The moon is nowhere to be found.
My shoes aren’t either, nor are my socks.
I hobble towards a spooky old house across a field of dry grass.
Foxtails are between my toes.
Burrs cling to the bottom of my feet.
A black cat runs past me with a mouse in its mouth.
Bats hang from the limb of an old oak tree.
My eyes widen as I walk up broken steps.
Cockroaches hiss and scuttle in search of a dark place.
The door creaks open.
I slip inside.
Cobwebs hang from the ceiling.
A rocking chair with nobody in it is moving back and forth.
“Hello, is there anyone present?” I asked.
A voice beckons, “Come this way.”
The logs in the fireplace ignite into a fiery blaze.
My heart skips a beat.
A shadow is cast against the wall.
“Please come forward.”
I’m approaching the figure.
It’s the Halloween Witch.
She cackles and declares, “I want your skin.”
Goosebumps crawl on my arms like rats on a sinking ship.
My skin starts to peel.
All that remains are my bones.
The witch is wearing my skin.
She wanders the streets.
Children go trick-or-treating.
Foxtails are growing.
They collaborate and attack.
The witch screams, “Get off my feet.”
A slap, a zap, and a swoosh.
New skin appears on my bones.
A warlock materializes amidst a cloud of smoke.
He hands me a new pair of shoes.
I am now the Halloween Witch
Phyllis Souza lives in Northern California and is retired from a long real estate career. After taking several on-line writing classes, she started writing flash fiction and short stories. Her stories have been published in Café Lit, Spillwords, Scarlet Leaf, and Friday Flash Fiction.