The Skeleton Who Hated Halloween
Morty the Skeleton had one problem — he hated Halloween.
Every year, people dressed like him, made spooky jokes, and hung fake skeletons that looked like cheap imitations. “I’m a person!” Morty complained to his ghost roommate, Sheila. “Well, was a person.”
Sheila shrugged. “Could be worse. They could be wearing fake sheets with eye holes.”
On Halloween night, Morty decided he’d had enough. He marched out of the cemetery, bones clacking indignantly, and went door-to-door.
At the first house, a little girl opened the door. “Cool costume!” she said. “Your bones look so real!”
“They are real!” Morty said. “Look—” He pulled off his own arm for emphasis.
The girl screamed with delight. “Mom! He’s got detachable limbs!”
By the third house, Morty had been invited to three parties, taken about fifty selfies, and accidentally won a costume contest.
As the night ended, he trudged back to the cemetery, glitter stuck in his eye sockets and candy wrappers in his ribcage.
Sheila floated up, smirking. “Rough night, celebrity?”
Morty sighed. “I still hate Halloween.”
Then he grinned — or at least, his skull did. “But I love free candy.”
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