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1 AN OLD LAND ROVER
STORY 27 HALLOWEEN
Trick or treat, smell my feet; give me something good to eat.
Well that’s another Halloween over thank goodness, and I am still here to tell the tale, despite the hordes of angry parents knocking at my door, wanting to know why their little Tommy or Sarah will not go to bed, for fear of terrible foul monsters coming to devour them and their teddy bears as they sleep. And when finally they fall asleep are screaming out with terrible nightmares. Halloween 2008 will be one they will not forget.
This has been building up for many years. At first this American import was very low key with just a few children taking part. Now it is as big as Guy Fawkes Night, as soon as it gets dark the streets are swarming with miniature witches and warlocks, many of whom are innocently knocking on doors and politely asking the person “Trick or treat” with no thought of what the trick would be should the householder refuse to treat them.There was also an increasing minority who use this night as an excuse for vandalism and naughtiness. My mistress of the dark squidgy thing leader of the local witches coven was getting fed up. The celebration of Halloween and indeed the whole idea of witchery was being devalued. They had to be taught a lesson. The whole thing was being taken too lightly and a bit of gravity needed to be bought to bear. My Queen of the heavy things was just the person to bring it.
On Halloween when a child gets dressed up in witches costume, or skeleton outfit the last thing they expect to meet as they go around innocently tricking or treating is a real 100% wart faced witch. Well this Halloween they did just that and more and will not forget the traumatic experience in a hurry.
Friday October 31 arrived and at 6pm the coven convened in our cellar. What walked into the house was a mixture of 20 blue rinse ladies and sports jacketed men. What walked out two hours later, after a great deal of making up from supplies my dearest had borrowed from the local amateur theatre groups props store and makeup, were 20 zombies, and other undead creatures in various degrees of decay from the recent dead who were just a slight hint of green to some of the more skinny ones looking as though a strong breeze would blow their skeletal bodies away. All had various body parts either missing or hanging off with blood dripping. The wife though went as she was, warts and all. She did not need any makeup to make her more scary, in fact had she worn makeup it would have covered the myriad of skin ailments my Toxic One is prone to. They were also armed with a few bucket loads of tied up plastic lunch bags full of offal from the local abattoir. If the people wanted fear and horror then fear and horror they would get literally by the bucket load. One of the coven wanted to fill balloons with pigs blood to use as grenades but the wife thought this a tad too much.
In any conflict there is collateral damage, that is damage to those innocents or property unlucky enough to be caught in the line of fire, or in this case in the path of the roaming zombie hit squad. It was not so much the under 7s that needed educating but their older siblings and parents. And so at 8pm so as to avoid upsetting the very young my Mistress of the Dark and her undead army hit the streets of Glenfield. Well I say hit more of an amble really, a jollier assembly of the undead you could not wish to meet laughing and chattering away. This was the most fun they had had in years, in fact since they had met my wife life had just not seemed the same. (Oh don’t I just know it.).
By Nine oclock the village streets were nearly deserted apart from a gang of youths armed to the teeth with eggs, flour, and toilet rolls, most bent on honest mischief, but a few on maliciousness. The zombie army turned into the bottom of the street whilst youths entered at the other end. It was fairly dark and so the youngsters didn’t realise what they were walking towards. Unsure they went to pass on the opposite side of the street but my wife spread her battle line across it using the old Zulu formation of the bulls horns, barring the youngster’s way and encircling them. This small group of young men and women epitomised all that the wife thought was wrong with Halloween, as they were just using it as an excuse for vandalism and mischief.
An egg came sailing through the air thrown by the leader of the gang. It landed on Mrs Althrop the bag lady who had made herself up as a living scarecrow, On second thoughts that was how she was normally dressed. In fact the clothes she wore were her Sunday best. With a roar of rage Mrs Althrop grabbed a plastic bag full of offal and hurled it at the egg thrower hitting full in the face. The bag split and there were not very nice things running down his chin. There was a deep silence as each side unsure of what to do just stood. Suddenly old Albert picked up a handful of bags and started hurling them. With each bag he shouted,
“This is for the graffiti.”
“This is for the loud music.”
“This is for throwing rubbish into my front garden.”
“This is for not standing on the bus to let me sit down.”
The other zombies taking this as a cue also started throwing bags. This was payback time and it felt sooooooo good.
Of course the youths retaliated with eggs flour and toilet rolls but were no match for the Oldies who fuelled by anger and the pent up frustrations of the old were having a really good time.
On the other side of the village PC Blenkinsop was being inundated by calls from very excited parishoners about zombies, werewolves, and witches and so went to investigate.
A few words about PC Blenkinsop
He started work at Glenfield Police Station as a raw recruit a year ago. Very soon after his arrival he disappeared turning up 3 months later, naked curled up in a Co Op trolley babbling on about being abducted by aliens and how he was kept in a dark room his body the play thing of these detestable beings. ****
He is still going for therapy and is slowly getting better, but the psychiatrist is of the opinion, to use his own technical words. “He is just a few pallets short of a full load, but he never was the sharpest pencil in the box”
The best thing about this job thought PC Blenkinsop as he slowly went down the high at street at 30mph blue lights flashing, observing speed limits and stop signs, was that he got to drive high powered cars. Ok it was only a Ford Ka but it was a start, and anyway with the state of his mind he could not cope with anything faster.
He turned the corner of the street to be confronted by what can only be described as utter carnage as a crowd of people covered in eggs and flour on one side of the street were throwing bags at another crowd of people covered in blood and gore on the other side.
This had to stop, and so he drove his car down the middle of the road in between each side believing very much in the power of the siren and blue light. Very soon his once shiny car was covered in blood and guts on one side and an eggy doughy mixture on the other, with strings of toilet rolls hanging off the roof. His blue lights were hidden and his siren choked by the ever increasing pile of gung slowly engulfing his motor. As it got darker inside his car he was reminded of his recent incarceration at the hands of the aliens and slowly curled up into the foetal position, thumb in mouth, escaping back into the depths of his mind.
The two sides now depleted of ammunition just walked away from each other. Both sides had agreed it had been a really good battle and made arrangements to meet in the same place at the same time next year.
My wife was a bit miffed that the whole idea of Halloween, and the reason they were here to stop this sort of thing had been forgotten in the melee. But hey ho that’s life and they had thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
Pc Blenkinsop was found the next morning asleep inside the car, sure that he had returned to his mothers womb and this was all a dream.
His psychiatrist though had little time for him as there was a whole village of demented children and parents to treat.
**** Extract from story 11 on my web site. After an incident which left the PC bruised and battered on one side of a wall with my wife on the other…
Trainee PC Blenkinsop crawled on hands and knees to the window and peeked over the sill, my wife in the meantime had used the window ledge on the other side to lever herself painfully up, The accident had done nothing to enhance her rugged beauty . Wild eyed with dishevelled hair, and bleeding copiously from abrasions received on her one point pavement landing she poked her head up and came face to face with PC “B”.
Most people on meeting my wife see her first from afar. They then have ample time to organize and prepare their brain to register the Bloodshot manic offset eyes, the wild shark like grin with far to many pointy teeth, and the various skin ailments my dear one is prone to, They also have time when getting closer to comprehend the size and shape as well as the ever present odours which constantly surround my little peach. PC Blenkinsop did not, he had the full in your face sudden unexpected confrontation from a mere six inches away, receiving the full force of what can only be described as extra surround sound, vision, and smell. Akin to seeing a cheap “b” rated horror movie in 3D. He did what most people would do in this situation. His mind unable to comprehend the messages coming in overloaded and closed down, PC “B” promptly fainted, falling forward into my beloveds large meaty arms.
My hairy chested one, who normally had men trying to escape from her, took this as an amorous advance and covered his bald head in kisses hoping to revive him. It did in fact give him a very serious skin complaint, and he now wears a “rug” to cover the pustules’ and eruptions. She did consider the kiss of life, but desisted on remembering times in the past when she had done this, and the recipients had either over inflated and exploded, or died of toxic contamination of the lungs very soon after. She did the next best thing and carried him over her shoulder to our garden shed. He is still there now a plaything of my wife’s, (this takes the pressure off me), although the screams at night are a bit nerve racking. My dearest says it is the uniform that turns her on so I am going to take her to see the Cold stream Guards at Buckingham Palace in the hope they use her as a regimental mascot and keep her.