“God bless it, you look like such sweethearts,” the crone warbled as the children’s eyes locked onto the wooden bowl that sat on a small folding to the woman’s left. “And what are you supposed to be?”
“I’m Elvis!” the first child declared.
The old woman’s face bunched up. “Elvis?” she scoffed. “You mean that rhinestone covered harbinger of the devil, who came to spread the satanic verses of his so called rock-and-roll to the world?” She ignored the scowling parents and turned towards the second child in line. “And what might you be?”
A child of four dressed in a peach jumpsuit with a twirled pipe cleaner stapled to the rear and a snubbed nose fixed to her skull via a rubber band gleefully chirped, “I’m a little piggy!”
“Oh, so your parents decided to dress you up as an icon of gluttony who spends every waking moment of its life wallowing in its own filth.” The decrepit creature’s eyes strayed towards the third child. This one was slightly younger than Elvis—-eight years old, she guessed—and had an unfamiliar face. Probably one of Elvis’ friends.
An overgrown brow pulled itself up the old coot’s forehead. This one was nothing more than a red hooded sweatshirt and a pair of black denim pants. In fact, the only indication that he was wearing a costume at all was the pair of horns that protruded from is forehead, one of them skewed slightly to the left. ‘Probably a poor kid Elvis’ class,’ she thought to herself. “And you—-should I even bother?” she sneered.
The parents and other children gave their elderly neighbor a confused look. The third child grinned and opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the male-adult whose daughter was now on the verge of tears. “Listen,” he said with the combination of reason and conviction he’d earned through eight years of Harvard law; “I realize you’re trying to help us—-and we really do appreciate your concern—-but this is the one day of the year the kids can get away from the real world and just have fun.”
The old woman pursed her lips in consideration before reaching for the bowl.
The two local children released a merry cheer. The old hag always bought the best candy, and only gave it out to people dressed up as shepherds and lambs, in hopes of driving people away from the darker side of the holiday. When the bags of the first two had been filled with the exotic treats, Elvis and the pig turned to leave.
“And what about you?” the old woman enquired as she held out a hand full of candy to the child in the sweatshirt, standing there with his hands lodged in his pockets, the sinister grin never having left his face.
The family stopped in their tracks at the unholy shriek that escaped the old woman’s body alongside her last breath as she collapsed to the ground.