On the 31st, the doorbell chimed and Susan’s heart sank. №3 dashed forward, barking.
Not again, she pleaded, answering it.
Her door swung wide to reveal three fierce giants dressed in frumpy dresses, blue-gray wigs and reading glasses. “Quick or Meat,” they slobbered hungrily.
After eight years living in this tiny town, Susan knew the score. At least the Grannies didn’t come every Halloween.
Quick meant the deepest thing of you. A soul. Meat meant live meat. You had to choose.
Susan scooped up the mutt she’d rescued in May and hugged it.
Crying, she handed №3 over.
Day 23 of 31: 100-word Drabbles. Inspired by this real story.
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