万圣节的夜晚
夜色如月光般温柔地笼罩着大地。四周only a faint glow of light. The air was thick with the scent of moonlight and evening air.
The haunting sounds began to fill the air, revving up their rhythm like gears turning in unison. The music could be heard far away, echoing through the hollow rooms. And then, as it repeated again and again, it seemed to know that "鬼" would emerge suddenly—someone from another world—or perhaps even itself—leaving before it could ever see.
But this was a dark song. The night we'd heard so long ago. It was the theme of this year's万圣节, where南瓜 and骷髅 took center stage, and anyone who looked more faceless than ordinary would emerge victorious.
We had hoped to make them all nervous: that is, for them to be afraid. For fear that they would not find solace in this dark, chaotic dance we'd known so long ago.
But even as we ourselves were prone to get up in the moment of fear, we wanted to play along. We wanted to keep the chaos moving, the uncertainty alive, and just let it dance to the beat we knew so well.
And yet, we knew that when it came time to slow down—when the kids joined in—the line would be longer than the night itself. But we'd never seen anyone too scared of being too long.
