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urge to indulge in his secret passion very often, but when he did,
the urge was uncontrollable. The extent he went through in order to
escape punishment for his actions played havoc on his personal and
professional life, but when he saw the dismay and horror on the
network newscasts, along with footage of crying and bleeding
trick-or-treaters, he always felt that it was well worth the
trouble.
    A few minutes later, the shaggy blond beard
and mustache had been shed and he studied his new appearance in the
bathroom mirror. His hair would have to be dyed darker, maybe
black, but preferably brown. He could do that when he got out of
the state. Just stop by a drugstore, buy a bottle of Nice &
Easy, and make the change in a motel room by the interstate. The
eyeglasses would have to go, too. He would start wearing contacts,
even though they irritated his eyes. Maybe some of those new tinted
ones. Yeah, blue eyes instead of muddy brown ones.
    Zachary glanced out the bathroom window. The
Lincoln with the U-Haul trailer hitched to the back was parked in
the driveway, ready to go. The streetlights seemed a little hazy,
as though a thin fog was rolling in. He checked his watch. It was
nine-forty. The children were likely discovering their little
surprises by now, sending their poor parents into a panic. It would
be a while before a city-wide investigation was launched. He
planned on leaving around ten o'clock. That gave him twenty minutes
to wolf down a quick snack before he hopped into his car and headed
north out of Tennessee. He found himself famished. He had been so
involved in getting things ready for the kiddies, that he had
neglected to eat lunch or supper that day.
    He went to the refrigerator and got a quart
of milk and a chocolate cake he had bought at a supermarket bakery
the day before. He sliced himself a big piece of cake and poured
himself a glass of milk, then sat down and considered the
sensations that the little spooks were experiencing at that moment;
the boiling pain of candy laced with drain cleaner in their tiny
stomachs, the expulsion of blood from their mouths and nostrils as
razor blades flayed the tender flesh from their tongues and inner
cheeks, and the jagged jolts of agony that attacked them internally
as needles, nails, and bits of broken glass churned through their
digestive systems.
    Zachary laughed, eyes gleaming behind the
thick lenses of his glasses. He found his appetite even more
ravenous than before. He took a bite of cake, then washed it down
with a big swallow of milk.
    Abruptly, he felt a raw pain in his throat.
He coughed and wondered if he was coming down with the flu or
something. His throat felt incredibly sore and inflamed all of a
sudden. He took another swallow of milk. The discomfort in his
throat grew even worse than before.
    He dug into the slice of chocolate cake and
brought the fork to his mouth. Zachary bit down and was surprised
when hot liquid filled his mouth. A spray of blood shot from
between the gap of his front teeth, splattering the tabletop with
crimson droplets. A second later, agony gripped his lower face and
there was more blood. A hell of alot more. In panic, he jumped up
from his chair, knocking over the glass. Milk washed across the
tabletop, along with dozens of tiny map pins, sewing needles, and
sparkling fragments of broken glass.
    His mind raced, wondering how the objects had
gotten into the milk, but he found himself unable to think
straight. The pain in his mouth was nearly unbearable. He poked a
finger past his teeth and withdrew it quickly. The fingertip was
cleaved cleanly in half, dribbling blood. Oh God, what's going
on? What the hell's in my mouth? He glanced down at the
chocolate cake with the single slice cut out of it. Double-edged
razors winked with metallic malice from the layers of yellow cake
within.
    He ran to the bathroom and looked in the
mirror. A single blade was wedged tightly between his upper and
lower teeth, anchored securely into gum and