I was reminded of all the fun Daddy used to have scaring the trick-or-treaters who came to his door. He dressed up in his old army jacket with a cushion underneath on his back. He stooped over and drug one leg behind him, and with an old hat pulled down low and a stocking over his face, he did look pretty gruesome. He would wait for the kids to get their candy, then step out of the darkness as they were going back to their mother's car. With a macabre laugh that sounded like The Shadow and in his deepest, most devilish-sounding voice he said:
Fee, fee, fi, fi, fo, fo, fum
I smell the blood of little children
Be they live or be they dead
I'll grind their bones and make my bread.
The screams and squeals as children took off running never failed to delight him. Every once in a while we would hear a mother's shaky voice call out, "Brother Johnson, is that you?"
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