It was hard to say the last time Derek had acted normal on Halloween. Five years ago? Six? Even his cronies, who weren't the smartest fish in the barrel, had started to avoid him a few days beforehand. Not that I wasn't grateful, their Halloween "pranks" were the worst of the lot. But Halloween now brought...other problems.
"Oh, you shouldn't stay out at night dear, you'll catch your death of cold." I swallowed hard, my knuckles white on the basket in my hands. He had found me.
"Oh, red riding hood! So much better than the witch costume last year." Derek picked up the edge of my cape, rubbing his thumb along the hem. "Oh, did you make this yourself? You did a fine job, the stitching is excellent." The sweet voice of a granny crawled out of his throat, his own speech making the words low and gravelly.
To be honest, I wasn't surprised. He and the other lunkheads went into that old abandoned house so often it was hardly a shock they took something out with them.
"Is something on your mind, dearie?
Sometimes I miss the old Derek.
YOU ARE READING
WritOber 2022
Short StoryA few short autumn writing exercises for the month of October.
