The sun has just gone down, and I am less than breathless with anticipation. The kids haven’t been to my house yet; they are working their way around the block, or so it seems. Fine with me. I don’t care if they ever come.

Everything about them disgusts me: their sticky little fingers, their hot candy breath as their peer hopefully in my house’s windows.

My neighbor feels the same way as I do, I know. All of us do. The kids have no respect for us; we are just an instrument, a portal to the candy. The push us around without any regard for our feelings. They don’t care if we get hurt, no, oh no! They just grab their candy, and run off, yelling a hasty “HAPPY HALLOWEEN!” as they retreat.

I see one coming now, skipping up the steps. She is dressed as a witch, how original. She arrives at the porch, out of breath, and presses me.

I omit my obligatory, “DING DONG!” to alert the homeowner to her presence. The witch gets her candy, runs away, and the cycle begins again.