Trick or Treat

Mystic Ink, Publisher of Spiritual, Shamanic, Transcendent Works, and Phantastic Fiction

TRICK OR TREAT

I’m wearing my ghost costume tonight. Of course I always wear my ghost costume. It's dark and the cold wind’s blowing dead leaves around my feet, but I don't notice the cold. What leaves are left on the trees rattle on the branches like whispering monsters. It's really spooky. There's even a full moon. I love Halloween. It's the only time I get to come back to my old neighborhood.

It hasn't changed that much in all this time. My Dad’s house hasn't changed at all. It looks broken down and crotchety, just like him. The paint’s peeling, the front porch is ready to fall down, and his old car with a dent in the trunk is still sitting in the driveway, only now the tires are flat. He doesn't drive it anymore.

I hope this year he'll come with me. I've been coming here every Halloween for the past -- don't know how long. Seems like forever but it can't be, I'm only six.

Anyway, every year I wait until it's dark and then I go to My Dad’s. He never answers the door, but I always see him peeking from behind the curtain. Then I knock.

I don’t think he can turn me down much longer. He’s getting older. I’m hoping this time he’ll go with me, because if it weren’t for him I wouldn’t be out trick-or-treating in the first place. I’m going to try harder than ever to get him to come out.

I see his house, sitting there looking like I told you it would. The lights are all off like I expected. I can see the curtain moving in front window. The glow of his cigarette. He's waiting for me.

I hope he comes this time.

I won't run up the steps like I usually do.

This time I'm going to surprise him. There goes the curtain again. He’s peeking.

The front door’s closed. I'm running along the side of his house, past my rusty bicycle, sneaking up the back stairs. He can't hear me. Through the kitchen door. The hall's dark, but I'm not scared. I know he's in the front room.

I'm at the end of the hall. I see him in the living room. Still looking out the window. For me.

I'm going to jump into the room and surprise him. Loud as I can.

Okay, ready. Deep breath. Go.

“Trick or Treat!”

He jumps. Drops his cigarette. Boy, his mouth looks like he wants to scream, but no sound’s coming from it. Now he's grabbing his chest and falling. Twitching.

Oops, wait a minute, he's reaching up and grabbing at the curtain, but it ripped. He's falling down again. Nope, I think he's going to die.

Die.

Hooray, Daddy’s finally coming with me.

It's about time.

I've been trick-or-treating like this ever since I can remember, which is -- let me see -- ever since I was six. The first time he wasn't even giving out candy. He was drunk, like he always is. He was supposed to take me trick-or-treating then, but he had a fight with Mom. She was mad ‘cuz he was stinko. I was tired of all the screaming and yelling, and I didn't want to see him hitting her again. When he got really mad, he hit me too, so I went outside.

A few minutes later he came out acting like he was going somewhere. I thought he was

finally going to take me trick-or-treating. I came around the corner and walked to the driveway. I heard his car running, but I didn't see anyone in it. I was too small to see over the trunk. Anyway, backed up real

quick and well…

Like I said if it weren't for him, I wouldn't be out here trick-or-treating in the first place.