The group of kids reached the porch of the old Carter mansion. Under the moon’s pale light, the white pillars looked skeletal, like the bones of a great beast.

“Ring the bell, Lily,” a boy, disguised as Batman, told a girl in Harley Quinn’s costume.

The girl tiptoed to reach the doorbell and rang it.

A couple of minutes later, the big wooden door opened slowly, and an old butler, carrying a candle lantern, let the group in.

“Welcome,” he said in a slow, ghostly voice. “What brings you here, young monsters?”

“We come to trick-or-treat and collect our sweets,” the girl in the Harley Quinn outfit said.

Several heads nodded.

“Follow me. The master is waiting for you.”

It was a group of ten kids who had been looking forward to trick-or-treating at the old mansion. Some of their parents were with them.

“They say Marcus Carter has the best candies and chocolates in town, Red,” a werewolf girl whispered to a boy with ginger hair dressed as a pirate.

The boy gulped and whispered back, “I hope so, Maggie, this place is truly scary.”

Their footsteps echoed through the dark hall.

The butler guided them through a long corridor to the library. He opened the door, and announced, “You have visitors, sir.”

Then, he turned around, and said, “You may go inside. Sit around the master’s couch and don’t touch anything.”

A fire burned in the fireplace, taking the chill from the room. Above the mantelpiece hung four swords against the battered Carter’s family crest.

The kids’ eyes flashed in the flickering light.

On the mantel, a variety of blackened silver objects lay on haphazard display; candlesticks, goblets, a clock framed in silver gilt, flanked by small enameled boxes set, with tiny diamonds, rubies, and emeralds.

Two tapestries, stained and ragged along the edges, hung against the walls, one beside the door, and the other to the right of the fireplace.

An old man sat on a huge velvet couch, his folded hands resting calmly on a leather-bound book over his lap. His eyes were closed as if he was sleeping.

Marcus Carter didn’t need a costume or makeup to look scary. The dancing flames cast shadows across his face through the darkness. His wrinkled face, illuminated by the flames, made him look like a very old demon.

He said nothing, and barely moved.

The group of ten kids sat in a semi-circle around the couch in complete silence. They huddled close to each other, mingling the living warmth of their bodies, conscious of the darkness surrounding them. They talked in whispers afraid to disturb the spirits that seemed to dance in the shadows.

The kid with ginger hair crawled slowly to a table full of candies, and chocolates, and tried to grab some.

“Stop your plunder, young pirate!” a gravelly voice stopped the boy in his tracks.

Marcus Carter’s eyes were opened. He looked even scarier than before.

“Red, behave,” his mother warned him.

“Before getting your loot, you need to hear my story!” Marcus looked at the group of young faces sitting cross-legged on the carpet, assembled around him.

“Stories often begin with ‘Once upon a time—’ or ‘Once there was—’, charming lines that imply a fairy tale. Our story starts with a very sick, dying man.”

Marcus carefully opened the leather-bound volume in his lap.

“This story takes us to the times of my ancestor, Fergus Carter.”

“He was Middletown’s founder,” the girl, dressed as a werewolf, told the rest.

“Maggie don’t interrupt, Mr. Carter,” her mother told her.

“Sorry, Mum. Sorry, Mr. Carter,” she apologized, in a cute little voice.

Marcus Carter cleared his throat and continued.

“Fergus Carter had fallen ill. In just two weeks, his weakness had bedridden him, and he almost did not eat. A lot of physicians were called upon from the nearest towns to heal him, but no one could diagnose his illness. Despite all the proper care, the good founder got worse.

“One morning, as the servants aired the room where Fergus lay asleep, one of them, an old maid with silver hair, whispered to the other, ‘Mr. Carter will die... ‘“

A gasp escaped from the children’s mouths.

“Patrick Harding was sitting on a chair at Fergus’ side. He was one of the most heroic and handsome explorers and Fergus’ companion of adventures.

“Patrick heard the woman’s words and hurriedly went up, and sternly reprimanded the maid. ‘How dare you! Don’t you ever repeat that word, woman! Do you understand? Fergus will live; my friend will recover ... We just need to find a physician who knows the cure for his illness, you hear?’”

“The poor woman gulped, and muttered under her breath, ‘The matter is, sir, that Mr. Carter is not ill, he is under a spell.’”

Marcus Carter raised his head from the book, and explained to the group of children around him, “Those were times when people believed in magic and spells. The supernatural was considered part of everyday life. Magic, for them, was as logical and natural as the law of gravity.”

“We know magic is not real, Mr. Carter. Please, continue the story,” the werewolf girl begged.

Marcus Carter nodded, and looked down at the yellowish pages, “Where was I? Ah, yes ... The old servant believed Fergus Carter was bewitched.”

‘Why do you say that, you old blabbermouth?’ Patrick scolded her.

‘I am an old lady, indeed, sir. I have lived many years, and I have seen a lot of strange things, and I have known a few men and women in this situation before, only one of them survived.’

‘That means there is a chance of healing Fergus,’ Patrick’s eyes lit up with hope. ‘Tell me how he did it, the one who escaped death.’

‘There is only one way to reverse a curse, sir, you need to find a witch more powerful than the one who performed the original spell. Only a very seasoned witch can remove the hex. If that is not done, the bewitched dies.’

‘Is there a sorcerer of such power in this land?’ Patrick asked. ‘I’ll ride right into Satan’s lair and drag her out if necessary.’

The old maid made the sign of the cross, and kissed her crucifix, before speaking, ‘There is only one witch who is powerful enough to heal Mr. Carter, sir.’

‘Where does this demonic worshipper live?’

‘She’s an old Indian witch, the most feared and hated in the area.’ The maid gulped. She talked in whispers. ‘They say she lives in Black Mountain, in a cave that sits on the very edge of an escarpment. It looks like an open mouth. Even if someone were brave enough to go and fetch her, which I doubt, the witch would never come, and heal the one who banished her from Middletown and its surroundings many years ago.’

‘Ah, you’re talking about THAT witch! I had forgotten about her.’

Marcus raised his head from the book, and explained, “The witch’s reputation was sinister indeed. They say she had a basket, made out of snake skins, and she used to catch children and put them in the basket, and then she boiled them in oil to eat their hearts.”

The children gulped. Their innocent eyes opened wide.

“It was known that she was able to transform the bravest warrior into her slave just by looking into his eyes. It was also said that the sound of her evil laugh could freeze the blood in one’s veins.

“Patrick was scared, of course, but Fergus was the best friend he had in his life. They had traveled together through the wilderness. Fergus had heard his most banal and deeper sorrows. He had offered him the chance of new life in his settlement. Fergus had saved Patrick’s life more than once. There was no risk that he wouldn’t face to save his friend and the best person he had ever met.

“He rode his horse directly to Black Mountain. He found a trail leading across the river and forded the stream there. As soon as he arrived at the other shore, he noticed that the sky was beginning to darken. Black and dense clouds seemed to be anchored at the foot of the mountain. It was as if the night would have fallen in broad daylight.

“He climbed down off his horse, took his long rifle, and looked for the cave where the witch lived.”

The boy in Batman’s costume raised his hand, and asked, “Was Patrick scared, Mr. Carter.”

“Yes, he was, Landon Hayes. He was very scared. Bravery isn’t being fearless; it’s being afraid and doing it anyway. You can ask your Dad about it. He was a soldier.”

“I know. My dad has a big scar across his face,” the kid explained. Several little heads nodded. “He almost died in combat.”

“Your Dad’s face is scary,” the ginger pirate said.

“Red, that was not a nice thing to say,” the kid’s mother reprimanded her son.

“Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Landon. He is scary but I like your dad. He’s cool. Please continue with the story, Mr. Carter.”

“Thank you, Red. Patrick dismounted and boldly walked into the cave’s mouth. An unearthly chill crept through the air. He walked to the end of the dark, gloomy tunnel ‘til it opened into a large cave. Patrick’s nose wrinkled at the smell of something rotting.

“The Indian sorcerer, whose name was Angeni, was a typical fairy-tale witch. Her ugly face was filled with warts, and her nose was curved like a bird of prey’s beak. Her silver hair was stringy and tangled.

“Angeni was hunched over a bubbly cauldron that gave off the most awful smell. Patrick didn’t want to think about what was inside. She was surrounded by a rim of yellowish light created by dozens of candles merging into one. She was stirring the pot and talking to herself in harsh whispers.

“She was wearing a skirt, leggings, a shirt, and moccasins that wrapped her short legs with heavy strips of buckskin from the ankle to the knee.

“Without even looking at him, Angeni warned the brave man, ‘Go away, Patrick, before I turn you into a toad or something worse!’

‘I have come to fetch you, my lady,’ Patrick said, ‘My friend, Fergus, is very ill and needs your help.’

‘He, he, he,’ laughed the witch. The sound of her evil laugh echoed through the stone walls.

Marcus was so successful in impersonating the witch’s laugh that made the kids jump.

‘Fergus Carter was cursed, indeed, and although I didn’t put the spell on him, there is nothing anyone can do to prevent his death.’

‘But Angeni, I was told you are more powerful than the one who conjured the spell. You can save Fergus’ life,’ Patrick begged.

‘Why would I do that, young Patrick?’ the witch asked. “Why would I help the man that banned me from his land? No, I won’t raise a finger to help the one who wronged me and forced me to live here.’

‘Whatever you ask is yours. Whatever you desire is granted. Whatever you need is supplied. You have my word,’ Patrick assured Angeni, ‘I will personally make sure you get paid the price you demand.’

“The witch studied Patrick’s face. It was certainly strange to have such a handsome man in her cave begging for her help. Even in the light of the candles, Angeni could tell that Patrick was incredibly attractive.

‘My price is high, young Patrick.’

‘Whatever you ask,’ Patrick assured the witch.

‘If I heal Fergus and only if I heal him... ‘

‘Name your price and it’ll be yours.’

‘I want you to marry me!’

A loud gasp escaped from the group of children and most of the adults.

Marcus Carter smiled, pleased by their reaction.

“No, no, no! He can’t marry a witch,” the young Harley Quinn protested.

“He is not going to marry her, Lily. Patrick is going to trick her. You’ll see,” the ginger pirate opined.

“Did Patrick marry the witch, Mr. Carter?” The girl in the werewolf’s costume asked, in a small voice.

“You’ll have to hear the rest of the story to find out,” Marcus Carter said.

“Please, continue, Mr. Carter!” a chorus of little voices begged.

Marcus took a sip of water and went on telling his tale.

“Patrick shivered from head to toe. His first reaction was to say no. Just watching Angeni made his skin crawl. He couldn’t fathom spending the rest of his life with such an ugly woman. His married life would be a living hell.

“On the other hand, he couldn’t let his best friend die, even if it meant sacrificing his own life. How many times had Fergus saved him? He owed him not one, but a hundred lives! On top of that, Middletown needed him. Patrick was expendable, Fergus wasn’t.

‘So be it,’ Patrick said in a gloom voice, after long deliberation. ‘If this is the price I have to pay, I’ll espouse you, you have my word. Now, please, let’s make haste, it might not be too late to save the life of my friend.’

“Silently, the enchantress opened a big leather bag and put a set of clay jars filled with smelly powders of different colors. She kept adding strange ingredients ‘til the bag was full. She grabbed a knee-long coat with a hood made from animal skin and fur, and headed outside, followed by a silent Patrick.

“Once they were outside, Patrick brought his horse and helped his brand-new fiancée to climb into the saddle.

‘Hold on tight, my lady.’ Patrick asked the witch, and kicked his horse in the sides. The horse took off down the road into the meadows, galloping back to Middletown.

“When they arrived, Patrick stopped the horse, got off, and helped Angeni to climb down.

“Angeni was surprised by his kindness and caring for her. She eyed Patrick as if he were a bedlamite.

‘Why are you so kind to me? I already agree to heal your friend.’

‘If you are going to be my wife,’ he explained to the witch, ‘you must be treated as such.’