Phantom: Hello. Once again, my mind’s as blank as it was when I entered this doomed world. Therefore, I’d be posting an old story of mine. About two years old i think. Anyway, hope you like it.


Let me introduce you to Mrs Potter.
Friendly, lovely woman, always had a smile for everyone. Most people think she is senile or at least eccentric.
We don’t.
We, being residents of Pomeroy street.

We love our Mrs Potter.
I mean what harm could a middle-aged woman with a toothy smile do? Like a Susan Boyle or Mary Byrne if you will. We all loved her as we loved these women. She would bake cookies and invite the neighbourhood to tea. She’d make a casserole and with a smile on her face, knock at your door.
You can never refuse Mrs Potter. We aren’t sure why but we can’t. She lost her husband about 5 years ago to the cancer battle. She lost her two sons a year after to Afghanistan, fighting for the Queen
Sad times those were.
We rallied round her and as good neighbours, supported her.

Enough of the introduction.
Now to the story.

It was like every Halloween.
Kids trick or treating, we adults throwing costume parties. It was like every other Halloween…or so we thought. My twin boys, Olly and Callum went trick or treating like every other kid. Of course, I cautioned them.
Stick to our known neighbours! Dont collect things from strangers.
In their offhanded manner they chorused “Yeah, yeah!”
I wasnt worried anyway. Maybe I should have been.
Maybe we should have all been

I put on my cat suit and took a picture of myself, ready to party. (In your ex-husband!)
We gathered at Phillip’s house, the Engineer guy on the street, had drinks and loved every minute of it. As responsible parents, we decided to head out to our homes before we got too tipsy.
“I wonder what Mrs Potter’s gonna bake tomorrow. I love her Shepherd’s pies!” said Steve, the Real estates guy.
Cute as a button!
I went home and waited for the kids with their haul. Sweets of assorted variety. Of course  I would be keeping some and throwing the excess away
They looked alright, Olly and Callum. After a shower to remove the face make ups, we went to bed

You could hear music from the other streets but Pomeroy Street was relatively quiet. I am not sure what woke me up, but wake up, I did. I felt cold shivers travel down my spine.
I felt the sudden need to see my boys. I walked to their room, then I suddenly stopped.
I had identified the sound that woke me up.

It was coming from my boys’ room. My heart suddenly started racing. I ran.
Swung the door open.
My boys were on the floor, entwined; convulsing.
Olly’s leg was the alarm,hitting the dresser table.
Innumerable emotions rushed at me at once.
I ran to my boys, separating them with shaky hands.
I ran back to my room and got a hold of the landline.
As I called the ambulance, I heard a wail from Daisy’s house.
What was wrong with her?!

I ran back to check on my boys, palms sweaty, heart racing.
The nursery rhymes they loved as children.
They all gushed out of me.

The ambulance came.
Several ambulances came in fact.
It seemed, as crazy as this sounds, that all the children on Pomeroy street were convulsing.

They all suffered together.
They were all in the Intensive Care Unit.

Cyanide Poisoning.
What psycho would poison treating sweets?
Did they go treating on another street contrary to our commands?
I was in shock.
My boys.
My darling boys.
Never been a crier.
At the hospital I heard this cry of anguish.
Struck a chord in my soul, then I realized it was me.
It was me wailing.
We wailed together.

The police began investigating immediately at the early hours of the morning.
I was in my pyjamas with a cardigan to ward off the cold, getting questioned by the police.
Where did they go treating?
What houses did they visit?


When they finally left, we gathered at Mrs Potter’s house, knocking at her door.
“Come in! What is wrong dears?” she asked, taking in our sad faces.
We told her.
Her eyes said it all.

They came here for my home-baked sweets.
Ate them immediately too!
Saw them over at the Dover’s
Daisy perked up from her husband’s shoulder
“They ate your sweets here?”
“Why yes! I even have some left overs.”
For some odd reason, we wanted to see the left overs
“Made from bitter almonds. I was trying to get a different flavour from my usual.” Mrs Potter said bringing a tray containing a few sweets.
Paul’s head snapped up to Mrs Potter.
“Did you just say bitter almonds?”
She nodded, perplexed.
Paul picked up a sweet, sniffing and examining it like the doctor that he was.
“Just what quantity did you use? Please!”
He sounded so high-strung, we all tensed up.
9 people.
18 eyes.
Peering at the middle-aged lady we all loved.
“Well I did use a lot of them”

It was the wrong answer.

Paul jumped up suddenly, grabbing Mrs Potter’s cardigan.
“You! You poisoned them! You!”
We were shocked by his display and even more so, his accusation.
It took some minutes of calming down to get Paul in a conversational state.
He then explained it to us.
Mrs Potter.
Our dearly loved Mrs Potter.
Had unwittingly harmed our children.
Cyanide poisoning.
Bitter almonds had them.
Harmless when few, but in large quantities…

We were in shock
She was in shock
We went back to our homes, trying to decide what to do with our dear Mrs Potter.

Morning came.
The Police came back.
We told our story.
We went to Mrs Potter’s house.
Knocking, we received no answers.
The door was knocked down.
We searched for our old lady dearest and we found her, neatly hanging from a curtain cord.

Our dearly beloved Mrs Potter was no more.
Our children were still not out of danger.
So much for Halloween.



There you have it…i think.