It was All Hallows' Eve, and the middle-aged man had just sat down for his evening meal, as he had for several weeks now, quite alone. His beloved and beautiful wife, Evelyn, had taken quite ill recently and had been unable to come down to supper. She was, in fact, so weak that she was unable to rise from her bed for more than a few minutes a day.
The 'Judge' - as everyone called him, even though he had since left the bench to return to private practice - had made her as comfortable as he could, making frequent runs from their house, a quiet Tudor-style home, the last house on the block on Cemetery Hill, to the apothecary shop in the village for various medicinal herbs and concoctions. His wife placed little trust in modern medicine.
And so her devoted husband did his best, placing cool compresses on her forehead and mixing various home remedies, but to his great distress, her condition simply would not improve.
He was well prepared, however, for all the trick-or-treaters who might come to call later on this evening. He had jars of chocolate M & Ms, Snickers, Red Twisters, and even a few individually wrapped pieces of Godiva chocolate. He smiled to himself as he thought that he'd give those away last, assuming that he ran out of the others. And if he didn't run out, well - then he'd just have to eat that chocolate himself, even if Evelyn wouldn't approve.
Just as the Judge poured himself a full glass of a pleasant Napa Valley Merlot, then tilted the crystal glass at a sharp angle to appreciate the dark rose color as it caught the last few rays of the setting sun, the doorbell gave a sharp ring. Beyond the hallway to the front door, he could make out the muffled sounds of giggling and laughter. The man frowned, looked up at the dining room grandfather clock, which was just beginning to chime the quarter hour, and saw that it was just 5:15.
"My goodness," he said to himself, "they are starting early this year."
Only two female callers were at the door - a tall dark-eyed brunette and her shorter dirty-blonde companion, both in outlandish outfits that were quite revealing, even for Halloween.
"Aren't you girls getting a little old for this kid's stuff?" asked the man, as he glanced down at the ample neckline of the taller of the two, and the exposed milky-white thighs of the second one.
"I'm a witch, and she's an evil spirit," burbled the brunette, between long, languid licks on a bright red tootsie-pop, "So you have to give us a treat, or we'll cast a spell on you."
"I suppose so," said the Judge warily, trying to get a better look at the duo in the gathering darkness. "You both look familiar. I have a feeling I've seen you before."
"Oh shit, I really have to go pee," gasped the one dressed as a spirit. "I gotta use your bathroom. It'll just be a sec, ok?"
"Well, I..." the Judge started to say, but before he could give consent or refusal, the costumed spirit darted into the hallway, dropped her trick-or-treat bag with a thud, started one way, then reversed course and correctly found the guest powder-room.
"And could I have a drink of water, please?" the one dressed as a witch asked, with a disarming but slightly off-kilter smile.
The man, not quite knowing what to do, simply nodded and pointed toward the kitchen. The made-up witch slid past him into the hallway, trick-or-treat bag and all, then into the kitchen.
"I'll get it myself," he heard her say.
The man looked a bit perplexed, but shrugged his shoulders and, as an afterthought, looked outside, up and down the street. There was no sign of any other trick-or-treaters, which was hardly surprising, since it was at least a half an hour until sunset.
The man closed the door and ambled into his spacious living room, turned on several lights, poked the now-blazing cedar logs in the fireplace, and sat down on the chocolate-colored sofa to wait for the strange pair of visitors to finish up.
As he rested, his mind wandered back to his days on the criminal bench, where he was, indeed, a very well respected jurist, highly regarded by both prosecutors and defense attorneys alike. The Judge was invariably courteous to counsel and witnesses, and scrupulously fair to every defendant who appeared before him.
The daily grind, however, had proven too much. The Judge shook his head at the unpleasant memories. Guilt or innocence did not seem to matter to either the attorneys or those in administration. The 'System' just had to grind forward, he thought with sarcasm, regardless of 'petty' issues such as truth, honesty, or fair play. "Where was Justice?" thought the Judge. She was not only blind, he thought, but deaf and dumb besides.
The Judge's reverie was rudely interrupted as the two visitors abruptly appeared before him, still wearing their bizarre costumes and make-up, but now, in the glare of the well-lit living room, it became abundantly clear that the visitors were not youngsters, in any sense of the word.
"Recognize us now, Your
Honor
?" said the made-up witch, with a sassy emphasis on the last word that made it sound like 'on-her'.
Before the Judge could answer, the spirit-girl spoke up.
"How about now?" the little blonde said, licking her crimson lips lasciviously as she reached down with her right hand and popped her left breast out of her bra. As she pinched her pink nipple hard then rolled her eyes back in her head, her tongue lolled out and she made grotesque choking sounds.
"That ring a bell?" she said, ending her pantomime with a mocking smile, but leaving one heavy breast still fully exposed, while her friend, the ersatz witch, laughed and stuck her tongue out, revealed a silver stud ring.
"Oh, God," the Judge murmured as his memory began to flash pictures from the past. "You, the Witch - you were Crystal Miller; and your friend the Evil Spirit - was Meredith Jones, but you called yourselves 'Crystal and Meth, the Sisters of Death,' didn't you?
"You're not real sisters," he continued, "But a couple of sickos, peddling hard drugs to minors, and luring teens and runaways into performing in sadistic porn flicks. Those kids thought they were going to be Hollywood stars, but one by one, they turned up dead." The Judge paused. "Yes, I remember you."
"What do you know, you pathetic old fuck?" snarled Meth, the half-naked evil spirit. "So what if a few fucked-up teenies got too stoned for their own good? They were sluts and nuts, and some of them threatened to rat on us. So, we got rid of them, permanently. Who gives a fuck what happened to them?"
"They were just kids - sure - a little mixed-up, but they could have been helped. Instead, you drugged them, and used them for your own purposes and then took them for a swim when they were drunk or stoned. Or you just put a pillow over their faces when they slept.
"The evidence was overwhelming," he continued, "But somehow - it made me sick when I heard the foreman announce it - somehow there was one holdout juror, so it was a hung jury and pending a retrial, you were released on bail."
"Yeah," Crystal chimed in, "We're still out, but we don't want to go through that shit again, so we need your help."
