The fiercest ghost stories are told by ghosts.
The table is long, set with jack-o-lanterns and countless treats. Come sit, come celebrate, come enjoy the splendor of the Netherworld.
A witch makes a poison snack for her bat and ghost friends.
A ghost revisits its skull then departs.
Halloween came and went — dashing the couple’s hope that their house ghost was simply on some sort of otherworldly vacation.
As the sun rises (or the moon for the nocturnal), a variety of beauty routines sweep the Netherworld as monsters seek to look their best (or worst, or both).
Over the sauce choices, the ghost fretted. “I have a date tonight, you see,” she told a passing witch before asking about her brand preferences.
The intention is to “trap” cartography copycats, enabling the original artist to pin them down with unanswerable questions about the duplicates origins in a court of law.
“De mortuis nil nisi bonum, Atticus,” the ghost said lovingly, kissing my cheek before floating away.
The ghosts tackled Atticus as soon as the door was open more than a crack.