TRICK OR TREAT
By Stacy McKitrick
Joey Ferraro manned the house
while his wife, Corinne, braved the streets with their son, Frankie. This was
their first Halloween in the neighborhood and Joey had wanted to go, too, but
Corinne insisted someone stay home and hand out the candy. “Someone would toilet
paper the house if no one was home,” she said. Pointing out that they didn’t
own any trees hadn’t swayed her fear.
The doorbell rang for the
umpteenth time. Wondering if he’d get a chance to watch any of his hockey game,
he opened the door to the sounds of “Trick or Treat.” Little ballerinas,
princesses and comic book heroes jumped up and down, begging for candy. He
dropped one piece into each bag. After a chorus of thank yous, they raced off
to the next house, leaving one familiar beggar holding out his bag.
“Trick or treat. Smell my feet.
Give me something good to eat.”
Joey shook his head and stared
at the chubby Chewbacca. At least he assumed that was what the kid was dressed
as. “Listen, you might have gotten seconds from me, but you’re not about to get
thirds.”
“I haven’t been here before.”
“Uh, yes you have. I don’t know
of any Wookiee that would be caught dead carrying around a pink My Little Pony
bag. Now scram.” Joey pushed the door shut, but the kid wedged one pudgy leg
inside.
“If you don’t give me a treat,
I’ll have to trick you.”
The kid couldn’t be any older
than ten. Joey searched his yard. The next batch of beggars were two doors down
and not a parent lingered in front of his house. “Where’s your mother?”
Chewbacca held out his bulging
candy bag.
Joey clenched his jaw. The kid
was determined, he’d give him that, but then so was he. “No,” Joey said as he
kicked the kid’s leg aside and shut the door before the little bugger could
stop him. He slid the bolt locked.
This was the thanks he got for
passing out candy? The kids in this neighborhood were greedy little gremlins.
Most of them could stand to be on a diet, too. Next year he’d accompany
Frankie, and Corinne could hand out candy and watch for any would-be toilet
paperers.
Before he could return to his
hockey game, the doorbell rang. He peeked through the side window. Surrounded
by a new group of children was Chewie. Joey no sooner opened the door than the
chubby beggar stiff-armed his way to the front.
“Kids, if you ever want to know
what kind of behavior will not get you candy, follow this kid’s example.” Joey
then gave everyone candy except the Wookiee.
He shut the door as the kid
pounded on it. “This is your last chance!” Chewie cried.
“I’m shaking in my boots,” Joey
yelled back. Yeah, he probably should have taken the high road and kept quiet,
but the brat brought out the beast in him.
When the next round of beggars
appeared, there wasn’t any sign of the creature from hell, thank goodness. But
just as the last beggar trotted away, he got hit in the chest with an egg. Goo
splattered everywhere, leaving a sickly stench.
“Oh gross!” Joey fought to keep
his dinner down and couldn’t dispose of his shirt fast enough while the chubby
Chewbacca cackled from the safety of the sidewalk. By the time Joey got his
queasiness under control, the Wookiee had disappeared. Good thing, too. Who
knew what he would have done with the little monster?
He slammed the door shut. That
was it. Halloween was over as far as he was concerned. Kids wouldn’t miss one piece
of candy, like they needed it at all. And if they got toilet-papered, so be it.
He turned off the porch light and cleaned up before settling in to watch his
hockey game.
The doorbell rang. He ignored
it.
Someone knocked. He ignored it.
Minutes later, the set went
dark. What the? He pushed the guide button, the power button. Nothing.
Laughter came from the front of
the house.
Joey threw open the door. “What
the hell did you do to my cable?”
“Trick or treat. Smell my feet.
Give me something good to eat.” Chubby Chewbacca held out his bag.
“You have got to be kidding me!”
“Don’t you get it? I don’t kid.”
Joey grabbed the bowl. “Fine.
Here.” He dumped the candy into the kid’s bag. A few Snickers and Kit Kats
tumbled to the ground. “Have it all, you big pig. Now go.”
“What did you call me?”
“You heard me. Now get out of
here before I call the cops.” Joey slammed the door in the kid’s face. Now he
had to figure out what the monster did to his cable. Armed with a flashlight he
marched to the box on the side of his house.
The cable lay curled in the
grass. He was re-attaching the connector when that familiar voice echoed
between the houses.
“That’s him, Daddy. He’s the one
who called me a pig.”
Joey rose past muddy boots fit
for Shaquille O’Neal and a pair of ham hock thighs that could probably crush a
walnut, and no amount of standing on Joey’s part would make him taller than
this dude. Frankenstein, anyone?
“Pick on someone your own age,
jerk.” A massive fist collided with Joey’s chin.
Trick or treat, indeed.
Stacy