As we continue our investigation of Scorpio, we find ourselves this week contemplating Halloween, that ancient Celtic rite whose rigor mortis-like grasp has refused to relinquish its hold on the Christian holiday season. Over the centuries, try though they may, the church elders have been unable to pry the fingers of the popular imagination away from this pagan ritual. According to legend, this is the time during which all those that have died over the previous year come back for one final sojourn before leaving for the underworld forever. Foods are left out for deceased loved ones to help them on their way; hence the origin of our giving treats to young ghosts and goblins who come knocking on our door. Young Kt    Scorpio is the eighth sign of the zodiac, and it begins in October, a name derived from Latin for the same numeral. Life seems to die back at this time of the year, as the insects disappear, the leaves fall, and many birds fly south for the winter. Scorpios often develop a strange fascination with death, wondering about it and listening in awe to goulish tales. The investigative mind of these individuals wishes to plumb the ultimate truth hidden behind creation, and whether through sex, death, or the occult, they often attempt to rip away the veil by delving as far as they can in its pursuit. Their daring can either carry them into the abyss, or elevate them to sainthood.    It was a few years ago now, but there was a time when my Scorpio daughter hated to go into the basement. She didn't mind so much if she went down with someone else, but would, in typical fixed sign fashion, adamantly refuse to go by herself.    One day, while in the basement talking to her, I asked what it was that she didn't like about being down there alone. She silently pointed to the ceiling, her eyes riveted on a single, motionless object. Now, we live in an old New England farmhouse and store our wood in the basement. Since this was the middle of winter, the neighborhood cats and other forms of wildlife were able to get in and out through one of the windows. What Katie was pointing to was a mass of cobwebs along with its former resident, a now long-deceased spider. Having been there for some time in the dampness and cold, this particular arachnid had turned totally white. The shell of its body was all that remained, and it was encrusted in a fuzzy, translucent coating, rather like a mold. This gave it an unearthly looking appearance.    Smiling as I turned to her, I calmly explained with knowing assurance,    "Katie, you don't have to worry about her. She won't bother you now."    Standing her ground, she shook her head and firmly responded,    "No, Dad. That's a ghost spider."    "I know, Sweetie." I replied. "She won't hurt you because she's dead."    Now it's not that I'm unskilled in the art of kid logic, but every now and then, those of us who are over the hill have to be put through a refresher course; sort of like a car going in for a tune-up. Figuring that I still didn't get it, she re-stated her position.    "No, Dad; that's a ghost spider. I know it's dead. They're the worst kind." Translate to: Français | Deutsch | Italiano | Português | Español