I remember when those creatures, humans I believe they’re called, took me out of that stale smelling contraption they call a box. Their comments suggested that I was getting to old to be part of the tradition they called Halloween, All Hallow’s Eve and any other name they could conjure. I don’t understand why they suddenly thought of me as being old when I’d faithfully stayed in whatever place they put me all those years before. It wasn’t as if I wandered off or did something ridiculous like many of their elders did, so thus I found it preposterous.

I was taken out of the box nonetheless and placed in my usual spot in a place they call outside. I hung from a height in which I’d grown very used to; I do believe my hanging spot was called a tree. That’s what I deduce anyway for the small humans tended to point at me and comment about how I’d be hanging from that tree and how the wind made it look like I was so very alive. I wish I could’ve snapped at them, declared full out that I was alive! But alas, I’m a mute; I’ve always been a mute. They’re gifted with their voices while I’ve never had one.

So, just as so many years before, I’d hung there day in and day out for at least a month before this All Hallow’s Eve even took place. My body suffered through every kind of weather that dared show itself to the land. The fierce winds, the cold downpours and the last blaring heat; those were the general weather situations. I could hold against it though, never once failing to stay in my hanging spot, but yet they still dared call me old.

With eventuality, that All Hallow’s Eve did come, just as I knew it would. It always does without fail and the humans, especially the small ones, tend to be terribly excited. I can’t really fathom as to why. It’s the same routine every year, once the night falls, that is.

They come running up the path leading to the large living quarters of the humans who “own” me and knock on the barrier that my humans use to exit and enter their living quarters. Seconds later, my humans emerge, usually holding a big rounded box (I don’t know what it’s called) and waiting for the smalls ones to say what I call the begging words. I’ve never been sure as to what they say, but it always gets them whatever’s within the strange round box and they scamper off. Where’s the joy in that? Did they receive something so incredibly wonderful that it can bring such joy within their eyes? As I said, I’ve never been able to fathom it.

Uncountable times during the night this happened and admittedly it can be rather annoying. Have you any idea how loud they are? Laughing, talking, even sometimes screaming as they walked or ran by, all just for whatever was in the rounded box. At times they would come back to me, daring to touch me to see if I were real or if I would do anything to them. Alas, I could never move myself to prove that I was real, for I have yet another hindrance like my muteness, I cannot move either.

I was usually glad when All Hallow’s Eve ceased its barrage of small ones and everyone disappeared within their living quarters, yet that night, not all of them went inside. A group of, I think they’re called teenagers lurked about, waiting for the area to be free from any others. When they saw they were the only ones present, that’s when they began.

It started with me and I guess I can see why. I do suppose I would be the most vulnerable of all of us All Hallow’s Eve “decorations” (I’ve always hated that word as I find it degrading). Whatever weapon they had with them, it was sharp and shiny, gleaming in the streetlights. Whatever the weapon was, it hurt and I’ll probably remember the pain for the rest of my days. I’ll probably remember the sight of pieces of my own pale body fluttering to the ground like nothing. And then I’ll always remember the yelling.

Yes, someone had noticed those cruel teenagers injuring my supposedly already old body and came to my rescue. The teenagers ran away, kicking at a few Jack-o-lanterns as they went, causing their faces to become concaved or just plain destroyed. Even with such destruction, those who saved me from any more pain still allowed them to escape, which I resent with every portion of my body that is left. They should have gone after them, should have punished them, done something to avenge my injuries! But no, they did nothing.

When the sun rose, I waited for my human owners to come out and look at me. Naturally, it took hours before they actually stepped outside as they did whatever they did within their quarters. When they did step outside, a forlorn look entered their eyes immediately, and I knew that they found me utterly useless by that point. Where I was merely old before, I was now battered as well, having been cut at by those teenagers while they slept. What good was I to them then, as I no longer held any of the horrific beauty I once had when I was first brought into their lives?

Now I sit here, at the bottom of a cylinder box in a plastic holding cell, waiting for my next fate. Apparently, I’d been “thrown into the trash”, whatever that means. All I know is that it means I will never see them again. They’d tried to ease any guilt they had of this action by saying they’d been planning to do it anyway, as if that made it any better. There’s nothing that could make this any better considering I’m surrounded by foreign objects, some even reeking of atrocious odours. It can’t be helped though, for I’m stuck here and my “owners” are never coming back for me.

Oh the hindrances of my life. I’m trapped, mute, immobile, old and battered… And next year, I have a feeling that All Hallow’s Eve will fail to come…

End