I’ve been a bit naughty and broken my own rule about limiting my pieces to 200 hundred words or less. Sorry about the extra 78!.
When I popped round to my friend Rosey’s yesterday she was hanging a string of beads in the window so I asked her why and she said it was a keepsake which had been in her family for generations and it was to keep witches at bay at Halloween.
I asked if she honestly believed in witches and after pulling a few facial contortions she said she probably did, and told me that when the old lady from number seven with the long grey hair and pointy nose came round asking for some sugar the other day, her cats Fuzzybutt and Scruff looked very alarmed and stood with their tales in the air.
She said she knows it works because she’s used it for several years and has never had a witch knock on her door on Halloween night.
I reminded her she goes out Trick or Treating with some of the kids from her class, so she wouldn’t be at home if one did, and she said that witches don’t have to be in bed by nine o’clock like children.
By the way, when she joins the youngsters she always drapes herself in a bedsheet with holes in it for her eyes, hands and mouth, and when their victim requests a trick she produces a pack of cards, fans then face down and ask them to pick one which she correctly names as the Queen of Clubs which is not that clever as all of the cards are identical!
Anyway, I’ve got to dash because I need to sprinkle some weed killer on my doorstep because I’m told it keeps ghoulies away – what are you laughing at?
I gaze at the night sky from the loft window. It’s black as ink, the twinkling stars, silver.
I position my telescope and focus on the shimmering moon. It’s strangely orange tonight, like a pumpkin!
Gradually it turns white, bright white. Blood red lines start creeping towards its centre. I’m staring at a bloodshot eye. A cloaked figure clutching a glistening scythe slowly emerges. Am I dreaming? I pinch myself. I’m not.
I turn away. My candle flickers and dies. I shiver. The floor tremors, I hear distant thunder.
Something ice-cold, something sharp touches my neck. I spin round …
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to Douglas M. MacIlroy for the photo which I assume to be of a telescope at the W. M. Keck Observatory!
She’s been very good to me just lately so I thought she deserved some special treatment and knowing how much she likes luxuriating in a mountain of sumptuous bubbles I splashed out on some very expensive bath lotion. Okay, it was half price in a sale but she didn’t need to know that!
I popped upstairs to find out how she was enjoying it, and as I entered the bathroom she was climbing out of the tub and there she stood with a big smile on her face, all pink and shiny and she looked so sweet I just had to give her hot little body a cuddle.
I gave her a squeeze and she suddenly shot up from my arms and hit her head on the ceiling; actually, I’m joking but she was extremely slippery!
As for me, I think the ideal soak would be in a bath of red wine, just laying there in a cheeky little Chateau Branleur with a hint of blackberries and plum, and an aroma reminiscent of balmy summer nights in Bordeaux, although it might be more like marinating than bathing, and I’d probably emerge looking like a chunk of coq-au-vin!
In the meantime, I’ll make do with my usual squirt and a half of citrus washing-up liquid, and pretend it’s gin and lime!
I’ve watched it over and over again, who was the bald-headed man standing in front of me when I was shooting the video?
I checked to make sure I had an uninterrupted view before I touched the start button and I’m certain there was no one there.
It’s not as if I can see his face, just the top of his pink hairless head at the bottom of the screen. He must have been very short too because I’m hardly that tall, or maybe he was sitting down, but then again, I don’t recall there being a bench in front of me.
There’s my mate Bob, he was with me when I took it, I wonder if he remembers seeing a little bald person there.
“Look at this Bob, my video’s completely spoilt”
“Serves you right for having your finger touching the bottom of the lens you dopy dollop.”