Trick Or Treat
© 2001, Herb Hasler
The miniature priest thrust his open treat bag toward me, his blue eyes twinkling with excitement. “Trick or treat?” he said with a bright smile.
“Trick,” I said through a wry grin, hiding the candy bowl behind me.
His expression slowly broadened until, in a flash, it exploded with hate. His gaze locked my eyes open. Paralysis washed over me.
A thick haze blurred the surroundings, but focused him into something animalistic, raw, sexual. He moved close enough that I could taste his warm salty breath.
Suddenly, my mouth filled with a warm liquid. It gushed down my throat, filling every space within me as the lingering taste of blood teased my helpless tongue.
Searing heat engulfed me, and I became overwhelmed by the scent of burning flesh. My bloated body and overloaded senses ready to explode, but the torture was not over.
The desperate wheezing of a man gasping for oxygen through his choked off windpipe droned repeatedly in my ears. It was my voice, yet I was frozen, even my breathing had ceased.
Unable to function, my consciousness receded and my heart rate slowed.
The shattering of the bowl broke my trance, and in the few seconds it took to regain my mental balance, he was gone. I bent to pick up the candy.
“That was some trick,” I said, wiping drool from my chin.