#ectober art

“A cheap trick-”

“It's not a trick!” The ghost says, eyes darting around desperately, and it turns Maddie's stomach how well it wears her son's face, “I'm Danny, okay? I'm not tricking you, I'm not- anything.“

“Here you go, your very own nightlight,” Danny says with a smile, “So now you can stop trying to kidnap me for the foreseeable future because as much as your hugs are great I cannot be your light source for the next however-long-it-takes-for-you-to-get-bored, and I can go home and sleep.”

The not-moth-thing does a little coo-trill, captivated by the slow-motion candle-flickering green light.

The scream is pulled out of his throat on wires and hooks - a huge, bone-shaking, agonized thing. Tattered and torn at the edges and somehow a physical mass that forces its presence into every corner of the room. It's not a sound, because sounds can't surround you and become you so absolutely that you can't help but let it out – or let it tear you into pieces. The world's most painful human tuning fork.

Your parents made it. The circle. An artificial fairy ring made from potted foxglove and clover and mossy stone bricks, recessed half a foot into the floor with an octagon of yellow-black striped safety tape around it.