Today’s entry is a special inside joke to my mom. Anyone is welcome to read, but only Mom will truly understand. Also, please note that my mother is neither a witch nor named Melinda Widebottom – those were only story elements. Final spooktacular flash fiction will appear here on Halloween morning. See you then…
Melinda Widebottom adjusted her pointy hat. Checked her cackle. Everything was ready.
Steadied herself on her Broomba. She’d traded in her broom years ago, at first upgrading to a Swiffer, then on to the elite witchery level of a Dyson and now trying out a Broomba for the first time. Everything automatic, right? What’s not to like!
Her sonar spotted three kids on Greeley Avenue taking a break and pulling chocolate from their respective pillowcases. Melinda fired up her Roomba.
It was less than a block later when she first noticed the black smoke. “Nice effect for this evening,” she thought. Two houses later, she started losing altitude. “Damn diet,” she chortled.
On November 1, her mechanic disagreed. “Can’t help your diet,” he said. “But I don’t need to. You’re not chunky. Just stop using diesel.”
Come on back tomorrow for the final installment of Halloween Flash Fiction, featuring the top 10 costumes for 2016. Thanks for ringing the doorbell.