Trig a treat. It's October 29th. I'm a time traveler. Oh yeah, so am I. You look like a creepy old skeleton. You look like a spoiled little

asshole. Do you have any candy mister? You seriously don't give a shit that I just told you I'm a time-traveling skeleton.

That's impossible. Is it, Billy? Is it? You of all people should know that a time-traveler doesn't really need to be alive in order to travel through time.

Yeah, huh?

F-no, huh? And I'll tell you why, Billy. Because we both know that October 31st is just another date,

like a tombs just another bed, and death,

like time, as you've so eloquently demonstrated here on my very doorstep, is far from a single

linear point. You've travelled back in time a few days to score a couple extra handfuls of candy. I get it. But in doing so, Billy, you've also

set certain things in motion, prevented a tragic and regrettable car crash that would have unfortunately but inevitably wound up taking both your parents lives while against all odds somehow sparing your own,

sparing your own as a result of you being rendered absent in your own timeline

due to your trick-or-treating in this one.

Don't you see, Billy?

Your parents would have inexorably picked you up later that night from your friend Tommy's house,

after which your station wagon would have immediately been blindsided by a speeding tractor trailer.

Your mother's torso would have been found later, literally grafted

onto one of those big McDonald's letterboards right between blocks of text spelling out

McFlurry and Dollar menu, which you fortunately would have been

spared from seeing because your own head, having been completely removed from your body at

this point, would have been mostly traveling the opposite direction in traffic tangled

up in the front grill of an unsuspecting Honda Acura. Mostly, that is, your father would go on

to live another brief six to eight hours before finally

hemorrhaging out in some hospital bed before the call reaches close friends and relatives,

...