Sally Shops for a Halloween Feast – The Final Chapter © WTW, 2014
by William Whiting
In our previous episode, Sally had gone to great lengths to recapture Geoffrey, the unfortunate door to door bible salesman. She had chosen him to be her “dinner companion” on Halloween night, but he kept escaping. He was to be her companion insofar as he was intended to be the main course: Cassoulet à la Geoffrey.
Sally finds it perplexing how so many people have such a driving force to remain alive. Nevertheless she settled in for a relaxing nip of her favorite cinnamon whiskey. Meanwhile, on the other side of the grounds, Geoffrey was spitting out dirt and gasping for air in his shallow grave. He awoke in a blind panic with no air. Fortunately for him, the moist ground had loosened the grasp on the ropes that tethered his limbs, thus freeing his hands. With all his might, he pushed a hole up through the garden floor and inhaled his first breath of fresh air as he pulled the ball-gag out of this mouth. His was a lucky guess, because one doesn’t always know up from down when disoriented and buried alive. He could just as easily suffocated while digging his way to China.
Geoffrey slid off the ropes that bound his ankles, as dirt and stones fell away all around him. Carefully crawling on his hands and knees, he ever so stealthily crept around to the back of the house where he could silently watch Sally swilling Fireball Whiskey. She was singing aloud without a care in the world, confident that she’d finally subdued her prey. He could hear Sally warbling her favorite tune, “testicles, spectacles, wallet and keys, praise to the dark lord and fall to thy knees.” That’s when Geoffrey picked up Sally’s broom from Broom made of broom, and cracked it over her head with all his might, splintering the broom to smithereens.
Sally’s normally expressionless face was stunned as Geoffrey clocked for her a second time with her own whiskey bottle, leaving her slumped over like a limp dishrag. Without hesitation, he jumped into the red Corvette and put the peddle to the metal, speeding down the country roads as fast as the car could carry him. He went up and down the hillsides flying from peak to peak barely touching the valleys in between. It was then that the car started to sputter and choke, as poor Geoffrey discovered he was out of gas. Just then the brakes failed, and he found himself rolling backwards toward the stone farmhouse. That’s when the police cruiser caught sight of a Corvette Stingray going 110 miles an hour backwards.
A high speed chase ensued.
Back at the farmhouse, Sally was feeling the bump on her head and trying to figure out what had just happened. She ran over to Geoffrey’s grave only to find it empty with dirt and stones scattered everywhere. She had been entirely too smug and careless. She should have placed those heavy paving stones on top of the grave. Now her car was missing and her broom from Broom made of broom was utterly destroyed beyond recognition. Sally had no means of transportation aside from walking alone in the dark along the dusky country roads. It was Halloween night, and there was Sally with no Halloween feast. She abandoned the roads, and took off through the fields and woods for fear of Geoffrey returning with the authorities in tow.
Miles away, Geoffrey was trying to explain the complexities of his predicament to the same police officer who’d once delivered him back into Sally’s “care”. The officer was more than skeptical about Geoffrey’s tale of how he’d escaped the clutches of a sexy cannibal. Just then word came across the police cruiser of a stolen red Corvette with the same license plate as the car Geoffrey was in. It didn’t help that he stunk of Fireball Whiskey—and due to exhaustion, he couldn’t walk a straight line. The clincher came when poor Geoffrey made mentioned of his thirty-seven cats, and the officer immediately phoned-in to the central command asking for backup. The officer had the infamous catnapper in his cross-hairs.
Sally, while both hungry and deeply disappointed, found herself wandering for hours until she reached the grounds of a splendid Tudor mansion. She felt oddly weak. Her self-confidence was waning, and she hadn’t eaten man-meat in a long, long time. Perhaps she could connive her way inside and devour the homeowner. Lacking imagination, Sally rang the doorbell. To her utter shock, the door was answered by an entire family in vampire costumes. They all laughed at her and said: “What a clever little girl, you’re dressed like that tiny doll on Facebook who thinks she’s a cannibal.” They gave her a chocolate candy bar that looked like a BM and closed the door in her face. She threw away the Baby Ruth.
Sally was feeling weaker and weaker, craving man-meat as she begrudgingly made her way toward the next country house down the road.
Sally moved onto her next house. This time she was greeted by a whole family dressed like werewolves, who came to the door and asked her if she was supposed to be that cute little cannibal doll they’d seen and laughed at on Facebook. “LAUGHED?!!!”, Sally thought to herself. They told her that her costume was very convincing, but overheard someone say, she could have spent a little more time on her make-up. The family gave her another chocolate bar shaped like a bowel movement, and closed the door in her face. Sally couldn’t believe how rude and mean everyone one was being to her. People were laughing at Sally, as she was growing very, very light headed.
The next house was miles down the road and surrounded by tropical grounds plantings, flourishing in the damp, cold October weather. Only gay people can get tropical plants to thrive in cold weather, but Sally wasn’t homophobic, so she pressed forward and rang the doorbell. It was answered by a flotilla of fat drag queens, who forced her to have a make-over and then threw her out onto the street—this time with a real bowel movement instead of a chocolate bar. Sally hardly knew who she was anymore. She washed off all the make-up in a mud puddle, and collapsed onto the sidewalk in a complete feint. When she woke up, children were surrounding her. They were gigantic, and suddenly Sally was again only four inches tall.
Meanwhile, Geoffrey had been taken to jail. It made all the newspapers, but since no one reads anymore—let alone the newspaper, no one came to his defense. But looking on the bright side, once Geoffrey was in prison, he finally got laid for the very first time. It wasn’t at all what he’d expected, but over time he’ll grow accustomed to it—and even come to kind of like it. His new name is ‘Bible Bitch Bottom Boy’. Geoffrey was convicted on charges of grand theft auto, catnapping, as well as being held on suspicion of aiding in the abduction of a missing person (due to the mysterious disappearance of a lovely young lady named Sally). Sally was nowhere to be found.
But Sally wasn’t gone—not yet. She was still laying on the sidewalk surrounded by typical children. She heard one child say “She looks like she has gangrene, we’d better amputate.” In no time at all, Sally had no arms and legs, and all the children were laughing at her. Sally’s remains were scatted throughout a local landfill—a leg here and an arm there with little chance of her parts ever being reunited by her own waning strength. She was powerless. Sally was nothing more than a tiny, dismembered plastic doll. She couldn’t scare anyone. She could never be a cannibal, a serial killer or even a whore. Sally relied on her talent for frightening people by the way they allowed her to crawl inside everyone’s own fearful imagination.That was how she renewed her powers. Now all her powers were gone and she was a laughing stock.
As every thinking person knows—hiding in plain sight at the foundation of all evil you will find a lie. Sally’s whole existence had been nothing but a tissue of lies. Perhaps someday some misguided archeologist incapable of coming up with a more useful line of work might dig her up, and reassemble her pieces. Grave robbery’s an honorable profession when relabeled as archeology. For now, Sally was left powerless—for she was no more. And in these words there will always be truth: Laugh at the devil and the devil will dissolve.
- The End
Post Script: In the real world, living the life I’ve lived, real life horrors far worse than some stupid Freddy Kruger slasher movie have happened to me on Halloween. I dislike the holiday. I never cared for people with their faces obscured, as there’s a fundamental deceit about it that I distrust—I’ve never liked clowns and other fools. I detest violence, gore, hatred and unfairness of all descriptions. The saga of Sally has been my counter-intuitive way of trying to put Halloween behind me once and for all: to exorcize the holiday for what little it’s worth. And while Halloween will unavoidably remain a painful anniversary full of unsettling memories, I’ll face those memories—and the silly people in their foolish masks, doing my best not to allow their idiotic revelry taunt me.