This Halloween started like any other: pumpkins glowing on the porch, kids in costumes dashing around the neighborhood, and my own house decorated to the brim. But as the night stretched on and the trick-or-treaters faded, I thought my Halloween was over. That’s when I saw him.
It was nearly midnight when a knock echoed from my front door. Figuring it was the last round of kids, I grabbed a bowl of candy and swung open the door. But instead of a costumed child, I was greeted by a tall figure dressed head to toe in an old-fashioned suit. He wore a dark hat that shadowed his face, and his gloved hands clutched a single, flickering candle. There was no car in sight, no footsteps to explain how he had arrived.
I forced a smile and said, “Trick or treat?” He didn’t answer but raised a hand, pointing behind me. I turned, following his gesture, but there was nothing — just my living room, still and silent. When I looked back to ask what he wanted, he was gone, leaving only the faint scent of candle wax lingering in the air.
Thinking I’d imagined it, I tried to shake off the encounter. But later, as I was locking up for the night, I noticed something chilling on my porch: an old newspaper clipping pinned to my door. The headline read, “Local Man Disappears on Halloween Night, 1923.” My hands shook as I looked at the grainy photo beneath the article — it was a perfect match for the man who had just been at my door.
A cold dread settled in as I read further. The article detailed his strange habit of walking the neighborhood with a candle every Halloween, knocking on doors before vanishing into the night. Supposedly, he was still looking for the home he never returned to.
Needless to say, I didn’t sleep a wink that night. The memory of his silent form at my door still sends chills down my spine, and I can’t help but wonder if next Halloween, he’ll return to knock again, forever searching for a home that no longer exists.