October 31, 2018

Betty longed to lead the cackle. She practiced in secret every day. Would Halloween ever arrive? The wait seemed endless. Betty’s mother urged her to practice patience. The suggestion merely deepened Betty’s frown and fed her tendency to mutter.

“Is it yet?” asked Betty every day until her mother at last could say,”Oh finally, praise to all broomsticks, YES!”

“Who will lead the cackle?” Betty dared to ask.

“It was unanimous,” said her mother.

“Who?” said Betty.

“YOU!” shrieked her mother.

Betty nearly fainted, but didn’t. Instead, she leapt to her broom and tore from the cottage.

At the entrance to night, the gold and pink blooms beckoned under the fat moon. Betty soared, cackling madly. The others followed in droves, nodding approval.

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