The Halloween Tree

by Ray Bradbury

The wind outside nested in each tree, prowled the sidewalks in invisible treads like unseen cats.

The clouds, like gauzy scenes, were pulled away to set a clean sky. The moon was there, a great eye.

“But, stop and think. What does the word ‘witch’ truly mean?” “Why—” said Tom, and was stymied. “Wits,” said Moundshroud. “Intelligence. That’s all it means. Knowledge. So any man, or woman, with half a brain and with inclinations toward learning had his wits about him, eh? And so, anyone too smart, who didn’t watch out, was called—” “A witch!” said everyone.

Whistle for demons, boys, whistle for fiends, give a high great tootling blow for beasties and ferocious fanged loomers of the dark.”