I Remember the Fire

One moment I was grinning at trick-or-treaters, the next, the sky turned orange and the air crackled with heat. I couldn’t move—not because I’m animatronic, but because there was nowhere to go. The house behind me, the one filled with second chances and sober mornings, was gone before sunrise. So was I.

But they rebuilt me. Bolted my feet to the same scorched ground.

Now I stand again—taller, wiser, a little warped from the past. Kids still wave. Grownups still smile.

I’m more than a Halloween prop now.

I’m proof that even monsters can come back.