The fire draws the shadows uncomfortably close. The souls of the damned moan in ethereal torment. The goblins creep and clutch at the edges of the flickering light. And, outside on the moors, the children of the night can be heard howling mournfully to each other under the waning moon. Inside, the aromas of s'mores and spiced witch's brew drift through the house, while from the TV in the den you think you can hear the Great Pumpkin beginning to stir and rise.

A web covered door stands on the south wall. And, in the room just beyond, there seems to be some kind of monster mash going on. Help yourself to some candy and treats. They're in the glowing skull on the coffee table.