Note to reader: This story is pure fiction, with certain portions taken from the author's life experience. All characters are over 18, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2023 All Rights Reserved. No portion of this material may be reproduced without the author's prior written permission. Everyone is over 18.
A reader accused me of plagiarism. NOT TRUE! I am the author of these stories. I abandoned my Literotica account for a few years and rejoined under this pseudonym.
Although this story is in the Mature section, it could easily fit into the romance category. Polite and constructive comments are most welcome. Derogatory comments will be deleted.
Rachel
Sometimes, at Halloween, you get a treat while giving candy to the kids.
When I was a kid, Halloween was a magical time. I remember worrying about my costume and how my friends and I would plan our assault around the neighborhood. I think I was about ten when my best friend Tim and I drew a map of the street we lived on with squares on both sides representing the houses. We put an X over the homes we knew from previous years had slim pickings. There were about 40 homes on our cul-du-sac street, and when we finished our Halloween plundering, Tim and I would dump our collective booty onto my kitchen table to sort the treasure.
The street I lived on growing up is much like the one I live on now. However, today, my neighborhood seems to have fewer children than in years past. I do see a few neighborhood children coming to my door with their children every year. Geez, talk about feeling old.
As usual, I bought too much candy for the little ones. The few children that came to my door this year for Halloween trick-or-treating were ghosts, pirates, princesses, and scary characters from recent movies. I didn't know many of the costumes because I don't get out too often. The price of movies nowadays is too much for a person on a fixed income. I have my retirement income and Social Security, but considering the 2008 crash, COVID-19, and the current uncertain political landscape, one cannot be too frugal.
A little about me: I'm a widower and 67 years old. I am 6 feet 5 inches tall, with a swimmer's build and old age spread in the middle. My blonde hair hasn't started to grey, but it comes in completely grey if I grow a beard. I live alone in a small two-bedroom craftsman-style home built around 1927 in an older section of town. The curbed gutter out front is higher than normal because Model T cars with wooden wagon wheels were quite tall. The higher curbs made it easier for passengers to exit the Model T car. Unfortunately, the higher curb means that with today's modern low-slung cars, passengers cannot open their doors without hitting the curb, so the driver has to stop away from the curb to let out passengers and then pull in close to park the car. Three doors away, in the older section of the street, my neighbor still has a concrete horsestep in his front yard by the street. The city has a plaque attached to the steps telling how people would park their horses next to the step so older folks could easily mount or dismount their horses.
The street I live on is tree-lined, and in the summertime, the leaves of the huge Elm, Oak, and Sycamore trees make a quasi-tunnel. The shade the trees provide keeps the asphalt from absorbing the Sun's rays and overheating the neighborhood. In the fall, the street is covered with many leaves, and the city provides cleaning crews because the leaves block the storm drain openings, and homes often flood from the rainwater runoff. My street is about a quarter-mile long dead end. My house is about 400 yards from the arterial thoroughfare intersection, so I don't hear much traffic noise like emergency vehicle sirens. Unfortunately, the houses across the street from me butt up against the railroad tracks. My wife would not listen to reason about how noisy the house would be when freight and passenger trains rumbled by. She absolutely wanted this house. Sometimes, the freight trains are so heavy their diesel engines thrum and emit harmonic vibrations that rattle the small knick-knacks my wife collected over the years. We could always tell a heavy freight was approaching because of the tell-tale tinkling of the glass figurines dancing on their mirrored tray. It took me years to finally ignore the constant peal of the nearby grade crossing signal bell as the guard arms lowered to prevent cars from crossing the tracks. I can even block out the train horns as they announce their approach to the grade crossing with their two long blasts, one short blast followed by one more long blast.
There had been a lull in the trick-or-treat traffic, and I decided to grab a cup of coffee and sit in my living room watching television. The doorbell rang, and I heard little voices call out, "TRICK OR TREAT!" When I opened the door, I could see the kids with their masked faces, and as I put candy into their containers, each one said, "Thank you," as they dashed away in search of more candy. I didn't see anyone else on the porch or sidewalk in front of my house, so I turned to go back inside. As I turned, I saw a figure out of the corner of my eye. An older woman about my age had moved from the shadows to under the streetlight and onto the sidewalk. She stood by the hedge separating my yard from the neighbor's. She just stood there and did not say anything. I turned to face her and looked for a little one beside her. There were none.
"Hi!" Calling the woman, "Where is your trick-or-treater this evening?"
She just looked down at her shoes. I could tell she was unhappy as she was visibly trembling. It was getting cold outside, and she did not have on a sweater or jacket. I could tell she was nearly impoverished by the shabby clothing she wore. Her trousers were too large for her tiny frame, and her threadbare top had seen too many washings. The woman's tennis shoes were dirty, and the laces had knots in the places where they had broken. When I stepped off the porch to approach her, she looked up with fear in her eyes.
"I won't hurt you," I said. "You look cold. May I get you something warm to wear? My wife died two years ago, and I haven't had the heart to remove her clothing. I'm sure there's something in there to help keep you warm."
The woman's expression changed from fear to sadness. She appeared to be crying and started walking away from me.
"Please don't go," I said. "Let me help you. I'm harmless. Please?"
The woman stopped and stood halfway into the street with her back toward me. She was sobbing. Her head was down, and her shoulders shook slightly.
I walked slowly toward her and softly said, "I'm Jacob. Jacob Smith. But you can call me Jake. Everyone calls me Jake. The kids in the neighborhood call me Grandpa Jake."
The woman spoke, "I'm Rachel."
"Come with me, Miss Rachel," I pleaded. "You can warm up inside and pick out something you like."
Rachel stood there momentarily, looking at me through her teary eyes. After a moment, she slowly turned toward my front door, looked at the house, looked at me, and then started walking behind me. We walked across the lawn and up the steps to my front porch. Rachel stopped a few steps before my door, afraid to go inside. After all, she was a woman being asked to enter a stranger's home on a chilly night. I patiently waited for Rachel to enter and said nothing as I stood inside my house, holding the door open. She must have decided that I would not harm her because she took a few steps forward but stopped short of the threshold. Rachel leaned her head into the doorway, slowly peeked around the door jamb, and followed me inside. I put the candy dish on the small table next to the door and turned off the front porch light, indicating that Halloween was over at this house.
"Can I get you something warm to drink, coffee or hot chocolate perhaps?" I offered. "I already have a pot of coffee on the stove."
"Coffee would be nice," Rachel said.
