Sweet Death

Every year he’d dreamt of doing it; Every year he’d planned to do it; But he never had. Never. Until now.

He’d checked his appearance – looking good. Dressed up like a giant Woollen Gingerbread man. Woollen head on straight -yes – plastic red cherry-type eyes all lined up with his own – good, it would help if he could see where he was going! Woollen suit with woollen simulated piping – the almost permanent smile underneath the Woollen Gingerbread Man’s head grew imperceptibly larger. He had to admit it as he looked himself up and down in his full-length mirror – it looked exactly as it should – a Woollen Gingerbread Man costume. What child could resist it?

Then, he’d taken up the big brown hessian bag – the one he’d stolen from Candyman’s Bakery – which was filled with smaller brown paper bags containing – he grinned under his Gingerbread Man woollen head – yes, that was the best bit – containing little wrapped up bundles of poisonous candy. Sweet Death.

The very first child he met was a boy, about ten years old. He had looked the Woollen Gingerbread Man up and down, then giggled. The boy had held out his hand – ‘Trick or Treat’ he demanded. The Woollen Gingerbread man had handed him a bag and walked straight on. If his body shook as he walked it was not from fear or even excitement. He had been laughing.

Next, a couple of young girls had run up to him. One had been very young, perhaps only six years old, the other about thirteen. The age-old mantra had sprung from their lips before they even reached him. ‘Trick or Treat’ they’d called and then repeated the same demand some four or five times. He had not disappointed them. Both had received a bag of poisonous candy and then run off to extract sweet flavours from some other victim. They wouldn’t eat them until they had finished for the night of course, but that was ok – better in fact. He didn’t want to be stopped before he had given out every single bag. He’d thought happily about that – about how they would gobble up the treats, and then feel a little ill, and then the pain would tear their small bodies apart until they died screaming in their parents’ arms. And he had laughed again.

It had been all too easy. Like seagulls, they had flocked around him, and like vermin he had fed them tainted treats. Sweet Death for all. The only difficulty had been to stop himself from laughing out loud.

And now he was back at home. Fifty-two bags of treats had been handed out to fifty-one children. He had laughed extra hard at the young boy who wanted one for his sick friend. Well, that friend would be sick indeed. Fifty-two bags of treats; fifty-two cases of Sweet Death; fifty-two screaming children; fifty-two pairs of mourning parents.

He pulled off his Woollen Gingerbread Man head then the rest of the clothes and tossed them into the fire. He’d not need them now. His brown, biscuity skin was crumbling slightly as Halloween drew to a close. The white candy piping that detailed his ‘suit’ looked less white than it had, and he was feeling considerably less bendable now. But the smile permanently fixed on the Giant Gingerbread Man’s face had grown imperceptibly bigger. And his cherry eyes glowed with a fire. Stale, and almost past his sell-by date, the flour-and-water golem had only minutes before Halloween was done.

He looked upwards towards the sky. The Giant Gingerbread Man – alive only for Halloween night – spoke to his ancestors, to his race of gingerbread men : “My friends, I have finally avenged you. The creatures that have brought death to you all with such glee and delight are this night themselves made to die. Finally, the Gingerbread Men are made free.”

And with that he crumbled into a pile of breadcrumbs on Candyman’s Bakery floor.

Sweet Death.

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Tags:

bread, child, children, death, ginger, halloween, horror, lightsmith, man, poison, sweet, treat, trick and ttshc