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Chuck

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The wind hisses through the bare, brittle trees. Pumpkins smile eerily, their eyes a sickly yellow. Dollar store spider webs line doors and steps, billowing in the chilly gusts. Behind the front door, Chuck and I wait.

I am old. It has taken me an entire hour to hang the plastic skeletons and bats. But Chuck helped me. Chuck has always helped me. When I was a boy, he was the only one who did not laugh at me. When I was chased out of the house, Chuck came with me. Chuck was there when I visited the…the…sigh-ki-uh-tris. She gave me pills to make Chuck go away. I did not want Chuck to leave me. Chuck told me to throw the pills away, so I did. Chuck is always on my side.

Chuck barely wants anything. But today, Chuck tells me that he wants a plaything. He wants a child. I did not know how to get a child until Chuck told me about the last day of October. On this day, children would come in swarms demanding candy. Most would be accompanied, but there would be strays too. We would only need to wait for the right moment.

I never question Chuck. Chuck is always right. When Chuck told me to hang the skeletons by the front door, I hung them. When Chuck told me to buy a big box of chocolate bars, I bought it. When Chuck told me to wait, I waited. Chuck never abandons me. With Chuck, I am never alone.

The doorbell rings shrilly. I wonder what to do. Chuck tells me to open the door, so I open it. A group of preschoolers dressed in black, all of them as tall as my knee, yell, “Trick or treat!”

Trick or treat? Are these children threatening me? Chuck calms me and tells me to give them a few chocolate bars. My back creaks as I bend down to grab a handful of candy. Dropping some in each orange bag, I grumble under my breath. This seems to be a lot of trouble for one child.

Chuck tells me not to worry. We will get our plaything soon. He says I need to be patient.

The night wears on slowly. The clock chimes: ten o'clock. Chuck tells me to prepare the chloroform, so I do. It smells horrible. The doorbell rings. Chuck is excited. If Chuck is excited, I am too. I hurry to the door.

A little girl smiles, wearing a plastic tiara. Like a porcelain doll, her cheeks are painted red. I stiffen. She reminds me of Laura.

Chuck tells me to pull her inside.

Laura, Laura, who was Laura?

Chuck tells me to pull her inside.

I think she was that girl in second grade, the one who gave me half of her sandwich when I didn’t have lunch.


Chuck screams at me to pull her inside.

I glance over her head. The street is deserted. I grab the little girl’s arm.




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This article has 2 comments. Post your own!

Jayanna said...
Feb. 20, 2012 at 9:01 pm:
I really liked the first paragraph of the story and the pllot was cool :) Good Job :)
 
Kaffeine replied...
Feb. 22, 2012 at 4:11 pm :
Thanks for reading! :D
 
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