Mother Goose had seen many things in her time. She had danced with the spirits of autumn winds, sung lullabies to the restless dead, and once even convinced a particularly stubborn pumpkin-headed specter to stop scaring children for fun.
She had done it all.
But never—never—had she prepared for All Hallows' Eve in the House of the Hearth.
Standing in the middle of the great hall, hands on her hips, she surveyed the chaos before her. Children ran to and fro, draping cobwebs (both real and fake) over furniture, carving pumpkins with reckless enthusiasm, and attempting to summon ghosts in a corner (she would deal with that later). The fire in the hearth burned an eerie green, cackling softly like it, too, was enjoying the festivities.
Mother Goose sighed. "Alright, my dears! Halloween is a night of magic and mischief, but we must have some order—"
A bat swooped down from the rafters, narrowly missing her head.
She flinched. "Who let a real bat inside?"
One of the children, a tiny girl with wild hair, grinned up at her. "He followed me home! His name is Mr. Fangs!"
Mother Goose sighed again. This was going to be a long night.
The Costumes
"Costumes, darlings! We must get dressed properly for the occasion," Mother Goose declared, pulling out boxes filled with fabric, hats, and all manner of accessories. "You may be witches, ghosts, goblins, or—"
"I'm going to be the Moon!" one child announced, strapping a massive glowing crescent to their back.
"I shall be a grand wizard!" another proclaimed, covering themselves in so many sparkling robes that they looked like a walking heap of stars.
"I am a terrifying beast from the void," one more child intoned, draping a tattered black sheet over themselves.
Mother Goose beamed. "Lovely! What about you, Father Hearth?"
The ever-stoic guardian of the house sat by the fire, his expression unreadable. "I will be myself."
Mother Goose stared at him. "That's not a costume, dear."
Father Hearth took a slow sip of his tea. "I am terrifying enough."
A nearby child nodded solemnly. "He's right."
Mother Goose rubbed her temples. "Fine. But at least wear a hat."
He did not argue. The children placed a tiny, slightly lopsided witch's hat on his head.
The Decorations
Mother Goose believed in elegant, slightly eerie decorations—just enough spookiness to delight without truly frightening. Floating candles, shadowy silhouettes in the windows, cobwebs spun by friendly enchanted spiders.
The House of the Hearth had different ideas.
By the time she turned around, the children had gone all out. Jack-o'-lanterns of every size and expression lined the hall, some laughing, some grinning, some looking mildly unhinged. A giant skeleton made from kitchen utensils stood in the center of the room, wobbling slightly whenever someone walked by.
Worst of all was the scarecrow.
A towering figure loomed near the entrance, its stitched face grinning unnaturally wide, its eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
Mother Goose shuddered. "That is *not* charming."
One of the children tugged at her sleeve. "His name is Mr. Grins! He watches the door!"
Mother Goose stared at the monstrous figure. Its head tilted slightly, as if acknowledging her.
"…Of course he does."
Father Hearth, standing beside her, observed the scene without expression. "It is effective."
"That's not the word I'd use," Mother Goose muttered.
The Treats
"Halloween is incomplete without treats!" Mother Goose clapped her hands. "Caramel apples, pumpkin pies, chocolates—we shall prepare the finest sweets!"
The children cheered and rushed to the kitchen.
Then things went *terribly* wrong.
One of the children, in their enthusiasm, added too much enchanted sugar to the candy mix. Instead of simple sweets, the chocolates began to float, the caramel apples started singing, and the pumpkin pies… well.
They gained sentience.
"RUN!" a child screamed as a particularly aggressive pie launched itself across the room.
Mother Goose grabbed a broom and swatted it midair. "Why does this keep happening?!"
Father Hearth, utterly unfazed, caught a flying chocolate in one hand, examined it, then ate it.
Mother Goose gawked at him. "Did you not see it moving?"
He nodded. "Food is food."
One of the children gasped. "He's unstoppable."
The Haunted House
Finally, as the evening deepened and the first stars twinkled outside, it was time for the grand event—the haunted house.
The children had transformed the upper floors into a labyrinth of frights and surprises. There were hidden ghosts (mostly sheets tied to strings), eerie whispers (courtesy of enchanted wind chimes), and the occasional harmless jump scare.
Mother Goose, leading a group of younger children, smiled warmly. "Oh, how delightful! Just the right amount of spookiness."
Then she turned a corner and nearly screamed.
A massive shadow loomed over her, its glowing eyes peering into her soul.
Her heart *stopped*.
Then, after a long, silent pause, the shadow… took off its mask.
It was one of the older children, grinning. "Did I scare you, Mother Goose?"
She placed a hand over her chest. "You nearly gave me *a heart attack!*"
Father Hearth, watching from behind, murmured, "Acceptable."
She turned on him. "That was *not* acceptable!"
The children, meanwhile, cheered. "Best haunted house ever!"
### The Grand Finale
At last, the night came to an end. The children, full of treats and excitement, gathered around the great hearth, their eyes shining in the flickering light.
Mother Goose, despite her exhaustion, smiled fondly. "Did you all have fun, my darlings?"
A chorus of happy shouts answered her.
Father Hearth, standing by the fire, gave his usual slow nod. "It was… eventful."
Mother Goose sighed, sinking into a chair. "That is one way to put it."
One of the children tugged at her sleeve. "Will you do it again next year?"
She hesitated.
Then she glanced around at their glowing faces, at Father Hearth's calm (if slightly amused) gaze, and at the joyful warmth filling the House of the Hearth.
She exhaled, shaking her head with a small smile. "Oh, very well. But *next time*—no flying pies!"
The children cheered.
Somewhere near the entrance, the scarecrow, Mr. Grins, seemed to smile even wider.