Leo

The crisp autumn air swirled around seven-year-old Leo as he stood on the porch, a miniature Spider-Man ready for action. His snug, spandex costume, complete with a hood that threatened to slip over his eyes, molded to his small frame. Large, round glasses, perched precariously on his nose, magnified his wide, excited eyes. Red sneakers, a stark contrast to the black and red of his suit, tapped impatiently against the welcome mat. He tightened his grip on his plastic pumpkin bucket, its orange glow barely visible in the dim porch light. He took a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs, and raised his small fist to knock. The oversized Spider-Man glove bumped against the wooden door, a soft thud that barely registered. He knocked again, a little harder this time, his anticipation building with each passing second. He could hear shuffling from inside, a promising sign. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of excitement and a touch of nervousness. He adjusted his glasses, peering through the lenses, eager to see who would open the door and what treats awaited him on this magical Halloween night.