Flash Friday -- Trick Or Treat!!!!

So, I'm trying this as part of the Flash Friday meme going around the internet -- like it and want to see more?  There's loads of awesome authors participating over at Vamplit.com!

Here goes:  Trick or Treat, copyright 2011 by Nicole Hadaway


Emma was alone.

And that's just how she liked it.

By herself, walking, whistling down the street, passing by the clusters of costume-clad revelers enjoying the Halloween night.  Emma was ten, after all -- nearly old enough to stop the  nonsense. But one more year of free candy, then she'd hang up her costume and be a grown-up.

It was all about the free candy for Emma. That's why she didn't go in a crowd; people pitied her, all by herself, and gave her a little bit more, especially the good chocolate bars.

One house left, and then I'll call it a night, she thought, pushing her Red Riding Hood cloak over her head.  Mrs. Dugan always gives me a ton of stuff when I tell her I'm going home after her house because I'm too afraid to be out here on my own.

Emma walked resolutely to the house all the way at the end of the lane.  Her mom told stories of "back in the day", the house was reported to be haunted.  Mom was never sure by whom, though; some said it was built on sacred burial ground, others reported slaves had been tortured in the basement, while Emma's grandmother maintained that a warlock had lived there before being stoned to death by hysterical townsfolk.

Such silly stuff people believe, honestly!  Emma thought to herself.  The whole idea of Halloween, dressing up to scare away "evil spirits" was childish and  immature, in her ten-year-old opinion.  Free candy is what it's all about, she affirmed as her boots clomped up Mrs. Johnson's steps, a little more loudly than she'd planned.

"Temper, temper, Emma!"  Mrs. Johnson surprised the girl by opening the door before there was any time to knock.  "You really need to make friends; it's no good for you to be out by yourself.  Things can ... happen."

Emma stood, silently, unable to think of a reply.  Mrs. Johnson had always been so doting, so understanding.  This lecture was most unexpected.  Unsure, Emma thrust her bag in towards the middle-aged teacher and began her song.

"One little, two little, three little witches,"

"Oh, I've heard that one about a hundred times tonight," Mrs. Johnson interrupted, rolling her eyes. "Here, this is all I've got left," she said, dropping a few measly bubble gum pieces into Emma's bag.  "The other children, the ones who play together, got my other candy.  The good stuff," the woman emphasized.

"Uh, okay," was all Emma could say.  The two then stood, staring at each other, each waiting for something.  Emma knew what she was waiting for -- Mrs. Johnson to be her nice, sympathetic, indulgent self.  But what could this teacher be waiting for? Emma wondered.

"Be off, then," Mrs. Jonson said, motioning with her hands that Emma should leave.

The girl stumbled as she turned around, her cloak falling into her eyes.  Making her way unevenly down the steps, Emma tried to make sense of the suprising behavior of this usually nice lady.

Not to mention the fact that scoring three pieces of bubble gum had totally made the visit worthless.  So caught up was she in lamenting the strange, fruitless visit, that Emma didn't notice the fog that rolled by.  Nor the silence.  Nor the darkness that grew with each step she took down the street.

It was only after she'd been walking for at least 15 minutes, by her estimation, did Emma pull herself from her angry thoughts towards Mrs. Johnson and look about her.

Nothing. No kids, no laughter, no Halloween decorations.  It was her street, alright, but not as it had been just half an hour ago.  What had happened?

Emma clutched her bag to her chest and quickened her pace towards her house, there, the fifth one on the left.  But as she walked, she didn't get any nearer.  She broke into a run.  She was still where she'd been 15, 20 minutes ago -- five feet from Mrs. Johnson's porch.

Emma vaguely became aware of rattling sound -- it was her Halloween bag, shaking against her body.  She held it tighter, but to no avail.  Fear made her body quake, her breathing shallow and loud, her heart beating as if it would burst through her chest. 

A breeze blew by her, gently at first, then stronger, stronger, pushing her hood off her head as it hit her head on, right in the face.

Slam!  Emma managed to turn her head, pushing her body into the gust which threatened to sweep her off her feet.  Mrs. Johnson's door was open! 

"Help! Mrs. Johnson!" Emma cried, her heart slowing at the thought that a grown-up might save her.

"We like the ones who travel alone!!!!" a harsh cacaphony of voices rushed out the open door.

"NO!" Emma screamed, to no avail.  The wind pushed her and pushed her, forcing her up the stairs, across the porch, and into the pitch black doorway.

Slam!  The door closed.  The wind died down,  the streetlamps came on, Halloween decorations gaily covered the bright, lit-up houses, the children laughed and ran in the streets, adults openend doors and passed out candy.  All was as it should have been.

But no Emma.