Ahh, it's October in Snug Harbor.  Everywhere is color and sound.  A cat gathers itself, whiskers twitching, for an attack on the little white trash bag ghosts fluttering in the neighbor's trees.  Listen to the dry rustle as leaves blow across the driveway.  It's a deceptively warm wind.  You can feel the first faint, long-fingered touch of arctic frost lurking in the shadows, a distant sigh from the bottom of some dark hollow far away, quietly whispering, "I'm coming."

Once verdant meadows grow brown and dry, and a canopy of fire cascades down to paint the earth in construction paper colors.  A fleeting shadow with no source passes in front of you, and a cackling laugh echoes on the wind, raising the fine hairs on your arms.  Mr. Moundshroud? 

The warm sun glows a deep orange and descends lower now, tired after a long summer.  Candle and wood smoke flavor the air as windows light up and shadows grow long.  A match flares with a whiff of sulfur, igniting a wicked grin, then two, then a multitude.  Smoldering smiles flicker across the street at one another on shadowed porches and walks.  Ahh, it's October in Snug Harbor.

Oh, and those crazy people with all the dogs are out in their front yard chasing after them trying to take their picture.  And they're dressed in vampire capes.  Not the people, the dogs.  They're nuts.  Not the dogs, the people.  Okay, the dogs are nuts, too.