Cindy Xin
Block 3
Halloween is Haunted by Human Hearts 688w
In a cold October day, drops of rain snuck into the shabby shelter of the Jones’ through the holes on the roof, but no one in the room seemed to have the mood to bother it.
The villagers starred at the dirty little child who stuffed herself in a safe corner and her only beloved- a loving grandmother who’s no longer breathing each with guilt, and that was all. Soon, they hurriedly ended their visit and exited the empty ruin with lithe steps despite the weights of the booties on them from the savage robbery.
Sky continued his mourning cry while all the doors in the village was shut to block the grief away from their joyous occasion. A hunchbacked man slowly hobbled on the rough, narrow road. Sometime, he stopped. He took a step into the room and his keen eyes glanced around. Not a second he took, his sight captured the tiny shivery girl by the corner. He raised a warm, cordial smile and kneeled down.
“Hey, are you alright?” He asked with sincere.
She didn’t answer, but her dull eyes moved, transferred her blurry sight to the man. She knew him, he was a rich, successful merchant who spent most of his time travelling to far places- he traded a lot of things with others.
“Poor Child,” he sighed, “guess you need some treat to wake yourself up from this distortion of humanity.” He continued, “You know the forest in the north? I promise you will find lots and lots of delicious food there.” Then, he turned around and left her a demagogic chuckle.
Her eyes enlightened a little when he said “food”- she couldn’t bear any more of the “growling”. Her hunger made her lose her mind, forgetting the hearsay of that the wicked woods in the shady north was haunted; not a single child could return to the village. She threw all of her disappointment, pain, and hatred to the back of her head. Then, she went.
Crowds of aging trees stood high as if they were supporting the lifeless sky preventing its fall. Although her sight was limited by the gloom, she could tell that it was different as what she was told from the horror stories- no fog, no dreadful sound, it was all as natural as the amiable wooden cabin that was planted not far from the entrance.
Motivated by the enticing scent of meat, she pulled herself toward the cabin and “creak,” opened the door. Inside, there was nothing else than a table that was covered with a snowy white table-cloth, trimmed with white lace, on which stood a splendid dinner service and a steaming roast duck, stuffed with apples and dried plums.