One day a year. As the tenth month dies,
and the winter is well on its way.
A cold wind blows, rustling leaves across the sky.
Causing scarecrows to dance and to sway.

This is my night, one I wish for the most.
After waiting long days and dull weeks.
With the moon rising high on this cold New England coast.
Casting shadows to frighten the meek.

My kitchen is ready, filled with delicious foul things,
that would turn the stomachs of man.
But one thing is missing that this evening will bring.
A final piece to complete my devious plan.

They come to my door dressed in costumes quite grand,
making mock of the heritage I hold dear.
Carrying bags full of sweets clutched in fat little hands.
Laughing joyfully as they draw near.

"She is rumored a witch!"They whisper and call
as they step up to my welcoming door.
But I bat not an eye and my smile doesn't fall,
betraying nothing that I have in store.

Catching is simple. One just lures them in,
with a well placed spell here and there.
I take but a few. Then the real fun begins
as I kill, cook, and leave nothing to spare.

Though the night is long the dawn soon draws nigh,
and the work is finally through.
My pantry is full and the magic is high,
as the day of all saints starts anew.

The children will be mourned, but they'll soon forget.
Of that I make carefully sure.
Still the stories will be told, the legend won't quit,
and the fear will still taint the pure.