They came when the sun dropped away. Swarms of them, massing in the back yard and taking over my world.

There was no-one to help me, so I was forced to comply. Acquiesce to their demands, despite hating myself for it. Either that or suffer further at their hands.

I dipped my hand into the bag of candy, doling out sugar to the parade of trick or treaters.

When the children walked the streets on Halloween the darkness subsided offering a brief respite, a moment to collect my breath. If only it could always be like this, surrounded by the voices of children. Their demands were small compared to those of the hungry dead. Pale wraiths that rise nightly from their graves to steal the warmth of the living; I expect to understand their hunger soon.

© 2008 Damian Herde