A fine Bordeaux, a Vincent Price DVD, and solitude. These were the three things David Rossi had come to associate with Halloween, when he was lucky enough not to be working. In a neighborhood like his, there were no unruly teenagers to worry about egging his house, nor were there usually any trick-or-treaters. No, he thought to himself, this was the life: a quiet night alone –

Ding dong.

No. Rossi blinked. Surely he'd imagined it, surely it was the very thought of pranksters and trick-or-treaters that –

Ding dong. Ding dong.

He didn't even have any candy, what was he supposed to –

Ding dong.

Slowly, he approached the front door. He snaked his hand around the lightswitch at just the right angle to not be seen and switched the front porch light off. There. Clearly no one –

Ding dong. Ding dong. Ding dong.

Damn it. He swung the door open, expecting a couple of teenagers for all the noise, only to look down at a tiny girl dressed as a ballerina. Her parents were probably the larger figures – a bear and a… goldfish? – at the end of his driveway. The bear was tapping their foot impatiently.

"Look," he said gently, "I don't have any candy." The girl was silent, just tilting her head to one side and staring up at him. "I'm sorry," he tried.

"Trick or treat," the girl said, pushing her pumpkin-shaped candy bucket toward him.

"I don't have any candy," he tried again. "I'm very sorry, but you'll have to try the next house over."

"They already gave me candy," the girl said, eyes wide and strangely unblinking. Her lower lip, though, was giving the telltale wavering signal for about to cry, and he had to do something.

"Have your parents gotten any treats?" he asked, hopefully not too wildly. When the little girl shook her head, he tried not to grin. "Do you think they deserve one?"

The ballerina before him took a moment to consider the question before nodding. "Yes. They're good parents."

"Of course they are, they raised you, you lovely girl! Give me one second and I'll give you a treat to take to them." He left the door cracked and jogged to the unopened Bordeaux on the coffee table. "Sorry, my friend, you're going to a new home now."

When he placed the bottle of $350 wine in the girl's bucket, nuzzled in among Smarties and Skittles, she gave him an incredulous look. "I thought you were getting candy," she complained.

"Your parents will like this even more than candy," he said, hoping they weren't beer people. He patted her head, then, and sent her on her way. He closed the door and slumped against it.

At least he had another few bottles of it.