TRICK OR TREAT

Our neighbor Pete had a prostitute living at his house, and when my wife informed me of this, I said, "Hey, at least someone's cutting the grass." The prostitute has long since disappeared and the grass and weeds are now matted down by a blanket of wet Maple leaves.

The children in our neighborhood know not to approach Pete's house, and Pete knows to leave his porch light off. Last year, for some odd reason, his mailbox spent more time in the ditch then standing erect at the end of his driveway. You see, Pete's a pedophile. Oh sure, he beat his case last year, but he still has teenagers coming over to buy weed and coke when school lets out.

Pete will seek me out whenever I'm walking our dog. He'll engage me in small talk by commenting on which breed of dog Bear is, or how the weather certainly has changed. He's been looking a bit haggard lately, like he's testing his product too much. One time, I found a rolled-up dollar bill near his house. I took it home and washed it off. Pete's no different than most of the inmates I deal with, not very bright.

Happy Halloween everyone. If you get the opportunity, read Bonnie Jo Cambpell's short story "Candy," which first appeared in The Ontario Review (issue No. 55). The allure of candy is just too much for some people.