The Halloween Tree

by Ray Bradbury

Hallows’ Eve. Everything seemed cut from soft black velvet or gold or orange velvet. Smoke panted up out of a thousand chimneys like the plumes of funeral parades. From kitchen windows drifted two pumpkin smells: gourds being cut, pies being baked.

For the Tree was hung with a variety of pumpkins of every shape and size and a number of tints and hues of smoky yellow or bright orange.

“It’s big, it’s broad…” A voice smoked from the rooftop chimney: “It’s broad, it’s bright… It fills the sky of All Hallows’ Night…” From open windows somewhere, cobwebs drifted: “The strangest sight you’ve ever seen. The Monster Tree on Halloween.” The candles flickered and flared. The wind crooned in, the wind crooned out the pumpkin mouths, tuning the song: “The leaves have burned to gold and red The grass is brown, the old year dead, But hang the harvest high, Oh see!

The candle constellations on the Halloween Tree!” Tom felt his mouth stir like a small mouse, wanting to sing: “The stars they turn, the candles burn And the mouse-leaves scurry on the cold wind bourne, And a mob of smiles shine down on thee From the gourds hung high on the Halloween Tree. The smile of the Witch, and the smile of the Cat, The smile of the Beast, the smile of the Bat, The smile of the Reaper taking his fee All cut and glimmer on the Halloween Tree…”

“The Undiscovered Country. Out there. Look long, look deep, make a feast. The Past, boys, the Past. Oh, it’s dark, yes, and full of nightmare.