The Ghosts Of Halloween

Halloween / 2026 Observing the life of my neighborhood had become a sort of hobby for me; I'd watched it go downhill, studied it's decay. The Covid attacks, the aftermath, had brought the bums out of hiding, like rats escaping a flooded sewer pipe. Our government, in all of their wit and wisdom, had finally brought our country to it's knees, at least physically and financially, anyway. Which had been enough in the end. Then came the bums. Or whatever in the hell they were. They were always there, sliding through the darkness like black oil through water. Or blood. They were always there, jabbering unintelligible nonsense or whispering amongst themselves or congregating in small groups and sniffing the air like a pack of bloodhounds. Torn and grimy fingers, filthy skin, tattered clothes. Their eyelids dark and greasy, the eyes dead and empty. I saw the faces of the bums, waving at me with their grimy fingers and smiling at me with their unshaven, greasy jowls. The skanky women with dark eyes beckoned, the stoic men with their oily hair and heavy smell gesturing invitingly. I recognized one of them; a man who used to live only two houses down. He used to be rich. Just like I, myself, used to be normal. I rolled over and went back to sleep. But not for long. Just like the bums, the ghosts, too, would be coming out soon...