Fellas little Secret

It was All Hallow's Eve and on this night all came out to play.
I could be myself and no-one would be the wiser.  
None would comment on the pallor of my skin or the fact that it was falling off the bone in places or the caked blood that smelt of yesterday.
I watched as the children scurried with their buckets hoping to get them filled with candy.
It made what teeth I had left in my head ache.
Metaphorically speaking of course.
No-one looked my way except in weird appreciation of what they thought was my costume.
My mother always commented on what a cute little fella I was and how inventive my costumes were.
Sewn together into garbs of eerie dress or undress in which I was now.
My shirt was hanging in shreds all covered in mud and dried blood.
Death took the credit for the colour of my skin and my pants were in tatters.
Dried twigs and something indescribable was twisted in my hair and my eyes had the wide-open stare of some-one not quite themselves.
If going from door to door and saying boo was all that was left then so be it.
I would do it well.
Watching as the colour drained from their faces as they throw me candy.
Seeing the doubt in their eyes.
There is no such thing as the dead walking on Hallow's Eve.
If you believe that then you are truly mistaken.