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| "Any Snickers?" |
The following is a true story.
Mostly.
The young wife pulled her sweater tight. Sure was starting to get cold.
Glancing down at the half empty candy jar,
she was thankful she’d bought enough goodies for the hordes of
trick-or-treaters which continued to rampage through her neighborhood.
With only an hour to go, she breathed a
sigh of relief, confident she wouldn’t have to break into last year’s stash of
petrified candy corn. Or, worse, ketchup
packets.
 |
| She doubted the kids would buy her story that they were nature's candy. |
So, her house was safe from ravages wrought
by pint-sized wrecking crews denied their sugar fixes.
With a break in the action, she picked up a
Fun-Size Snickers bar and popped it
deftly into her mouth. Check that. TWO fun-size Snickers bars.
 |
"More fun that way."
|
Her mouth full of chocolaty, peanutty (probably not a real word) caramel
goodness, she plopped into the chair set by her open door.
No sooner had she sat down then four miniature
super heroes-Batman, Spiderman, and the unfortunately-named Captain Incontinence
and his sidekick, Wet Nap Boy, came trooping up her driveway.
Quickly stashing the empty candy wrappers
into the pocket of her jeans, she stood to greet her visitors. They looked harmless enough, although the
good captain kept jumping from one leg to another.
Greeted by a cheery chorus of “Trick or
Treats,” she smiled and extended the candy jar to the tiny defenders of truth,
justice, the American way,
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| and proper hygiene. |
Their needs sated, the junior crimefighters
scampered excitedly across the lawn towards her neighbor’s house. Thankful her home continued to be spared, she
spotted a solitary figure standing at the end of her driveway.
 |
| "I was wondering when I'd get into the action." |
Her visitor was fairly large. She figured he was one of those kids from the
middle school who refused to let go of their youth. Usually they just grabbed a pillowcase from
their beds and headed door-to-door, their menace masked only by a surly, “I’m
an egg-thrower” when asked what their costumes were.
This kid was dressed up, but he gave
her the willies. He was sporting blue
jeans and a brown flannel shirt, which were innocuous enough. But, what 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 from those Friday
the 13th movies. Yikes!
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| "Hey, I can be pretty scary too, ya know." |
With a trembling hand, she offered the
candy jar to the motionless figure. “Hi,
do you want some candy?”
No answer.
Hmm, not too crazy about this, she thought. Why doesn’t he just toss toilet paper in my
trees and be done with it?
 |
| Hey, one rainstorm...now you're talking a real horror story. |
She closed her door, desperately trying to
figure out what to do.
At that moment, her husband’s car pulled
into the driveway.
“Oh, look,” he thought as he switched off
the ignition, “one of those Halloween trick-or-treaters. Hmmm...kinda big, though.”
He got out of his car and jauntily called
out to the kid, “Hey, howzit goin’?”
Nothing.
“That’s weird,” he thought.
Quickly running away, he stepped through 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 a few minutes. Uh...I think
he’s holding a knife or something.”
His eyes went wide and he stepped to the door. Peering through the
blinds, he said, “Yeah, it sure looks like one. Man, I don’t like this. I’m turning off the light.”
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| "That will make Jason go away!" |
 |
| "No, it won't." |
Casting the porch in darkness, the two
gathered at their curtains and peered at the motionless form bathed in the
light of the streetlamp.
“Maybe he’ll get the idea we’re done for
the night,” she hoped.
 |
| "No, I won't." |
“Yeah, I-hey! He’s starting to walk this
way!”
His wife shrieked and dropped to the
kitchen floor. “Oh, my goodness! What’re we going to do!?”
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For entertainment use only.
But, pretty close. |
He joined her. “I don’t know. I’d better call the cops!”
They heard shuffling footsteps as
their visitor slowly scraped along the loose gravel of their driveway.
Starting to lose it, she begged, “No, don’t
leave me!” She clamped her hands to her
ears and tightly squeezed her eyes shut.
Her husband scrambled to the kitchen
island. Maybe he’d find a knife
or....ladle!!?? What the-that won’t
do! He frantically rifled through the
drawer. Cheese grater...turkey baster...
garlic press...ah, here’s something!
As he turned toward his almost-catatonic wife,
he heard the footsteps suddenly stop.
And the doorbell ring.
Quickly joining his wife on the floor, he
urged her to shuffle to the door on her knees.
Cautiously raising their heads, they peeked through the bottom window pane.
To see the hockey mask bouncing up and
down in laughter.
Standing bolt upright, the husband flung
open the door, and shouted, “You idiot!
You coulda given 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 with
a potato peeler that night.
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