Well, it's that time of year again. I've been dragged out from underneath the house and put into a false grave in their front lawn. Forty years! Forty years they've done this to me! Not to be corny, but these old bones are tired. My only remaining wish is to be put to rest. All of the pain and seething itch for revenge has faded. I don't even remember how I died anymore. Time has made me aware that I am no longer supposed to be among the living. My place is with the dead.
Ah, here they come already. Witches, ghouls, zombies, goblins, princesses, heroes, bloody ghosts. Donkeys the lot of them! How dare they mock death. How dare they curse us damned with joy on their faces. Wait, just wait. They're young now, sure. No aching bones or wrinkly faces, but youth is not everlasting. Sooner or later they will all join me down here in the dirt. They will rue these days when they mocked eternity.
The lucky among them will have a proper burial. Be put to rest in a comfortable casket surrounded by graves of their peers. Not me though. No, not me. I am forsaken to be disturbed every year from my eternal slumber. To be ripped from the ground beneath this accursed house and put on display for all to see. My body long rotted away, my bones are all that remain. To be ogled at by many passersby. "Oh how realistic their decorations are." They'll say. If only they knew my suffering. Scorched by the sun, frozen by the snow, desecrated by dogs, pelted with cut grass. This is my burden.
Perhaps one day I will finally rest. Maybe one of those mutts will take me away and bury me. Bury me and forget I was even there so that I may cease. Not the dignified burial I hoped for but it will suffice. That would be infinitely better than this current hell. At least my yearly suffering is almost at an end. Though I know my eleven months of rest will pass in the blink of an eye it is still much needed. Until next year you scoundrels. I bid you a not at all happy Halloween.
