Sally Shops for a Halloween Feast – Part Three © WTW, 2014
by William Whiting
October is always such a dismal month. It’s Sally’s favorite time of the year, watching the leaves turn brown and the late summer flowers dying like so much wilted spinach. It warms the dark, dank recesses of her stone cold heart.
All the same, Sally could barely contain her excitement over the prospect of having Geoffrey so neatly returned to her care. As you, dear reader may recall, Geoffrey had escaped from Sally’s clutches, and in his haste had fallen, resulting in a surprise trip to the hospital — so much of a surprise that he no longer even knew who he was. Sally is unaware of Geoffrey’s amnesia, but felt it was best that she don a disguise as Teddy Roosevelt when she went to pick him up, just to throw-off anyone who might be suspicious of her scent. But it’s times like these that Sally really wished she was capable of casting a reflection in the mirror. It would be so useful to know what she looked like in a disguise.
Confident that no one would recognize her, Sally strolled right past the neighborhood children with nary a one of them calling-out “cat killer” her way. They looked at her oddly, and backed off. How gratifying. She even picked up a hat she found on the sidewalk, and pulled it down tight over her brow. Emboldened by her anonymity, Sally marched herself right down to Our Lady of Concentual Sodomy Hospital to retrieve her delectable bible salesman, Mr. Geoffrey. She could almost taste what a delicious cassoulet she would make from his flesh–with a traditional prairie oyster appetizer of course. Yum!!! She hoped he hadn’t lost too much blood, because Sally makes a mean blood pudding.
At the hospital, Geoffrey looked up at Sally with a vacant expression as he asked, “Are you the Pretty Lady of Fatima?” Clearly he was seeing things from his own unique perspective. If the nurses on duty thought anything was amiss, they didn’t let on. No one made mention of Sally’s mustache. They probably just assumed she was of Mediterranean decent–or merely another one of the gender-bending modern people one sees around town these days. Sally signed an illegible signature on Geoffrey’s release form allowing her to wheel him right out the front door. And stealing the wheelchair on her way, she whisked him home. No one was paying any attention because everyone was playing with their smart phones.
Later, when Geoffrey awoke, and went to stretch, he found that his arms and legs had been bound. When he went to yawn, he discovered that his mouth was already open. He was wearing a ball-gag. The apple would come later. As his eyes began to focus, it was immediately clear that he was in a most unsettling environment. There were skeletons all around him. He had only to assume he was still asleep and experiencing a very bad dream.
Meanwhile, Sally answered the doorbell only to find the same police officer she’d encountered returning her Geoffrey to her the other day. He was on assignment to ask all the neighbors if anyone had any information about all the missing cats. The public wasn’t the slightest bit concerned about the number of men who’d gone missing, but cats were a different matter altogether. Sally mostly ate traveling salesmen, investment bankers and deadbeat dads no one cared about. She told the officer she had no knowledge of any cats. Just then a moaning could be heard from upstairs. Sally explained to the officer that her husband was having delirium traumas again, and excused herself.
That said, Sally was of the personality type who tended to absorb guilt for any crime she heard about on the news, and wondered if it might not be wise for her to repair to the country–if only to drop out of sight for a while. Once again she donned her disguise and set out to steal a car. She really wanted to steal a Ferrari or a Lamborghini, but she had to settle for a Corvette even though she doesn’t have penis envy. Why would she? She has dozens of them stored in the freezer. She also decided it was high time she emptied the attic of all the leftover skeletons she had from while she was on the Scarsdale Diet, when she was only eating investment bankers from Scarsdale–all marbled with fat.
Sally pulled the car up in front of the house to load it for the long drive to the country. Her luggage full of bones, was neatly secured to the roof. And bringing new meaning to the phrase ‘Junk in the trunk’, Sally stashed Geoffrey tied-up neatly inside. She whispered softly to him, “Geoffrey, if you’re not breathing, knock. If I don’t hear anything, I’ll assume you’re alright.” Geoffrey wasn’t very enthusiastic about going for a ride.
About midway to their destination, Sally’s stolen Corvette got a flat tire. They came to a grinding halt on a deserted country road. She considered pushing the car into a ditch and setting it on fire. Maybe she’d phone the police and take responsibility for it using the assumed identity of one of her random Facebook friends. That would give her something to look forward to on the evening news.
Sally thought perhaps she could flash some ankle and get a lift back into town, but there were no other cars in sight. She had no choice but to get out of the car, open the trunk, and put on the spare tire. Geoffrey looked so pathetic all bound-up in the trunk, for a moment she almost felt sorry for him, but dismissed it as a passing weakness. She went to work changing the tire.
OH NO…!!! How in the world did Geoffrey find his way out of the trunk?!!! Of all the victims to select, only Sally would select one who thinks he’s Houdini. Fortunately he won’t get far in manacles. It’s a good thing Sally likes taking long stalks in the country. She likes a victim with spunk.
After searching long and hard, Sally began to get very frustrated. She launched an aerial reconnaissance mission. She mounted her broom which actually was from Broom made of real broom. This is serious business. After all, it’s her Geoffrey, and he’s what’s for dinner.
Meanwhile a frightened and shackled Geoffrey took-off silently on the lamb, bunny-hopping his way into hiding amongst the bramble. He was holding very, very still while practicing barely audibly breathing. He wrapped himself in nettles to feel closer to the Lord. If only Sally weren’t so gull-darned hot, and his hands were free, he’d indulge in a little self-flagellation.
Sally will get him back. She always gets her man.
To be continued…