On the misty night of October 31, a shadowy figure stood by a lamp post, illuminating half of his face. The light shone on his crooked but long nose, his hallowed eyes, and pursed lips. His tall, pointy hat fell over his ears. The man was wearing a dark cloak draped over his shoulders, one that resembled that of a magician’s. On the other end of the street, a young girl, a small child really, held a basket of sweets in her trembling hand. She was the last of the trick or treaters in the neighborhood. No one knew why the little girl was standing there alone, for surely one of the neighbors should have noticed her presence, or her family should have noticed her absence. Perhaps it was because of her dark, black hair against the charcoal sky, or the dull look in her eyes, or her pale skin, or the way she walked silently like the wind. She was an odd girl, for years later, the neighbors still could not remember her name. The girl’s sobs sounded like an echo, but the man by the lamp post heard it. His head swiveled slowly, so that the lamp post no longer betrayed his face. His sharp senses were matched by the girl’s for she caught the slight movement and began to run swiftly and deftly. It seemed as though her tiny feet never hit the pavement. The time it took her to reach the lamp post was so incredible it was hard to believe. The man made no movement, or showed any hints of surprise, but the girl stood on her tippy toes till she was only an inch from his crooked nose. She bared her perfect white teeth and sneered softly -although it might have been the leaves ruffling- “this is no place for a man witch…” The man stared into her expressionless eyes, twirled a thin finger around her smooth lock of black hair and murmured in a mocking manner -though it could have been the tree’s branches this time- “this is no place for a baby witch…” The girl’s lips twitched as she pressed a sweet from her basket into the man’s mouth. A shrill hissing sound came out of her (and it was definitely not the wind this time), and with each sound the man crumbled into pieces the color of carmine. The girl too, slipped away into the shadows… …And every night on Halloween, the neighbors swore they could see specks of dried blood near the lamp post.
