Prologue

PROLOGUE

IT’S COLD, BUT not winter-cold. The wind bites, but it hasn’t drawn blood yet. There’s a softness to the evening — the kind of air that smells like burning leaves, caramel apples, and distant fog machine juice. You step outside, and you know what night it is. The porch lights are orange. The pumpkins are glowing. There’s something in the air — something old, something playful, something just a little wrong.

It’s Halloween.

Not just a day. Not just a holiday. A vibe.
The one night of the year where we pretend we’re not afraid of death by turning it into a game.

Every other day of the year, we flinch at the word. We scrub it from our vocabulary. We cover gray hairs, hide wrinkles, and speak in euphemisms. Passed away. Gone to a better place. No longer with us.

But not tonight.

Tonight we summon the dead.
We dress up as them. We decorate our lawns with corpses and skeletons. We put up fake tombstones like Christmas ornaments. We let our kids knock on strangers’ doors wearing monster masks — and reward them with candy.

It’s morbid. It’s ridiculous. It’s a little suspicious when you really think about it. And yet, it works. It thrills us.

Because Halloween isn’t just about death. It’s about power.
Power over fear.
Power over rules.
Power over identity.

For one night, we get to be whatever we want — the killer, the ghost, the sexy pirate, the banana, the devil, the dead. And we do it surrounded by fake blood and plastic pumpkins, buzzed on sugar and nostalgia, half-aware that this whole thing is ancient and absurd and kind of sacred.

The lights are dim. The year is dying. The shadows are longer than they should be.

You’ve got your costume on.

Now let’s find out how we got here.