Toni Le Busque's stories.

I do not ‘get’ Halloween.
I don’t ‘get’ dressing up like ghouls and what look like violated, perverse versions of Red Riding Hood.
Plastic feet and white face masks that look like Caspar the friendly ghost with Bell’s Palsy.
And I don’t get it because when and where I grew up, we didn’t play Halloween.
The fun must be in the preparation and then, later on, the revelation.
‘Oh, Nigel, I didn’t recognise you as serial killer Ted Bundy.’

I’d suggested to a friend that he and I attend a party as Jackie and JFK.
But I think I miss the point of it all.

I should have said Mortitia and Gomez.
I made the mistake of thinking Halloween was a celebration of the real dead.

For me, it was a celebration of finishing the flooring of the downstairs toilet.