Ever since I read Ray Bradbury's THE OCTOBER COUNTRY and discovered Edgar Allen Poe, I have long associated the month with tales with mystery and imagination.
The weather cools. The moon seems to shine with a slightly colder glow. The nighttime breeze rustles the leaves with just a hint of foreboding. It's one of my favorite months of the year.
There's a chill in the air. Shhhh. Is that something in the dark right behind the door?