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My name is Alphert, and in 2000, I volunteered to sort our town's old archives. I found a box labeled "The Halloween Incident of 1915." Inside was a journal belonging to old Mr. Walter, the recluse everyone said had lured and killed children. The town executed him after finding "bloody" candy and children's clothes in his cellar.

But his journal told a different story. He was a child psychologist, documenting a local child abduction ring. He suspected the ringleader was someone everyone trusted. The "bloody" candies were his homemade props, filled with red syrup, meant to startle predators and attract help.

The final entry chilled me: he was close to exposing the leader. The official report declaring him guilty was signed by the Sheriff.

I looked out the window. The annual Halloween parade was starting. There, handing out candy to children, was the Sheriff's grandson—our current, beloved Mayor. He sat in the same spot, with the same smile, offering sweets from a large wicker basket. My blood ran cold. The tradition never ended.
 
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