Trick or Treat

Welcome to the October submissions for The Blog Project. The topic is Trick or Treat.

Return to this page during the month of October to read the submissions and make positive comments.

The comment section will be open until the middle of November. After that you will be able to read the submissions but will no longer be able to comment.

∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇

The Mobster and His Moll

By Sophia Baldwin

It was a Halloween costume party that inspired us. “You be the mobster and I’ll be your moll,” laughed my husband, and so it began.

My husband went to a used clothing store on Alameda and Broadway; he bought a long filmy dress, a blond wig, and a huge bra he stuffed with washcloths. He used one of my long slips to hide his hairy legs. He slathered make-up on like a child and made huge red lips with my lipstick. The dress he’d put on kept sliding sideways on his chest.

I went through my husband’s closet and picked a black suit. I shortened the sleeves and legs with safety pins to fit my body. I added a navy shirt and bright yellow tie to my ensemble. I topped off my costume with my husband’s golfing hat, a wide brimmed, ratty looking soft brown leather that sagged over my face. I wore large sunglasses that covered my eyes. An eyebrow pencil gave me a mustache and an unshaven look.

A water pistol in an inside suit pocket was for protecting my girlfriend. I stopped smiling. I practiced looking ferocious!

When our host opened the door, he bent over laughing. Jerry giggled and shook his hips and bra-covered chest. I reached into my suit pocket, withdrew my gun and gave the host a squirt of water in the face.

For the next two hours, guests tried to see my face while Jerry entertained them with his gyrations. Our host and hostess, old college buddies, knew who we were and acknowledged our first prize with a glass of champagne.

(Please scroll down to comment.)

∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇

The Halloween Surprise Treat

By Donna Clark

In the late ‘70s, it was a popular fad to have unusual exotic pets such as snakes and arachnids. So, when this fad came along, my 17-year -old daughter was not immune to its dubious charms.

When she opened the subject for discussion I was, understandably I think, negative on the subject. However, after returning home from work Friday, in late October, Jeannie called me to her room.

“Mom, guess what I got my boy friend, Paul, for his birthday? I want you to come see it.”

“It” was in a large flat box.

“What is it?” I asked.

She opened the box and there lay a large hairy monster the size of her hand.

“I told you I didn’t want one of these in our house. And what’s in the sack?”

“Crickets to feed him. It’s all for Paul, Mom.”

“How do you know he wants one?”

“Oh, he does. We’ve talked about it.”

“How much did you pay for it?”

“Sixteen dollars.”

“You paid sixteen dollars for this!”

“Yes, and $10 for a dozen live crickets.”

“When is Paul’s birthday?”

“Next week.”

“You mean you expect me to have that thing in our house till next week? How would you feel if that thing got out of the box and crawled into bed with you? Never mind. I already know. But what if that thing crawled into bed with one of your little sisters?

“Okay, Mom. I’ll take it over to him right now.”

She returned shortly with the box still in hand. “He wasn’t home, Mom.”

“Did you tell his mother what was in the box?”

“No, I want it to be a surprise for him, but she’ll like it, Mom. She’s real cool.”

“Oh, and I’m not,” I thought. “I told you I was not having that thing in my house. We had this discussion before and you knew how I felt. I’m not having this thing over the weekend. Take it back.” I said.

“They won’t let me take it back,” she said.

So, I said, “I’ll take it back.”

So, when Jeannie went to work and I had to baby sit the spider, I took matters into my own hands. I took the “gift” to Paul’s mom. She could baby-sit it for a while, but I had to tell her it was a tarantula, because it had to be fed. She was cool about it, too. She coolly informed me that this “thing” was not going to spend one night in her house!

That did it for me. It was not going to spend one night under our roof either. I didn’t want to kill the thing. I just wanted it gone! I proceeded to the pet shop where Jeannie had gotten it, in its box wrapped in a towel, alive and well.

I was assertive and informed the clerk that the shop had no business selling tarantulas to a minor without parental consent. I showed him that this arachnid was fine and suggested they find it a home where it was wanted.

“Where are the crickets?” the clerk asked. I thought the sack containing the crickets was in the box. It didn’t matter. I could deal with the crickets.

On the way home, I remembered that in the hubbub, the sack containing the crickets had been in the linen closet next to Jeannie’s room. When I opened the cabinet door, the sack, which had been folded across the top, was now open and there were no crickets in it.

I searched the dark corners of the linen closet and managed to gather up nine out of the ten that were left. Jeannie had fed him two. I noticed while doing this that all of them were not black. A few of them were brown and weird and looked unlike any crickets I’d ever seen. I dumped the ones that were left over the back fence, so they could have a life.

I discovered later that the one that got away had been a large American cockroach!

(Please scroll down to comment.)

∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇

I-O and the G.A.D. fly

(For those with General Anxiety Disorder)

 Virginia Small 2014

I-O was a happy child.
Carefree, audacious, a little wild.
She loved fun and all things frilly,
Like unicorns and calla lilies.

All was fine for 16 seasons,
Till she loved a man
For all the wrong reasons.

He had a lover. A jealous old vamp,
Who allowed no cute teens in her camp.
She discovered I-O and set her cap
To devise a plan and spring a trap.

She put herself in I-O’s dream.
Infected her nightmares and made her scream.
She appeared as a banshee inside a green mist.
She hissed out a warning. “Back off. I insist.”

“Now look here girl, you get this straight.
Only one of us can write on this slate.
This man is mine. I was here before you.
You will not succeed, no matter what you do.”

“You will be sorry if him you don’t shun.”
I will haunt your dreams and keep you on the run.
Your days will be anguished from sun to sun.”

When I-O woke up she was covered in sweat.
She vowed to leave him alone. And yet…
She found him so tempting. He was such a bad boy,
That the dream was forgotten.
She went back to her toy.

So the dream came again: This time in full dread.
The banshee was terse. “I warned you,” She said.
She uttered no more, just melted away.
And I-O woke up to a dark gloomy day.

Something was off when she got out of bed.
“Something’s not right. Something’s weird in my head.”
There was a new feeling: an odd fear inside.
An angst and a dread she couldn’t quite hide.

She jumped at each sound. She didn’t know why.
Sometimes for no reason she’d sit down and cry.
She lost interest in food. It tasted like mold.
She’d pick at her meal until it got cold.

Her friends would call, but she wouldn’t leave home.
So soon they gave up, and left her alone.
She sprouted two horns that brought her despair.
No one else saw them, but she knew they were there.

She saw the black shadow that hid in the gloom,
And lurked in the corners of every room.
She knew its name, and who sent it by.
And what it was called. It was called the GAD fly.

It made her think thoughts that she never would say.
She would wash her hands twenty times a day.
She’d pull out her hair and scratch her arms.
The slightest sound would set off her alarms.

As for the lover, he soon had his fill.
And wandered away, looking for the next thrill.
But I-O still languishes, sleepless and gaunt.
With the GAD fly upon her. A shadowy taunt.

Pain comes and goes quick in a fast fading drama.
But in its wake, it leaves long lasting trauma.

I-O may heal as time goes by.
She may find a way to shrink the GAD fly.
But she can’t go back to before this cruel game.
I-O will never be the same.

I O and the G A D fly 02

(Please scroll down to make a comment.)

∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇ ∇


Trick or Treat — 13 Comments

  1. Dear Virginia,
    I agree, your poem is both humorous, sad and a most revealing look into how the GAD fly might sneak into ones psyche. What a skillful rhyme.

  2. Dear Donna,

    Take them to the park and turn them loose. Hopefully the robins and blackbirds will eat them-they eat everything else.

    You’re a brave lady.


  3. Please click the “reply” arrow to comment on “The Mobster and His Moll” by Sophia Baldwin.

    • Sophia, I know you lost your husband, Jerry, years ago. Who would have guessed that Halloween would be a good time for you to reach back and find this warm and funny memory. Thanks for sharing.

    • Sophia, what a fun and funny memory you have shared! I would have loved to have seen you. Do you by any chance have a picture you’d be willing to post? Thank you for “The Mobster and His Moll.”

    • Virginia, I don’t know what to say. “I-O and the GAD fly” tells quite the story. I feel for I-O and the pain she is in. For me, your poem was sweet, funny, and sad all at the same time. I liked it. Thank you for sharing.

    • Ewww. I think I would rather deal with one big hairy spider than a dozen crickets. I hate crickets.

    • Oh, Donna. I would have gotten rid of the spider, too! Ewww!!! And the crickets. I don’t know what I would have done. I had a chair infested with crickets once and could not get rid of them so I got rid of the chair. Double Ewwww!