I am Perkins, a black cat of respectable size, possessed of green eyes. I dwell with my mistress, whom I have long suspected of being a witch.
Indeed, I have seen sufficient evidence to establish the matter beyond reasonable doubt.
She commandeth the warlock in the house to follow her lead.
She causeth the cool wind from Scotland to blow through a machine.
She hath a small shining object that she carries everywhere and consulteth with great seriousness.
This day, however, the witchcraft was worse than usual.
For my mistress and her family began preparing the house for All Hallows’ Eve.
I first became suspicious when the witch entered a storage chamber and emerged bearing a large box.
She set it upon the floor.
I approached.
She opened it.
I peered inside.
Skeletons.
Several of them.
I immediately retreated beneath a chair.
The witch lifted one by its arm.
It dangled lifelessly.
“Perkins,” she said, “look what I found!”
I did look.
I regretted looking.
The witch carried the skeleton into the sitting room and set it on a chair as though it were an entirely ordinary thing to do.
I watched from beneath the table.
The skeleton watched nothing, for it had no eyes.
This did not reassure me.
The family then began bringing forth other curious objects.
Black cloth.
Plastic spiders.
Ghosts.
Bats.
A great number of skulls.
I have concluded that modern witches possess an unhealthy fascination with death.
Then came the pumpkins.
The family placed several large orange pumpkins upon the table.
I approached one and sniffed it.
Pumpkin.
Harmless.
At last, something sensible.
Then the witch took a knife.
I backed away.
She cut the pumpkin open.
The family gathered around.
They scooped out its insides.
The pumpkin was hollowed like a corpse.
Then they began carving a face into it.
Two eyes.
A nose.
A terrible grin.
I stared.
The pumpkin stared back.
“Perkins,” said the witch, “come see!”
I did not come see.
I have lived long enough to know that when a witch invites you to inspect an object she has just carved a face into, the prudent course is to remain several feet away.
But then she placed a tiny light inside the pumpkin.
She touched it.
The pumpkin glowed.
I fled.
I ran behind the soft bench and peered around its edge.
The family laughed.
I remained hidden.
There is nothing humorous about an illuminated pumpkin.
It is clearly enchanted.
When I was certain it would not attack, I returned to the room.
The pumpkin was still glowing.
I watched it carefully.
It did not move.
Perhaps it was waiting.
I would be waiting too, were I an evil pumpkin.
Next came the long cord.
She hung it around the room.
Then she commanded it to glow.
I jumped straight into the air.
The witch merely smiled.
“Pretty, isn't it?”
No.
It was terrifying.
I examined the cord.
There was no obvious source of magic.
This, of course, made it more magical.
The family continued decorating.
A ghost was hung from the ceiling.
A giant spider was placed beside the door.
A collection of bats appeared upon the wall.
Another skeleton was positioned outside.
I watched from the window.
The skeleton stood very still.
I narrowed my eyes.
Then the witch brought forth a strange device that made a buzzing noise.
I fled again.
She called after me.
“It's only the vacuum, Perkins!”
The phrase means nothing.
Humans call terrifying objects many things.
“Vacuum.”
“Microwave.”
“Hair dryer.”
“Printer.”
These are clearly the names of different classes of magical weaponry.
Eventually, the entire house was transformed.
The whole dwelling appeared prepared for some great magical gathering.