Forgot Your Costume Friend? - Googie Withers

Happy Halloween!

We march in ragged lines, capes dragging through the leaves,
cardboard crowns and rubber knives clattering on sleeves.
Sticky hands from caramel apples,
jack-o’-lanterns watching wide
Then we turn and see him walking—
no disguise, no painted hide.

I whisper, “Forgot your costume, friend?”
He doesn’t answer, just tilts his head.
The air feels thick, the street bends.

One of us ain’t dressed tonight,
no monster mask, no stitched-up fright.
He walks in plain skin, pale as chalk,
and the shadows dance where his footsteps balk.

We giggle nervous, masks half-slipped,
but his smile cuts like broken lips.
Candy rattles in the pails,
streetlamp buzzing, story fails.
Every blink, he seems to fade,
like a picture out the frame.

We ask again, “What’s your disguise?”
He says, “I’m wearing borrowed eyes.”
The night grows cold, the laughter dies.

One of us ain’t dressed tonight,
no monster mask, no stitched-up fright.
He walks in plain skin, pale as chalk,
and the shadows dance where his footsteps balk.

(ooh) The pumpkins hiss, the candles drown,
(ooh) His voice crawls up from underground.
We run but hear his echo near—
“Costumes fall, but I stay here.”

Crowds dissolve like paper ash,
candy bags split, shadows clash.
All our masks feel thin, too thin…
Maybe we’re the costumes, not him.

Lanterns dim, the night moves on,
but his bare face hums like a ghosted song.