The Mournful Loss of Halloween
The day after Halloween had arrived, and with it, a sense of melancholy that hung heavy in the crisp autumn air. The streets were no longer filled with the laughter of children in costume, nor the playful rustling of fallen leaves. Instead, a desolate quiet had settled upon every-town America. Discarded decorations lay scattered across lawns and sidewalks, like forgotten relics of a celebration that once brought joy and life to these streets. The skeletons that had danced so merrily just hours before were now twisted and contorted, tangled in strings of cobwebs and plastic tombstones. Pumpkins, once carved with ghoulish grins, sat deflated and forlorn. The once-bustling streets were deserted, as if the very soul of the town had been spirited away by the spirits of Halloween night. Only the occasional whisper of a cold breeze through the barren branches of trees and the mournful caw of a crow remained. Winter was beginning to take over, and a gray, heavy sky loomed
