The night when souls wander freely is fast approaching. The sky is clear and in this chill morning I can even read the constellations. Lights in sickly orange and violet glow eerily from rustling bushes and the withered, brittle leaves falling sound like footsteps following stealthily and close behind. A black cat steals silently across my path, but I am not startled;  I look behind to see if I am still alone in the black stillness. My gaze reaches out for the lone street light still beyond my rapid shuffle through the dark street. Was the crack in the wall always there or is it just now opening for me. Finally. .. the bus.  “Good morning, how are you?” “Great”, I say, as if nothing has happened.