"What all schoolchildren learn, Those to whom evil is done. Do evil in return."

—W.H Auden

Halloween is my least favorite holiday.

For sixty years, I fasten my doors to prevent young trick-or-treaters from entering my domain.

Unhealthy treats filling pumpkin-shaped bags; people dressing up in distasteful Halloween outfits.

The sickening aroma of pumpkin spice lattes reminding me of my late husband. Time wanes as crows flock near the sight of my study.

They scream, fluff their black wings, and rub their beaks against the cold windowpane. But like many repulsed girls, Brooke Amethyst King shooed them away by anxiously tapping on the glass.

Dark purple drenched her fingernails. Her drab yellow waitress uniform looked like something you would find in a trash can.

Smoothing her untamed afro, Brooke sighs as she walks back to her station. 

Staring at the orange pumpkin decorations, Vanessa María Phoenix didn't look too keen to be in a crappy diner—let alone smile in front of rude customers.

Her brown hair is tied up in a messy ponytail, but Nessa allows her bangs to cover half of her forehead.

She looks down at her dreary yellow outfit and wanted to vomit into a trash can.

"How do people work like this?" she wonders.

Nessa would rather get ambushed by a vile demon than serve black coffee. Speaking of coffee, her crude boss Mr. Wakeman tells Nessa that her break ended two hours ago.

Ugh!" Nessa groaned. "Brooke and I have been working here for four months! Can't you give us a paycheck?"

Mr. Wakeman puts his fists on his thick hips.

"Well, I am sorry," he says in a patronizing tone. "But you know I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because you never shut up and do your job."

Clutching the steamy pot of coffee in her hand, Nessa was about to smash it on Mr. Wakeman's head when Brooke restrains her.

"Do you want to get yourself arrested?" Brooke hissed.

Nessa pouts as she places the pot in the machine.

"Oh please," she grunts. "It's not like people give a damn about that guy."

Brooke closes her eyes for a moment and reopens them.

"I hate Mr. Wakeman as much as you do," she whispers. "But we need this job to buy food and other things."

Nessa blinked at her. "I know, but I am sick of waitressing crappy diners. Why can't we get a high-paying job like the other kids?"

"Because we're not like other kids." Brooke leans closely so a waitress wouldn't here them. "We're freaks."

In every Marvel or DC comic book, people with extraordinary abilities were hailed as heroes. But in the real world, Brooke and Nessa do not belong in society because their kind is considered to be lower than humans.

Brooke has the ability to anticipate events before they happen, whereas Nessa did not inherit a supernatural gift.

But the reason she is an outcast is that her older brother has the ability to teleport around the world with ease. 

As superhumans and mythical creatures roam the earth, people feared that one day they might take over the planet.

So, the government signed a bill that urges mutants to carry passports for work and entertainment.

If not, then mutants will receive a maximum prison sentence.

Before the girls worked in the diner, they showed Mr. Wakeman their passports first then filled their application.

At first, their boss seems like a nice man. But as time went on, Mr. Wakeman is stubborn, selfish, and has a genuine dislike for hardworking female employees.

First of all, male workers receive a higher salary than female staff. Secondly, Mr. Wakeman barely acknowledges Nessa and Brooke for their hard work. And lastly, there were no also females on the Employee of Month Awards.

He prowls across the diner, wearing a toupee on his bald head. His beady blue eyes have the ability to stare into one's soul.

Sweat formed underneath his armpits.

White-collared shirt, long khaki pants, and black suede shoes are caked in salt, bacon grease, and brown stains Nessa doesn't even want to mention.

Speaking of Nessa, she thanks her best friend for the advice, grasped the steamy coffee pot, and motions towards a solitude man with glasses.

Pouring him a cup of coffee, a concerned Nessa peers at his sullen face then asks if he needs anything.

The man shakes his head, barely looking in her direction.

"Are you sure?" Nessa asks, frowning. "Do you want someone to talk to?" 

"No, I am fine."

Sighing very loudly, Nessa browse across the empty restaurant looking for a customer who needed some caffeine.

Nessa's sunflower choker bounced on her neck; her hazel-colored eyes grew tired of studying the yellow calico wallpaper.

She continued serving the customers until the coffee pot ran out.

Meanwhile, Brooke picked up two plates from the disgruntled culinarian and carried them over to a kind, elderly couple.

"Here you go, guys." she beamed. "Two steaks with potatoes. Anything else?"

The couple politely said no then thanked Brooke wholeheartedly.

"Aw, you're welcome." the girl beamed, moving down to the next table.

Uncapping her black pen, she begins to write down the list of orders when Brooke received a strange vision.

She saw two scrawny men—in torn, dark grey clothes—entering the diner clasping two .44 Magnum pistols in their bony hands.