See, the big problem with children was keeping their attention. They wanted to perform a big spooky ritual in the big spooky house in order to scare the hell out of some little filly? Fine. But they were going to be doing it on Handy’s terms. Witch torch in hand after yet another hour steeling himself in order to strike a fucking match, he set to work, descending from the loft. He placed the candle stands, all eight of which in an auspicious pattern in the central room, the one that was overlooked from above by the mezzanine of the first floor. They were in a circle where, if you were to draw a line from each to its opposite number, you could paint an eight pointed star on the floor. He encouraged this by taking his dagger and gouging out faint lines in the wood. Hopefully the ponies would take the bait, but he had no idea what the hell this ‘human lore’ they had invented up actually said about him, but one way or another, he sure as fuck was going to add to it.