Sweet Revenge (A Skunky and Me Halloween)

When I was a kid, Halloween was a yearly contest to see if you could make it home after trick-or-treating without the town bullies, Billy and Bob Bellywacker, taking your candy. Skunky Wilson, my childhood friend and partner in mischief, and I almost always lost that contest.But, when we were 13 years old, it being our last year for trick-or-treating (in Booger Holler there was a well known but unwritten law that 14 was the cut off age for trick-or-treating) , we figured we’d give the Bellywacker boys something to remember us by.

So, Skunky and I moseyed on down to the local drug store and bought some chocolate laxatives. We scraped the brand name off of each individual morsel, wrapped them in cellophane paper, and put them in our Halloween bags.

Sure enough, Halloween night, like field hawks the Bellywackers swooped down on us and we felt the air leave our lungs as they slugged us in the stomach.With breath that smelled like rotten road kill, Billy said, “Awl right, pig-dogs, hand over yer loot.”

“Oh, please don’t hurt us. Take it all, but please don’t hurt us.” I said, trying to sound horrified, which I was.

“YYYYes! You can have it all. Jjjjjust don’t bbbeat us!” Skunky was always a ham.After the Bellywacker boys took our candy and shoved us on our way, Skunky and I headed to the open field where the annual Halloween carnival was held. We were looking forward to trying our luck at the games there to see what we could win.

The night drew on, and before long it was time to leave. Well, we’d won our share of trinkets at that carnival, and as we headed home we were laughing, giggling, and carrying on over our good fortune when all of a sudden, who should jump out at us from the cover of night? THE BELLYWACKER BOYS!

“Give us yer prizes or we’ll send you home a-carryin’ yer innerds in a sack,” Bob snorted (word traveled fast in our little hillbilly town, especially when it came to winning a lot of loot at a carnival).

“No way!” said Skunky, “Y’all have to skin us first.”

“Us?” I said. “You got a mouse in your pocket?” Hey, I was seeing my short time on earth coming to a premature end. It was the best I could think of to say at the time.

Well, Billy grabbed Skunky by the coat collar and Bob grabbed me. Each brother pulled back his free arm and made a fist. Then, just when they were ready to release their fury upon us, Bob let go of me and let out a moan that sounded akin to a moose with severe intestinal trouble.

Within seconds of Bob’s painful noise, I heard a wild rumble and a grunt. Turning to my left, I saw Billy release his grip on Skunky, and the brothers, bending over and clutching their stomachs, headed home.

The next couple of days in our town were the most peaceful we’d seen in a very long time. You don’t suppose it had something to do with the fact that Billy and Bob were home fighting over the commode do you? Too bad they just had the one in the whole house.