A full moon hung stared down, reminding all it was Halloween, as Timmy donned his werewolf costume. With glinting eyes and a bag full of hope, the child ventured out for a night of trick-or-treating, his heart throbbing with anticipation.
Ahead, stood the Old Hobson’s house. Legend told tales of the old man, a wizard with a twisted sense of humor. He’d gone missing, but his house, reputedly haunted, intrigued Timmy.
Summoning his courage, Timmy approached the rundown abode. The door creaked open, inviting him into a dimly lit hall smelling of old wood and mystery. His small hand reached for the candy bowl, gasping at the sudden sound of steps.
Old Hobson’s specter appeared, chuckling at the petrified boy. Raising his phantom hand, he conjured a spectacular shower of candy. He wished Timmy a Happy Halloween and, like smoke, disappeared.
Timmy fled, his bag heavier with candy and his heart with relief. Nobody believed his tale, dismissing it as a Halloween hoax. Time passed but no one ever found Old Hobson.
Next Halloween, as the moon stared down again, Old Hobson’s house was sans the candy bowl. Only a werewolf costume hung on the doorknob – that of the missing Timmy.