From The Archives: Oh, Foul, Oh, Cruel! Ten Homesteads To Avoid This Hallow’s Eve (For They Giveth Gruel)

Aghast! Bemoaned! Halloweekend may be passed, but Hallow’s Eve is upon us — and I must warn you, dear readers, of the homesteads which propose to give out only the foulest, gruelish treats whence you take your offspring to collect.

  1. The creaking wooden Shack, by where the Woods weep leaves year round. I myself went as a youth, and found naught but pickled nettle and spoiled oats in my pillow case!
  2. Atop the Eastern Hill, beyond the Barrier, and deep within the Outerlands. Rumor once foretold a fated foot-long package of Necco Wafers, but they’re truly made with the ground bones of petulant children!
  3. The fabled butterscotch of 111 Sorry Street draws masses near and far, though fewer will return. The ghouls and gremlins lurking by make sure your choice is spurned! — so take a risk, and eat your fear, but know your early death lies here…
  4. They only have Licorice on Dreary Lane. They’re all complicit. Skip the whole street.
  5. 1204 Sweet Nothings Boulevard: be sure to skip this address. The house is made of candy, yes, but the tenants have left it all a mess — the icing melts, the gumdrops sag, and they only deposit skulls in your bag!
  6. Jelly Beans – hey, I’m a fan of them too. But at Randall’s, Malört’s the sole flavor for you! Do well to heed my warning: the Mansion by the Pit looks nice, but sets your stomach churning.
  7. Avoid the Gallows at all cost, they’ll lock you up and toss the key. A kind old granny draws you in — beware the gigantic bloody fetid hypodermic needle sticking out her knee. (Why does she even have that? It’s so gross and old, just like her.)
  8. Behind the Barn betwixt the Bellows and the Bakery, a beautiful babe beckons. Alas, the babe is Babe and babe that’s bad, beware the bastard bacon!
  9. 1 Windsor Way sounds oh so royal, Elizabeth! How regal. All they’ve got there is mushy peas, made with corgi and beagle! Your limbs will shrink, small tail appear, your ears will go all floppy. To steal your life a You appears, a fleshborn freaky copy. It has your gait, your name, your spouse, and talks to match the image. Avoid this place at all cost, please, or lose your mortal visage!
  10. Margaret Meadowberry’s house. She’s a massive bitch who stole my husband. Fuck you Maggie, and fuck you DAVE, you two-timing womanizing pencil-thin son of a goat!

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