Trick Or Treat

This year, I’ve remembered. I’ve got a bowl of candy and a 50p witch’s hat.

Really, I always remember Hallowe’en. I just pretend to forget.

It was the first time I’d let her out trick-or-treating alone. She’d been looking forward to it all month.

I’d barely shut the door when I heard a screech of tyres and a meaty thump.

She never did get any candy. So here I wait, bowl full, knuckles white.

Step. Drag. Step. Drag. A clumsy knock, almost a flap at the door. A mangled voice from a broken mouth.

“Mummy! Please, Mummy. Trick or treat?”