Every Halloween, on Elm Street, lived Madam Hestia, the town’s enchanting and unpredictable fortuneteller. Her vivid purple house, complete with a screeching bat and black cat, bristled with an aura of mystery. Kids, drawn like bees to honey, often found themselves standing nervously on her doorstep, hard-pressed by curiosity.
One such night, trembling Tommy, the bravest of the brave, dared to knock on her ominous wooden door. The door creaked open and there she stood, eerie and aged with a wicked smile that sent shivers down his spine. “I’ve been expecting you. Come in,” she croaked. The inside was amusingly ordinary, save for the crystal ball that shimmered in the dim room.
Madam Hestia, with her hypnotic voice, started muttering under her breath. Gradually, the room grew colder, the ball brighter until it showcased a horror that made Tommy’s blood run cold. The vision displayed Tommy’s most dreaded thought – him running away, terrified of a…chicken!
“A chicken,” he repeated, sides shaking from uncontrollable laughter, the fear forgotten. What a joke! When he came out, other kids squealed, expecting a frightened Tommy. His laughter echoed down Elm Street. Halloween had never been this hilarical before. And, by the time the rooster’s crow came the next morning, chicken had become the rising phobia in town.