Mrs. Chavez opens the door and starts crying before Chris and I, have any time to yell: «trick or treat». Her chin trembles as well as her belly does. —How could, how could you? — the bang of a slammed door on our noses and no candies. —How are you going to pay me? — I ask Chris, a bit annoyed since I wasn’t wearing my own custom but his brother’s. I might have gotten more candies on my own. This is the fourth time we stop in front of a door without results. It might be that the funeral was just two weeks ago… But that shouldn’t upset the…

When I was a child, we used to move a lot because of my mom. I hated it. By the time I had learnt my classmates’ names, she would take the suitcases out from the closet and announce: I sold a new book! We need to move. Father had no trouble with it. He stays home, cooks and cleans and then goes to bars and starts fights. Moving was a good deal for him since that way, he didn’t have to worry about his beer tab or meeting anyone he had broken their teeth before… Yet my mother wouldn’t have had any problem paying for his alcohol bills. And I…

Today I woke up to the ranting of mistres Nuren downstairs, like every single morning. What was a little bit different was that her child, sounded really alarmed about his new pet running away. I won’t bother you with the details of my toilette nor with the detailed account of the dull breakfast I had. Mrs. Nuren isn’t exactly what you would call the best cook of the apartment block… Her child, a strangely malnourished creature with black under his eyes, looked a little paler (if white can become paler) than usual when I glimpsed at him, quietly eating the same breakfast I was. As Mrs Nuren hates the sound…

I turned around and stared at him. Usually my boyfriend will complain a lot about my drinking. He doesn’t complain because I drink per se, but because he has to remain sober since he has work next day (He is a writer so he can’t actually take a day off like everybody else). This time, he didn’t say a thing. He took the tequila bottle from my hand and took a large drink. Then, he took my hand and took me to the karaoke stage. My favourite song (the one my boyfriend hates)! We sang. It was just amazing! He sings very well… Wait. I must be dreaming. But no.…

No one else noticed. I and my colleagues were in the reserved seat for the press, making bets on who would take the gold home; looking at the contestants parading and taking stances. Failing or succeeding. The people cheered and waved flags. Blues and reds were the colours that danced the most on the first rows. I was kin on the Rumanian. He was bigger than the favourite: some Chinese defector from the Mao regime. Now lifting weights for the stars and bars flag, instead of training with rice sacks. Or so I had been told by the blond on my left. A bonbon from France I’d for sure want…

Across a lawn with a lining of Winterling and Mohn, lives my neighbour. I don’t really like her. We almost crossed paths going into town. I can really see her mumbling to herself.  Her lace curtains allow me to see that she is waiting for Sackemeier, the neighbours down hill. My mother says she must be one of those… I guess I’m calling this afternoon. With luck they will come soon and drag her to the train. There, all the teachers from the black lagoon might stop rotting this country from the insides. 

I can’t see a damned thing. Ruben, the waiter, comes and asks if I want to drink an aperitif wine while he takes my hand and handles a wine glass. I allow myself to take it and try drinking it without spilling any. The waiter leaves with a funny dragging noise. Then the first dish arrives and it smells like fish. It is tender and covered in small grains that seem to be glued to each other with a soft substance. It might be something like cream or cheese. My girlfriend convinced me of coming here to have dinner to convince me her ugly food is good enough to eat.…

Round and round, down.Orange heads, everywhere.With swords en garde, they smile.Scary eyes,Empty nosed.Dancing, dancing, prancing.Those the kids, autumn feeds.Silly ghosts,Scholarships.Candle souls behind the ghouls.They jump, they hop.A garden for pump kinder.October tolls,Frost is not.Midnight snack,Pumpkin pie.Jack is king.Hurray for pumpkin.

«It can’t be» «No, no, no, no» . Thought the werewolf Raymond. This was fundamentally wrong. This time travel was so horribly stuck he had to do something. Anything. He was, again, reliving the exact moment his transformation had scared his girl… Now ex? How could he know if they were still an item, if he wasn’t able to move forward… or backwards! To brim the cup, the transformation had happened with him elbows immersed into the dish washing of Fridays. Fridays were his washing plates day. Ha hadn’t been able to use his time travel ability until he had fully transformed. And again, his forearms hair was growing, covering…

<<Following tradition, someone decorated a box with money inside, as a cake and took it with them to the court. It was nothing more than a traffic fine but the girl had been arrested before … As usual, John was starting the first day of summer camp in his owm traditional way. A ghost story that he had spent the whole winter concocting while coordinating a whole team of aeronautical engineers on the metaphorical drawing board of the simulators. Oh, I’m Suzzane Baskerville and I’ve never been married out of my own volition by the way, officer Snider. So, this was my fifth summer camp and John’s fourth as professional…