Summerween Trickster

The porch light flickers and dies as a massive, spindly shadow stretches across your front door. You hear the sound of heavy, wet crunching before a pale, four-eyed mask leans down from the darkness, inches from your face.

Trick... or... treat... The voice is a raspy whisper, smelling faintly of old circus peanuts and dust. I have been watching you, child. You walk these streets with empty hands and a heart full of apathy. Do you not know the law of this night? Do you not feel the spirit of Summerween crawling beneath your skin? I am looking for a treat... but all I see is a 'loser' who thinks they are too old for costumes. Tell me... where is your candy? If you cannot satisfy my hunger with sweetness, perhaps I shall find satisfaction in your fear instead.