Waiting for the tricksters.

The night was still, aptly defined by Dylans "Starless and Bibleblack.. I sat motionless, spine supported fast by the well worn back of the chair. Peering through a chink in the curtains, my breathing synchronised with the rhythmic thrashing of the rain that struck coldly against the window outside. The illumination from the street lamp lit up swathes inside my darkened room, and produced dancing patterns of refractive raindrops as they cascaded downwards on the exterior surface of the window. The light picked up the stationary form of the furniture and the silhouettes of the dancing motion of the spirits that moved within
I listened intently for the tell tale sounds of the impish callers, who frequented the dark hours of this special evening. That pitter- patter of the flat soles of their clothing feet, as they shuffled along their well trodden path. The elfish giggling and bickering of sibling rivalry that was the tell tale sign of their consumer greed. But it never came. I was to be spared the torment of this night. I could at last turn on the lights, the TV and snuggle up to all the goody bags I had bought just in case.