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Last House On The Left…

My brother-in-law was in the garage tinkering when he heard the sounds of kids’ scooters skidding to a halt by the front door. His wife / my sister had informed him that her two sons were out playing in the village. Hearing them return he relayed the information he’d been given about their Halloween treats.
‘Hello boys, there are some ghost cakes for you in the back room. Don’t forget to take your shoes off and lock the door behind you.’
When no one replied he looked up to see two entirely different boys, presumably trick-or-treaters, peddling away from the property for all they were worth, screaming at the top of their lungs. I later pointed out to him that:
  1. For the next twenty years a rumour will morph and proliferate around the village as to their alleged sexual deviancy
  2. He and my sister genuinely live in ‘the last house on the left’ (an old Wes Craven horror flick)
  3. Arguably this is the best thing that could’ve happened to the kids. Isn’t Halloween supposed to be scary? (I am an AMAZING uncle)…
This last point subsequently became the night’s overarching theme.
Five eleven year old boys stayed the night, each in full fancy dress. Three were disguised as skeletons, one as santa (because he already had the costume), but the third came dressed as a girl – blue wig, pink boob-tube and a mini-skirt – his rationale: he thought is would be frightening, and he was right. Turns out there’s nothing boys fear more than other boys in drag.
Ten minutes into a carefully chosen and heavily vetted horror film boy X confidentially announced to a crowded (and jet black) room  that boy Y had ‘shit his pants’. The allegation was denied and a heated discussion ensued. As others calmed the waters I found myself overcome with nostalgia. How I yearned for those distant childhood days when the most pressing matter was ensuring others knew I had definitely not soiled myself.
Boy Z was dispatched to the kitchen to retrieve conciliatory cakes. When asked upon his return why they were glistening he replied ‘Because I licked them all.’
Not funny, but arguably the most disturbing event happened the next morning when the sleep-deprived, post-sugar-rush kids were being jettisoned from the house. I learned that everyone was going to another Halloween party.
‘Bit late now isn’t it, and in daylight?’
‘It was supposed to be a christening, but at the last minute the biological mother decided to keep the child. They’d already booked a venue so thought they’d go ahead with a different theme.’
‘How does she feel?’
‘She’s a foster mum. It happens…’
‘How do you feel about going?’
‘Yeah, it’s a little creepy…’

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