A Jack O’Lantern’s face,
carved with a terrible
sneering leer, quivers
and shimmies from the
backlit flicker of a candle’s
The steps are damp with
the autumn leaf harvest
and a light chilling misty rain
falls. The plastic black cat, locked
in a perpetual scowling hunch,
is the warning.
A skeleton, hung on the door,
hollowed eyes staring vacantly
at the approaching ghouls and
goblins, a toothy yet goofy,
grin on its bony skull, but
ready to chomp on the cowardly few.
The orange lights, strung about,
casting a golden hue of Fall on the
small cowboys and ballerinas,
minions and monsters, Elsas and
robots. Each one ready, through their
fear, to shout a familiar phrase said every year.
Night comes quickly and goes
too fast for the seekers of sweets
on All Hallows Eve. Each house is a
challenge, a fright or a bore,
depending on, who comes to the door.
A mommy, a mummy, a monster or Dad,
or no one at all, and that seems bad.
Some houses are scarier than
most, there’s something about them,
that’s evil and morose. Parents avoid them
and babies cry passing by, it’s that
house with the crazies or the one lonely
No tricks, no treats, no decorations to
speak of, just dark and unholy, melancholy
and dismal. It’s broken and tired and left so
alone. But one night a year it fits just right,
as the creepy house on the corner, that’s
somehow always empty but always lit.
Hideous ghosts of the past lurk in
there, creaking the floorboards,
and slamming the doors, they are
envious of your flesh and want it
for their snack. So if I were you,
I’d stay back.
Stick with the carved pumpkin faces,
the jolly psychos and smiling zombies,
the well-lit porches and bowls of candy,
stay clear of the dark house, the one
with the frown, it might swallow you
whole and drag you down.
If you’re brave though, and think it’s all
a fake, there’s nothing to fear, no vampires
to stake. Then by all means go up those
steps, ring the bell and tempt Hell.
You might be the trick, and the treat,
for what dwells inside collecting souls to eat.