Tales With Tott

Pumpkin guts filled bowls stacked precariously around the kitchen—and scattered between them, discarded lumps of the flesh itself littered the remaining counter space. Cotton wool cobwebs draped from corner to corner in the living room and hallway, and plastic spiders nestled in nook and crannies. Every surface had been decked out with candles: dripping old ones; tall new ones; little tealights bobbing in water and nestled into the carved pumpkins themselves.

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A large—oversized, really—bowl of assorted sweets stood on a stand by the front door, waiting for the imminent guests. 

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There. Everything was perfect. The ultimate temptation. When the door swung open she would hold back,and beckon the children to lean—ever so slightly—forward to accept their treats. And then, once they were across the threshold, finally she would have them. 

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It had been an age since the witch had last feasted. Year upon year she had been foiled, but no longer. No more would they evade her trap.

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The knocker—replaced, for this one special night, with a gargoyle’s head—clacked against the wood. A moment later the bell rang. Ah, so they were impatient. Perfect. Just the way things ought to be.

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She stalked over to the doorway, gathering her skirts. Immaculately pressed, they fell about her in dark waves—the picture of seasonal eeriness. Her anticipation was great enough that she paused a moment before answering the door to collect herself. It would do little good for her plans if she were to alarm her guests with her excitement.

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The door swung open and the ragged chorus rang out, uncoordinated and just a little discordant:

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“Trick or treat!”

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They were so small. So small and so perfectly dressed. Decked in immaculate costumes, masks obscuring their faces. Their heads turned up to regard her as she watched them, little buckets held out for their rewards. One held a teddy in the crook of his arm, the picture of adorable childhood innocence.

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…Well. She— Perhaps she could wait for some slightly larger prey then. 

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“Oh what marvellous costumes!” she tittered, raising her hands and clasping them at her breast. “Why, I think these are most deserving.”

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Biting down her hunger, she reached for the bowl and hefted it out of its cradle, trying not to stagger as she held it out for each child to take a sweet. They dawdled, umming and ahhing as her smile turned rictus. But at last they were done, bidding her farewell and retreating from her trap away down the driveway. An adult, presumably sent along to supervise them, waved cheerfully as she watched them go.

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But it was okay. She’d get the next batch, no problem. Nothing was going to stop her. Not this year. Not after all her preparations. She’d perfected them this time.

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The next group disregarded her knocker, going straight for the doorbell. Ah, impatient children—the very best kind. 

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She drew herself up, smoothing away her smile to calm impassiveness as she opened the door and tuned out the chant.

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Two children this time. Brother and sister by the look of them. The eldest stood proudly, puffing out his chest and letting his cape billow a little. The girl was dressed as a princess, her sole nod towards the actual occasion being that her tiara was purple and black. Her hair fell in tight ringlets around her face, upon which someone had painted some butterflies. 

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The boy frowned at her as she watched.

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“Oh! Oh o-of course!” she cried, clapping her hands together. “I was simply taken aback by such an intimidating vampire and…princess?”

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The little girl pouted.

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“Sweets! I have sweeties for you—darling things.”

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She fetched the bowl out, cursing her slowness. She ought to have dragged them inside—but then the boy did look so protective of his sister, and really that was something which ought to be encouraged in children.

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The door closed behind them, and she cursed to herself. Next time. Next time.

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But the group which followed had a nervous parent hovering over them, and after that came two boys together, wearing the most detailed werewolf costumes she had seen in years, and—stringy things, boys, hardly worth the upset. 

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A trio of children were next up, and the little girl leading them cried out: “Oh, you’re a witch!” with apparent delight as the door swung open, and how could she punish such an attentive and observant little girl? It just wouldn’t do.

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On and on the evening went, and bit by bit the large bowl was depleted. At last only the dregs remained—a few licorices and some kind of coconut-filled chocolate bar. After a long stretch of silence she looked up at the clock above the mantle. 

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Nine.

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Most of the candles had long since guttered out, and the witch sat in near-darkness watching the empty street. She sighed to herself, trying to ignore the rumbling of her stomach, and finally got to her feet to begin the tidying up. Next year, then. 

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Next year she would feast.