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Dottie had lived on Elm Street in Kingsport, Tennessee, for nearly fifty years. She’d raised her two boys in that house, baked hundreds of pies in that kitchen, and sat countless evenings on the front porch with her husband, Harold, watching the neighborhood kids ride bikes up and down the street. But now, at 82, the porch sat quieter, the pie tin stayed tucked in the cabinet, and Harold’s chair remained empty. Halloween used to be one of her favorite nights. She and Harold would hand out candy, smiling at little cowboys and fairies, sometimes even dressing up themselves. One year, they were matching scarecrows. But the past few years had felt different.
The neighborhood had changed. More renters, more turnover, and not as many familiar faces. Still, Dottie bought a bag of candy from the Piggly Wiggly just in case. She turned on the porch light and waited. Hours passed, and only two kids had come by, both in store-bought superhero outfits. She sighed and was about to turn off the light when a knock came at the door. There, standing by herself, was a little girl in a homemade witch costume. Black fabric that looked hand-stitched and a floppy hat that sagged a little on one side. She didn’t say “trick or treat.” She just smiled and said, “Hi. I like your flowers,” pointing to the potted mums by the door.
“Why, thank you,” Dottie replied, surprised. “They were Harold’s favorite.” The girl nodded solemnly, as if she understood something deeper. “My grandma passed last spring. She liked daisies. I think flowers remember people.” Dottie felt a lump rise in her throat. “Well, I think you’re right about that.” The girl didn’t rush off like the others. Instead, she asked, “Do you want to see my candy?” Dottie chuckled. “Sure.” The girl pulled out a wrinkled pillowcase and sat on the porch step, laying out each piece of candy carefully, telling Dottie which houses gave which kinds. They talked for a good twenty minutes. She said her name was Callie and that she’d just moved in with her aunt down the street.
As the girl stood to go, she paused and reached into her candy bag. She held out a mini Snickers. “You should have one. My grandma always said you should share with nice people.” Dottie took it, her hand trembling just a bit. “Thank you, sweetheart. That means a lot.” Callie grinned, gave a little wave, and skipped off into the night. Dottie sat there for a while longer, holding the little candy bar in her hand. Maybe Halloween hadn’t changed so much after all. Maybe, just maybe, there were still magic moments to be found—even on a quiet street in Kingsport.
