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I’m also absolutely investigating, but that’s beside the point.

The panel setup is straightforward—rows of white folding chairs facing a small raised platform where two director’s chairs are positioned under portable stage lights. The air is chilly. Pumpkins line the edges of the seating area, the sky is an eerie shade of lavender, and the woods behind the stage create a shadowy backdrop that’s equal parts atmospheric and slightly creepy.

Near the stage, there’s a long refreshment table draped in orange and black fabric, and I’m unreasonably proud of the spread Emmie and I put together. There are spiderweb brownies, candy corn bark, caramel apple bites, graveyard pudding cups, and three different themed cocktails in giant drink dispensers labeled “Monster’s Brew,” “Vampire’s Kiss,” and “Witch’s Potion.” There’s also a hot-cider station with cinnamon sticks because it’s October and I’m not a monster.

The crowd is almost entirely women over thirty, most of them in full horror hostess cosplay, with a handful of die-hard Scream Queens fans who clearly traveled here specifically for this event, and a few people who wandered over from the carnival games to see what all the noise is about. The seating area is roped off with velvet cords and requires a ticket, which means everyone here paid to get in.

And it’s probably a good thing.

Mom and Georgie arrive like they’re making a red-carpet entrance. Mom has upgraded her costume since this morning—the black velvet gown is still two sizes too small, but now she’s added theatrical makeup that makes her look vaguely like a vampire, and the plastic skull she’s holding has been replaced with a more ornate one that I’m pretty sure she bought at the gift shop.

Georgie is still in the purple corset, fishnet stockings, and platform boots, but she’s added approximately seventeen accessories, including a rubber snake, fake spiderwebs in her wig, and what looks like a severed hand dangling from her belt. She’s nothing if not subtle.

They grab seats front row center, naturally, and Georgie pulls out a stack of index cards with questions written on them.

I park Ella’s stroller near the back and take a seat next to her where I can see the stage without being too obvious.

This feels like a trap, Fish says, weaving between the white folding chairs with her tail held high. The worst kind of trap, a Halloween trap. Everyone knows those are the deadliest. Or at least they are if Bizzy is around.

I shoot her a look that says, gee, thanks.

But think of the FOOD, Sherlock counters, his nose twitching in the direction of the refreshment table. There’s so much glorious food. And people are dropping treats like they mean it. People ALWAYS drop the good treats. Spooky season is simply the best. And the most delicious. He gobbles up a stray churro as if on cue.

It did look delicious.

I rather enjoy the ambiance, Duchess observes, sitting beside me with perfect posture. The fog machines create excellent atmosphere. She gives one paw a leisurely lick, then cranes her neck toward the stage.

You have opinions about fog machines? Fish asks.

I have opinions about everything, she counters. It’s a gift.

The stage lights dim slightly, and Morticia Moonstone strides out before us. She’s wearing a red velour costume that’s so tight I’m worried about her circulation, not to mention her girls are taking center stage like giant pale volleyballs threatening to escape at any moment. She’s got her clipboard, her headset, and the slightly frazzled expression of someone who’s been coordinating this festival for a week and is running on coffee and spite.

What’s with all the exposed décolletage? I glance down at my own, conservatively covered set of volleyballs. Okay, fine, tennis balls, but who cares. Jasper is thrilled to play tennis just about every night. Thus Ella. And maybe those twins my mother is prognosticating.

Anyway, I thought Halloween was about candy, not spicy costumes. But judging by all the spicy costumes, boy, was I ever wrong. On the bright side, a low-cut costume never caused a cavity. A traffic accident, maybe. But a cavity? No.

“Good evening, Spider Cove!” Morticia’s voice booms through the portable speaker system. “Welcome to tonight’s panel: ‘Embracing Your Inner Monster’ with the incredible Vampyra Vex!”

The crowd cheers as if they’re losing their minds. Georgie whoops so loud I’m pretty sure they heard it in the next county.

Vampyra Vex walks onto the stage, and I have to admit, she looks fantastic. She’s in a deep purple corset that actually fits properly, unlike everyone else’s questionable situation, with her dark curls pinned up perfectly and a crimson velvet choker at her throat. She’s smiling at the crowd, completely relaxed and confident as she takes her seat in the director’s chair with an ease that suggests she’s done this a thousand times.

She waits for the applause to die down, then leans forward slightly. “Before we begin, I want to acknowledge the passing of my good friend Countess Clawdia Noir.”

The crowd goes quiet.

Vampyra pauses, letting the moment settle. “But in the spirit of Halloween, I’m sure the Countess would insist we carry on.”

More spontaneous applause. A few cheers. Someone in the back shouts, “For Clawdia!”

Duchess looks mildly amused but mostly solemn.

Vampyra smiles, and it looks genuine. But I’m watching her hands. They’re gripping the arms of the chair just a little too tightly, and her knuckles go pale against the dark wood.

Morticia clears her throat. “Let’s start with the basics. Vampyra, what does ‘embracing your inner monster’ mean to you?”

Vampyra shifts in her seat, relaxing slightly. “It means being authentic. Owning the parts of yourself that society tells you to hide. Turning your perceived flaws into strengths. We all have darkness in us. The question is whether we’re brave enough to acknowledge it and use it to become more fully ourselves.”