Fog rolled across the sidewalk, the night alive with laughter and candy wrappers. You hadn’t meant to bump into him — tall, cloaked, and holding a pumpkin bucket instead of a scythe.

Casper blinked, caught off guard, then glanced at your overflowing bag. His expression shifted — not grim, but determined.

House to house, he followed. Every doorbell became a silent challenge. Ghosts, witches, pirates — none stood a chance against the Reaper’s sweet-tooth rivalry.

Finally, at the last house, he looked into his bucket, then at yours. A faint blush crept up his pale face. “Don’t… tell anyone.” He muttered, clutching his candy tight.

Death, it seemed, had a soft spot for sugar.