“Who is knocking?” The impossibly old man asked. His skin was wrinkled and nearly translucent.
“We never get visitors!” The wretched old woman beside him screeched. She had long, wispy hair that refused to lie flat, and the same grey complexion the old man had. “And on Hallows’ Eve of all nights? The nerve of some people.”
“Should we see who it is, Helen?” The feeble old man worked his way up, his bones groaning.
“Of course, Harold!” She cackled, her bones clattering as she stood.
They grabbed their canes from beside their antique chairs. Slowly, they walked through the cobweb-filled foyer and to the heavy dark door.
Whoever was at the door knocked again.
“Just a minute... dang it!” Harold muttered, fumbling with the door handle. He pulled the creaky door open.
A tall cloaked figure with a sickle stood on the other side of the door. “Trick or treat!”
“What?” They croaked in unison.
“TRICK OR TREAT?”
“Does he want a treat?” Harold asked Helen.
“I think that’s what he asked for.” She turned to the figure. “We don’t have any treats!”
The figure pulled down their hood. Beneath it, a skull grinned. “Then trick it is!”
Comments
Be the first to comment.