The Little Piper of Samhain

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When the nights grow longer and the fog settles over the paths, the villagers tell of a small figure who sits at the edge of the forest at the hour of the full moon. She wears a green hat adorned with autumn blossoms, and her skin shimmers like damp leaves. In her hands she holds a dark wooden flute, and whoever hears her playing forgets for a moment whether to laugh or shiver. They call her the Little Piper of Samhain. She never appears at the same time, but always in the same place: on the rickety bridge in front of the old ruin. Around her squat pumpkins, their faces glowing in the candlelight—some grinning broadly, others sparkling with crooked teeth, as if about to burst open at any moment. Two mice always dance at her side, spinning in circles and stretching their tiny paws toward the sky, as if following invisible signs. The flute sounds bright, almost joyful, but in the pauses, something else is heard: a whisper that doesn't come from the piper. Some say it's the voices of those who once disappeared from this place. Others believe it's just the wind blowing through the leafless trees. But every Halloween, children who venture too close to the forest disappear. Only a hint of pumpkin scent and a few footprints ending in the mist remain. The piper herself seems innocent. Her eyes are large and dark, and when she smiles, the moon shines brighter. But if you look directly into her eyes, you see more than your own reflection: a flickering image of alleys that don't exist, of doors that lead to nowhere, and of shadows that wait. Once, an old man said he listened to her. He saw the mice grow larger, take on shadows, almost human. The pumpkins moved their mouths to the sound of the flute and sang along, in a language no one understood. "It wasn't a song," the man whispered, "it was a key." What it was for, he couldn't say, because after a few bars, he lost consciousness. The next morning, he was found at the edge of the forest, his hair snow-white, his heart still beating, but his voice forever silent.The villagers now place lanterns in their windows in case the Piper might appear. They believe the light will keep her away, but some lights flicker in the night for no reason and suddenly go out—as if someone outside had blown into them. The bravest venture to the bridge. There they see the Piper, small and silent, sitting among the pumpkins. She raises the flute, the mice scurry closer, and the playing begins. At first, it sounds like a children's song, but the longer you listen, the more it becomes something else—a promise you don't understand, yet sign anyway. But the little piper just smiles, and in her smile there is no evil, but something worse: indifference.