There, that's better. Now, where was I? Oh, yes.

* * *

And each All Hallows' Eve, at the Turn of the Year,
Those costumed as woodsmen instilled the most fear.
And though children from each lighted porchway would spill
Not a one braved that darkened old house on the hill.
Then one year, the woodsman outside hung a light
To assist him in tending his garden at night.
He little suspected the message and greeting
That lamp sent to those who were out trick-or-treating.

They gawked and they whispered. They pointed. They stared.
But no one went close … they were all far too scared.
They filled up their bags at the houses they knew,
Till the porch lights went out as the goodies grew few.
Then homeward they crept down the dark, spooky road,
For down dale and up hill, only one porch light glowed.
But one last sheet-clad youngster still lingered out there,
Her bag full of nothing but cold, empty air.

For although it's unfair, yet it oft doth befall,
That the timidest child receives no treats at all.
Though she bravely trudged on, and her tears hardly showed,
The ghostly child's sobs could be heard down the road.
Yet in the downtrodden, hope often will shimmer,
And this night, on the hill, she espied a small glimmer.
This little ghost saw one last chance to succeed,
And she raced up the hill at an un-ghostlike speed.

She came to the door and stood dabbing her tears,
With a longing outweighing the worst of her fears.
The woodsman was startled by the knock on his door,
For indeed, such a thing had not happened before.
He opened his door just the tiniest bit,
And then gasped! and fell back just as if he'd been hit.
For there on the doorstep, in billowing splendor,
Stood a ghost -- or, at least, a convincing pretender.

* * *

Where has that bottle got to, anyway? Oh, there it is!