Tricky

The crisp, autumn air provides a

background for this parade

of freaks and juggalos.

The night has been planned through many days.

The eve of hallows has brought

to the children of this world, a time for celebration.

Our fear is no longer felt, but

delivered.

Together scaring others helps us

to embrace and confront the fear we could not conquer alone.

The wind picks up suddenly, sensing

the calm night becoming tense.

A flickering street light offers

little assistance in

chasing away the shadows that have come forth tonight.

We feel ice course through our veins

as our souls become a freeza full of chaos.

Our bodies are covered in black

as we slowly make our way down

stairs and onto the sidewalk.

These cloaks are now symbiotic, encompassing us from head to toe,

and feeding off the dread we inspire into others.

The collection of streets is now our playground

and we look for no where in

particular to go.

This place runs rich with frolicking students,

enough to scare for days to come.

I raise my fist

and the rest draw to a halt.

I become the first to

lower the mask unto my furrowed brow.

All follow but two, tattoos covering their faces instead.

A car of young women unwisely interrupts us.

The ballerina is driving as the pumpkin is crying

and the doors are all locked from within.

Just for sport we surround the car,

shake the doors

and scream.

Balling up and hugging one another

the girls cry for salvation as we

laugh our way onto the next batch of victims.

We gather one last time in

a tightly compacted coil,

tensing our muscles and bearing

our fangs

just waiting to strike.

We begin to hellishly chant

in an intensifying rhythm that is

as sickeningly compelling as an auto accident,

fascinating in its own

morbid way.

An ear-piercing shriek cuts through the

October air, awakening the true creatures

of the night.

Our group is no longer limited to eight

but is now the embodiment of all that is Halloween.

We no longer dance,

We no longer shriek,

But the hoods do little to hide our veneer of terror.

Once again we march in silence.