One for Everyone

The bowl was full of Death, individually wrapped.  The skeleton sat on the porch with the bowl between its knees.  A sign taped to its ribcage read, “One per person.  No exceptions!”  The huddle of plastic be-masked elementary schoolers huddled at the end of the sidewalk, unwilling to move forward.

“No one wants to go?” said Mike, who had been unhappily drafted into trick-or-treating duty.  “Well, then let’s get to the next house.  C’mon, chop chop.”

There was a cough from behind them.  “The sign,” said a hollow voice, “is clear.  One for everyone.”

And that’s the way it was.