Daniel had bought enough Halloween candy for the entire street and was beginning to suspect the entire street knew it. Every time he settled onto the sofa, someone knocked. He passed the hall mirror with the bowl tucked beneath his arm, opened the door, and tried to guess the costumes before the children corrected him. The little girl he called a princess was a vampire. She showed him her teeth to make sure he understood.

By nine, his wife, Beth, had stopped helping him identify anyone. She was watching a film with her feet tucked under a blanket and laughing whenever his guesses carried in from the doorstep. He came back from one group wearing a paper crown a small boy had insisted he keep. In the mirror, it sat crooked above his right ear. Daniel straightened it, then left it on for the next knock.

The bowl grew lighter. He caught himself in the glass on his way to refill it, on his way back to the door, and once while trying to remove a chocolate wrapper that had stuck to his sleeve. The mirror had hung there for years. It reflected the same hall lamp, the same narrow table, and whatever expression he happened to be wearing as he passed. Tonight, mostly, he was smiling.

Later, Beth went upstairs. Daniel switched off the porch light after the last group, then stayed up to finish the film she had abandoned. When it ended, the house was quiet, and the clock was a few minutes short of midnight. He carried the empty bowl toward the kitchen, passing the hall mirror one more time.

In the glass, he stood with his head lowered, his eyes raised toward him, smiling.

Who makes an ordinary evening feel like home? Leave Zombie Lips beside a loved one’s everyday things for nourishing lip conditioning, a small act of care among the familiar comforts you share. Keep the real smiles close.

Follow the Monster movement on Instagram and YouTube.