Take Only One

They had come from beyond the walls—or at least from outside the neighborhood—as all invaders do. The portly trick-or-treaters descended on the unattended candy bowl like a mob of rampaging walruses. The group was more adults than children, all clad only in cheap hoodies and sweatpants. Not even the youngest among them had been given a plastic sword or faerie wand to wield.

They should have known better.

As the adults’ greedy sausage fingers scooped into the bowl, taking far beyond their share, the doorbell camera activated.

TAKE ONLY ONE, an electronic voice commanded.

Little Tommy Welkins, who still had a chance, looked up to his mother and said, “Momma, did you hear? It said t-”

“Who cares?” She squawked, laughing along with her friends.

As far as Momma Welkins was concerned, the world had turned on her long ago: her ex-husband was a deadbeat, her boyfriends (when she had any) were deadbeats, and the children were simply annoying, always causing problems. Each year she got lumpier and unhappier, through no fault of her own. And each year she came to believe, more and more, that she deserved to have her way, however and whenever she could get it.

TAKE ONLY ONE, the voice boomed again, modulated by unnerving distortion.

One of the adults—a friend of Momma Welkins who was already three wine glasses deep—shot the bird at it.

They all cackled.

The plastic plate on the doorbell camera cracked and split as a mound of red flesh pushed through. The mound itself split, revealing a single gazing eye.

The children, more attentive to these strange goings-on, stumbled back.

Little Tommy Welkins tugged on his mother’s sleeve. “Momma! Momma!”

Momma Welkins ignored his pleas, as she so often did, and chose instead to peel a wrapper. She deserved to have a lovely treat, right on the spot.

Meanwhile, crimson roots spread out from the eye, pulsing veins that burrowed into the brick facade of the entryway.

“MOMMA!” The boy shouted in mounting horror.

“WHAT?!” She barked with her chocolate-stained mouth. It was the last word she would ever speak.

The next part was too gruesome by half, but that didn’t stop it from getting 850 million views on the internet. The half-eaten bar in her hand came to life and wobbled like an amoeba. And then it lunged.

The adults panicked and screamed as the chocolate they had so merrily plundered turned on them, swallowed them up, reduced them to nothing. The frenzied feast lasted only a single grisly minute, but it would stay with the children for a lifetime.

Once finished, the pieces of chocolate donned the discarded wrappers, as if putting their little coats back on, and marched like insects up into the bowl.

The eye shifted to little Tommy Welkins.

Cautiously, he approached the bowl and peered inside. Once again, it was full of ordinary, common treats. He hesitated for a single moment, then dumped his bucket into it.

He turned to run.

WAIT, the eye said. Paralyzed by fear, Tommy and the children waited.

The crimson roots extended out to them, shifting and twisting, until they had altered into strange shapes: a sword, a wand, a helmet, a set of wings. A variety of festive costume options lay before the children, all made of the strange scarlet wood.

Tommy hesitantly claimed the sword, breaking it off with a snap. The children followed suit.

“I want a wand too!” A little girl cried. And so another wand was made and offered.

“Thank you,” she beamed.

The roots then picked up the candy bowl and offered it to the children.

TAKE ONE, it said again.

The children all looked at each other and shook their heads.

“We’re good,” Tommy said, speaking for the group.

The roots set the bowl back down and retracted into the eye. The eye closed and retracted into the wall. Only the doorbell camera remained, its plastic plate pristine and undamaged.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN, the electronic voice declared.

“Happy Halloween,” the children replied.

And in spite of what had occurred, they went on to have a lovely evening. Ω