by Mark Kasniak
Jenna turned on her television, and to her surprise, there were Halloween specials still playing on one of the networks. She then hopped up onto her bed and poured out the contents of her bag of candy over the coverlets. It was a sorrowful haul indeed. A cache so small she would’ve been embarrassed to call herself a kid if it were of her own efforts, and not the result of her mother forcing her to come home early.
A few chocolate bars, a rather small segment of licorice, three pieces of hard candy, and a gob-stopper was all she had to show for a week’s worth of digging through the dust-filled and moth-riddled boxes in the attic, searching for the nostalgic clothing she needed to make up her costume.
Jenna felt her stomach begin to growl and she thought of the dinner her father had prepared for them before he’d left for work. Spaghetti and meatballs with cheesy garlic bread, her absolute favorite. The very thought of it was now making Jenna's mouth water as she licked her lips in hunger. She silently wished that she would have eaten earlier with her father back when he had just finished cooking it. That was right before he had kissed her on the cheek, told her he loved her and headed off to work the night shift as a paramedic at Saint Christopher's Hospital. But, she was too excited about Halloween to eat just then, the growing anticipation of trick-or-treating being such a short time away had filled her every thought with joy. She was a prisoner of imagining all the candy she was going to collect. How her night’s haul was going to make Willy Wonka look like a two-bit sugar dealer. So she had elected to forgo dinner with her dad, and now it was too late, the food sat forlornly out of reach on the kitchen stovetop in topper ware containers.
Jenna knew that in order to get her hands on the spaghetti and meatballs, she would have to slip surreptitiously back downstairs past the witch and retrieve it without making a sound, and even then it would still be cold. And, if she wanted to have it heated back up, which, of course, would require her mother allowing her to have it in the first place, it would surely entail an apology from her. That meant she would have to swallow her pride and come crawling to the witch, beseechingly asking her if she could do it for her. Because, Jenna still wasn’t old enough to use the stove yet, and the microwave still seemed a little too complicated for her grasp with all the machine’s buttons.
Jenna looked at her candy sullenly. In total, it was in a pile no bigger than what you could fit in the palm of your hand. Well, at least, it’s something to eat, she thought. Because, going downstairs and asking for some of the spaghetti would have been like Gretel, knowingly walking through the forest only to stumble upon a house made of gingerbread she knew contained a witch, and still knocking on the door, anyway. And, besides, Jenna already knew the candy would have to make do for dinner, because she could hear that her mother was on the phone, talking with somebody important from her work, and any interruption of her conversation would be met with a truculent scolding.
After finishing off the candy, and watching an hour of television, Jenna slowly felt her eyelids begin to grow heavy and her consciousness began to waver. What little sugar she had consumed from the candy did nothing to prevent the Sandman from creeping in and taking root over her senses.
Meanwhile, downstairs Jenna's mother carried on with her conversation with her boss, Mr. Fergusson, about the missing money that the bookworms down in accounting had just noticed been pilfered from the charity—The Never-Ending Wish Foundation—to which Jenna's mother been employed with.
The witch’s boss, Mr. Fergusson, didn't accuse as so much as nonchalantly implied, to Jenna's mother that she could be considered a person of interest in said funds disappearance.
It was no secret, that Jenna's mother had been widely known for being a woman who appreciated possessions of a finer quality, even if such things far exceeded what her income as a treasurer of a non-for-profit charity would allow.
Such extravagances, that the witch routinely liked to indulge in would have always remained out of her reach if she hadn’t helped herself along at times. Even when her husband’s meager income as a paramedic been factored along with her own, it still remained obvious to anybody who knew her that she’d been aided financially in one way or another.
She knew that her lifestyle in which she had flaunted to family, friends, and neighbors didn't leave her in such a strong position to deflect such accusations. And, the fact was, she had stolen from the charity, and everybody knew it. She could see no way to deny that.
The money she took was not only meant to give terminally ill children, one last opportunity to go somewhere fun, perhaps Walt Disney World. But, was also to provide a child with an opportunity to spend a few final days with their family before they became too weak and undoubtedly too stricken with agony to leave the hospital and its round-the-clock care.
But, the recently discovered missing funds were not the only money in which the witch had taken. She had also dipped into other accounts, those that held finances to help families pay for life-saving operations and Medication. And, she had also taken reserves, which she was fairly sure probably caused the premature deaths of at least a handful of children over the years.
Finally, after having cleaned off all her green makeup, and thrown her costume in the trash, the witch set-off into a bottle of wine and a couple of Percocets, courtesy of a high-priced doctor, who was all too willing to write prescriptions for his customers. Jenna’s mother had been too upset over the phone call she just had with her boss and needed a little extra something to help take the edge off her shaken nerves. She knew that she shouldn't mix the pills with alcohol, but she had scoffed at it, anyway. She desired something strong enough to put her mind at ease and hopefully work as a sedative so she could eventually get some sleep that night.
At just past ten o'clock a thought had occurred to her that it might be in her best interest to call and inform, Richard Brassard, her brother-in-law, who was also a criminal defense attorney, and tell him all about her problem at work. But it was late, and she didn't want him to know anything unless it was necessary. And besides, it was past ten, and he and his wife Alice were probably already in bed. They always went to bed early. Such wimps, she thought.
The witch filled herself up another glass of wine and then thought that it would best to just wait on obtaining a lawyer, at least until the authorities became involved. Besides, it had sounded to her that Mr. Fergusson might just be in the beginning stages of an internal investigation, and was only trying to do a little fishing when he’d called.
The witch finished her glass of wine and then climbed up the stairs to check and see if Jenna was still awake. And, if she was… Lord, help her! Almost eleven at night and she still hadn't put herself to bed, this wasn’t going to stand.
“You mean she doesn't even tuck Jenna into bed at night?” Ally said, sounding animated. “That’s awful.”
“Would you please shut up?” Murray sternly snapped at her. “Stop ruining my story, or I'll ruin yours.”
“Oh, knock it off, Murray,” April said in a huff. “She just got a little carried away with the story, is all. She hasn't hurt anything. You can pick back up right where you left off.”
“I beg to differ,” Murray complained, taking on a bombastic tone. “She ruined the atmosphere I was building.”
“Yeah, well, too bad,” Henry snidely quipped at Murray.
“Yeeahh, Oo wad,” Tilly repeated.
“What are you boys doing trick-or-treating?” the jack-o’-lanterns then heard the old man call out from his seat perched at the end of the driveway. “You boys are too big for this. You should be out chasing girls not candy. Ha!”
“Yeah, well... we like candy,” one of the boys snickered back at him.
“Ha! I bet you like a lot of things, just not girls!” proclaimed the old man mockingly.
“What? Nuh-uh,” replied the boy dumbfounded.
“I think he's calling you a fag, man,” said one of the boy's friends, who stood next to him wearing a Star Trek costume.
“Ha... now the
re's a quick one,” the old man said to the trekker.
“Screw you old man,” quipped the boy, and then he and his friends moved on without receiving any candy.
“I knew it!” said the old man. “You're only proving my point, you little daisy.”
“Stop that now,” said the old woman as she gently slapped the old man on his arm.
“Ah hahaha... those boys did look like a couple of daisies,” Murray managed to stammer out as he laughed to himself.
“Oh, leave them alone,” April reprimanded. “You're never too old for trick-or-treating. Besides, I thought you were all in a tizzy to get back to your story?”
“Alright, alright,” Murray hissed at April. “Now where was I? Oh, yeah…”
The witch cracked open Jenna's bedroom door, peeking in only to find that indeed Jenna was sound asleep still in her Halloween costume and surrounded by candy wrappers while the television droned on in a murmur of the late night news.
Having seen the mess, and the television left turned on, the witch threw her hands dramatically into the air as if to say, What can't turn off the TV? She then crept into the room so as to power down the television, but at the same time had elected to leave Jenna still in her costume laying in and among the soiled candy wrappers. If that's the way you want to put yourself to bed, Fine, the witch then thought to herself before leaving the room.
After the witch seemed satisfied that Jenna was asleep and would no longer be a burden for the rest of the night, she opened up her second bottle of wine and popped a few more of her little white pills. She was still really upset and had thought she needed to up her dose if there would be any hope of keeping the anxiety of potential pending legal troubles from creeping into her mind and weighing her thoughts down as heavy as stone.
Midnight came calling and the grandfather clock in the living room chimed its twelve gongs. The witch couldn't help but count them off as they went by, one for every year in prison, she thought to herself sullenly. “Why... Why did I have to do it?” she cried out in a choked voice as she gasped for air. “It wasn't my fault. If they had just paid me what I was worth, none of this would have happened. How did they expect me to live on the pittance they paid me? All that money... all that money every day going through my hands, and I wasn't allowed to touch none of it.” The witch then continued to sob as she finished her glass of wine with two final passionate gulps. She then continued on griping to herself, as if in some way, it was consoling.
“The children, the children,” she said mockingly. “Everything is always about the children. WELL, WHAT ABOUT ME? Don't I matter? They were all as good as dead anyway, and the money wasn't about to do them a damn bit of good. It was just a waste, really… It only prolonged their suffering when you really think about It.” she thought, justifying her actions. “If anything, I should get a medal for what I did. I helped end those people’s suffering. All the kids, their parents, and the doctors and nurses who had to deal with them. Clean up after their sniveling little asses as they wailed, puked, and crapped themselves all over the place. These parents should be thanking me for what I did for them.”
The witch reached for her bottle of wine and then drained the last of it into her glass before dropping yet another pill down into the tawny liquid. She then watched as it settled itself at the bottom and began to dissolve. She took another big sip of the bitter liquid and began to say to herself as her speech slurred, “These damn kids with all their problems, who the hell would want them anyway? They come into this world ruining your body, then they suck you dry... not only financially, but spiritually. All that incessant whining—Mommy, I want this, I want that. Yeah, well… I want you to shut up! Having that kid was the worst mistake I ever made.”
As time ticked by, the witch continued to babble, having become maudlin from the speedball cocktail she’d taken down. It had drowned her brain and taken over her thoughts. “Why can't she be like one of those good brats from the charity,” she cried, “and just drop dead already so I can get my life back?”
The witch then stood up from the couch suddenly, and the almost lethal dose of Percocets and alcohol rushed through her bloodstream straight to her brain making her feel dizzy and light-headed. “Whoa, I need to lie down,” she stammered, barely even able to get the words out, the drugs pumping through her with every one of her rapid heartbeats.
“It ‘ill be alright… It ‘ill be alright…,” she rambled to herself as sleep slowly took a stranglehold on her. “Screw'em if they can't take a joke,” was then the last thing she was able to murmur as she slipped from the realm of the conscious to the unconscious.
The witch then snored heavily as her body worked overtime to rid itself of the poisons. While she slept, she dreamt of a different life, a life without kids, without worries, without bosses who were willing to call you up at home and ruin your future. She dreamt of a life where money was endless, and she could go on the nicest vacations, and eat at the finest restaurants, and screw the best looking men. A life she could have had before she met Robert—Jenna's father—and fell for his good looks, whimsical personality, and all the bullshit he had told her about how he was going to become a surgeon.
The old grandfather clock chimed twice letting any awaken ears know what time it was, and with the gongs, the witch became semi-aware of her consciousness. Jenna’s mother then repositioned herself on the couch, pulling a blanket that had been neatly placed over the sofa’s back down over her head and covering most of her body. And, soon, within only a few minutes since the clock had chimed, the house began to resettle itself in a veil of all-encompassing silence.
BANG! BANG! A knock on the front door rang throughout the house, but the witch continued to sleep, unperturbed.
BANG! BANG! The knocking struck again, louder this time.
Jenna’s mother then tossed and turned on the couch having heard the pounding on the front door, but refusing to acknowledge it, or let it break her out of the paralysis of sleep.
BANG! BANG! BANG! The strikes impinged again, this time in rapid succession finally waking the witch up.
“What the heck is this?” she groggily asked herself. “Who the hell is at the door at this hour? It better not be any more of those damn trick-or-treaters or I will break my foot off in their asses.”
The witch staggered to the door, throwing it open without even so much as looking through the peephole first. “Who the hell is it? Who the hell are you?”
It was a boy, he was as pale as the moon, and he stood before the witch looking sullen and inexpressive as if a vampire had drained him of not only his blood but his soul. “I want my heart,” the little boy said to her as he looked up at the witch.
“What the hell are you talking about?” the witch bitterly snipped at him before slamming the door in his face after he didn’t respond. “Go home, kid!” she yelled through the closed door. “Get the hell off my property before I call the cops.”
Turning to head back over to the couch, she muttered, “Fucking kids and their stupid pranks,” before looking up to see the arms of the grandfather clock which stood crookedly before her. “It’s past two in the morning already. Where the fuck are these little bastards’ parents?”
The witch then staggered over to the refrigerator to grab some milk as she was feeling dehydrated from all the wine she had drunk.
BANG! BANG! BANG! Those three sudden raps at the door struck again.
“That little son of a bitch,” the witch seethed as she put the carton of milk down on the counter. “That little shit is dead.”
Quickly, she raced to the door swinging it open forcefully. “I told you to get the hell out of here!” she shouted, but this time there was nobody at the door. The witch looked up perplexed. “What the heck... the little shit must be playing ding-dong ditch now?” she uttered.
Jenna’s mother was then all but set to close the door, but she suddenly stopped herself upon noticing the child in the distance. He was standing at the end of the yard near the street
. He stared at her, ashen in the moonlight.
“I told you to get the hell out of here!” the witch shouted at the boy as she stepped out onto the porch. But all he did was to remain compellingly staring at her. And, in return, the witch just stared back at him as if he were mentally retarded.
“I want my heart,” the little pale boy said to her in a soft voice.
“I don't know what the heck you're talking about, kid, I'm calling the cops,” the witch said, and then went back inside the house.
BANG! BANG! BANG! Rang out again as a fist suddenly slammed on the door almost immediately after the witch had closed it, the noise cutting right into Jenna’s mother, scaring her to her core.
Determined to lash out at the child and possibly even strike him, the witch ripped the door back open violently, her hand held high in the air and cocked in an open hand slap position. But before the witch could come down with her weaponry, she stopped; for it wasn't the little boy who stood before her any longer, but a little girl. She was every bit as pallid as the little boy had been, and about his age, too. It was possible they could have been twins. She looked up at the witch with her voluptuous black eyes, her lips parted by just a small slit, her long black hair curling around her shoulders. The witch said nothing to her, just stared down upon the child, her voice having abandoned her.
“I want to go to Disney World,” the little girl said.
“Yeah, me too, kid,” replied the witch.
“You stole the money meant to send me to Disney World, and now it's too late for me to go. Why?”
“I don't know what you’re talking about, kid,” the witch said, shaking her head bombastically at the little girl’s implication, but she slowly felt a sense of dread creeping up inside her. “But, it's really late... so, why don't you and your little friend stop playing your little games and go home now?”