My Name was Supposed to be Elizabeth Ann

Outside, monsters roam.

They won’t hurt you, bud. 

Behind his mask, curiosity battles fear. How come?

Magic, she says, sidekick to his cartoon hero. Kneeling, she steps his feet into leggings, arranges a cape about his shoulders and goblets on a table. Their cream faces blush dull orange as she pours. 

How’d you– 

Witches’ secret. Drink up. 

He slurps like a cat.  

Slowly, bud.  Trick-or-treat’s just started. The spell needs time to work.

Two weeks, Doc said three weeks ago.

*****