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I still
The thought of celebrating Halloween brings me feelings of guilt, sadness, and anger.
It started when I was five. Every year, I went trick-or-treating with a group of boys in my neighborhood. I remember us always wearing goofy costumes. We all tried to outdo each other, but one boy named Larry always seemed to have the best one.
Eventually, we all stopped trick-or-treating in favor of Halloween parties; some in the pursuit of girls, and others just wanting to leave the house. Larry, however, trick-or-treated every year right up to our senior year of high school. His costumes regressed far from his childhood standard: they hugged the curves of his acquired fat, bulging in certain places where the fabric
With each year, he also started bathing less. I remember one year in particular where I was handing out candy. He came to the door in slow, deliberate steps. A smile of childlike, expired glee stretched across his lips as he approached me in a stained clown costume.
How he
"What happened?
"
Larry rapaciously grabbed a few pieces of candy out of the orange bowl and left. He carefully inspected the candy, twirling it around in his fingers like it was gold. It bewildered me that other adults were oblivious to his erratic behavior. Not only did his condition sicken me, but it also lead me to a grim realization.
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Twenty years later, I saw him again.
By this time,
"
His eyes said it all. As he twiddled his thumbs and stared at me with blank eyes, I knew his expression was none other than that of a madman. Suddenly, he jerked the candy bowl out of my hands. Instead of asking for my bowl, I watched him walk away. He examined the candy the same way he did twenty years earlier, turning over each piece and smiling in awe of his find. That night, I decided to do something no other mentally stable man would try.
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The path I followed was clear. Only when I approached the building did I begin to fathom the scale of horror that Larry had been living in.
Skimpy branches of wood served as weak supports to his haphazardly constructed shelter. His lopsided roof and walls were filled with what appeared to
Dirty porcelain dolls sat in miniature chairs on the floor. A train set was scattered about, along with an assortment of toys for young children. My flashlight was the only way I could visibly navigate the makeshift house. I was about to leave when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a hole with a ladder. After climbing down, I crawled through a dark tunnel.
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Further along down the trail, I noticed the bodies of the kids began to change. Certain parts of their faces were composed entirely of chocolate or hard candy. When I touched them, they didn't move; it was almost as if the candy had become bound with their bodies. Soon, I reached a clearing and saw Larry.
He was eating candy out of one of the
"
I never ran so fast from a place in my life. Luckily,
{{by-cpwuser|Dubiousdugong
[[Category:Deletion Log Refugees]]
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