The air inside my Wonder Woman mask was humid and warm, and I couldn’t see very well through the eyeholes. My brother, the zombie, should have been holding my hand, but he’d dropped it as soon as he’d seen his friends. I stood with them—the werewolf, the mummy, the football players, and the bloodied and fanged faces—as they rang another doorbell. When the front door opened, a fake bat swung over the porch, and I screamed. The sound was muffled behind my mask, but the mummy still grabbed my hand and walked with me the rest of the night.
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