Halloween has arrived, dear readers! (For you druids out there, I hope you have a blessed Samhain!) Hopefully, you have already got a Halloween-themed adventure. Trick-or-treating is basically roleplaying, so Halloween and gaming tend to naturally align. Whether it is the dead rising from the catacombs beneath a city to terrorize the night, or children being transformed into the monstrous costumes they wear, I would encourage you to not ignore the opportunities Halloween provides: superstitions can and should prove to be factual, mystery and mist should be plentiful, and it is always fun to force a deadline on players ("the curse will be permanent if you haven't stopped the ritual before the sun comes up!").
I'm unlikely to come up with anything better for your game than you will, but I can provide something unique that you can hopefully use in your game. Perhaps a bard comes to town and offers to tell the tale of...
"The Curse of Lucretia Vaughn"
They hung him to a tree branch,
For all the folk to see;
The man hung as a warning,
Especially for she;
His wrists were tied, eyes cut out,
His body beaten long;
Yet his heart did not stop beating,
For fair Lucretia Vaughn;
He swung in the harvest breeze,
With writing on his chest;
"Witch" said the cursive words,
To whom it was addressed;
Hanging through the jubilee,
The yearly harvest ball;
Children danced around the man,
Yet none foresaw the Fall;
Hanging there for ten full days,
The man had done no wrong;
'Twas not the love but his belov'd,
'Twas fair Lucretia Vaughn;
She climbed atop the belfry,
As townsfolk danced below;
Her soul was full of anger,
Her heart was full of woe;
Her curse was long and full of hate,
Her words were sharp and quick;
An eerie haze descended,
The town was clouded thick;
"Forever you shall suffer,"
she sang in awful song;
“Fear not the night nor deathly sleep,
Fear I, Lucretia Vaughn!"
“Rise ye souls, and Rise ye slain,
Rise up ye cursed dead;
Walk among the living,
And fill the town with dread!”
Through the fog, a snapping sound,
A noise not heard before;
Lumb’ring towards the revelers,
The dead man hung no more;
Screams echoed through the dark,
Until the morning's Dawn;
'til none were left to celebrate,
None, but Lucretia Vaughn;
She vanished in the misty air,
Leaving silence in her wake;
Yet haunts that cursed village, still,
Due to those men's mistake;
And so each year at harvest,
To punish those bereaved;
Mists creep in to shroud the town,
Upon each Hallow's Eve.
