“That’s quite a costume, young ma– … er… are you a boy, or a girl? I can’t tell under all that make up.”
The childlike thing shook a head, but made no answer. The widow Hann held upwards of $37 worth of chocolate in her lap, and she wasn’t giving it up to rude, ungrateful children who couldn’t be bothered to answer a simple question. Theses kids were getting more and more ill-mannered every year.
The zombie child reached a veined, pinkish hand into the bowl.
Mrs. Hann snatched it away. “Not so fast.”
The costume was stunning. Or the paint was still wet. It glistened in the inconstant light of Mrs. Hann’s tiki torches and carved pumpkin display. “Say ‘Trick or treat first.'”
It shook its head more violently. A low guttural sound issued from lips that dripped red paint and saliva.
“Just say it.” The mother instructed, sloshing…
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