HALLOWEEN TRICK OR TREAT

Denver High

It's a dark, gloomy, stormy night in October. I am alone at home. I walk very deliberately to the kitchen and pull two large Forschner German stainless steel knives out of the wooden knife holder. One is an twelve-inch butcher knife. Its edge is so sharp that it can cut a very thin slice of meat from a roast without and effort, or slice a thin piece of paper without any effort.

The other one is a sharp serrated knife, this blade sparkles from the overhead lights as I hold and look at it. I touch the tip and its cutting edge. I can feel the sharpness on my finger tips. It has an excellent point to insert and start the cutting. I can see my reflection on the side of the polished blade. It’s perfect, for what I am about to do.

“I must be careful not to get cut, like the last time,” I say out loud.

I feel the serrated side again and it is sharper than when it was new. I put on thin almost clear rubber gloves like surgeons use and walk to the garage where I do my best work. That’s where I had placed my prey. I know what I have to do. She waits there, quiet as can be. As I walk in I flick the light switch and florescent light fills the room, emanating from the two large six foot ceiling fixtures.

“Hello, my beauty. Sorry to keep you waiting. You’re the best looking one I’ve ever had. Such beautiful skin without any blemishes. You are perfect in every way. Let me turn on some music. You know doing something is always better with music. It set the right mood. Is Puccini or Verdi Ok? You probably like Brahms, huh” One of the three B’s”

I didn’t expect a response from her. I turned the CD player on and selected various pieces to play. The first one I picked was the Blue Danube, by Strauss. I also turned up the volume. The beat of the music gives me inspiration when ever I hear this piece. It reminds me of a Merry-Go-around and the horses going up and down. The peaceful soft music is beginning to fill the room. I walked to the work bench and placed the twelve inch knife down, keeping the serrated in my right hand. I grasp the beautiful walnut grain handle holding the blade pointing down.

I approach her from behind. I transfer the knife to my left hand, holding the tip barely touching the skull, and I smack the top of the knife handle with the palm of my right hand and quickly the knife sinks into the top of the head.

“Goodness. The blade went in cleanly all the way to the hilt. Just like a matador. Ole!”

The blade  made a slight squishing sound  as it sank deeper. I withdrew the knife and turned  it to use the serrated side. I reinsert it and with a circular sawing motion I cut open the top of the head. Being ever so careful to make sure a circle as perfect as I could  and making sure the edge it has a slight inward angle.

“This knife cut so easy. Hannibal Lector would envy that circular cut.”

As I remove the top, I get the feeling it’s like removing a sticky top on a jar of grape jam. I place the top on a piece of clear plastic wrap, no need to be sloppy. I Look into the cavity, and I can see the wet slimy, gooey brains within. A very pleasant familiar odor hits my nostrils, bringing back tasteful memories of former victims.

“Ah, Verdi's” drinking song is playing. I can’t remember the title of it.”

I changed to the other knife and I insert the knife into the brains and make a cross cut on them. I pull the knife out and with my left hand, I reach in, grab a portion of the brain and pull.

That first chunks came out easily, but it has strings trying to hold it in. It doesn't want to let go.

“Looks just like a piece of  cheese pizza, trying to stay together.”

 With a flick of the knife I slice them off. I place it on the piece of plastic that is ready on the workbench. I’m trying not to drip on the clean garage floor.

“No need to be sloppy, have to be neat. I would have to clean it up anyway.” I say.

One at a time . . . I Pull . . . Slowly . . .  Slimy . . . Slicing . . . I repeat the action, pulling, slicing and putting each piece on the plastic. I am glad that I have gloves on.

Verdi plays on.

The evidence of all my actions will be buried soon, never to be found again. I thrust the knife again and again always making sideways motion to slice the remainder of the brains.

I'm almost done. I know that I'm doing a great job and can’t wait to get the great aroma smell of the brains cooking in the oven. Even Italian food smell can't smell that good. A clean cavity. No more brains. Only the skull is left.

“I think this is almost as good as Silence of the Lambs.”

I take the brains to the sink, turn on the warm water, wash and save the best parts. I put them in a pan to cook in the preheated oven at three hundred fifty degrees. I loved them well toasted.

I walk back into the garage and say, “All most done my dear. Soon even you, if you were still alive, you would be proud of me.”

Puccini is playing now. Ta ta Di dumm . . .

To finish the job I stick the knife in many  more times in different places and make cuts. I have to get it right. I’m such a perfectionist when I do this job. I pick up  all the useless part of the brains and skin using the plastic wrap and throw them into the garbage can.

I return to the oven, stir and turn them over to make sure all the parts are well cooked. They  look perfect. I can’t wait to see how the first morsels are going to taste. I think I could do this on a one time TV show  just like Martha Stewart. I would be as friendly as Rachael Ray, I could have her there as a guest. I turn the oven off. Take the contents out and place them on top of the stove to cool.

“Great job, Denver.”

I proudly pick up the head, walk to the front my home and place it on the porch. The Jack-O-lantern is finished. It smiles at me with pleasure. I smile back. Hope the trick-or-treaters will like it again this year.

"O Solo Mio, is playing now and sung by Pavarotti."

"Now let’s eat the brains. Try some. Hmmm. . . They're yummier than I remember."

Trick or Treat” Kiss my feet,

give me something good to eat.