A pumpkin lives but once a year
when someone sets its soul afire
and on that night it stirs up fear
until its flame is snuffed.
But e'en one night of eerie light is fright enough.

Treats and tricks.
Witch broomsticks.
Jack-o-lanterns
Lick their lips.

Crows and cats.
Vampire bats.
Capes and fangs
And pointed hats.

Werewolves howl.
Phantoms prowl.
Halloween’s
Upon us now.

On Hallows Eve, we witches meet
to broil and bubble tasty treats
like goblin thumbs with venom dip,
crisp bat wings, and fried fingertips.

We bake the loudest cackle crunch,
and brew the thickest quagmire punch.
Delicious are the rotting flies
when sprinkled over spider pies.

And, my oh my, the ogre brains
all scrambled up with wolf remains!
But what I love the most, it’s true,
are festered boils mixed in stew.

They cook up oh so tenderly.
It goes quite well with mugwort tea.
So, don’t be shy; the cauldron’s hot.
Jump in! We witches eat a lot!

I squinted at the western sky behind Thaddeus, a blood-red smear melting into blackness. Twisting my neck, I glanced the opposite direction. My teeth clenched at a magnified, round moon nearly as scarlet as the portending sunset, its luminous face half masked by hazy cloud cover. Hatred, vengeance, anger……such emotions coursed through my veins in a poisonous concoction that muddied my mind, impelling me to grip my sword tighter and fight with every ounce of strength I possessed against those who threatened my family - my kind. Currently, Thaddeus was behaving as such a threat, using his powers of persuasion to condone human sacrifice for some outrageously perceived good. He wanted an offering for the monsters; a desperate, futile offering of human flesh that would in no way protect the other villagers from being mauled as he promised.

A red-cape game of retribution is dangerous when a fresh bull with bigger horns waits in the shadows.

Enemies may unite to eliminate a common threat, but never without a wary eye fixed on their ally.