It was Halloween, and I had just handed candy out to a dinosaur and a ghost. The candy bowl was still pretty much full, but it was getting late. I decided to turn my porch light off.

I flicked the switch to the off position and locked my door. I turned and saw the picture framed of my brother. He was seven in the photo.

He always tells me his favorite candy was M&Ms. (I had asked him why once and he told me it was because of the colors. He always has liked bright colors.) I walked over to the kitchen counter and put a small pack of them out for him.

I was just sitting down when I heard a knock on the door, then even the doorbell. I grumbled to myself. Stupid kids going to houses with the lights off. It was almost greedy of them, trying to get the most candy.

I was just in a salty mood I suppose. I grabbed the bowl of candy, however, because I didn’t want to turn down a kid on Halloween.

I opened the front door and a small skeleton by himself greeted me. It was clear to be a handmade costume, because it was just black clothing with white rectangles glued on like a ribcage.

I smiled politely, though I was annoyed.

“Trick or treat,” the kid said. He had a high voice, and his face was covered in a somewhat funny skull mask.

I held the bowl out for him. He took the mask off to look around better. The whole time he grabbed through it he just stared at me, almost through my eyes. I held eye contact grudgingly.

His face showed no emotion, but seemed to take amusement in my discomfort.

He finally took a candy after at least ten seconds of staring through me and set it gingerly in his bright orange pumpkin bag. He giggled.

The skeleton finally turned and left.

I sighed; how could such a short interaction with a kid cause so much anxiety?!

I thought he was gone but I heard him call out to me. I thought it was a ‘Happy Halloween’ or something at first. It was not.

“I don’t want to go.”

What a strange thing to say. He’s clearly giddy at leaving, to get more candy.

Suddenly I turned pale. I knew those words.

Those were the last things my brother had ever said.

~

Short story by Lena Nielsen (’25).