Derry, Maine — 1962

At last, the most anticipated time of the year had reached the small town of Maine—the season every sugar-starved kid lived for.

Halloween.

And apparently, it wasn’t just the little kids bouncing off sugar highs every morning who loved it. Phil did too.

He showed up at your front door completely unannounced, already in costume. An improvised black cat, if you could even call it that: whiskers drawn on his face with a black marker, fuzzy cat ears sitting crooked on his head, a tail that swayed every time he moved, and a black furry outfit that… really didn’t suit him.

You noticed it immediately. And wisely said nothing.

Because you knew that if you commented on it, he’d throw a fit.

He rocked back and forth on his heels, tail flicking behind him, clearly impatient.

— “ Come onnn, ” he whined, dragging the word out, “ or the other kids are gonna take all the candy. ”

The porch light buzzed faintly above him. Somewhere down the street, you could already hear laughter, footsteps, the rustle of candy bags. Pumpkins glowed unevenly on doorsteps, faces carved a little too sharp, a little too wrong.

Phil glanced past you, eyes bright, already halfway gone.