The air was thick with spirits. "Poison apples! Poison apples! Get your poison apples here!" belted out an old man, shoving shrivelled, black apples into people's faces. A herd of tittering witchlings crowded around his kiosk, oohing and aahing with fingers crossed behind their backs. Lilith didn't stay to see their trick. There was much to discover here. Trinket stalls shrieked and screeched when she approached, the owners shushing their displays with taloned fingers. The smell of pumpkin pie overpowered the streets and crude jack-o-lanterns smiled toothily as she walked by. She loved Halloween. There was no greater time of the year to explore the Magus Market. She skipped the fortune telli

We acknowledge the past, present and emerging traditional owners of the land on which we live and work, the Wadjuk people of the Noongar nation and acknowledge that sovereignty was never ceded.

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© 2020 by Curtin Writers Club