The Face Painter
"Do you know what a homicidal maniac is?"
"No," said the five-year-old girl.
"I’m very surprised," the woman said, painting polka dots on the kid’s nose. "Everybody knows they help Santa Claus make toys."
"I thought elves did that."
"Elves make all the little toys," the woman assured. "Homicidal maniacs make the big ones."
"Oh."
"Would you like to be a homicidal maniac and make big toys for Santa?"
"Sure," the child said.
"I’ll let Santa know. You’ll hear from him by next week."
The child’s face filled with awe.
"But keep it a secret. If you tell anybody, your tongue will fall out."
"I won’t tell. I promise."
"Good. See this magic whistle? When you hear it, come back, and I’ll give you the biggest, tastiest candy apple in the whole world."
Thrilled, the girl ran off to join the other kids at the church picnic.
A four-year-old boy was next. "Make me look like a tiger."
While painting whiskers, she asked, "Do you know what a zombie is?"
"No."
"I’m surprised. I thought you knew zombies make all the Easter Bunny’s jelly beans."
"They do?"
"Yes. Would you like to be a zombie and make jelly beans?"
"Yeah. When can I do it?"
"I’ll ask the Easter Bunny and let you know."
The little guy was thrilled about jellybeans, magic whistles, and massive candy apples. He tried telling his mom, but she was too busy grilling hamburgers to listen.
The next boy wanted footballs painted on his cheeks.
"You look strong like Jack the Ripper," she said.
"Is he a football player?"
"The best ever. Do you want to be like Jack the Ripper and play in the Super Bowl?"
"For sure!"
She mentioned the candy apple to a very happy child.
"I want little rainbows all over my face," a girl said.
"My, how pretty you are! You remind me of Lizzy Borden."
"Who’s she?"
"The most beautiful model in the world. Wouldn’t it be nice to be like her and always wear beautiful clothes?"
"Oh yes," the girl sighed, glancing at her tawdry, thrift shop dress. Her eyes sparkled when told about the gigantic candy apple.
The last kid asked for butterflies.
Cleaning a brush, the painter asked, "Do you know what a pyromaniac is?"
"A big, scary spider."
"No way. Pyromaniacs are beautiful butterflies that help the Tooth Fairy count teeth children leave under their pillows. Would you like to be a pyromaniac?"
"Oh yes!"
"I’ll tell the Tooth Fairy. Do you like candy apples?"
"I love them."
"When you hear this whistle, come back and I’ll give you a humungous one."
"I’m glad you stumbled onto our church picnic." Pastor Harding said.
"Me too. Who would’ve guessed there’d be such a wonderful picnic grove and lovely church in the middle of nowhere? Something told me to stop and paint the children’s faces."
"I’m glad you followed the promptings of your charitable heart. I’m sure everyone here appreciates your delightful artistry. Be sure to eat before you go. Try my wife’s fried chicken. It’s to die for."
Heading for her car, the painter removed a large box, and carried it to the farthest edge of the picnic grounds.
When she blew her whistle, twenty painted faces scrambled toward her.
"Form a circle around me," she said.
Reaching into the box, she removed cantaloupe-sized candy apples. The wide-eyed children could hardly contain their excitement.
"Don’t take a bite until I give the signal, or your teeth will fall out."
The kids giggled.
"Will the girl who looks like Lizzie Borden take this brush and paint a magic circle around us? It’ll make the candy apples taste even better."
When the circle was finished, the painter hollered, "Is everybody ready?"
"Yeah," the kids yelled, jumping up and down.
"Here goes. Three. Two. One. Eat!"
After one bite, the kids shuddered and dropped their apples. When the last apple hit the ground, the painter said, "Now, let’s get down to business. Who wanted to be a homicidal maniac?"
"Me," said a girl.
The painter removed a loaded pistol from the box and gave it to the girl.
"Who wanted to be like Jack the Ripper?"
The boy who raised his hand received a steel glove with razor-sharp claws. Lizzy Borden received an axe, the pyromaniac a Molotov cocktail. All twenty children were given appropriate implements to augment their new, destructive personas.
When the picnickers saw a bunch of yelling kids rushing toward them, they figured the children were having a highly spirited race. Amusement changed to disbelief when the homicidal maniac shot her parents right between the eyes.
Pastor Harding tried to intercept the pyromaniac racing toward the church with a Molotov cocktail, but Lizzy Borden tripped the pastor and raised her axe.
"Wait!" the painter yelled. "Leave him for me!"
"Why are you doing this?" Harding cried out.
"Because of the horrible autopsy."
"My father did it. But he’s dead. I can’t be held responsible for what my father was ordered to do at Roswell."
"Your bible says the sins of fathers are passed to their sons. Your father sinned when he strapped the alien to an autopsy table, and cut him to pieces while he was still alive. What your monstrous father did to the alien, I’m going to do to you."
The pastor shrieked when a scalpel slashed his chest.
While the face painter carved Harding, Lizzie Borden hacked everyone in her path, a zombie strangled an old man in a wheel chair, and Jack the Ripper tore the throats of women grilling hamburgers. The church blazed while raging werewolves and ghouls attacked with demonic force.
When the young attackers ran out of victims, they turned on each other. Within minutes 157 people were massacred.
The painter photographed the horrendous carnage from various angles. Once home, she’d use the images to paint life-sized canvases for the amusement of relatives.
Facing Mars with outstretched arms, she roared, "You are finally avenged, Father.