Death Makes a House-call

“The idea is to die young as late as possible.”-Ashley Montagu

I stand on the porch, waiting.  I’m surrounded by orange LED lights and cheesy decorations, which makes my presence out of place. Covered in my usual black garb, face covered completely, scythe and cauldron in my hands.  Halloween is always my favorite time of year, the most exciting; all the energy in the air, all the costumed folks who are completely oblivious to my presence.  

Here are some now, a group of three small children, the oldest a superhero, and then a little ghost, and finally a tiny angel.  The angel knows something is up, it’s always the youngest who recognize me first.  She freezes.  

Stay still, the others were encourage her on.  The cauldron is heavy in my hand, and I have to take special care not to lean.  Stay still, children are the best, don’t ruin it.

The superhero and the ghost notice that their guardian has stopped in the middle of the lawn.  

“Aww,” The superhero is disappointed.  He keeps walking, making it to the porch first.

“C’mon, Becky,” The ghost tramps back, puts his arm around her, and they walk forward together.  After what I’m about to do, he will regret it.

While they walk up the superhero sizes me up.  When his friends arrive next to him, they let the angel go first.  She reaches, stretched up on tip-toe, to pick the best out of my cauldron.

Now.

I jump outwards and scream, “HAPPY HALLOWEEN!” and all three children jump back.  I look back to the mom waiting by the curb, she’s clutching her chest.  Scared the parents, bonus points.  They take their candy and fly off the porch.

I go back to my post.  I stand on the porch, waiting.