A Halloween Treat

by Lloyd B. Abrams

Ol’ man Trente was really mean – just like his giant black-faced German shepherd.

Because Dad forbade us to ever go through the woods – he said “that’s where those damn bums are living” – we had to walk down Bridge Street past ol’ man Trente’s house to get to school every day. His dog would come charging out at us growling and frothing like the devil until he got snapped back by his chain. We were warned never to tease that dog ’cause it would make him even wilder. Dad said being chained up like can make a dog crazy.

A couple of times I looked up and saw ol’ man Trente watching from a window. He had kind of a half sneer, half smile on his face. It was like he was getting a kick out of what he was seeing.

When I told Mom about ol’ man Trente watching us, she said, “You know, Tommy, some people just can’t help the way they are. You’ve got to have sympathy for them.” Whenever she said something like this, later on I’d hear Mom and Dad arguing up in their bedroom in their hushed-up, serious-sounding voices.

My parents – my dad especially – and a lot of other people in town were still hopping mad about what happened to Lou Ann Grimsly, about that time a couple of years back when ol’ man Trente’s dog broke out of his collar and got at her. I heard she got bit up a bunch and was hurt her real bad. Lou Ann’s parents wanted the sheriff to arrest ol’ man Trente and shoot the dog dead. But ol’ man Trente hired some fancy lawyer from down in Jefferson City and got off with just a fine and a suspended sentence.

Afterwards, Lou Ann was never the same. There was no money for doctors and no money for operations. After getting out of the hospital, she ended up refusing to go to school. My older sister Emma tried to visit over there but Lou Ann’s mother kept turning her away. Mom said to me, “Sometimes things happen that just ain’t fair and you just have to pray for the sinners.”

I heard a lot about that stuff. In Sunday School, Mrs. Potter taught us all about turning the other cheek, about being kind to one another, about loving your enemies. But I also learned about an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. I’d looked that up in the Bible just to make sure it all kind of made sense.

Halloween was coming up in a few days. I knew that ol’ man Trente would be sitting out on his front porch with his shotgun yelling at us little bastards to stay the hell away. Sorry about the language.

I came up with an idea. I said to Mom, “Maybe we should try to change things for ol’ man Trente. You know, like Mrs. Potter always says, being kind and nice to one another.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Maybe we could bake him some pies.”

“Why, Tommy, that’s such a sweet idea.”

“Okay! I’ll go out and pick us some apples. I think a quarter bushel will be about right. And I’ll even peel them and core them myself.”

Mom hugged me and said, “Now you’re for sure talking like a real fine young man.”

On Halloween afternoon, while the pies were cooling on the kitchen window sill, I found an old cardboard box in the shed and wrote all fancy-like on it with black and orange crayons. It said Happy Halloween Mr. Trente.

I told Mom that I’d carry the two pies there myself, that I wasn’t afraid, and she shouldn’t have to worry. I packed the pies in the box but before walking over there, I went out to the shed and pried open an old tin of powdered rat poison. I made a couple of slits in each crust with my penknife and peeled the crust back and spooned a heap of poison into each of them. I sloshed the powder around in the warm apple mix. Then I closed up the box with some cellophane tape and walked the pies over to ol’ man Trente’s place.

He was sitting out on his front porch. I stopped, way out of the dog’s reach, and he shouted, “Hey boy! What you doin’ out there?”

“I brought you something, sir.” I remembered my manners.

“What you got there?”

“A couple of apple pies.”

“What the hell for?”

“For you, sir. It’s Halloween. It’s for the holiday.”

“I know it’s Halloween. You and the other goddamn kids …” He coughed and spat.

“Well, me and my mother … we’re just trying to do something nice for you.”

He stepped off the porch, strode over to the dog and grabbed his collar. The dog snarled, tried snapping at him. He dragged the dog back, and kicked him hard. When the dog yelped, he hollered, “Be still, you stinkin’ mutt!”

It was awful watching it. I actually felt a bit sorry for the dog.

“All right then. Come on over here. Don’t you be scared.”

I was shaking inside but I did walk closer.

“Now hand ’em over. Be quick about it.”

I passed him the box, and as the dog started to get up, he said, “You best be goin’ now.”

Not even a thank you. I guess you couldn’t change people after all. I turned and began walking back home. Then I heard the clinking of the chain.

I looked back. He’d let go of the dog. I took off running. The dog almost caught up with me but was jerked back at the end of the chain. He was barking and carrying on like he wanted to chew me right up.

Ol’ man Trente was chortling and snorting. Then there was quiet.

My heart was beating so hard. But I watched from across the street. He ripped open the box and slid one pie onto the ground for the dog. Then he started scooping handfuls of pie from the other and stuffing them into his mouth.

I couldn’t help grinning to myself. I shouted, “Hey Mr. Trente! You have yourself a happy Halloween!”

And then, “I hope you enjoy your treat!”

Rev 10 / October 1, 2016

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September 2016…Copyright © 2016, Lloyd B. Abrams