Sisters-of-Echelon: Weird Photo (Citation/Phobia)

Narrated Halloween season portrait of inventive mysticism yielding a 'dogma' fiction worth its weight in lucky-silver.

An inventive Halloween superstitions fable. 

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A small town in Homeland-Jersey suburbia outside/near the Pine Barrens (a small town called 'Echelon') is where I found myself, the elder sister of my adopted younger sister suffering in our shared home because of an unruly alcoholic uncle who'd taken in my younger sister before adopting me to become more of her guardian for Earthling cleats. I decided to craft a special Halloween superstition storyboard in which trick-or-treaters would come inquiring if our house was haunted by the specter of a Scarecrow risen from the cemetery, as they'd (perhaps) read/come-across on social media boards for American Homeland real estate value (ha).

TRICK-OR-TREATER: Is this the Scarecrow house?
ME: Why, we get that a lot now, but unsure if it's some unknown legend in here!

MY SISTER: I believe it, friends!

UNCLE: You damn tricker-treats Halloween babes confuse me.

TRICK-OR-TREATER: We'll make special candy prayer for Scarecrow-safety, sister!

ME: Thanx (Facebook-like).

My younger sister and I started taking note-counts of how many locals (trick-or-treaters) wanted to examine our house for that social media posted local Homeland Scarecrow home-haunting legend/myth/fiction. My uncle was frustrated, and my sister and I continued to chuckle and insisted in this darkest hour our Homeland-Jersey house was (surely) a new 'celebrity' real state of interest-value; as we hoped, our uncle (Buck) started to think he was embarrassing himself with his cynicism/skepticism...for Halloween/festivity youth image (ha).

We saw my uncle later that Halloween's Eve drinking more absinthe, which he liked to do for what he deemed a great Samhain custom for his private 'Selfie' life, but he began weeping, and my sister and sneaked out the back-door in costume to do some late-night (secret) trick-or-treating and brought back some butterscotch chocolate candies for Buck (ha).

However, this Halloween's season superstitions tale doesn't end there, friend. For one week later, as Thanksgiving fast approached, a mystic-ghost hunter ('Mr. Amlan Satan') appeared at our doorstep, insisting he be allowed entryway to investigate the lurking evanescence of this claimed/rumored 'Scarecrow' apparition presence of omens/harvest. Buck (uncle) didn't know what to say/think and by then had started to slow down his drunk/angst and consented to this paid temp home-visit/stay for Satan (Amlan!) to do some research for Selfie-culture real estate value chats of fashion/seasons (wow).

AMLAN: I have this silencer to shoot out your attic window to lure Scarecrow, sir.

BUCK: This is something like nonsense, but maybe you'll write about it online!

AMLAN: You're becoming a more mystic-like man, good-fellow.

BUCK: I dunno if I actually care if you're Ichabod Crane himself; just proceed!

AMLAN: I'll make your house famous (for the Ego).

BUCK: Fine (Happy Thanksgiving).

AMLAN: Facebook-like!

I started to fall in-love with Satan (Amlan!), and I knew he'd brought our haunted-house 'celebrity-gossip' special home-warming goosebumps charms as Thanksgiving fast approached. I knew (then) my Halloween's Eve micro-miracle 'deed-of-fiction' created a nifty American Homeland superstitions line of cleats; Amlan was to adapt this entire (American) 'illusion' inquiry into a Pulitzer-caliber novel concept (House-of-Doubt); I wanted to become his darling (ha)...Selfie-like.

"Doing well is the result of doing good. That's what capitalism is all about" (Ralph Waldo Emerson). 

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"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)