Tonight was going to be fun, the best Halloween ever. It hadn’t been planned so much as daydreamed. The rain had made it perfect; all of the Johnny-come-latelies had been driven indoors and only the really committed had come out to play. In the days that followed the authorities would try to piece together his past, try to work out why he did it. The parents would wring their hands together and fret over what had gone wrong with him. His own parents were already dead which would spare them this agony. They were not cold yet, but at least they were out of the loop. The fire axe was handy; it had belonged to his father and had been kept above the mantelpiece like some sort of war trophy. Many had considered him a hero for the work that he did, and now he had been elevated even higher. A dead hero was worshipped even more. Until this night no-one would have considered him unusual. He didn’t keep himself to himself; he’d been popular, had girlfriends, played on the football team, he even excelled at school with a bright future ahead of him. None of which really interested him. Boredom may have been cited as the reason for his rampage of killing, but no-one liked the complex solutions, they preferred to blame Ozzy, or Alice Cooper. No such influence was present in his life, unless you really wanted to blame Taylor Swift, or Shakira. He’d been careful not to listen to Lady Gaga who was dangerously close to subversive. Tonight was his night, without obvious rhyme or reason, and when those first parents had enquired why a teenage boy was out with an axe, he had given them his brutal answer. Two swift blows each to put them down, then each of the three children, who stood and screamed rather than run away, were easily disposed of. ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’ were then put out of their misery. The heavy rain washed their blood into the storm drain and also muted the sound of their screams. The streets were so unusually empty that he was able to continue on his way unimpeded looking for his next victims. It was almost disappointing how few there were though, not that he wished to be taken down too early, but no-one had seen his first killing. Adrenaline carried him on though, there would be more, even if he had to go door knocking. What a surprise it would be for those with bags of candy, ready to spread joy, that the ‘trick’ and the ‘treat’ would be exactly the same. His trick, his treat. If any did care to ask why he was doing this, well, the answer was simple: because it was fun.