Trick or treat, bitch?

Happy Halloween to you!   Here I am trying to make a squid, brussel sprout and sweetcorn casserole, and just about to carve out my pumpkin into a ghoulish face, when someone rang the doorbell repeatedly, sounding like a naughty schoolboy trying to pull the bell off the wall.   I don't usually answer the door as I have a natural aversion to Jehovah's Witnesses and travelling double-glazing salesmen, but on this occasion, I was feeling more relaxed thanks to a doubleshot of absinthe.

Last year, trick-or-treaters spray-painted my car with graffiti; therefore, I went to the door armed with pumpkin-shaped white chocolates injected with powerful laxatives.  I flung open the door to see this terrifying vision.  "Oh my fucking God!  Belladonna! Have I gone mad?", I muttered.

"Trick or treat, bitch?" said the ghastly vision in front of me, every bit of it resembling Belladonna, my Russian ex-maid, in every excruciatingly hideous detail.  Months ago, she was last seen floating off into the summer sky on a hot air balloon.   "Get out, bitch!" I shouted and slammed the door ferociously in Belladonna's face and went to search for some silver and holy water.