On this night, the last of October, I perceived that something vast was afoot.
As the sun sank, my Mistress set upon her threshold a gourd, hollowed and carved with a wicked grinning face, and within it she placed a flame that doth not burn. I watched it most carefully. It flickered and yet gave no heat, and no smoke arose. A pretty trick, Mistress. I have seen the Devil’s own work in lesser things.
Then she hung webs of silvery thread about the door and set a skeleton, a skeleton, mark thee, to sit in a chair upon the porch, as though death himself had come to rest. Last of all, she woke a little cauldron that breatheth a cold white mist across the stones. I confess that my fur stood upon its end, and I retreated beneath the settee. For I know a conjuring when I see one, and the dead were plainly being invited.
But Mistress only laughed, filled a great bowl with sweetmeats wrapped in bright and crackling cloth, and seated herself by the door. Then she did dress herself in a tall pointed hat.
She did not even attempt to hide it.
I took my post upon the back of the settee, where the window giveth me sight of all, and I waited.
The first was a small witch no taller than a milking stool, with a hat much like Mistress’s own, and a broom she could scarcely carry. Behind her walked her father, a tired warlock holding a glowing tablet before him as if it were a lantern. Together they came up the path, and the small witch cried, with great ceremony:
“Trick or treat!”
I have turned this phrase over in my mind many times since. In mine own time, such a cry would mean a threat, a bargain struck at the door with mischief on the one side and tribute on the other. And lo, so it is! Mistress did not scorn the small witch, but dropped a sweetmeat into her bag, saying, “Happy Halloween! Oh, what a fine broom!” and the small witch fairly glowed.
Thereupon the bell of the door sang out, though no hand had pressed it. I have learned that a little eye is fixed above the door, and it seeth all who come and telleth my Mistress of them, even when she sitteth in the next chamber. A watchful spirit, indeed. I respect it. I will not trouble it.
Then came others in great numbers. I counted a goblin, two knights of no particular kingdom, a tiny dragon with a tail that dragged behind, a phantom made of a bedsheet who walked directly into the post, and, God’s wounds, a very large yellow duck. I know not what manner of demon is a duck of such size, but my Mistress handed it a sweetmeat, and it quacked its thanks most civilly.
Some came in clusters of eight or ten, shrieking and laughing as only a coven in high spirits can. The warlocks and witches of this age are generous with their young. They walk them door to door, begging tribute, and they stand at the foot of the path with their glowing tablets, awaiting their return, as a shepherd watcheth his flock.
And not one pyre was lit, nor pitchfork raised. Mine old village would be astonished.
At the third hour of the gathering, a small girl approached the door wearing a tail, a pair of pointed ears, and whiskers drawn upon her cheeks in soot.
She was dressed as a black cat.
I sat bolt upright. She gazed through the window directly at me. I gazed back. A long moment passed between us, two creatures of the night, the elder in the true shape, the younger in costume.
I cannot say whether I was offended or flattered. I was both. I gave her a slow blink, which among our kind signifieth thou art tolerated, and she waved. She waved. I was quite moved, and I washed my paw to hide it.
As the hour grew late, the path fell quiet, and the great bowl lay nearly empty. The mist-cauldron wheezed its last. My Mistress sighed contentedly, removed the pointed hat, and set it upon her knee. Then she called to me in the gentle voice she keepeth for me alone:
“Perkins! Did you see all the costumes, baby?”
I did. I saw everything. I leapt down from the settee and climbed into her lap, circling thrice as is the proper custom, and she gave me the finest scratching beneath the chin that any soul hath ever received.
And then, from a small pouch, she produced a morsel of tuna. I accepted it, as is my duty.
I have pondered it, this night, as I lay curled upon her warm and sorcerous lap. I once feared that the witches of this age would do me harm. Yet I find that they feed small dragons, praise the broomsticks of small witches, and bid a duck good evening. If this be witchcraft, then it is a gentle craft, and I am content to be its familiar.
So I shall keep my Mistress’s secret, as a good cat should. I shall guard the door, bless the household, and judge all who pass the threshold.