By mid-afternoon on Halloween, Bynum starts to feel like a story you’ve stepped into. The sun sits low over the Haw River, catching the tin roof of the old general store, that crooked little landmark with paint the color of faded postcards. Out front, tables are piled with pumpkins, and neighbors lean over them, carving faces by the dozen. You hear the scrape of spoons on hollow shells, the pop of candle lids, the laughter that rises when someone’s pumpkin turns out a little stranger than planned.
The hot dog vendor is already busy, steam curling into the cool air, mingling with the smell of fresh-cut pumpkin and woodsmoke drifting from somewhere down the road. Kids in capes and princess dresses chase each other across the lawn, their plastic swords clanging, their wings slipping sideways. Someone’s wearing a witch hat with a sunflower stuck in the brim. Someone else has turned a pair of overalls into a scarecrow costume.
As the light fades, folks start carrying their jack-o’-lanterns toward the bridge. It’s an old one — been closed to cars for years — but tonight it’s the town’s glowing heartbeat. One by one, candles are lit, and soon the bridge is lined with orange faces: grins, grimaces, wide-eyed wonder. The river catches the light and carries it away in ripples.
For a while, everyone just stands there, breathing it in. The bridge under their feet, the stars overhead, the hum of conversation and crickets sharing the night. And it feels like something more than a holiday — it feels like the kind of thing you keep in your bones, the memory you’ll pull out years from now when you need to remember what it means to belong somewhere.
Tonight, the town is together.
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