Halloween at the Crawfords

The Crawfords locked their doors and shuttered their windows every Halloween. The neighbours sniggered and nudged each other. Skinflints they’d utter. Spoilsports they’d murmur. And they’d shuffle their beleaguered offspring onto the next house.

If they were to be completely honest, they were glad not to have to traipse along the overgrown path to the flaking front door. They were relieved not to try pass pleasantries as their darlings greedily thrust their bags out, demanding only the best sweets money could buy. Not an orange was allowed cross that hessian threshold, unless it came accompanied by a shiny €2 coin.
They were delighted to have something to give out about the Crawfords, after all there was something about that family that the neighbours just couldn’t put their finger on.
Something not quite right.
Something stank.

If only they knew.
Maybe they shouldn’t question.
Sometimes people are best left alone.

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