The Sack

by P. Thompson

“Gimme all your Halloween candy, twerp,” the teenager growled as he stepped out of the shrubbery by the cemetery, blocking the path of a boy dressed in a ghost costume.  The adolescent raised his rubber skull-mask from off his pizza face and balled his free hand into a fist.  “If you don’t hand it over, I’ll cram this knuckle sandwich through your buck teeth!” 

“I’ve been out collecting this stuff since dusk,” the phantom yelled, and bravely clutched the sack tighter in his hands.  “I ain’t giving up my pickings without a fight!  What makes you think I have anything you’d want anyway?” 

“You’re cruising for a bruising, squirt.  Don’t you know who I am?  I’m Mike, leader of the Enforcers at the middle school.  It’s sort of an after school disciplinary program,” he bragged. 

“So, you’re a big galoot in a gang that thinks he’s somebody.  That’s supposed to make me afraid of you.  Maybe you don’t know who I am.”

“You’re a dweeb dressed up in your momma’s old bed sheet, that’s who you are.  I clobber creeps like you into the ground for exercise.  Now, fork over the sack or I’ll pound you!”  Then Mike snatched the bag from the ghost’s hands. 

“I wouldn’t open that if I was you,” the specter exclaimed!  “Stealing is a sin, especially on Halloween!  Real spooks are out on Halloween looking for sinners to feed on.  They’ll gobble you up.”

“Bull crap.  You’re full of it, pea-brain.  I’ll gobble up all your treats and make you watch.”  Mike jeered, and then he rammed his hand into the sack. 

Immediately, the bag clamped onto his wrist and swiftly slithered up his lower arm like an anaconda! 

“What the fetch,” Mike screamed!  “Let go of my hand!”

He began to claw the bag in an attempt to pull it off, but it wouldn’t budge.  And despite his efforts to tear a hole in it, the sack remained intact.  In fact, the more he struggled to free himself, the more the sack began to expand and absorb Mike. 

“What’s the matter, tough guy?  Can’t fight your way out of a paper bag,” the ghost said sarcastically. 

Mike screamed like a girl and began to smack against the fence, attempting to dislodge the sinister sack, just before the bag covered up his head. 

A squishy, slurping sound emanated from the sack. 

The little phantom just stood there, watching placidly.

Burp.  Gag.  The bag opened and spit out the leftovers: a fresh skeleton, a few rags and one rubber skull-mask. 

The ghost reached down, picked up his bag and then slipped through the cemetery fence. 

“Oh well, he knows who I am, now.  Ain’t nobody gonna miss him.” 

After that, the ghost reached through the railing, hooked his fingers beneath Mike’s skeleton-jaw and then dragged the remains through the narrow opening.  Hoisting the carcass up on his back, the spirit filtered down through the earth like smoke with his Halloween loot.