An October Sunday Birthday
by Witch Nancy Vicknair
Witch Nancy has her hut in Central California and rides around on a jet propelled scooter. She considers a broom old-fashioned. Look into a mirror and you will find her on facebook or slumped over her computer reading her email firstname.lastname@example.org. Send her a poisoned pen note-today.
"What?" Dustin's gramma said.
"Yup, Murphy's wouldn't let him give buggy rides anymore."
"Oh no, what happened to his horses?"
"Dunno," the pale mom growled.
Thus Harlan's party commenced. Full-on October Sunday weather. Baked oak tree smells everywhere. Evan was poking hot dogs on the grill while kids flew by like gnats. Black rimmed eyes, jagged scars, bloodies lips, and yes, ubiquitous zinc white. Kid zombies all happy to look scary for the afternoon.
The park at Murphy's, California is perfect. And so is Murphy's. A tiny gold rush town in the lower Sierra foothills, Murphy's has one main street chock full of tiny shops and wine tasting rooms. No wonder Zombies-adults and kids-like to go there.
"Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you." All the zombies bellowed out the familiar tune. Smiles through frosting laden lips, smeared face makeup.
Soon the party ebbed to a natural finish pushed on by waning light in the park. Another day older for everyone. Gramma stumbled up toward her car wondering where Buggy Bob's horses were today. She hoped they had been put out to a warm October pasture.
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