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Trick or Treat
I sort the candy, dividing it between the two bowls until they are both heaping. The orange bowl is for the children, gleaming brightly with multicolored candy wrappers, begging to be devoured. I place it neatly on a small table by the front door.
The second bowl is black. I carry it down into the cellar where I keep my more temperamental ingredients. A dash of that, a pinch of this, I set about my work whistling as I go. I chant quietly under my breath as I bring it back up the stairs and set it carefully and distinctly away from the orange bowl.
The sun is beginning to set and the yard is glowing merrily with the light of several jack-o-lanterns. Cobwebs are stretched over every knook and cranny and the graveyard I set up in the yard is looking distinctly creepy now that the light is gone.
Soon the children begin flowing through the neighborhood, banging joyfully on each new door as they go. I can't help but laugh with delight, cooing over their lovely costumes and flushed faces as I dish out candy from the bright orange bowl.
As the night goes on, there comes a loud banging on my door. When I open it there's a group of obnoxious teenagers standing where only delighted children should be. None of them are in costume and all are lugging pillowcases bulging with candy. One of them is tall and lanky, with a small amount of peach fuzz on his upper lip and a bright yellow jacket with black trim.
Without a word I go and pick up the black bowl and dish handfuls of candy into their open bags. I don't mind that they don't say thank you. Instead I watch their retreating backs, shaking my head at their foul-mouthed loudness and shut the door.
At the end of the night, when at last I've given away all the candy, I turn out the lights and crawl into bed, pulling the covers up against my chin.
In the morning I get up and get dressed, pulling on my coat as I step outside and begin taking down the decorations.
A group of small children wearing clothes far too big for them come shuffling by, dragging pillow cases of candy behind them. Their heads are lowered and they're muttering quietly, but I can see one has a bright yellow jacket with black trim.
I pretend not to recognize them as they stumble by, calling out a cheery "Happy Halloween!" as they pass.
I skip back into the house with glee, cackling as I close the door and peer out from behind the curtain. I watch them until they turn the corner and disappear from view. They wanted to act like children and now they got their wish.
