While it bothered me that he was sticking his nose in my business again, my annoying guest in the impeccably tailored suit was correct.
“I love Halloween, so I refuse to give up hope,” I answered as I snatched away the bag from him and stuffed the candy into a kitchen cabinet.
Of course, I was referring to The House on the Hill’s horrible record with trick of treaters.
I’ve lived in Maine for thirteen years, and during that time, the busiest Halloween I’ve experienced included visits from twelve costumed kiddos in search of candy.
“Perhaps it has something to do with the local legend that The House on the Hill is haunted,” Lucifer suggested as he grabbed two bottles of Snapple out of the cooler and handed one to me.
“Sure, a family of Ghosts lives in the attic, but everyone knows the Woodburys are as friendly as Casper and never leave their part of the house,” I countered.
The Prince of Darkness shrugged and then adjusted his silk tie before he took a long sip of iced tea. “There is that frightening Gargoyle up on the roof that I’m sure gives nightmares to anyone that has ever dared walk up your driveway.”
Satan sat down on the couch, put his legs up on table, and stared at me.
“Then maybe it’s because The House on the Hill plays host to Witches, Werewolves, Vampires, and yours truly.”
I sighed in frustration and then parked my rump on the other end of the couch. “But this is Maine. People are used to Otherworldly Beings and creatures that go bump in the night after crawling out of the pages of a Stephen King novel. If you really think about it, all those things should make trick or treating here even more appealing.”
“I have another theory, but there’s no sense pouring salt on the wound,” The Devil remarked as he picked up the Sunday newspaper.
“You don’t open a box like that, Pandora, and then turn your attention to the Fashion section without explaining yourself,” I threatened and then ripped the paper out of his perfectly manicured hands.
Lucifer rolled his eyes and took another sip of his Snapple.
“Perhaps the local children are scared of the lonely cat man who never seems to leave his haunted house, and frightens away every woman who’s ever loved him,” The Prince of Darkness opined and then flashed a most Devilish smile.
I stared at him for the longest time.
After chugging the rest of my Snapple, I handed Satan his newspaper and then turned on the television.
“I’m probably not buying the right kind of candy,” I finally whispered, barely audible over the football game.
“I’m sure that’s it,” The Devil agreed. “Just look at the bright side. If you don’t get any trick or treaters, there’s more candy for you to enjoy.”
I knew what he actually meant was that lonely cat man with the broken heart would have more candy to devour in hopes of drowning his sorrows on Halloween.
And there might have been some truth to his theory. The five bags of candy that I’d bought were ones I would have no problem enjoying on my own if no one came trick or treating on Halloween…
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