Short Story: Trick Or No Treats

Short Story: Trick Or No Treats

Mrs Harrison from No 22 had always felt that her gift for shoplifting was indeed a gift and one that had been bestowed upon her by a Power greater than herself and was, therefore, entirely justified.

It had happened one day in British Home Stores as she had put her hand into her shopper to retrieve her purse and had found to her great astonishment a pair of bottle green gloves in a Man’s size 9. She had no idea how they had arrived there and could only surmise that they must have fallen in whilst she had been rummaging through the Sale bins in Scotts off the High Street. The gloves had fitted her perfectly and it was at that exact moment that her love affair with cashmere had begun.

“It’s in my blood, dear,” she had said to Thomas her old black cat, “it’s a woman thing.” Thomas had not responded in any particular way although Mrs H had noticed that he seemed to spend more time in his basket now that it was lined with navy blue cashmere.

Mrs Harrison minded her own business and did not look for trouble, she never had. She fancied a quiet life which she lived in her own way. Her facial hair and abnormally big hands had caused the odd ribald comment on the street but on the whole she was left pretty much alone.

She was sitting one evening on her sofa admiring her latest “gift” to herself when the doorbell rang. She ignored it. “Bloody Halloween, bloody kids, but I’ll be ready for them Thomas just see if I am not” The cat showed no visible response. Mrs Harrison got up and went into the kitchen and returned with a plate of cat food. Within two minutes of her having sat down again in front of the telly, lovingly admiring Thomas as he ate his dinner, the doorbell rang once more. “Bugger,” said Mrs H rising to her feet. As she opened the door she instantly recognised Craig and Wayne but she was unsure of the 3rd who was wearing a balaclava. “Trick or treat” they said as Mrs Harrison opened her door.

They were unattractive boys with acne, no charm and certainly no manners. “Come in, sit down and do please take your hat off she said to the one wearing the balaclava. All three sat down on the sofa, moving newspapers as they did so. Mrs Harrison noticed that Craig was somewhat unsteady on his feet and that both he and Wayne had an unnatural glassy look to their eyes. The boy with the balaclava was carrying a large black duffel bag which he dropped unceremoniously at his feet. “I was sort of expecting you” she said with a cheery smile, “so I baked a cake” The boys passed each other a knowing look as Mrs H headed off to the kitchen.

She didn’t have time to realise the type of instrument that felled her or even who had wielded the blow but as she hit the floor and lay stunned like a goldfish out of water, Mrs.Harrison realised that this was not the place to be. She lay quite still where she was and knew with a deafening yet silent certainty that she was about to be “done over”

“Give us your money, give us your keys, and don’t say a fucking thing cos we got you - like dead – hairy bitch” Mrs Harrison lay on her kitchen floor and felt an intense rage flood through her as real as the sharp kick she received to her ribs. “Trick or treat then?” she said in her frailest voice out loud, half joking, but only to herself. “Trick old weirdo bitch” one of them said and they were all laughing at her. “Trick it is then” said Mrs. H sitting bolt upright, “but no treat for you I’ll be thinking.”

It was some time later that Mrs Harrison having gone upstairs, re-arranged her wig, applied fresh lipstick and tidied her lounge, phoned for the Police. “I’ve had a bit of bother dear” she said, “Beaton Road, yes dear that’s right No 22.” By the time the two Officers arrived the 3 bodies were laid out neatly on the floor their hands secured behind their backs and their feet bound up by the ankles all tied together with heavy duty parcel tape, sticking up like cutlets in the middle of the floral carpet.

Mrs Harrison smiled broadly at the police officers, who in turn stared in astonishment at the boys on the floor each of whom had immaculately painted pink lips. “That one is Wayne and he’s Craig,” continued Mrs Harrison, “but I don’t know this one yet” she said pointing at the boy who was still wearing his balaclava, the lower half of which had been pulled down beneath his chin.. “That’s his bag, he came in with it” she said alerting the policemen to the duffel bag now lying on the sofa. The younger of the two officers stepped gingerly over the boy wearing the balaclava, picked up the bag and emptied its contents on to the sofa.

“Well I never, we have been busy haven’t we” he said “look at this lot Sarge” The sergeant keeping his face impassive in front of his junior Officer, walked over to the sofa and leant forward to survey the contents of the bag…..a filthy pair of trainers, an even filthier grey hoodie jacket, 2 sizeable lumps of cannabis, a rubber torch and several brand new cashmere jerseys still unopened in their polythene packages. “Bugger me backwards” said the Sergeant trying hard not to laugh “Well quite,” said Mrs Harrison under her breath “We’ve met before you see”, said Mrs. H, smiling confidentially at the young Constable, “but before we begin the formalities, would you like some cake? It’s freshly baked.”