Neighborhood Nightmares | 3 Scary Halloween Stories: Don’t Open the Door

0:02 On Halloween night, Jack Scratch knows exactly which doors are worth knocking on. Behind one, an old bargain comes due. Another, the family cat is making demands. And down the street, a party is just getting started. So come along, but don't expect Jack to drive you home. Trick or treat. There's a chill in the air. Must be fall. Join me for a.

0:42 Tale of Halloween. You will experience tales of horror, ghosts, It is not recommended for the weak at heart, but who really listens to warnings anyway? This is Weekly Speaking. Weekly Speaking.

1:31 Hello, my spookies. It's Wednesday, and you know what that means. Time for a little spooky in your weekly. I'm your host and narrator, Enrique Couto, and tonight we're going on a little horror odyssey, courtesy of the man known as Jack Scratch. But before we get to that, I want to remind you that we published a bonus story yesterday, and there'll be a bonus story tomorrow. And on Friday, a whole bunch of treats as we release a novella-length episode as well as the second-ever weekly spooky Halloween radio with tunes to help you feel scared in the most fun kind of way. So make sure you're subscribed on your favorite podcast app or go to the Apple App Store or Android Store and download the weekly spooky app so you can have a very special curated experience. especially if you want to dive deep into over 1,000 episodes of content we have here at Weekly Spooky. It's free to download, so grab yours today. And don't forget, Saturday, it'll be our seven-year anniversary since the first episode of Weekly Spooky, so we'll be doing something very special right here on the feed. So don't miss it. And if you love what we're doing here and want to hear even more of it, there's one way you can support us that doesn't cost you a single penny. Just go

3:02 to Apple Podcasts or Spotify and leave us a five-star rating. It really does make a big difference. And don't forget, when October's over, that means nothing to us here at Weekly Spooky because Halloween is in our hearts, not on our calendars. But as for tonight... Let's take a walk around the neighborhood. You know the kind. Porch lights on, leaves scraping across the sidewalk, somebody playing the Monster Mash. A little too loud, but honestly, I don't think you can. And there's a house that's handing out full-sized candy bars. It all looks pretty inviting from the street, but an awful lot can happen between the front porch and the living room. Tonight I'm handing everything over to Jack Scratch.

3:53 He was kind enough to return to show us what exactly is happening behind three very ordinary doors. He's dressed for the occasion, he knows the neighborhood, and he thinks we're going to have a wonderful time. Of course, Jack has a very different idea of a wonderful time from most folks, but you'll see real fast. Jack Scratch's Neighborhood Nightmares by Keith Tomlin Dozens of couples and their children stood on the grass in front of the small stage.

4:36 The lead singer of Funky Frankie and the Freaky Four belted out the Monster Mash as the rest of the band hit the final note of the song. The singer, dressed as Dracula, dipped his hand into the bowl next to the microphone stand. and grabbed a handful of candy, which he tossed into the crowd. Thank you! We're going to take a short break and then we'll be back with some even scarier songs. The rest of the band, wearing the costumes of various classic monsters, placed their instruments on stands before following the singer off the stage. The parents smiled as their kids chased pieces of candy. Spotlights began rotating to light up various parts of the stage.

5:26 A bass drum began thumping, and guitars blasted rock music as the spotlights snapped to center stage. A huge burst of flame shot up as Jack Scratch leaped into existence, sliding across the stage until he reached the microphone. Jumping up, he grabbed it and yelled, Hello, Millhaven! Are you ready to rock? Looking at the crowd, who seemed to have not noticed him, Jack shrugged and spoke back into the mic. Tough crowd. Guess rock and roll really is dead. He gracefully leapt off the stage. Jack, a tall, slender man dressed in a blood-red ringmaster's suit, plucked some lint off the sleeve of his jacket. before strolling through the crowd.

6:18 It was like Moses parting the Red Sea. The gathering of parents and children seemed to flow around him, unconsciously moving to keep from making contact while seemingly not noticing him at all. Jack strolled down the sidewalk, twirling his cane and admiring the monstrous costumes that the children were wearing. After a few blocks, he stopped, and pointed at an unusually spry old man, purposefully making his way down the sidewalk. Ah, will you look at that! You, my friends, are in the presence of greatness. That man is a legend among the fallen. He's the reason you need a lawyer to look over a contract. Jack sighed. I'm like a proud papa.

7:11 Stick around and you'll learn the whole story. The Debt Edward Cornell stood at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up at the steep incline and sighed. Every year these stairs seemed to get taller. Grabbing the railing, he realized that he still carried the empty bowl that recently contained candy for the trick-or-treaters. He had forgotten to buy candy this year which had always been his wife's job, and so had to use the remainder of the candy from last year. Turning, he walked to a table by the front door and placed the empty bowl by an old lamp. He checked to make sure that the front light was off before stepping up to the stair landing again.

8:07 Even that small step made his bones ache. Still, he thought, it beats sleeping on a cot, Twenty years ago, for almost a year, he had to sleep on a cot in the family room, next to the hospital bed in which his wife, Rosa, lay dying from cancer. The joy he felt when they could finally sleep upstairs, when her cancer disappeared, brought a smile to his face. Her recovery shocked everyone, the family, her doctors, the hospice nurses, everyone but himself. It was worth it. He got to spend two more decades with his beloved Rosa. Worth any price, he told himself. Edward pushed the thoughts aside before they could drag him back to the pain of her death from a stroke just two weeks earlier. He sighed again and placed his right foot on the first step. his ancient, gnarled hand grabbing the railing to help pull the rest of his body up on the step. Three short, sharp knocks on the front door stopped him cold. Almost against his will, Edward turned and walked to the front door.

9:35 He paused a second before unlatching the security chain and fumbling with the deadbolt knob. He slowly pulled open the door. the dread building with each inch. A gentleman, ancient yet somehow youthful, stood on the porch. He was dressed in an old-fashioned black suit and carried a worn leather satchel. The stranger spoke in a calm, reassuring voice. Good evening, Mr. Cornell. I'm here to collect the debt. The old man stared at the man in black, dread tightening in his chest.

10:16 He recognized him from twenty years ago, Same suit, same hat, same cold, calculating look on his face. Edward had almost convinced himself that it was a dream, that his wife's recovery was a miracle from God, not a deal with the man now in front of him. The gentleman stood there, motionless, waiting patiently. After a few seconds, Edward moved and motioned the man inside. Nodding, the gentleman stepped over the threshold, moving with a smooth, measured stride toward the kitchen. The visitor removed his overcoat and hung it over a kitchen chair, smoothing out some wrinkles on the shoulder. He then removed his black gloves and laid them on the table before sitting down. Ignoring Edward, he reached inside the satchel and removed a small stack of papers and an ancient quill, and an inkwell. Placing the satchel on the floor, the gentleman uncapped the inkwell and dipped the quill before looking over at Edward. Please, Mr. Cornell, have a seat. We have some business to conclude, he said, pointing to the chair opposite him. Edward shut the front door and stumbled to the kitchen. Pulling out the chair indicated by the gentleman,

11:47 He started to sit down just as his legs gave out. He dropped the last few inches, the impact with the hard wooden seat of the chair sending pain, shooting up his spine. He barely noticed the agony. His attention remained fixed on the man across from him. The gentleman reviewed the papers. Nodding with satisfaction, he made a few notes at the bottom of the final page in a flowing, elegant script. The scratch of the quill across the thick parchment filled the empty house. Without looking up, the gentleman spoke. So, Mr. Cornell, I believe that I've kept up my side of the bargain.

12:31 The time has come for repayment of the debt. Edward tried to speak, but all that came out was a croak. With his mouth bone dry, he tried speaking again, but to no effect. Edward finally got up and walked to the sink. Grabbing a glass, his mind raced, filling in the blanks of memories he tried for twenty years to forget. He felt the gentleman watching him, silently compelling him to sit back down to conclude their business. Edward filled the glass with water and drained it. He refilled the tumbler, then shambled back to the tables. The gentleman sat there, patiently, his eyes boring into Edward's soul. Edward sat the glass on the table and plopped back down. Who? Edward said in a croaking voice, barely a whisper. Who are you?

13:36 The gentleman ignored the question. The terms of the contract were quite clear. Two decades of life and good health for Rosa Cornell. in exchange for your life and your soul. Can you agree that I met my terms of the contract? Edward remembered how his wife looked in the hospital bed set up in the family room. The tubes running into her body and the machinery surrounding her bed broke his heart every time he looked at her. The clinical smell of antiseptics, chemicals, and sanitizer was undercut by a faint odor of decay and sickness. His wife looked so weak, the skin sagging on her unnaturally thin body. He thought about how he put on a happy face all the while knowing that death was creeping ever closer, like the darkness that follows a summer day. He remembered the day he first heard those three knocks twenty years ago. His wife had been unresponsive for weeks and the morphine taking the edge off of her pain but rendering her unconscious.

14:51 The doctors had told him that the end was near. He also remembered the guilt of wishing she would finally let go. He tried to tell himself that it was what was best for her, but deep inside he knew that he just couldn't handle it anymore. She was always the tougher of the two, the rock from which he could always draw strength. When he heard the knocks, he didn't want to leave her side, but he felt compelled to answer the door. When he opened it, there was the gentleman, immaculate and proper, with just a touch of compassion. Or so it seemed. The gentleman had sat in the same chair that he sat in now. He pointed out passages in the contract as he laid out the bargain.

15:43 He offered Edward... two decades with his beloved Rosa, whole and healthy, in exchange for his life both in this world and the next. He knew that what the gentleman promised was impossible, but Edward was desperate and willing to try anything if it would give him more time with his beloved. Edward barely read the contract before signing it with shaking hands. The gentleman signed below his signature and put the papers back into his satchel. He stood and retrieved his overcoat. He started to turn toward the front door, but stopped to face Edward. Mr. Cornell, a piece of free advice. Enjoy every moment you can with her. Life is fleeting, and the end comes quick. He nodded to Edward.

16:41 and then walked out of the kitchen. Edward heard the front door open and then close. He shuffled back to the family room and sat beside his wife's bed. He took her hand and began to cry until he passed out from exhaustion. A light touch on the back of his head woke him up. He opened his eyes to the smiling face of Rosa, who was running her fingers through his hair. Much to the confusion of her doctors, she made a complete recovery and was up and about in less than a week. Edward took the gentleman's suggestion and dedicated every moment he could to his wife. The couple spent the next twenty years traveling the world, visiting their loved ones and enjoying their life together. No matter what happened to him now, it would be worth it to have seen Rosa so happy. Mr. Cornell? Edward snapped back to reality as the gentleman's words cut through his memories. Mr. Cornell, do you agree that I kept up my side of the bargain? The gentleman said, in a voice that was all business. Edward shook his head. Um, yes, yes you did.

18:06 You gave me the best years of my life. Good, I'm glad you made the most out of our deal. I just need your initials here, the gentleman said as he pushed a paper toward Edward and held out the ancient quill. When he gingerly took the quill, he indicated a spot on the paper where Edward scribbled his initials. Thank you, Mr. Cornell, the gentleman said as he filed the piece of paper into the stack of documents in front of him. Before we can wrap this up, there is just the matter of the interest, the gentleman said. Interest?

18:46 Edward asked. Yes, Mr. Cornell, the terms of the agreement indicated that you would pay the principal plus accrued interest. Edward was confused. What interest? The gentleman looked at the phone on the wall, which then began to ring. Edward turned to the phone. Then back to the gentleman. Edward looked at the ringing phone again and stood. Dread settled into his chest as he walked toward it. He felt the gentleman's eyes watching every move he made. He reluctantly reached out and answered. Hello? Dad? Edward's stomach dropped as he heard his son's voice, filled with pain and grief.

19:38 What's wrong? Edward asked. It's Ethan, the voice cracked, barely speaking above a whisper. There was an accident. He was playing with some friends and chased a ball into the street. He's gone, Dad, he's... Edward dropped the phone and looked toward the gentleman who was still watching him, unblinking. Pain exploded through Edward's chest and down his arm. He gasped, clutching his chest, and fell against the wall. His heart stopped beating before he hit the ground. The gentleman nodded and pulled a sheet out of the pile on the table.

20:22 He checked his watch and made a note. Adding his signature, he straightened the pile of papers and placed them into his satchel. He then stood, put on his ancient overcoat, He grabbed his satchel and walked out of the kitchen. The front door closed, and silence settled over the house. Jack Scratch lowered the brim of his hat and whispered, conspiratorially, Don't ever play poker with that guy. Trust me. He grinned an impossibly wide smile and began strolling down the sidewalk.

21:12 He swung his cane in wide circles and skipped every few steps, like he was having the time of his life. You have to love small towns, Jack said. People love their freedom, guns, and pets. Oh, and the voices in their head. They eventually end up loving that, too. Jack pointed to a house down the street. Sometimes they can't tell the difference. Let's call this one The Voice. There was a soft knock on the door. Alan looked at the white Persian cat sleeping on the recliner and reached hesitantly for the doorknob. When he pulled the door open, he saw a young girl, maybe twelve, standing there in some type of homemade superhero costume and holding a pillowcase.

22:13 She reached up and pushed the homemade mask and old kitchen towel away from her eyes. Trick or treat, she said, grinning. The mask began slipping down again. Alan reached into the bowl in his left hand and pulled out a Twix bar. He dropped it into her sack. noticing her eyes light up when she realized it was a full-size candy bar. He pulled out two more and looked past her. I have a couple more for your friends. He let the words trail off. Oh, they had to go home, but I figured I'd hit a few more houses before I went back, she explained. Oh, okay, he replied awkwardly. She's perfect.

23:03 Do it like we practiced. The voice in his head spoke in a hotly cultured tone. I don't want to. Please don't make me, Alan replied. Do it, human. Don't make me punish you. The words dripped with malice. Alan shivered and dropped the extra candy bars back into the bowl. He took a quick peek at the cat, who was licking his left leg. Well, I have to work in the morning, so I'm about to turn in. You can have all the candy left in the bowl. I also have another unopened bag if you want that. Sure, that would be great. Her eyes lit up at the thought of that much candy. It's chilly, so come on in and I'll grab it. Alan stepped back to make room for her. The girl looked uncertain. Um, I'm not sure if I should come inside. Okay, that's fine. Alan shrugged.

24:03 I'll just give it to the kids at church next Sunday. Warring emotions flickered across the girl's face, but turned into a smile when she saw the white cat step into view. Aw, how beautiful! What's its name? Mr. Pickles, you can pet him if you want. The girl squealed and stepped forward, bending down to stroke his long, white fur. Mr. Pickles, That's a silly name. Yes, the voice exclaimed. She'll do nicely. The cat walked to the couch, jumped onto the cushion, and rolled onto his back. The girl followed and sat beside him, rubbing his stomach. Alan shut the door and quietly flipped the deadbolt. He stood there, dreading the next move.

24:57 He could feel the feline eyes on him. but still couldn't find the will to move. Get on with it, you fool. I don't want to wait all night. Alan swallowed and put on an artificial smile. Here you go. He handed the girl two bars from the bottom of the bowl. I'll go grab the other candy bars. She mumbled her thanks, opened one, and began eating it as she continued petting the purring cat. The sound of the purring carried Alan back almost a year, to the night Gloria first brought Mr. Pickles home. She had found the white Persian sitting on her car outside the gym. Alan hadn't been thrilled that she had decided to keep him without asking. The ensuing argument lasted three days. Alan had sworn he would never own a cat. He had gone through middle school and high school being ridiculed as the son of the neighborhood crazy cat lady. His mother's problems began soon after his father died of a heart attack.

26:13 Within days, she brought home a cat, saying she was lonely and needed someone to talk to. She became obsessed with it. Whenever Alan tried to get her attention, she ignored him. saying he looked too much like his father for her to deal with. His mother held long conversations with the cat and eventually declared that it wanted company. It wasn't long before she had over two dozen of them. After months of the cats running the household, animal control and child protective services arrived at the door. Alan never knew who had called them. but he still remembered them covering their noses against the stench of dirty litter boxes and an unwashed child. His mother was never the same afterward.

27:07 She spent years moving in and out of treatment facilities while his aunt took him in and raised him. Despite all of that, Mr. Pickles began to grow on him. Gloria had given the cat that Ridiculous name for some goddamn reason Alan never understood. The cat was quiet, rarely made a sound, and half the time Alan didn't realize he was there. Even as the cat grew on him, Mr. Pickles sometimes made him uneasy. He was always nearby, quietly watching and judging. Alan began spending more time in the second bedroom when Gloria was out partying playing video games or watching movies with the door shut. Whenever he left the room, the cat seemed to be waiting in the hallway, looking disappointed. The voice cut through the memory. See, I told you she wouldn't notice what you had done to the candy. Alan looked over at the couch. The girl's eyelids began to droop. Her head rolled forward and she slowly fell asleep. Mr. Pickles jumped onto her lap and began kneading hard against her chest. Perfect. She's out. I, Alan thought. I don't think I can do this. The

28:37 cat lay down on the girl's lap. We had a deal, human. Did I not keep my side of the bargain? Alan felt compelled to answer. Yeah, but this... You knew the cost when you accepted my terms. You got your revenge. I get my... fun. Alan closed his eyes and tried to block out the voice. He had never succeeded, but sometimes memories helped drown it out. The day the voice first spoke rose in his mind. His relationship with Gloria had begun to collapse after his work moved him to third shift. She wasn't happy that his hours interfered with her party lifestyle. She began coming home after his shift ended, smelling of alcohol. Soon she started staying out all night, claiming she didn't want to wake him so she would sleep at a girlfriend's house. On the day he first heard the voice they had been fighting for nearly a week, Alan woke and looked at the clock. 5.15 p.m. He sighed and reached for his phone. The doorbell camera app showed that Gloria had left at 10.50 the previous night and still hadn't returned. Alan placed the phone on the nightstand and grabbed the jeans he had worn the day before.

30:10 She's cheating on you. Alan stopped and looked around. No one was there except Mr. Pickles sitting in the doorway and looking as smug as usual. Alan dropped onto the bed with one leg inside his jeans. He studied the cat, who merely blinked back. After several seconds, he shook his head and continued dressing. As he pulled on a sock, the voice continued. She's been spending her nights with your friend named Tony. The voice sounded dismissive as though it were telling him something he should have already known. As Alan pulled on an almost clean shirt, he had to admit that he had already put the pieces together. He simply hadn't wanted to believe them. He looked back at the cat, who had begun grooming himself. Is this a prank?

31:12 Alan stammered. Shut up, human, and listen. After work, drive past Tony's house. You'll find the proof you need. Don't be a fool and don't let anyone see you. After that, we'll discuss your... revenge. Mr. Pickles continued licking his leg, seemingly unconcerned. Wait, what is going on? Alan whispered. The cat stood, stretched, and walked down the hall, ignoring Alan's pleas for him to come back. When there was no response, Alan sat in confusion until he heard keys in the lock.

31:53 and Gloria's voice greeting the cat. The following morning after work, Alan drove past Tony's house. Just as the voice had promised, he found the proof he needed. Gloria's car sat in the driveway beside Tony's BMW. Alan began to slow his beat-up Ford pickup truck. But then he remembered the revenge the voice had promised. He took his foot off the brake. and headed home. He unlocked the door and entered the house, still numb from realizing he had been betrayed by both the woman he loved and one of his best friends.

32:37 He dropped his keys on the end table and collapsed onto the couch. A few minutes later, the voice returned. It's a lot to take in. I can help make it better. Alan looked around. and saw the reflection of the cat's eyes in the dark dining room. Mr. Pickles stepped out of the darkness and rubbed against Alan's legs. I promise your problems will go away. After that, you can help me. A favor for a favor. Alan reached down and stroked the cat's back. He pictured Gloria in Tony's arms. Tony had been given everything in life, a rich family, good looks, and a silver spoon. Alan silently nodded. Human, now is not the time to daydream. Prepare yourself, it's almost time. The voice dragged Alan back to the living room.

33:40 He looked at the girl. Her mask had slipped halfway down her face. A strand of white fur clung to her lower lip, fluttering with each breath. His eyes burned as he held back his tears. There had been others. Their deaths weighed on his conscience, but they had all been adults. This was a child. The voice was never satisfied. Its demands had become worse over the past several months. Alan thought of the deaths that had started it all. Alan went to work later that night. After seeing Gloria's car at Tony's house, when he returned the following morning, he was surprised to find her car in their driveway.

34:29 The moment he opened the door, she came running down the stairs in tears. Oh, Alan, there's been an accident. Tony's dead. She choked between sobs. Wow, really? Alan said, faking shock. What happened? He crashed his car. God, they said he was killed instantly. Wow, Alan repeated. I've known him since grade school. It's crazy that he's gone. He waited several seconds. For someone you only met a couple of times, you sure are taking this hard. Gloria's arms tensed up. Then she hugged him tighter. Alan returned the embrace.

35:16 struggling to contain his rage. Later, he contacted a friend on the police force. Investigators believed it had been a single car accident caused by intoxication. The only unusual detail was a set of fresh scratches across Tony's face. The police attributed them to broken glass and debris from the wreck. Alan thought about Mr. Pickles, and reached a different conclusion. A few weeks passed and Gloria began falling back into her old routine. She was staying out all night, drinking.

35:59 He would wake up in the evenings to a house that smelled like alcohol and a girlfriend passed out on the couch. Alan knew he couldn't go through it again. He was strangely relieved the day that the voice instructed him to remain at work for his entire shift. When Alan returned home the following morning, he found Gloria at the bottom of the stairs, her head resting at an unnatural angle. As much as he had wanted her gone, the sight still hurt. He called emergency services and waited for the paramedics and police. Alan stayed at a co-worker's house for several nights while they investigated. Gloria's death was ruled an accident. His friend on the force said the police had concluded that she had most likely tripped over Mr.

36:56 Pickles at the top of the stairs. The voice cut through the memory. Human, enough! Follow through with the plan! Alan shut his eyes and tried not to think about the blood and pain the voice had demanded. Over the past several months, go to the kitchen and get the knife. Alan opened his eyes and looked at the unconscious girl. He turned and slowly walked toward the kitchen. When he entered the dining room, he noticed the shovel leaning against the wall. Dirt and mud still clung to the blade from the shallow grave he had dug in the backyard earlier that day. He pictured the girl lying in it, and something inside him broke. He had already done too much.

37:53 He would not give her to that grave. Trying to keep his mind blank, Alan grabbed the shovel and returned to the living room. The white cat sat on the couch, looking at the girl. Alan took three steps, raised the shovel, and brought it down with all his strength. His vision flashed like static on an old television. When it cleared, Alan stared at the horror in front of him. The shovel had struck the trick-or-treater. Mr. Pickles sat several feet away, staring at him, his tail twitching. No, Alan stammered. It was you! I saw you! He realized he was still holding the shovel, and dropped it as though the handle had caught fire. Human, the voice said. You disappoint me.

38:52 Go upstairs, and we'll discuss your punishment for disobedience tomorrow. Alan stood motionless. Then he nodded. Still dazed, he crossed the room and paused at the bottom of the staircase. His shoulders slumped, and he climbed the stairs. Mr. Pickles leaped from the couch and padded toward the girl. His white paws turned red as blood pooled across the floor. The cat lowered himself into it and rolled once before sitting. upright. Purring, he began licking the blood from his fur. Well, Jack exclaimed, some people are cat people and some are dog people.

39:48 He should have gone dog Shaking his head, he made his way down the sidewalk, breathing in the cool Midwestern night. Ah, nothing quite like a stroll on a cool autumn night. The only thing better is a party. After a few more blocks, loud music could be heard. Ah, ask and ye shall receive. That sounds like quite the shindig. Hopefully the neighbors don't mind. Jack looked over at the house across the street, which had loud, blaring music blasting out into the quiet fall night. Red and blue lights lit up the street as a police cruiser pulled up in front of the party house. Ooh, somebody's getting in trouble, Jack said gleefully. He planted his cane in the grass and leaned against it, grinning as he watched. Ooh, we'll call this one The Choice. Officer Kemp stepped out of the police cruiser and looked at the house named in the noise complaint. Although he had some hearing damage from his time in Afghanistan, he could tell this was the loudest house party he had been sent to break up in his four years as a police officer. He looked down at his watch. 2338. Way too late for that

41:21 amount of noise. Hell, this was too much noise for high noon. The house was a single-story ranch, common in this part of town. They received very few calls from the neighborhood, and Kemp figured it must be some high school kid whose parents had left for the weekend. Another patrol car pulled up and parked two houses down. Sergeant Washington got out with a small grunt. He shut the door, glanced around, and gave Kemp a curt greeting. Washington was a legend in town, famous for taking down three bank robbers after they started executing hostages and taking a shotgun blast to the leg in the process. He had turned down every promotion and, through sheer force of will, thwarted every attempt to sideline him with desk duty. Although Kemp had never discussed it with Washington, he had always felt a kind of kinship with the older man. They had both been injured in the line of duty, Washington as a cop and Kemp as an army soldier. Kemp also liked his no-nonsense approach to policing. Follow the rules, obey the law, respect civilians, and do not let your emotions affect your judgment. Kemp had heard that some officers called Washington Joe Friday behind his back after the Just the Facts character from the old television show Dragnet. That shit

42:54 ended quickly once Washington found out. So, Washington said, is this just a noise complaint? Yeah, we haven't had any reports of anything else, just the one caller. That's strange. We should have at least... A half a dozen calls about music this loud. Washington looked up and down the street. Except for the blaring music, everything seemed normal. Yeah, something seems off, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Kemp looked around, but noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Well, Washington said, let's get this over with. There are better things we could be doing than dealing with this bullshit.

43:41 Kemp gestured toward the house, letting Washington take the lead. The officers walked to the front door and knocked hard. After several rounds of pounding, a woman dressed as a sexy cat opened it. Her smile widened as she looked them over. Good evening, ma'am, Washington yelled over the music. Are you the homeowner? The woman laughed and stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter. Then she turned and disappeared into the crowd inside. Kemp leaned close to Washington. Looks like consent to me. Washington entered the house, followed by Kemp.

44:25 Once they were inside, the porch light went out. The music stopped escaping through the walls, leaving the house dark and silent from the street. The living room was crowded All the furniture had been pushed against the walls, leaving a large space for dancing. More than two dozen people moved beneath flashing lights, all dressed in sexual costumes. Some of the women wore revealing nurse or witch outfits. Many of the men were dressed as construction workers, firefighters, or police officers, each costume tighter and smaller than the last.

45:10 The music seemed even louder inside, and Kemp's ears began to ache. It sounded like 90s techno, although he didn't recognize any of it. He studied the walls and ceiling. There were no speakers. The music seemed to come from the walls themselves. As Kemp watched the crowd dance and laugh, he realized what had bothered him outside. He leaned close to Washington. Cars! There aren't any cars outside. The whole street should be packed with this many people. Washington nodded and gave him an approving look. Then his expression tightened.

45:54 Where's the cat lady? Shit. Kemp turned toward the crowd and loudly asked, Where is the homeowner? Any of you live here? No one answered. No one even looked at him. Across the room, Kemp caught a glimpse of the woman in the cat costume passing through a doorway. He tapped Washington's shoulder and pointed. They started toward it. Someone tugged Kemp's arm. He turned and found a woman dressed as either a teacher or a librarian. The costume did not provide enough material to make that distinction. She tried to wrap her arms around him, smiling. Kemp gently pushed her away.

46:40 She pouted, then leaned in and tried to kiss him. He pushed her back again and raised one finger, shaking it in front of her face. She shrugged, grabbed a man dressed as a mailman, and pressed her mouth against his. Kemp turned and found Washington watching him. The older cop raised his eyebrows. Kemp shrugged. They went through the doorway. A long wooden table dominated the next room. It was covered with meat. Sausages overflowed from metal trays. There were piles of pulled pork, chicken breasts, ribs, and several cuts Kemp could not identify. The partygoers crammed the meat into their mouths with both hands. Those wearing full masks squeezed greasy chunks through the small openings over their lips. Fat and juice ran down their chins and masks, staining their costumes.

47:42 Food fell to the floor and was ground into the thick, brown carpet. It took Kemp a moment to realize. The music had changed. The techno was gone. In its place came a low, guttural tone like someone pressing one key on an organ, holding it, then moving to another. The sound settled in his stomach. Combined with the sight and smell of the feast, it nearly made him sick. He was glad they had taken the call before lunch. Excuse me, Washington shouted. We're looking for the homeowner. No one reacted.

48:26 The chewing continued. This is weird, Kemp said. There must be at least 50 people here. Washington watched the crowd. Call for backup. Kemp keyed his shoulder mic. Nothing. He tried again, then adjusted the radio and shook his head. Washington tested his own. Maybe the ones in the cars still work. Worth a try. The sound of chewing seemed to grow louder, rising and falling with the music. Kemp turned and took several steps toward the doorway. Before stopping, Washington ran into his back. What's wrong? Kemp pointed at the wall. The doorway was gone. Washington slowly examined each wall.

49:19 The only exit was now across the room, on the opposite side of the table. Washington looked at Kemp, then pointed toward it. Kemp shrugged. They pushed through the crowd and entered the next room. Death metal blasted through the room. Each strike of the bass drum made Kemp want to lie down and cover his ears. The overhead lights were dim. Spotlights mounted high on the walls swept bright beams in random patterns across the darkness. At least two dozen partygoers filled the open floor. They wore black clothing and long cloaks.

50:03 Each face was hidden behind a smooth, white mask. They slammed into one another, throwing elbows and shoulders with enough force to break bones. Kemp had been in his share of mosh pits when he was younger. None had looked like this. Washington pointed across the room toward a door on the other side. Kemp nodded. They began picking their way around the edge of the room. When they reached the center of the wall, the music stopped, and every spotlight swung toward them. The beams blinded Kemp, but he could tell the crowd had stopped moving. They were all staring at the officers. A fist shot from the darkness and struck Kemp in the forehead. He stumbled back and stepped on something wet and soft. His feet went out from under him. Washington fought off several attackers. Each one stepped in, landed a blow, then retreated so another could take his place. Washington pulled his taser and fired. Nothing happened.

51:13 A fist struck the side of his face. Kemp tried to stand, but a knee slammed into his temple. He dropped again, his vision swimming. Through the glare, he saw blood running down Washington's face. A kick landed between the sergeant's legs, folding him forward. Hands seized Washington and dragged him into the crowd. Panic flooded through Kemp as he forced himself upright. He never saw the blow that knocked him unconscious. When he woke, the room was silent. The spotlights were off. The partygoers were gone. Kemp pushed himself upright and checked his injuries. He probably had a concussion and several bruised ribs, but Nothing appeared immediately life-threatening. The doorway behind him had vanished. The one across the room remained.

52:17 He tried his radio again. Nothing. Then he drew his pistol, checked the magazine and chamber, and returned it to its holster. Taking a deep breath, he headed toward the door. Kemp entered and shielded his eyes. The walls, floor, and ceiling were a bright, shining white. The light seemed to come from every surface, leaving no shadows. A low chant filled the room. Six figures stood around a thick black table with their backs to him. Each wore a black robe.' Police!' Kemp shouted.' Show me your hands!' The figures turned. Each wore a pale mask with a long beak, like the plague doctors from old paintings. Several held knives. Their movement exposed the table. Washington lay on it, covered in blood.

53:22 He reached toward Kemp. Blood ran from his mouth as he tried to speak. Kemp drew his pistol. Move away from him! The figures turned back toward the table. One raised a long kitchen knife. Kemp fired. Click. Nothing happened. He stared at the weapon in disbelief. The knife came down. Kemp threw the pistol aside and lunged. He grabbed the figure's arms and tried to force him to the floor. But the figure didn't move. Two others stepped behind Kemp, and pinned his arms to his sides. The rest moved apart, giving him an unobstructed view of the table. Washington was gone.

54:12 A large pig lay on its back in the center of the table, where Washington was once laying. It had been split from throat to pelvis, its ribs pulled apart to expose the organs inside. The figure holding the knife calmly returned to the dissection. Kemp fought against the hands restraining him, but they lifted him from the floor and carried him toward a doorway he had not noticed. The door opened on its own, and the robed figures tossed him through. Kemp struck the darkness beyond and fell. Kemp adjusted his helmet and looked up at the Afghan sky.

55:04 It was not yet noon, but the day was already a scorcher. Locals waited along the road near the checkpoint while a handful of cars and trucks idled at the vehicle gate. Across the pedestrian lane, Private Andrews stood between two concrete barriers. Kemp muttered,' Join the army. See the world.' Andrews laughed. A local man handed his folded identification papers to the interpreter, who glanced at it and handed it to the soldier. Andrews checked the photograph, returned the papers, and waved the man through. Kemp heard raised voices near the vehicle gate. Two soldiers were trying to calm an angry truck driver while Ortiz watched from the gun position above the checkpoint. Sergeant Jackson stepped from the shelter and assessed the situation. The driver threw up his hands and allowed the soldiers to search the vehicle. Jackson relaxed. Kemp turned back toward the pedestrians. A boy, perhaps 11 years old, stepped forward. Kemp recognized him. The kid sometimes sold cheap watches, batteries, and bootleg movies to soldiers. Kemp smiled. and gave him a thumbs up. The boy returned the gesture. Hey, Andrews, it's the kid I told you about. He always has some pretty cool shit. Let me know if he has

56:35 an air conditioner. Kemp laughed. The boy came closer. Kemp noticed that his thick jacket looked out of place in the heat. One side fell open. Kemp saw wires and the edge of something strapped around his waist. Jackson stepped beside him and raised his rifle. Bomb vest! He yelled as he pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Kemp raised his own weapon. The reticle settled over the boy's chest. The child stopped walking. He looked frightened and confused. The wires were unmistakable, but Kemp couldn't pull the trigger. God damn it, Kemp!

57:22 Jackson fought with his rifle. Andrews, take him out! Andrews swung his weapon around. Ortiz turned the mounted gun toward the boy, but Kemp and Andrews blocked his shot. For one frozen second, nothing moved. Then, the world exploded. Kemp found himself in a long, dark room. It resembled a wide hallway, with the only light coming from a doorway at the opposite end. His left arm burned. It was the old pain from the explosion, the wounds that had forced his medical discharge. He stumbled toward the light, searching himself for blood. There was none. Then the whispers began.

58:16 Two dead, two wounded. One needs medical now. Kemp stopped. The voice seemed to come from everywhere. He forced himself forward. A doctor spoke next. Minor nerve damage to the left arm and two ruptured eardrums. All in all, Private, you were lucky. Kemp remembered the conversation after surgery. He kept walking. Then he heard his own voice. I heard Sergeant Jackson yell, but I didn't understand what he meant. By the time I realized he was referring to the child, it was too late. The official statement. The lie. Another voice filled the darkness. Mrs. Andrews, we regret to inform you that your son was killed in the line of duty. Kemp nearly collapsed. He pressed one hand against the wall and kept moving. Then Ortiz spoke. Why couldn't you just take the shot? Kemp remembered meeting him for drinks after they were discharged. Ortiz had lost part of his jaw in the explosion. He had repeated the question slowly, forcing each damaged word through what remained of his mouth. Why couldn't you just take the shot? Kemp had never answered. He had never seen Ortiz again. He had not attended the

59:48 funeral after Ortiz killed himself the following year. The voices multiplied. My father was a hero, We regret to inform you. Why couldn't you? Kemp dropped to his knees and covered his ears. I'm sorry! He screamed. The whispers continued. He crawled toward the light, his knees grinding against the floor. He no longer knew how long he had been moving when his head struck something solid. The door. The whispers became screams. Kemp reached for the knob, but his hand slipped away. He tried again. Every voice he had spent years burying screamed through the darkness. Kemp closed his eyes, gripped the knob with both hands, and twisted. The latch clicked, and the door swung open. Kemp crawled through the doorway.

1:00:50 His knees throbbed. His palms were torn and bloody. He used the doorframe to pull himself upright, wiped his face, and looked around. The fog in his mind slowly cleared. He recognized the room. It was the living room where the party had begun. The furniture remained pushed against the walls. Costumed bodies moved beneath flashing lights. Some danced to the pounding techno. Others groped and copulated against the walls and across the floor. One man stood alone in the middle of the room. Even with his back turned, Kemp recognized him.

1:01:32 Sergeant Washington? The music stopped in the middle of a note. Every dancer froze, and then, one by one, they turned toward Kemp. Dead eyes watched him through the masks. Washington turned last. His dark skin had become pale and lifeless. A small cloth mask covered the area around his eyes. His expression was empty, but his eyes held a trace of sadness. My God, Sarge, what did they do to you? Shoes. Washington held out both hands. A knife rested in one, a cloth mask rested in the other. Kemp stared at them.

1:02:22 I don't understand. Washington raised the knife. Pick one, and you go back. Back where? The checkpoint. Kemp's stomach tightened. You die, you wake up. It happens again, forever. Washington raised the mask in his hand. This one, and you stay. With you? With the party. What happens to me? You forget. Kemp looked around the room. The dancers waited. He imagined himself among them, empty and grinning, unable to remember Andrews or tease the boy or the choice he had failed to make. Then he looked at the knife. The checkpoint waited behind it. The heat. The wires.

1:03:22 The guilt. The guilt. His hands shook. He reached out and took the mask. The house stood quiet, lit only by the lights from the patrol cars parked outside. The porch light flickered on, and dance music flooded the neighborhood. Somewhere across the city, a dispatcher answered a call. 911, what is the nature of your emergency? My neighbor's having a loud party. Can you send someone to shut it down? Jack Scratch closed the cell phone and dropped it back into an inside pocket of his jacket. There's never a cop around when you need one. He shrugged as he strolled down the street, his cane resting on his shoulders. After a moment, he checked his watch. Oh, sorry, I've gotta go. Can't be late. The old man does value punctuality above all else.

1:04:36 Except murder, mayhem, mutilation, mischief. Huh, I guess punctuality doesn't even break the top ten. Jack snapped out of his thought. Well, my lovelies, I have to say goodbye for another year. May your desires turn to dreams and your dreams to nightmares. Jack removed his hat and bent at the waist, making a wide, mocking bow. When he stood, fire erupted from the ground, engulfing him as he put his hat back on his head. The flames intensified, and when it subsided, a few seconds later, Jack was gone. In the distance, nearly buried beneath the wind, Jack's laugh could be heard. Well, I don't know about you, Spookies, but I'm going to take a different route home tonight. A big thank you to Keith Tomlin for bringing back one of Weekly Spooky's most popular Masters of Ceremony. And who knows... he might be back sooner than you think. But all I know right now is, I plan to skip the afterparty. Thank you all so much for joining us here tonight, and don't forget, tomorrow, you'll have not only an episode of

1:06:08 Thursday Thrills all about the legend of Sleepy Hollow, but also a brand new novella. Free to listen to right here at Weekly Spooky, so make sure you're subscribed. You wouldn't want to be caught dead. missing out on it. Trust me. And I want to say thank you all so much for heading to weeklyspooky.com slash join and supporting us for as little as $ 1 a month. It really does make a huge difference for the show. There are over 90 Spookys supporting us, and now's a great time for you to join up as well. And speaking of, I want to say an extra special thank you to our Patreon podcast boosters. Those are folks who pay just a little bit more to hear their names at the end of the show. And they are Johnny Nix, Kate and Lulu, Jessica Fuller, Mike Eschewy, Jenny Green, Karen Wemet, Jack Kerr, and Craig Cohen. Thank you all so much.

1:07:00 And if you want to hear your name at the end of every episode of Weekly Spooky, just head to weeklyspooky.com slash join and sign up at the $ 15 a month or higher tier. It really makes a difference and means a whole hell of a lot to me. But now it's time for me to get back to work because as October approaches, we'll be publishing more than just once a day. We'll have special novellas, extra stories, all kinds of goodies for you to enjoy right here, so make sure you're subscribed. Now it's time for me to get back to it. So many things to record, including a very special Thursday Thrills episode. with brand new horror Halloween releases you will not want to miss. So, see you tomorrow. For myself, for my executive producers, Rob Fields and Bobletopia.com, my producer, Dan Wilder, and my creepy composer, Ray Mattis, talk at you tomorrow. Thank you for listening.

1:07:50 Make sure to find your way back next week. But for now, you are safe. Trust me.