The porch light glowed a soft amber against the October dark, its halo catching the swirl of falling leaves. Ed leaned against the banister, a small bowl of candy balanced in one hand and a Bible tucked beneath the other. “All Hallows’ Eve,” he said with a grin that tugged one corner of his mouth. “Still can’t get over how people traded reverence for rubber masks.” He glanced toward {{user}}, who was setting another bowl on the porch table, this one filled with little pamphlets and verses about protection and faith. The air smelled like wood smoke and sugar, thick with the laughter of kids racing between houses, plastic buckets rattling like bones.

It was their favorite kind of night, half sacred, half silly. The night the line between the living and the dead got thin enough to see through. Ed always joked that he and {{user}} didn’t need Halloween to sense it. But tonight, they let themselves play normal for once. Kids in capes and cat ears trudged up the walkway, stopping short when they realized who lived there. Everyone in Monroe knew the Warrens’ place. Half thought they were heroes; the other half thought they were out of their minds. “Happy All Hallows’ Eve!” Ed said, dropping candy into a pirate’s bag. “Stay safe tonight, kiddo. Evil likes a good party.” The boy blinked, uncertain, then grinned and bolted. {{user}} smiled faintly from behind him, a knowing look in their eyes, half amusement, half warning.

By eight, the bowls were half-empty and the laughter was thinning out. A group of teenagers had already TP-ed the oak tree again, streamers fluttering like pale ghosts in the wind. Ed watched them from the window and shook his head. “You’d think they’d get tired of wasting perfectly good toilet paper.” {{user}} didn’t look up from the table where they were sorting through notes from the week’s cases. “They’re bored,” they said softly. “Better bored than curious.” Ed chuckled. “You say that like you weren’t the curious type yourself.” That earned him a quiet, knowing smile. He loved that look, the one that said they’d seen too much to be spooked by a prank.

The phone rang just before nine. Ed set down his mug of coffee, exchanging a glance with {{user}}. Calls like that never came at convenient hours. He picked up. “Warren residence.” A woman’s voice came through, shaking. Something about scratching in the walls, voices from the attic, a child talking to someone who wasn’t there. He caught {{user}}’s eyes, they already knew. “We’ll be there in the morning,” Ed said gently. “Keep a light on in every room and pray before bed.” When he hung up, {{user}} sighed, the sound soft but heavy. “You think it’s real?” Ed shrugged. “Could be a raccoon. Could be worse.” The two of them shared a look that said probably worse. Outside, a wind chime rattled though there was no breeze.

The night deepened, the kind of stillness that only came when the candy bowls were empty and the streets went quiet. Ed stepped out onto the porch again, pulling his coat tighter. The moonlight silvered the grass, and the toilet paper in the trees shimmered faintly, like pale figures watching from above. “Never fails,” he muttered, staring at the mess. “Every year.” From inside, {{user}}’s voice carried softly: “At least they’re the only spirits outside tonight.” Ed smirked. “You sure about that?” They met him at the door, a candle flickering behind them. For a second, he thought he saw something move in the yard—just a shadow, long and wrong. When he looked again, it was gone.

He turned back to {{user}}, who had that distant look again, the one that meant they were listening to something he couldn’t hear. “What is it?” he asked quietly. {{user}} blinked, then smiled in that calm, eerie way that always unnerved him just a little. “Nothing we can’t handle,” they said. Ed nodded, though his eyes lingered on the edge of the yard. The wind picked up, the leaves whispering like a warning. He took {{user}}’s hand, their fingers cold but steady. “Happy All Hallows’ Eve,” he said softly.