The witch’s face was the lush, bright green of fresh-cut grass in spring. Her nose and chin protruded outwards in a sharp-edged curve, their respective tips almost meeting in front of her mouth. Her lips were arterial-spray red and beautifully glossy and her skin was all-over warts. She sat with her limbs splayed at strange and boneless angles, her pointy-toed black boots with the impractical number of buttons at odds with her skinny legs in their striped stockings.
Marshall picked the witch up, tossing her into an already-overflowing basket that bristled with battery-operated lights shaped like pumpkins, garlands of glow-in-the-dark plastic skeletons, and tangled lengths of black and orange tinsel.
“That’s going on the top of the tree,” he said.
At his side, Simon turned away from a porcelain doll he’d been examining with a spirit level and a dowsing rod that jingled with protective silver wards. He glanced at the witch and his mouth twisted in an expression of uncertainty.
“I dunno, Mars,” he said. “She’s a bit cartoony. What about this one?” he asked, gesturing at the blue-eyed blonde still on the shelf. He held up the spirit level and waggled it for emphasis, making the yellow-green ectoplasm inside slosh about. “Readings say it’s at least a little bit cursed,” he added encouragingly.
Marshall stared at the porcelain doll, taking in the smooth face with it’s peaches-and-cream complexion, the ruffled pink satin ballgown, the finely-wrought fingers just itching to grab a cake knife and start killing off his party guests.
He shook his head.
“Not this time, Simon,” he said, shifting the heavy shopping basket to his other hand. “This Halloween, I just want to eat cupcakes full of green food colouring and watch old movies on Eerie Cable without anyone getting stuck in the screen.”
“Oh,” said Simon.
( Read the rest of the Trusted Associates verse here )