Behind the smile,
the tall man hid in shadow. 
They could see his eyes now,
small pinpoints of green fire 
in little charred pits of sockets,
looking out at them.

"Well," said Tom.
"Er--trick or treat?"

"Trick?" 
said the smile in the dark.
"Treat?"

"Yes, sir."

The wind played a flute
in a chimney somewhere;
an old song about time
and dark and far places.
The tall man shut up his smile
like a bright pocketknife.

"No treats," he said. "Only--trick!"

The door slammed !