Chapter Fifteen - The Year is Dying

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Year is Dying

THE LEAVES ARE gone.
The candy’s been picked over.
The masks are crumpled at the bottom of the bag.

And just like that, Halloween slips into silence.

But the feeling lingers.

Not the costumes. Not the parties.
Something deeper.

That strange, still ache in the air.
The way the sky turns copper earlier and earlier.
The smell of smoke. The sound of nothing.
The sense that something has passed.

Because it has.

Halloween isn’t just a holiday. It’s a threshold.
It’s the final laugh before winter.
The last dance before the lights go out.

It’s not about death.
It’s about the awareness of it.
The closeness. The beauty. The honesty.

Every year, this season reminds us:
We are made of time.
And time is running out.

The world curls inward.
The trees exhale.
The soil waits.

And we light a pumpkin—not just to scare the dark,
but to honor it.

To say:
We see you.
We’re not afraid.
Not tonight.

So when you feel it again next year—
that chill in your spine,
that twinge of memory,
that craving for something strange and flickering—

Don’t fight it.

That’s the spirit calling you home.

See you next October.