The Halloween Tree.

Bradbury:

It was a small town by a small river and a small lake in a small northern part of a Midwest state. There wasn't so much wilderness around you couldn't see the town. But on the other hand, there wasn't so much town that you couldn't see and feel and touch the wilderness. The town was full of trees. And dry grass and dead flowers now that autumn was here. And full of fences to walk on, and sidewalks to skate on and a large ravine to tumble in and yell across. And the town was full of ...
Boys.
And it was the afternoon of Halloween.
And all the houses shut against a cool wind.
And the town full of cold sunlight.
But suddenly, the day was gone.
Night came out from under each tree and spread.
...
He took his hand away from his side. His face colored for a moment as if the pain were gone. "On your marks. Get set. Go!"
When Joe Pipkin said "Go," they Went.
They ran.
They ran backward halfway down the block, so they could see Pipkin standing there, waving at them.
"Hurry up, Pipkin!"
"I'll catch you!" he shouted, a long way off.
The night swallowed him.
They ran. When they looked back again, he was gone.
They banged doors, they shouted Trick or Treat and their brown paper bags began to fill with incredible sweets. They galloped with their teeth glued shut with pink gum. They ran with red wax lips bedazzling their faces.
But all the people who met them at doors looked like candy factory duplicates of their own mothers and fathers. It was like never leaving home. Too much kindness flashed from every window and every portal. What they wanted was to hear dragons belch in basements and banged castle doors.
And so, still looking back for Pipkin, they reached the edge of town and the place where civilization fell away in darkness.
The Ravine.
The ravine, filled with varieties of night sounds, lurkings of black-ink stream and creek, lingerings of autumns that rolled over in fire and bronze and died a thousand years ago. From this deep place sprang mushroom and toadstool and cold stone frog and crawdad and spider. There was a long tunnel down there under the earth in which poisoned waters dripped and the echoes never ceased calling Come Come Come and if you do you'll stay forever, forever, drip, forever, rustle, run, rush, whisper, and never go, never go go go ...
The boys lined up on the rim of darkness, looking down.
And then Tom Skelton, cold in his bones, whistled his breath in his teeth like the wind blowing over the bedroom screen at night. He pointed.
"Oh, hey -- that's where Pipkin told us to go!"
He vanished.
All looked. They saw his small shape race down the dirt path into one hundred million tons of night all crammed in that huge dark pit, that dank cellar, that deliciously frightening ravine.
Yelling, they plunged after.
Where they had been was empty.
The town was left behind to suffer itself with sweetness.

Mmm ... they don't write 'em like that anymore.*
Shift in cultural values -- embrace the Safety Net and all.
Tell, don't bother showing. Writing's a lost art.
Lost to some, but not all ...


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* I see a lot of King's It here earlier.