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“Damn those kids!” Mitchell said as he watched bits of white eggshell slide down the driver’s side window of his Ford Bronco. “Someone needs to teach them a lesson.”
“Now Mitchell, kids will be kids, and it is Halloween, after all…” his wife, Edie, said.
“I don’t give a damn! Kids need to learn respect and by God if I get a hold of them they’ll learn…just the way I learned.” Mitchell swung the Bronco onto the short gravel drive that led to their farmhouse, spinning gravel as he accelerated.
“Calm down now, Mitchell, we don’t get many trick-or-treaters out here on the edge of town anyway…”
“It’s not those cute little costumed ones I’m talkin’ about, Edie. It’s those hellions that run around with the eggs and wax and toilet paper!”
“You used to be one of those ‘hellions’, Mitchell. Why, I remember my daddy hollerin” just the way you do now…”
“Yeah, and I had to learn the hard way, didn’t I? That’s the problem with these kids today; no one is willing to teach them a lesson they’ll never forget. How’s a kid suppose to learn right from wrong if no one teaches them?”
Mitchell climbed out of the Bronco, stared at the egg congealing on the glass, shook his head, and then hurried around to open Edie’s door for her.
“Looks like they haven’t made it out this way yet, Mitchell. Maybe we’ll be lucky this year.” Edie left the front porch light on just incase they got a few trick-or-treaters. She set out a bag of apples and a bag of oranges on the dining room table, fixed herself and Mitchell a glass of tea, and settled down to crochet while Mitchell watched his favorite TV show, Cops.
They were only interrupted a few times by the doorbell and Edie passed out the fruit as Mitchell sat in the living room, grumbling. By nine o’clock, Edie shut the porch light off, locked the door, and told Mitchell goodnight.
“I’ll be in shortly, just as soon as I watch the news,” Mitchell said.
Edie knew better. She knew Mitchell would stay up half the night hoping to catch ‘one of those hellions’ and teach them a lesson they’d never forget. Every year it was the same, and every year Edie went to bed and said a prayer that Mitchell would never catch a hold of one of those kids.
She had barely finished her prayers when she heard Mitchell cussing. As Edie climbed out of bed, she heard the front door bang open and Mitchell hollering.
“Come back here you little shits…I’ll chop your damn hands off…you’ll never throw another egg as long as you live!” Mitchell stood on the front porch, shaking his raised arm as the moonlight glistened on the silver hook that was his fist.
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