The children ran from house to house. Faces decorated in monsters that hadn’t been in movies in decades. Parents waited by the street, a few dry coughs and chuckles. Someone had a glass of wine. A funny thing apparently. The houses were brick and tall, like castles with skin rashes, and the children kept thronging the doors in the dark. Coughing. Little wet wheezes, like an exchange of breath for candy. The parents laughed harder now. The wine glass was left in a bush. Who saw Werewolves or Mummies except in cheap costume stores? But there they were, heads bouncing against little fists. The parents laughed and laughed, wilting onto the pavement, not even pausing as they spat blood aloud. In what movie did you ever see Frankenstein or Dracula lying haphazardly on the lawn? The parents thought it was the funniest thing.