Pooky Night

Yes, it's time to worship at the altar of the stuffed corpse of Garfield's mute teddy bear. The gates have opened, gosh darn it, and goblin freedom awaits. "Oíche Shamhna!", they shout, or something equally as unintelligible and chavy. Stupid, clammy eyes watch the multitude of masks and cloaks flood the countryside. Their dirty hands feel along the walls, listening for the hurried footsteps further up the steep incline. They follow closely behind. Frightwigs on eager chins are placated by treaty shapes. No need for photos. Small ones drown happily as the unhelpful apples escape the clutches of their teeth. The roaring floods give chase. Don't forget to wave or you will be as dead as the spotted ivy leaf tells you. No chance of escape.