Jerry sighed, his breath blowing icy mist into the cold fall air. Five years to the day. He checked the calendar in his pocket organizer; the date was October 30th. That night, so long ago, Jerry had been happy. Thinking of the costume hung carefully in his closet, carving pumpkins with his mom. This Halloween there was nothing he wanted more to do than stay at the graveyard, as he had every October 30th since that night, when his father-

"What's the point?" Jerry said, then lowered his voice to an angry whisper. "Why must I remember that night, over and over, burning a fiery memory into my brain . . . I almost wish I could forget."

Jerry couldn't forget, however. "I owe it to her, to remember the last time seeing her . . . alive."

He looked down at the grave. It had been so long since he had seen his mother smile, yet he could picture her as if she was right in front of him. She has long, shining hair, the colour of ravens' feathers, flowing down a straight back, framing laughing eyes and perfect teeth.

"If she could see me now," Jerry thought grimly. Gaunt, pale, thin olive skin outlining high cheekbones, and cold, green-gray eyes made a sharp contrast to his mother's features at second glance. Few people took a second glance, though, preferring to bow their heads in pity or to make some cruel joke, because of the arm.

Thin and wasted, the arm was his father's fault; his father, a shotgun, and a bottle of cheap whiskey.

The doctors said there was nothing they could do, but Jerry knew better. Jerry knew from their pained expressions the real reason nothing was done. His father's brother, who took custody of him, was too cheap to pay for surgery of any type, save that which removed the bullets.

Jerry sighed again. He supposed his uncle would be ticked off because he'd left without asking, but Jerry didn't care. He'd been doing it for the last four years anyway. Jerry left the graveyard, casting a last glance at his mother's grave and the statue of an angel, sword lain across smooth marble hands, casting a stony gaze across the graveyard. Jerry walked towards home, checking his watch. It was 10:56.

"Awww. Isn't that sweet! Little Jerry is visiting his mommy's grave," Jason Feldman mocked, leaning on a nearby headstone.

"Shut up, Feldman." Brad Nelson said. The guy was his best friend, but he had the I.Q. of mold.

"What're we going to do this time, Brad? Why are we hanging around a creepy old cemetery?" Brad tried to ignore the third boy in the group. Robery Bentley had the complexion of a pizza, and was almost as smart.

"This time, I want to do something . . . original. Something that can't be traced to us, because it's Halloween. Okay. You guys got the . . . supplies?"

An hour later, the graveyard was a tacky mess of fluorescent, glow-in-the-dark spray paint, silly string, and broken eggs.

"Um, guys, isn't this a bit, uh, much?"

"Nah. Don't worry. It's not as if anyone was here except us. And that creepy statue." Three pairs of eyes looked up at the sword-wielding angel.

Trying to shake the unsettling feeling that had surrounded him, Jason said, "Hey Brad, you've got some silly string left. Why don't you get the angel?"

"Okay, but let's make it fast. It's almost midnight."

"Why?" Robert smirked. "Are you afraid?"

"No! It's just, uh, my mom is gonna kill me if she finds out I was out this late. She's a really light sleeper."

"Yeah, whatever. Just do it."

For a few minutes, all you could hear was the spritz of the silly string. "There. I'm all out. Can we leave?"

"Sure, man. I can't wait for them to find this!" Jason chuckled.

As the three boys walked through the maze of tombstones, they noticed a strange crackling noise.

"That's strange. It sounds like breaking rocks. Hey Rob, what time is it?" Brad asked nervously.

"Twelve o'clock. It is now Halloween. Wooooh!" Robert proclaimed in a wavering, ghostly voice.

"Very funny. Hey. Is it just me, or do you guys hear footsteps?"

"No way. Its probably just some animal." Jason said, with a lot more confidence than he felt."

Brad felt a cold hand on his shoulder, icy fingers sending a chill up his spine. "You are so immature, Robert. I know you're just trying to scare me."

"Yeah, Robert. Cut it out!" Jason whined.

"It's not me!" Robert protested. "See?" Robert ran a few feet ahead of them, and turned around.

Suddenly, Robert screeched and turned a strange shade of gray. Brad and Jason looked over their shoulder, and as a strange shade of gray fell over their eyes, and felt their muscles get stiffer and stiffer, they saw the brilliant white face of an angel, icy green-gray eyes staring down . . .