by Caoimhin Kennedy

My daughter kisses me. “Heading home,” she says.

Since my cancer, Carrie gives out my treats on Halloween.

I roll my wheelchair to the porch’s edge and watch her taillights dwindle into the night. That’s when I see the girl on my lawn.

“Hello,” the little girl says. She’s dressed as a goat.

“No more candy, I’m afraid!”

“Quite alright,” she answers. “Tell me, did you enjoy your last kiss with your daughter?”

Her eyes go ablaze.

I gape. “You’ve come for me…”

The Devil smirks childishly, in the distance a horn blares; metal crunches, “No. Not for you.”

Caoimhin Kennedy

Originally from Ireland, Caoimhin Kennedy has always had a passion for telling stories. He currently lives in Ottawa, Canada, working in the engineering sector. His works can be found in a publication of Every Day Fiction and in multiple Black Hare Press anthologies.