first, the heat of anger replaced that
feeling. “Aren’t you a little old to be trick-or-treating, you stupid nitwit?”
The costumed figure didn’t answer. Jonas took in the
costume. Tall and gaunt, threadbare iron gray pants hung loosely from the hips
and the person also wore a shirt rotted away in places, leaving dirt crusted holes.
Dust covered most of the clothing and the large shoes on the feet looked like
those that a clown would wear.
The skin gleam the same pale, chalky color as the crescent
moon that hung in the night sky above. Long hands ended in long black nails,
sharp like claws, and they grasped an extra large bag, like the kind that held
grain or seed in the hardware stores. But it was the make up job that impressed
him the most. The flesh masked over the skull like a second skin. Not a speck
of bright color touched its lips or cheeks, just dull gray.
And the eyes! They dominated the features, like large black
holes, no consciousness peeping out of them.
Must be FX contact lenses, thought Jonas.
The lips parted in a dark smile, revealing a mouthful of
cannibal-sharp fangs.
Jonas shivered, but not from the cool autumn breeze that
drifted into his house. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to shut this door now.
No tricks either, because you’re not getting any damn treats from me.”
He shut the door on the its face.
When he turned around, he found himself eye to eye with the
strange trick-or-treater. It stood there, blocking Jonas from the living room
and access to his phone.
“What the hell?” Jonas backed into the door. “How did you
get inside?”
The figure silently held up its bag.
Suddenly angry, Jonas snarled. “You want a treat, do you?
Well, I’ll give you a treat. A treat like a smack from this horn.”
He raised the horn up and brought it down. With no warning,
the trick-or-treater grabbed the arm holding the horn and with a twist, broke
it. Jonas yelled from the pain as the being let go. The horn dropped to the
floor, making a loud clatter. The trick-or-treater kicked it to the side.
Fear twisted Jonas’ guts as he cradled his useless arm with
the good one. “Oh, God. What do you want?”
“You.”
It snatched at him quickly, not giving him time to escape,
and after snapping several more bones to bend the body easier, it shoved a
dying Jonas into the bag.
****
The ghoul cackled as it flung open the door, stepping out
into the night air. The pungent odors from burnt jack-o-lanterns on door steps
and lawns, along with half-eaten candies grounded into the pavement from the
feet of countless children wafted to its nostrils. But it didn’t think of those
things, only of the meal it would enjoy tonight in its home in the mausoleum.
Nowadays, Halloween made it so easy to hunt humans. They just thought of it as
another costumed trick-or-treater. No one believed that real monsters stalked
among the fake ones.
It skipped down the street to the town cemetery as it sang,
swinging the heavily loaded bag at its side.
“Trick or treat, smell my feet, and give me something good
to eat!”
Scary! :)
ReplyDeleteLoved it! Great Halloween story. :-)
ReplyDeleteStephanie St.Clair
Oh, my, goodness. That was an excellently plotted story. I thought it might be leading up to a Dickens type of story, but no. *shiver* Goosebumps, indeed.
ReplyDeleteGreat story that's really put me in the mood for Halloween. "Never fear the candy's here" I think I'll say. Don't want an encounter like that :)
ReplyDeletelol, karma baby! good story :)
ReplyDeletePamela,
ReplyDeleteWhat a great story! Loved the end!
Mystik Waboose
Knock, knock. Who's there? Snack. Snack who? Heh, Heh, it's you.
ReplyDeleteGreat story!!!
ReplyDeleteSuper story.
ReplyDelete***Shivers!***
ReplyDeleteSpooky! :-)
ReplyDeleteOkay, now I'm going to worry every time an over-sized trick or treater shows up at my door! :-)
ReplyDeleteOh, this is delicious!!!!!
ReplyDeleteGreat story!
ReplyDelete