Trick or Treat by Jana Hunter

couldn’t go out and we couldn’t stay there.
    What could we do?
    Hide? Faint? Die of fright? Probably. We’d be found years later, five frozen girls and a spaniel with bows on her tail.
    There was only one thing left to do.
    Together we took deep breaths and opened our mouths. In one long shriek we screamed louder and longer than we’ve ever screamed before. We screamed and screamed and screamed, until it felt like we’d never ever stop.
    “Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh!”
    And that’s when slowly, very slowly, the door to the caravan creaked open.

“DAD!”
    Mega-relieved, I flung myself at my dad, and held on to him tight.
    But Dad wasn’t feeling so loving. “What in heaven’s name is going on here!” he yelled.
    Everyone tried to answer, but their voices were drowned by my dad’s yelling. Dad’s explosions don’t come often, but when they do – watch out! He shouted that he could hear our screaming all the way from the back bedroom.And just in case he couldn’t, the next-door neighbours had phoned to tell him all about it. “You’ve probably woken half the neighbourhood!” Dad hollered in a voice loud enough to wake the other half.
    “Sorry…”
    “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at…”
    “Just having a bit of Hallowe’en fun, Dad…”
    “Hallowe’en or not, you blah, blah, blah…”
    Dad went on and on.
    I thought he’d never stop.
    Only good thing was, Molly and Jilly got it in the neck even more than the Sleepover Club. Dad reckoned their silly behaviour could’ve have caused a major accident, with all the candles and ‘nonsense’. Candle holders or no candle holders, fire was dangerous stuff and he would speak to Mum about it.
    Yes, in case you hadn’t guessed, it was not witches or ghouls that had given us the fright of our lives. It was my dear sister and her sillyfriend. And if Molly and Jilly thought they’d win by scaring us with ghostly tricks like shaking the caravan, they were wrong. Dad told them so in no uncertain terms.
    Finally Dad stomped off to get on the phone to the other parents.
    Whew!
    But in less than half an hour the grown-ups had come to pick up their ‘naughty’ daughters, and everyone, including Jilly, was taken home.
    Ooops.
    The only one left was Frankie. Her mum and dad were out, so Dad had to let her to stay. He wasn’t best pleased about that, either. ’Course, it wasn’t the sleepover we’d planned, but at least, me and my best friend were together, while Molly the Monster had to share with Emma. One nil to the Sleepover Club!
    Before Dad could go on any more, me and Frankie did our famous getting-ready-for-bed race (one minute two seconds!) and leapt intobed. When Dad came up to check on us we were already hiding under our duvets.
    “Frankie, I’ll speak to your parents tomorrow,” Dad said as he snapped out the bedroom light, leaving us in total darkness.
    I waited ’til he’d gone downstairs. “What do you think your mum and dad’ll do?” I whispered to Frankie.
    “Boil me in oil… Tear me from limb to limb…”
    “No, really.”
    “Dunno. Pass me the sweets.”
    We needed some comfort after Dad’s earwigging. So we had our own Sleepover mini-feast and told each other jokes. Here are a couple that cheered us up:
    Question: What do you get when you mix a cross witch with ice cubes?
    Answer: A cold spell.
    Question: How do witches drink tea?
    Answer: With a cup and sorcerer.
    And Frankie’s favourite:
    Sign at a Witches’ Demo:
“We demand Sweeping Reforms!”
    You know how you get the giggles after you’ve been in trouble? Well, we did. Big Time. We couldn’t stop. I think we fell asleep laughing, just when the bedroom was beginning to get light again…
    Thank goodness for Frankie.
    My best friend didn’t get boiled in oil, or torn limb from limb, but she got grounded. The whole gang did. No more visits, no more sleepovers, no more fun until next year. Dad said he’ll see if we’re grown up enough for sleepovers by