Come with me, dear visitors, and see the danger and evil that lurks behind the unassuming doors of Suburbia. Leave your fears behind and follow me into to a world that is dark, twisted and eviiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllllllllllll....muahhahahahahhahahahhahahaha! (I went to Claire's house tonight to pass out candy to neighborhood kids. I wore a flamingo costume, Claire was Cleopatra. Spooooooooooky!)
Don't be scared, dear readers. I am but your humble travel guide into depths unknown. Fear so real that your toes curl and you can taste the blood in your split ends. Come, now. Don't be afraid and step into the scariest place in the world.
An unassuming home on Halloween night after you've run out of candy for the trick or treaters.
Enter only at your own risk, reader. This is not for the weak-stomached.
Imagine, if you will, a home with awesome Halloween music playing on Pandora. A few pumpkin-scented candles lit in the front window, beckoning little Buzz Lightyears and princesses to come and beg for candy. Come here, little ones, and we will give you, like, a handful of candy (if we like your costume).
As the night continues, I watch as the candy in the bowl dwindles. And dwindles. And DWINDLES until there are but 12 tiny Snickers bars left. Two jerkface kids come and try to to steal the last batch of candy, and I slap their tiny hands away. Just one for you, poorly-executed version of a Jedi knight. I breathe, hard and quick, as Claire leaves to purchase more candy. I plead with her "Please, JUST HURRY!" and I am left behind to defend the homestead. I ration the remaining candy, sure to only truly reward those who have actually put a little effort into their costumes. (Also, this one weird kid told me he "heard about the house with the pretty flamingo" so I gave him 100 candy bars.)
And then, as if from nowhere, a cowboy reaches his grubby paw into the bowl and looks up me, his lone flamingoed host, and says "There's none left for my sister." I panic. I look right into his tiny eyes and say "Come back in like 20 mins. There'll be more candy then. Until then, give that to your sister."
He laughs. He will NOT be giving that candy to his sister. I close the heavy door behind me, ripping off the "Please Knock. IF YOU DARE." sign on the door and make a run for the safety of the kitchen with my empty candy bowl. I hear the incessant knocks of kids at the door, but I am paralyzed with total lack of candy and fear that evil children will egg my friend's house.
I blow out some candles, flip off some of the lights. In the kitchen, I sink down to my knees on the floor, tormented by the "Knock, knock, KNOCK" of eager children. I search for my phone and realize that I have foolishly left my only connection to the outside world in the front room, right in the direct sight of youngsters approaching the front door. I am stuck. I am alone in a house with no phone and no candy, yet the children keep coming. And knocking.
Did the lights just flash? What was that creaking? Was that a curse I just felt?
I eventually pull myself together and gather enough bravery to peek through the side window, on the lookout for Claire with the reinforcements. It takes 20 years until I finally see her Cleopatra'd head behind the wheel, parking in front the house.
As I'm drying my tears with the Twix wrappers I had casually tossed aside earlier when candy was as plentiful as water, Claire bursts through the door. "What happaned? Why is the big door closed?" she begs.
"It was terrifying, Claire! The candy was gone and the kids just...wouldn't...stop...coming!! I hid in the kitchen and couldn't call you because I was too afraid to get my phone from the front room! Don't leave me alone ever again!
After the candy was replenished and I had calmed down, I was overly angered at the lazy, uncreative pre-teens would wore Uggs and a fuzzy sweatshirt and called themselves "fuzzles" coming to the door. I glared at at least 10 of them, annoyed that they were taking handfuls of candy from super-awesomely-costumed girls without so much as a "Thank You" or a decent makeup job. Put some effort into your pre-obese phase, kids.
Well, wary readers, if you've made it through my horrifying tale, consider yourselves rockstars. Good for you. I, on the other hand, will be having nightmares of kids hiding under my bed, asking for candy I just simply don't have. There is no worse thing in the entire world.