Halloween Night had a cold crisp pumpkin tang to the air. All through the streets of Concord the trees whispered amongst themselves. The willow bent her graceful tendrils towards the Earth. The Maples quivered with excitement. The field of gnarled old Apples shook their bony limbs skyward. The Oaks, majestic kings that they are, merely looked on disdainfully at the scattering of noisy humans gathering for a night of foolish merriment.

The essence of Halloween filled the night: smoking candles, fragrant apples, and the hint of mischief to come. Not only human spirits ranged the Earth on Halloween. The trees in Concord were blessed with special powers on this shivery dark evening. After bursting with energy and productivity all summer, the trees now faced the cold, dead time of Winter. On this supernatural night preceding their winter's slumber, one group of trees were laden with magnificent power. Gray and heavily scarred with natural and Human graffiti, the mighty Beeches of Concord, muscular arms waving toward the star-flecked sky, broadcast their Halloween tale.

Being the older members of the tree group and the most powerfully built, the Beeches could boast about the famous Humans of Concord whose ghosts now drifted in and out of their branches relating stories of Concord past. The beeches were so inviting to the spirit world due to their powerful, sloping arms, that the ghosts of Thoreau and Emerson often rested in their comforting embrace.

The Beech tree twisted slowly as if to relieve some muscle ache in his heavy trunks. This Halloween, the sharpness and clarity of the night lent to conversations carrying far through the air. Henry David was still bemoaning the loss of the noble Elm, while Emerson was speculating on the current decline of the Sycamore.

The trees, being wiser than most, gazed down at the scratching made in their skins by countless Humans in an effort for some kind of immortality. Pointing a now bare branch tip towards these human scribblings, the trees ask; Why do Humans attempt to mar our perfection?

Even as the trees communed with the ghostly human spirits, up from the North bridge a rumble of human feet charged up the slope, reenacting an even more ancient battle than the other one fought there. Whooping and shrieking, the humans galloped towards the ancient Beeches. With disfigurement in mind, the humans brandished their weapons. Thoreau and Emerson, horrified at the imminent danger to their friends the Beeches, called to all the ancient Human and Tree spirits for protection.

A sudden and furious blast of air encircled the trees. The Humans darted back in horror as an angry roar filled the blackened sky. The Beeches shuddered, the Maples swished down a torrent of colorful leaves, the Apples -- amply armed with rotten fruit -- pelted the intruders. The mighty Oaks groaned and sighed, shaking angry clusters of leaves and branches.

The full spirit of the Beeches released, they flexed bulging arms and knobby knees at the would-be defacers. The humans, at first frozen with horror, were powerless against the fury of the trees. Branches lashed and tore at their Halloween costumes and snarled their hair. Ghastly and inhuman sounds split the night. Bodies flew down the hill, over the North Bridge where the spirit of the Old Manse herded them off her property with some ghostly shrieks. Remnants of colorful costumes floated peacefully on the Concord River. Emerson and Thoreau applauded the powers of Nature and proceeded toward Walden to more peaceful accommodations for the remainder of this ghoastly night.

It was said the next day, in an effort to have their tale of horror believed, the Humans cautiously crept up the hill to prove to the nonbelievers their near-death experience. The Beeches had regained their composure and stood steely gray against the cold blue November sky. The only evidence of the event were the scraps of colorful material strewn artistically across the railings of the Old North Bridge.