Through The Peephole

I am going to jump out of my skin, Dear Diary! All night long I can hear them out in the streets. They pound on my door, but I do not move. That is how they get you. I may have brought it on myself by putting the carved pumpkin on the porch and the ghostly cardboard figure on the door, the left eye strategically placed over the peephole. But I've found that it's best to blend in with the neighborhood, and on this particular night, sparkly witch's britches adorning the garage door makes a house less conspicuous, not more. Unable to resist any longer, I pressed my eyeball to the small hole, trying in vain to see who's there, but no figure appeared. They may have been too short. But it's more likely that they were hiding in the bushes, ready to jump out when I let down my guard. You see, there are zombies roaming about. Real ones, not just the mini imitators with strawberry-flavored gel blood on their lips.