Blech! Spider web to the face. Gross, and completely appropriate for Halloween. Thin, sticky threads are matted in my eyebrows. The now-homeless spider had better not be nearby.
A centaur gallops up to my door before I can clean myself up and get inside.
"Trick-or-Treat!"
"Sorry kid, I don't do candy."
"But I said 'Trick-or-Treat.' That means you have to give me something."
"No it doesn't. There's no Halloween contract I signed. No law makes me. Go away now."
"Okay. But if you don't give me a treat then I get to play a trick on you."
Damn. The kid knows the history. A few years ago I wouldn't have expected it, but now that there's Wikipedia I guess I should know better.
"Good luck with that, little guy," I tell him as I slip through the door and close it in his face. I'll just have to be prepared for an egg in the mailbox or some t.p. in the morning. But I don't want to deal with anyone anymore tonight.
I'm so tired that I can barely stumble into bed before falling asleep.
Man, this morning I feel icky. All sticky and cotton-mouthed. I can hardly move. WTF? It's like I've woken up in a Kafka story to find myself in a giant spider web.
That little brat!
This is another product of Word Whips. I don't know how they have prompts that almost always work for me and almost no one else does.
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