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The Unseen Guest Old Man Hemlock had always said the worst visitors on Halloween weren't the costumed children, but the ones you couldn't see. Ten-year-old Liam never understood what his grandfather meant—until the year the power went out. It began with the lights flickering at precisely 7:03 PM, just as the first groups of princesses and superheroes finished their rounds. Not the normal flicker of a strained grid, but a deliberate, rhythmic pulsing, like a slowing heartbeat. Then total darkness fell over Maple Street, extinguishing the glowing pumpkins and electric skeletons that had decorated the quiet suburb. Liam stood alone in his family's living room, clutching his overflowing candy bucket. His parents had gone to help a neighbor with a fallen tree branch, assured the blackout was temporary. "We'll be right back," they'd promised, flashlights cutting through the oppressive dark. That's when the temperature dropped. It wasn't the cool autumn air—this was a deep, penetrating cold that made his breath form ghostly plumes. The digital clock on the microwave went black, yet the radio in the kitchen suddenly crackled to life, playing a decades-old commercial for a candy factory that had burned down in the 1970s. Knock. Knock. Knock. Three precise raps on the front door. Liam froze. Nobody should be out in this darkness, without flashlights, without voices. The trick-or-treaters had all vanished when the streetlights died. He crept to the window and peered through the slats of the blinds. The porch stood empty, yet the motion sensor light—which shouldn't have been working—suddenly flicked on, illuminating the welcome mat. There, in the center, sat a single piece of candy in faded orange wrapper, the kind his grandfather said they used to give out when he was a boy. Knock. Knock. Knock. The sound came from the back door this time. Liam spun around, his heart hammering against his ribs. The kitchen door's frosted glass showed no silhouette, no shape of any visitor. Yet when he looked again at the floor, another piece of that vintage candy had appeared inside the house, directly beneath the mail slot that hadn't been used in years. "Who's there?" he whispered, his voice trembling. The only response was the radio shifting to a new frequency, a children's choir singing a familiar Halloween rhyme, but with altered lyrics: One for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, and four... to go. Knock. Knock. Knock. This time the sound came from directly above him—from his own bedroom. Terror gripped Liam as he realized what was happening. This wasn't random. The knocks were counting down, moving closer with each round. And with each set of knocks, another piece of that strange candy appeared somewhere in the house—on the staircase, on the kitchen counter, now outside his bedroom door. Three pieces already. He was the fourth. The radio hissed static, then a voice—his grandfather's voice from years ago—whispered clearly: "They take one child every generation, Liam. The ones who are home alone when the lights go out. Don't eat the candy. Don't acknowledge the knocks." But it was too late for warnings. The final knock came not from any door, but from inside his closet. The doorknob began to turn slowly, and Liam watched in paralyzed horror as the fourth and final piece of candy on the floor before him unwrapped itself, the paper peeling back to reveal not chocolate, but what looked like a tiny, wrinkled human tooth. From the darkness of the closet, a small, pale hand emerged, reaching not for Liam, but for the candy bowl he still clutched. The unseen guest had finally arrived to collect what it had come for. ID:bb88888888