Annabel Sheila said...
Title: Back At Ya
The path to the front door was dark, littered with decaying leaves, as we approached the steps. Our exertion was hardly worth the meagre treat we might fetch from the old man, but there weren’t many houses in our country location and our bounty would be limited, so in silence we pushed forward. We’d been playing Halloween tricks on the old man for the past two years without getting caught, but at twelve years of age that stuff was beneath our level of maturity now. The front door was ajar, and lying on the floor just inside in a pool of red was old man Sawyer, with a huge knife sticking out of his head. In terror we stared at the gory sight in front of us, rooted to the spot with fear. Suddenly the old man sat up, “Back at ya”, was all we heard behind our hastily retreating backs.
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