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“The Night When Fear Strays by Stewart Stafford Each Hallowtide, all monstrous shapes do quail, No balm for wounded wretches feeling frail, Spectators as charlatan mortals filch frights, Appropriated skins on haunted nights. With bonfire’s glow ablaze in dauntless eyes, Children’s fun quelled by strangest sighs, A hulking shape, once fierce, wails tainted, Its fearful gaze in phantom mists attainted. Small, tender hands caressed its sodden fur, A trembling growl betrayed its lonesome blur, “Peace, gentle shade, what sorrow stirs unfed?” “November’s dawn shall call me home,” it said. Their kindly-shared oat cakes eased its pangs, A webbed claw from veiled night to munching fangs, It feasted with a hunger born of striven years alone, Stroked the child’s cheek for the kindness shown. When parents called, it whispered, soft and torn, “At midnight’s knell, this thicket heralds morn— Go, kindred babes, I’ll linger in this glade. Each Halloween, I’ll mourn my fear remade.” © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.” — Stewart Stafford