Mischief Night, 1994 by Andrew Wyeth 

On the night before Halloween-

If a Witch were standing outside my window- and she was dressed from head to toe in black, if she were holding a broom in one hand and sitting on her shoulder was a cat named Harley and she said she was there to grant me three wishes, what would I ask for?

Why. That’s Easy Peasy.

I’d ask her to fly away with her cat to my neighbor’s house down the street and I would wish that she would offer my remaining two wishes to her instead.

Then I would steal down the street, shrouded in the Witch’s shadow, to my Neighbor’s house and I would watch her gobble up those two remaining wishes without chewing on them- she would just swallow them whole.

Wishes taste like caramel- something about that burnt sugar is irresistible to the tongue and people devour them before they wrapper is even off.

Maybe a few hours later, maybe a month later I would watch those two poisoned wishes blossom and bloom- and as they did I would hear a voice at my shoulder say, ” Oh you are a wicked thing, you are a crafty little devil you. ”

And I would reply indeed I am I am a wicked little thing and a crafty   Devil to boot and all of us know that  Mischief Night isn’t just a date on the calander- it’s a way of life.