It's Hallowe'en. The 'phone rings. It's Vicky.
"Bloody hell. Bloody Hallowe'en. I hate it all. Oh, hang on - it's the doorbell."
I hear her voice, fainter now, as she opens the door.
"Hi, there! How're you doing? There you are, darling. Have a sweet....Off you go. Byeeee!"
The door shuts. She picks up the phone.
"I just wanted a chat. I hate them all. Take my eldest. When I wouldn't give her the money to buy the Hallowe'en outfit she wanted she told me she was thinking about killing herself. I was so cross I told her I thought it was a damn good idea - we'd have enough bedrooms then. Oh, God, there's another lot. Just wait a minute.....
"Hallo. What a lovely outfit. You look gorgeous! See you! -"
She's back.
"I am just so sick of being nice all c***ing night. Oh, God. There's more of the f*****s. And the pumpkin soup's boiling over."
"You know what?" I say. "With minimal effort, it could be Hallowe’en all year round. And we never need to fuss about costumes, just come as we are. Because round here, everyone is a hell of a lot scarier without a mask."
Vicky laughs and hangs up. For a second, I could swear I see a fine, green mist swirl out from the 'phone before disappearing into the ether.
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1 comment:
Poor Vicky probably doesn't have a clue as to what your refer to. She thinks she is just having the vapors from all the f**king stress.
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