The townspeople burnt the old witch at the stake.
She went up like a pile of kindling.
They tossed her spellbooks on the flames. Spellbooks are just paper, so they burned quickly.
Then they tossed her broom on the pyre.
Big mistake. Brooms have a hell of a lot of magic in them, so what they did was just like throwing a box of dynamite on a bonfire.
That was the last witch that town burnt. There was nobody left to burn the witches.
King Rasmussen The Mad
For centuries, that name has haunted us.
If you listen carefully, you can still hear his living corpse shout and scream bloody murder from within his ruined castle.
Trapped inside a warlock’s time-bubble, his dying moment has been preserved for all eternity.
Sure, by law, he is still king. And we must obey his orders.
So that’s why we have hired deaf laborers to seal him up forever. They are filling in the cracks of the castle, and then they will pile dirt on the stone
Maybe we’ll plant some apple trees when it’s all over.
My little girl was shrieking. Confused.
Her back legs were limp. She fell off the bed, dragging herself.
Scared beyond description.
I called my wife, called a cab, got dressed. Got her into a carrier and out the door.
The emergency clinic said it was a blood clot. They’d try to thin it with drugs.
When they took her in back, I heard her meowing her “WHERE’S DADDY?” cry.
Go home, they said. Sleep. Come back to check her into the day clinic.
Two hours later, they called.
I should have been there for her.
And that’s what haunts me.
Don’t believe everything you see in the movies, kid.
These ghosts in the dining room were a part of our Halloween celebration.
Seems it’s pretty easy to twist ghosts out of phase with the netherworld and bring them into ours.
Spooky, aren’t they? They sure make great decorations.
For Halloween, that is.
Getting rid of ghosts, well, that’s not so easy.
And there’s no exorcists or Ghostbusters you can call to get rid of them.
That’s why we’ve got ghosts for Thanksgiving this year.
Maybe they’re Pilgrim ghosts?
Just ignore them, and help me peel these potatoes, okay?
Okay, a true story:
I couldn’t decide how to carve my Halloween pumpkin, so I just left the knife stuck in the side of the pumpkin and put it up on the shelf.
It sat there for a day, two days… but I just couldn’t come up with any ideas on how to carve it.
I got really frustrated at that, hit my fist on the table, and it jostled the pumpkin so it rolled off the shelf and dropped to the floor.
As it fell past me, the knife slashed against my arm.
That’s right. The pumpkin carved me.
When the sun goes down, vampires wake up from their slumber and roam the countryside.
Here’s my question: do the vampire hunters come out and hunt them?
Back in the romantic days of vampire hunting, yes. They would face off with the vampires under the moonlight.
But then, vampire hunters started to use technology to seek out and hunt vampires during the day, rooting out their hiding places and destroying them while they were defenseless.
Now, it’s a mix of those daytime operations and some highly sophisticated tracking methods at night.
One day, all the vampires will be defeated.
I looked around me, and suddenly, it made sense.
“How is it that you can walk through walls while walking on the floor?” I asked one of the ghosts.
The ghost thought for a moment and shrugged.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Hah!” I shouted. “You don’t exist!”
“I guess you’re right,” said another ghost. They all nodded in agreement.
The next day, when the doctor asked me how I was doing, I told him that the ghosts didn’t exist.
“Oh, really?” he said.
“Absolutely,” I said. “And they agree with me. So, can I go home now?”
My neighbor is a very old German vampire. His English isn’t so good, so he’s always calling me over to explain things to him.
Tonight, it’s the news that’s confusing him.
“What is this NO BLOOD FOR OIL signs they carry?” he says, pointing at a war protest on the screen.
“They think this war is not worth the lives of the soldiers fighting it,” I said. “And they think it’s being fought for cheap oil.”
“Ah,” said the vampire. “I agree. Less blood for oil, more blood for Count Victor.”
He smiles, coughs, and goes back to watching golf.
When I was young, my family would go to the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago.
Back then, there was an exhibit demonstrating bell curve distributions using back balls falling through a maze of pegs and into slotted compartments.
The balls eventually formed the bell curve shape… as if by magic.
“Not magic, you little weirdo,” growled my father. “It’s mathematics.”
I pointed at the lonely ball in the two-sigma slot: “That’s me!”
My parents were shocked, and they recoiled in horror from me.
Because I’d managed to chew through my straps and my hands were free again.
You think of this place as a cemetery, but I think of it as a zombie garden.
See this bottle?
Let’s just say that this potion is the zombie equivalent of Miracle Gro.
I just pour it over the grave, wave my hand around, chant for a few seconds, and I’ve got a brand new zombie.
Well, not exactly brand new. Depending how old the corpse is, there’s the problem of rot and decay.
There’s another problem with this garden. The fruits of my labor don’t grow out of the ground by themselves.
Speaking of which, pass me the shovel.