"One of yer piller cases. For a trick-or-treat sack."
"Oh." Widow Case said stiffly, and she went to straightening up the coffee table and picking the ham and makings off the floor.
Preacher Judd saw that the sun was no longer visible. He walked over to a window and looked out. The tumble bug of night was even more blue-black now and the moon was out, big as a dinner plate, and looking like it had gravy stains on it.
"I think we've got to go now," he said. "We'll be back in a few hours, just long enough to run the houses around here."
"Whoa, whoa," Widow Case said. "Trick-or-treatin' I can go for, but I can't let my daughter go off with n6 strange man."
"I ain't strange. I'm a preacher."
"You strike me as an all right fella that wants to do things right, but I still can't let you take my daughter off without me going. People would talk."
Preacher Judd started to sweat. "I'll pay you some money to let me take her on."
Widow Case stared at him. She had moved up close now and he could smell root beer on her breath. Right then he knew what she'd done and he didn't like it any. It wasn't that he'd wanted it, but somehow it seemed dishonest to him that she swigged it without asking him.
He thought she was going to pour it out. He started to say as much when she spoke up.
"I don't like the sound of that none, you offering me money.
"I just want her for the night," he said, pulling Cinderella close to him.
"She'd have fun."
"I don't like the sound of that no better. Maybe you ain't as right thinking as I thought."
Widow Case took a step back and reached the butcher knife off the table and pushed it at him. "I reckon you better just let go of her and run on out to that car of yours and take your ownself trick-or-treatin'. And without my piller case.
"No ma'm, can't do that. I've come for Cindy and that's the thing God expects of me, and I'm going to do it. I got to do it. I didn't do my sister right and she's burning in hell. I'm doing Cindy right. She said some of a prayer and she's baptized. Anything happened to her, wouldn't be on my conscience.
Widow Case trembled a bit. Cinderella lifted up her ghost-suit with her free hand to look at herself, and Widow Case saw that she was naked as a jay-bird underneath.
"You let go of her arm right now, you pervert. And drop that piller case…
Toss it on the couch would be better. It's clean."
He didn't do either.
Widow Case's teeth went together like a bear trap and made about as much noise, and she slashed at him with the knife.
He stepped back out of the way and let go of Cinderella, who suddenly let out a screech, broke and ran, started around the room yelling, "Wooooo, wooooo, goats."
Preacher Judd hadn't moved quick enough, and the knife had cut through the pillow case, his coat and shirt sleeve, but hadn't broke the skin.
When Widow Case saw the slashed pillow case fall to the floor, a fire went through her.
The same fire that went through Preacher Judd when he realize his J.C. Penney's suit coat which had cost him, with the pants, $39.95 on sale, was ruined.
They started circling one another, arms outstretched like wrestlers ready for the runtogeth-er, and Widow Case had the advantage on account of having the knife.
But she fell for Preacher Judd holding up his left hand and wiggling two fingers like mule ears, and while she was looking at that, he hit her with a right cross and floored her. Her head hit the coffee table and the ham and fixings flew up again.
Preacher Judd jumped on top of her and held her knife hand down with one of his, while he picked up the ham with the other and hit her in the face with it, but the ham was so greasy it kept sliding off and he couldn't get a good blow in.
Finally he tossed the ham down and started wrestling the knife away from her with both hands while she chewed on one of his forearms until he screamed.
Cinderella was still running about, going "Wooooo, wooooo, goats," and when she ran by the Sylvania, her arm hit the foil-wrapped rabbit ears and sent them flying.
Preacher Judd finally got the knife away from Widow Case, cutting his hand slightly in the process, and that made him mad. He stabbed her in the back as she rolled out from under him and tried to run off on all fours. He got on top of her again, knocking her flat, and he tried to pull the knife out. He pulled and tugged, but it wouldn't come free. She was as strong as a cow and was crawling across the floor and pulling him along as he hung tight to the thick, wooden butcher knife handle. Blood was boiling all over the place.
Out of the corner of his eye, Preacher Judd saw that his retard was going wild, flapping around in her ghost-suit like a fat dove, bouncing off walls and tumbling over furniture. She wasn't making the ghost sounds now. She knew something was up and she didn't like it.
"Now, now," he called to her as Widow Case dragged him across the floor, yelling all the while, "Bloody murder, I'm being kilt, bloody murder, bloody murder!"
"Shut up, goddamnit!" he yelled. Then, reflecting on his words, he turned his face heaven-ward. "Forgive me my language, God." Then he said sweetly to Cinderella, who was in complete bouncing distress, "Take it easy, honey. Ain't nothing wrong, not a thing."
"Oh Lordy mercy, I'm being kilt!" Widow Case yelled.
"Die, you stupid old cow."
But she didn't die. He couldn't believe it, but she was starting to stand. The knife he was clinging to pulled him to his feet, and when she was up, she whipped an elbow around, whacked him in the ribs and sent him flying.
About that time, Cinderella broke through a window, tumbled onto the porch, over the edge and into the empty flower bed.
Preacher Judd got up and ran at Widow Case, hitting her just above the knees and knocking her down, cracking her head a loud one on the Sylvania, but it still didn't send her out.
She was strong enough to grab him by the throat with both hands and throttle him.
As she did, he turned his head slightly away from her digging fingers, and through the broken window he could see his retarded ghost. She was doing a kind Elf two step, first to the left, then to the right, going, "Unhhh, unhhh," and it reminded Preacher Judd of one of them dances sinners do in them places with lots of blinking lights and girls up on pedestals doing lashes with their hips.
He made a fist and hit the widow a couple of times, and she let go of him and rolled away.
She got up, staggered a second, then started running toward the kitchen, the knife still in her back, only deeper from having fallen on it.
He ran after her and she staggered into the hall, her hands hitting out and knocking one of the big iron frying pans off its peg and down on her head. It made a loud BONG, and Widow Case went down.
Preacher Judd let out a sigh. He was glad for that. He was tired. He grabbed up the pan and whammed her a few times, then, still carrying the pan, he found his hat in the living room and went out on the porch to look for Cinderella.
She wasn't in sight.
He ran out in the front yard calling her, and saw her making the rear corner of the house, running wildly, hands close to the ground, her butt flashing in the moonlight every time the sheet popped up. She was heading for the woods out back.
He ran after her, but she made the woods well ahead of him. He followed in, but didn't see her. "Cindy," he called. "It's me. Ole Preacher Judd. I come to read you some Bible verses.
You'd like that wouldn't you? Then he commenced to coo like he was talking to a baby, but still Cinderella did not appear.
He trucked around through the woods with his frying pan for half an hour, but didn't see a sign of her. For a half-wit, she was a good hider.
Preacher Judd was covered in sweat and the night was growing slightly cool and the old Halloween moon was climbing to the stars. He felt like just giving up.
He sat down on the ground and started to cry.