WEBVTT
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Well, hello, my spookies. It's your host and narrator Enrique
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Kuto here, and it's Friday in October. So I think
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it's time for some scary stories and why not head
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back to twenty and twenty one in twenty twenty two
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to hear some of our best Halloween stories right here
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at Weekly Spooky. So, whether you're a brand new listener
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or you've been listening the entire six years we've been on,
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now's the time to refresh your memory with something scary.
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We have twelve stories all about Halloween night and the
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mischief that comes with the territory. So get yourself comfortable.
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We have enough stories to get you nearly through an
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entire work day, so get comfortable or get to work
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in because we have nothing but scares to come, So
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why not start it all off with a little pumpkin
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spice and nothing Nice. It definitely hits the spot when
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it's in your cup. Enjoy Pumpkin Spice and Nothing Nice.
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By Charles Campbell, seven o'clock am, October thirty first, Amber
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Hannah sighed in frustration as she impatiently waited in line
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at Frankie's Donuts, a line that was threatening to spill
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outside the front door. By her count, she was in
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spot eight and so far every single person is ordered
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a pumpkin spice latte or pumpkin spice donuts or both.
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Amber was so over the fall season she just wanted
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her caramel cap pucchino and glazed doughnut before heading into
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the office. Everything was pumpkin spice, from candles to fucking clorox.
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No shit, she saw pumpkin spice clorox in the grocery
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store the day before. She dreaded the three block walk
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to her office because as soon as she arrives, Amber
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knows the place will smell of pumpkin spice. Whoever thought
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of putting pumpkin spice in fucking everything ought to be
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bound and flogged. Needless to say, Amber was no fan
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and would be happy when November first rolled around. It
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meant half priced candy and folks would start easing up
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just a bit on all this pumpkin spice shit. Fuck Halloween,
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fuck pumpkin spice. It was almost her turn in line
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when a small hand tugged on her finger. Trick or treat.
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The little boy said, ugh, get away, Amber said, and
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stepped forward to place her order, she felt a finger
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poke her on the butt and spun around Trick or treat.
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The little boy repeated, look, you little turd, where is
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your mother? Amber asked angrily, what's your problem? Frankie asked Susie.
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The cashier stepped aside for her boss. Oh, nothing much.
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I'm so sick of all this Halloween shit, the pumpkin
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spice bullshit. This coffee shop used to be great because
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it wasn't a fucking Starbucks or Duncan. But I'll be
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damned if you fuckers didn't go ahead and sell out.
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I hate all this pumpkin spice bullshit and snot nos
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brats trying to touch my ass. That is my fucking problem.
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Amber's face was beat red and she just couldn't stop
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the spew of venom. Once it started. The little boy
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with blue eyes and sandy blonde hair started to cry,
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you're a meanie. The pumpkin man is gonna get you.
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The kid cried out, pumpkin man, give me a fucking break.
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Amber said, get out of my store and don't come back.
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Since you hate us so much, go to Starbucks or Duncan.
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But you're not welcome here anymore. Frankie shouted, fine, Amber
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said and turned to leave. There was a tap on
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her shoulder. It was the boy's father. Miss the way
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you talked to my son was crass and unacceptable. You
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owe him an apology. The tall man with a dark
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complexion said he wasn't angry, but he was serious. Uh yeah,
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that ain't gonna fucking happen. You're lucky I don't call
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the police. The little perv tried to grab my ass.
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Amber said she was over it and ready to go. Okay,
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so you're going to forego the apology, asked the man. Duh.
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Amber answered and began walking toward the door. The man
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tapped on her shoulder once more. She turned to let
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him have it for the final time. He held out
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his palm and quickly blew orange dust into her face.
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Amber coughed and gagged. She breathed it in and swallowed
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a good bit of it. Her eyes burned, and she
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was fiercely rubbing them. What felt like agonizing minutes was
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only a few seconds when she felt the cool water
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wash over her face. Frankie was pouring a bottle of
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cold dasani over her eyes. It was helping. Did someone
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call the cops, Amber asked. Nobody said a word. Where
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where'd they go? Amber looked around. The little boy and
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tall man were gone. She thought about calling the police,
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but what was the point. She'd go to work and
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tomorrow this Halloween horseshit would be over until next year.
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Ten minutes later, Amber was tapping away on her front
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teeth with her index finger as she was trying to
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decide what she wanted from the vending machine. She rolled
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her eyes when she noticed what was in B seven
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pumpkin pie pop tarts. This season couldn't come to an
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end fast enough. She chose some generic peanut butter crackers
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and had just enough change in her pocket for a
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doctor pepper to wash it all down. She needed something
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in her stomach to deal with all the Halloween freaks
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in the office today. Shelley was a witch, John was
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a half asked Frankenstein monster, Chuck was a bargain basement mummy,
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and Tina, well, she didn't know what the fuck Tina
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was supposed to be. She had drawn on whiskers, so
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maybe some kind of a dying cat or something. Just
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another Halloween at Whitman's Insurance Agency. Chuck and Tina Whitman
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owned the place, and they were very firm believers in
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all Hallow's Eve. Another year without dressing up? Hih amber,
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Chuck asked, as he held his arms out like a
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lumbering mummy from movies long long ago. Yeah, well, you know,
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I really couldn't find anything to wear, mister Whitman, Amber said,
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Looking at him made her want to puke. At least
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you're consistent. You sure you didn't try a little makeup
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this morning, Chuck asked as he pointed at her neck.
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You've got a little something there. You get one of
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those mpkin spice donuts from Frankie's. No, mister Whitman, let
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me go wipe this mess off, Amber said, and excused
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herself from her desk. Thankfully there was no one else
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in the restroom. Amber looked in the mirror and she
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could see the little orange smudge that mummy Chuck pointed out.
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She soaked a paper towel sheet with warm water and
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dabbed at the small spot on her neck. She dried
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it and took another look. The smudge was still there,
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so she added a little soap from the dispenser and
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scrubbed a little harder. She dried it again, and the
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smudge hadn't gone anywhere. Fuck. Amber whispered and tossed the
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paper towels into the garbage. She'd have to wash the
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spot away in the shower that night. It was par
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for the course. She'd have to work all day with
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that pumpkin orange blotch on her neck. Naturally it would
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be pumpkin orange. She took one last look in the
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mirror and blew a strand of hair out from in
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front of her face. Amber then went back to her desk.
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This morning was busy and lunch was fast approaching. Amber
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was hungry. The crackers and doctor Pepper weren't quite the
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breakfast she expected. She fielded quite a few calls and
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set several appointments for the agents. Some customers came in
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with their young kids, all dressed up. The little fuckers
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had their trick or treat bags and the whitman's were
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more than happy to fill them. To Amber, kids didn't
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belong in a place of business, even if it was Halloween.
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She rose from her desk and stretched her arms. Amber
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was going to take a walk down the block and
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grab a sandwich from Underground Joe's. That's when one of
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the kids in the office shouted, Oh wow, Mom, look
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at her. He shouted and pointed at Amber. I don't
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think she's finished her costume yet. Stop pointing. It's not polite,
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the portly woman said and waved at Amber before pulling
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her son away by the arm. What the fuck was
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that about, Amber whispered to herself. Then Chuck walked by
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and stopped cold. Amber, have you been getting into the
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Halloween spirit? Looks good so far, Chuck said, and made
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a circle with his finger as he pointed at her neck.
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Amber's brow furrowed. She noticed the others in the office
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now looking at her. Tina, the afflicted cat, put her
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hand over her mouth. That was enough for Amber to
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high tail it back to the restroom. Amber locked the
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door behind her and moved quickly to the mirror. She
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put her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Fuck, fuck, fuck,
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Amber repeated. It was the only word her brain would register.
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The orange smudge had spread, and there was more. The
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bottom half of her neck was pumpkin orange, covered with
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what appeared to be black spider veins. There was no
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washing this shit away. Amber took a deep breath and
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exited the bathroom. She moved quickly to the coat rack
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and lifted Tina's long black scarf. She wrapped it around
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her neck and shouted, uh, I'm not feeling well, mister Whitman.
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Going home to lie down. She waved a hand in
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the air and almost knocked Freddy Caldwell over as she
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rushed from the building. Fifteen minutes later, Amber was safely
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in the confines of her one bedroom apartment when she
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immediately removed her clothes and stepped into the shower. She
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saturated the loofa with soapy water and went to work
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on her neck. There was no rush of orange and
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black makeup running down her chest. She scrubbed harder, but
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nothing was happening. It was as if someone tattooed this
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shit on her erh What the fuck? Amber screamed. The
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shower was as hot as she could stand it and
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nothing was happening. She pulled the shower curtain and grabbed
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a towel from a clean stack on the shelf. Amber
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wrapped her body and opened the bathroom door to let
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the steam escape. Then she used a dry washcloth to
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wipe the fogging mirror. Amber almost fainted at what she saw,
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not only did the orange and black mess not go away,
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but it spread even more. Now all of her neck
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was completely covered to the base of her chin. Amber's
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heart was racing, her hands trembled as she attempted to
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remove her nose ring, and quickly gave up on the
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notion when the scent crept into her nostrils. It was
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the unmistakable combination of nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice, and ginger. The
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fucking smell of pumpkin spice. Something else was strange. Amber
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noticed the color of her eyes were darker. They were
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a sky blue before, but now they were almost like
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dark pools of water. This was fucked up on so
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many levels. Then it hit her. The man, the man
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at Frankie's did the shit. He poisoned me, Amber said
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out loud, before thinking, what the fuck did that kid say?
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The pumpkin Man will get you. Amber got dressed as
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she opened the Uber app on her phone. She was
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going to the emergency room. Thirty four minutes later. It
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was mid afternoon and Augusta University Hospital's er was crazier
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than usual. As soon as the uber driver dropped her off,
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Amber knew this was going to be a wasted trip.
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The er waiting room was almost to capacity. A lot
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of them were snotty nosed little shits, sniffling and coughing
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all over the place. There are prompt cares and pediatricians
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for this bullshit, is what Amber thought as she stepped
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to the front desk. The pretty young nurse smiled as
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Amber approached. Wow, that's some great makeup. You go into
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a Halloween party. No, Amber replied, She wanted to look
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in a mirror trick or treating with some kids. Then, no,
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how long is the weight? Amber asked, Well, the lobby's full.
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You can fill out this paperwork if you want to wait.
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The young nurse held a clipboard with a small stack
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of paper attached. You're looking at a two to three
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hour weight. We got a lot of sick kids today, fuck,
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Amber replied, and waved off the clipboard. Amber walked away.
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The nurse smiled and greeted the next person in line.
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Seventeen minutes later, Amber shuffled back into her apartment and
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went into her bedroom. She turned on the light and
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stood in front of the full length mirror attached to
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the door. Half of her face was now covered in
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pumpkin orange and black to just under her nose. Amber
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stared in horror as the image was starting to present itself.
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Oh my god, she screamed. The jagged black lines around
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her mouth formed the unmistakable grin of a jack o' lantern.
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The smell was back, too, and it was driving her bananas.
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It was as if her nose were made of pumpkin spice.
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It was sickening and caused her to convulse. She scurried
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to the bathroom and dry heaved. After a couple of minutes,
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she calmed down and caught her breath. The smell was
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still there, but the compulsion to puke her guts out
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was gone. For the moment. Amber laid in her bed
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and sobbed. She cried herself to sleep. Four hours later,
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Amber awoke with a pounding headache. The room was dark
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except for the television. One of the Halloween movies was playing,
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and she really didn't give two shits which won as
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far as she was concerned. If you I've seen one,
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You've seen them all. She placed her hands on her
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temples and was all but convinced that she just woke
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up from one of the most vividly terrible nightmares she's
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ever had. But the smell was still there, and she
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didn't think it possible. It was even more prominent. This
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stoked the fear in her, like a blow poker to
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a dying fire. Amber turned on the light and fell
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to her knees in front of the mirror. Dear God,
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she screamed. Her face had completely transformed into that of
237
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a jack o lantern. It wasn't makeup or parlor tricks.
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It was one hundred percent her face. Her eyes were
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oval shaped and so dark the iris blended with her pupils.