The Monsters' Halloween Revue | 7 Scary Stories: Pumpkin Man & Werewolves

Every Halloween needs a master of ceremonies, but tonight, the stage belongs to the monsters. First, a jack-o-lantern grin is born from a cruel prank and a strange pumpkin potion, and somewhere else the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg becomes a curse you can't wash away. Down a lonely autumn road, a flirtatious invitation grows claws beneath the moon. While high above a city, a costume party discovers that ancient gods still remember how to answer prayers. Then, the house lights dim, a cane strikes the floor. A red-suited showman named Jack Scratch steps from the shadows, looking for talent.

His review is filled with haunted children, hungry countesses, bad men receiving worse endings, cursed candy, vampires, restless animals, locked rooms and every sort of trick. Halloween keeps hidden beneath the treats. So, find your seat, keep your candy close and do not volunteer when the host asks for audience participation. Because in tonight's show, becoming part of the act can be permanent. If you love a spooky good time, make sure you're subscribed on your favorite podcast app. We have brand new terror tales every single Wednesday. Now on with the show. The Origin of the Pumpkin Man by Charles Campbell.

All Hallows Eve, LBC Middle School, 1987. What began in 1980 as an experiment became an annual tradition at LBC Middle School. The Jack O'Lantern Jubilee. It was a day full of festivities, games and candy giveaways that ended with a student dance in the school's gymnasium. LBC stood for Langley Bath and Clearwater. It was the middle school for most of the Valley kids before they moved up to Midland Valley High. Raymond Mathis taught seventh grade science and drew the short straw to be one of the staff chaperones for the dance this year. Halloween was nonsense to him, but he'd play along.

He got along with the kids for the most part except for a couple of the boys in his fifth period class. But today was Halloween, and it just so happened that it actually fell on a Saturday this year. It was still early in the day, Raymond didn't have a costume and didn't want a costume, but he was never accused of not being a team player. So, he would head over to Party Dollar and pick up the cheapest costume he could get away with. Raymond settled with a $7 vampire cape equipped with fake fangs and a tube of blood jelly.

The festival started around noon, so he'd show up around 10 to help the other staffers make sure the tables in the cafeteria were set up for the butchers, bakers, candlestick makers, and whoever the fuck else needed a table at this bullshit festival, is what Raymond thought. But he'd think it with a smile on his face. Butch Marker was one of those fifth-grade boys that Raymond didn't get along with. Butch, in truth, didn't get along with very many authority figures. Since he went to see the movie Ferris Bueller's Day Off with his sister the year before, he fancied himself to be like Ferris.

He wanted to be loved by everyone while pulling the wool over people in charge. Problem was a lot of kids didn't like him, and he really wasn't fooling anyone. His best friend was Steve Vig, and he was the follower. The boys hatched a plan for this year's Jack O'Lantern Jubilee. Hey, did you get them? Butch asked Steve. Steve was nodding his bulbous head, and smacking chewy candy between his teeth as he held out the bag. Sweet, Butch said, snatching the bag from Steve. He peeked inside. A grinch-like smile spread under his nose. Hell yeah. You get them from Ricky?

Yup. Just like you said. He had a bunch of them too. We gonna paint them up like you said? Steve asked. His jowls shook as he nodded his head like a lunatic. Butch often thought Steve was the spitting image of a mini boss hog. And he wasn't wrong. He was a short, fat kid with a buzz cut so low that he may as well be bald. Yeah, we're gonna paint them up. Come on, Butch said. And Steve followed him to the shed in the backyard. Butch dumped the cherry bombs on the workbench. There was a can of orange spray paint along with a small jar of black ink with an assortment of tiny paint brushes.

Steve shook the spray can and the boys got to work. As the early birds filed in to the school cafeteria, Raymond helped fellow teacher Kathy Fletcher set up the gift basket raffle booth. This was a big draw. An assortment of gift baskets donated by local businesses and townsfolk. Some of them had very good prizes. Gift certificates to fancy for the valley restaurants like Western Sizzlin and Red Lobster. Some fantastic fishing gear from Spradley's Bait and Tackle. There was always a nice quilt with other homemade accessories contributed by Louise Utley. Baked goods galore in another basket.

The gift basket raffle was a can't-miss, and it was held at the end of the day when the daytime festivities would give way to the middle school dance. Lots of nice stuff this year, Raymond said. Not bad at all, Kathy replied as she pressed a pushpin into the handwritten sign. It read, Gift Basket Raffle, $1 per ticket, drawing at 6 p.m. sharp. Got my eye on that quilt, Kathy said. It was Halloween-themed, adorned with bats, wide-eyed pumpkins, and sheeted ghosts. Yeah, that's quite a prize, Raymond said, thinking to himself what a crock of shit this holiday was.

It was going to be a long day, and he was dreading the dance. But, on the bright side, he wouldn't have to do this again next year. No back-to-backs for faculty unless they volunteer, and he certainly wasn't volunteering for this flea circus. Although, seeing Cindy dressed as Elvira, complete with the dress, black wig, and push-up bra wasn't exactly excruciating to look at. The boys admired their handiwork. These are fucking awesome! Butch announced. Yeah, awesome! Steve parroted. The little pumpkins with stem fuses looked back at them. Different black grins adorned their little round faces. They're going to shit their pants!

Butch said. Yeah, they're going to have to run to the crapper! Steve exclaimed, popping another one of those gooey peanut butter dog shit Halloween candies into his mouth. The Jack-o-Lantern Jubilee was something the Valley folks looked forward to every Halloween, and it seemed like all of the small towns that comprised the Valley showed up. Raymond was assisting Cathy at the gift basket table. The line to buy raffle tickets was almost to the double doors at the far end of the cafeteria. He was tearing tickets, wishing this day was over. He still had a dance to chaperone, and hiding the disdain that wanted to move across his face was becoming more and more difficult.

Then he saw two of his troublemakers poking around the tables. Steve was dressed in a pretty decent Jason Voorhees get up a la Friday the 13th Part too, complete with the one eye pillowcase, which Steve would have to cut two big holes in very quickly so that he would stop slamming into people. He was the proverbial bull in a china shop, smacking his peanut butter dogshit candy under the pillowcase mask. Butch was disguised as a werewolf, with a brown wig that was teased out to stand up high, black makeup on his nose with brown smeared across his face.

He had a decent set of fake fangs, a tattered t-shirt, ripped jeans, and white canvas sneakers soaked in blood jelly. The boys both had paper grocery sacks for trick-or-treat bags. They were raiding the tables looking for candy, and Raymond was trying to keep a close eye on the two of them. Raymond, eyes over here, Cathy said. Raymond turned his attention back to see Mrs. Martha Jenkins holding out a five-dollar bill. She told Raymond what baskets she was bidding for, and he tore the tickets, took the money, and dropped the stubs in their respective bowls. He glanced over his shoulder trying to get a location on the troublemakers, but they were out of his field of vision.

You see Turdburger? Butch asked. Huh? What's a Turdburger? Steve replied. Butch removed his fangs and said, Turdburglar, did you see Turdburglar? No, didn't see him. Where is he at? Steve asked, smiling under the pillowcase. He's at the gift basket table with Ms. Fletcher. You see her bazongas? Butch asked, raising his eyebrows. Damn it! No! This pillowcase is bullshit! Steve said. Well, if he's working the tables, he's working the dance. Butch held up a hand for a high five. Steve didn't see it, so Butch smacked him on top of his head. Steve regrouped and hit the high five.

The boys continued making their rounds. Seemed like there was going to be one hell of a crowd at the dance. These fuckers will be shitting themselves before the night was over, is what Butch was thinking. 45 minutes later. The kid was no older than six or seven. He was a fine-looking lad with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. He held a pumpkin candy bucket and was moving with sugar-fueled excitement to each table, saying, trick-or-treat, to whoever might drop him some candy. Butch removed his fangs, nudged Steve, and asked, Who's that little shit-stain? I've never seen him in the valley.

Don't know. Maybe he's an Aiken or a Gusta kid, Steve replied, really paying no mind to the little boy. Look at him. He's running all around like he's got ants in his pants, Butch said. A gleam flashed in his eyes. A gleam that Steve picked up on. So, are you thinking what I'm thinking you're thinking? Steve asked. The smile was growing under his mask. Yeah, he needs some special candy in that bucket, don't you think? Butch asked, feeling the bulge of pumpkin bombs in his pants pocket. Steve was nodding and snickering. May as well get the party started early.

Raymond looked at his watch and thought to himself, do vampires really care what time it is? But sure they do. They couldn't be caught out in the stark light of day, or they would burn into ash and blow away with the wind. The start of the dance was just under two hours away. He could see a lot of the middle schoolers milling around the cafeteria in their scariest and goofiest get ups. He didn't see his two troublemakers. He thought he shouldn't be too uptight about it, but something wasn't quite right. He would feel much more comfortable if he could put eyes on them.

Hey kid, Butch said to the little boy. Before the little boy turned to face him, the boy placed a plastic pumpkin mask over his face. Trick or treat, the little boy said. Exactly, Steve said, and the boy looked to his left, held out his candy bucket, and repeated, Trick or treat. Steve was removing candy from his own paper sack, while Butch was flicking a bic as he pulled a little pumpkin bomb from his pocket. The kid held the bucket out to Steve. Steve had a fistful of candy and was holding it precariously over the bucket.

The little boy was smiling under his mask. Butch lit the fuse. He felt a sudden adrenaline rush, but fought it for just a moment. He needed the fuse to burn down just a bit. Steve was teasing the boy, not dropping the candy into the bucket. Trick or treat, the little boy shouted. Butch spun in front of Steve. Trick or treat, you little fucker. Butch dropped the pumpkin bomb into the bucket and moved back fast. The little boy didn't have time to say anything before the pumpkin exploded. The cherry bomb had enough force to destroy a mailbox.

Candy and orange plastic shrapnel was sent flying. The boy screamed in terror. The tops of four fingers on his right hand were bloody stumps of bone. Raymond heard the ruckus on the other side of the cafeteria. His hair stood on end. The explosion followed by the scream of a child got Raymond moving post haste. Other faculty members were ushering people out of the cafeteria, just in case there was a shooter in their midst. Raymond knew it was those boys. Kathy ran to the cafeteria kitchen to call the police. Butch and Steve didn't hang around to admire their work.

The boys darted out the double doors and beelined it for the gymnasium. They were laughing all the way as they ran. The main gymnasium doors would be locked because it wasn't yet time for the dance. But Butch and Steve knew the janitor's entrance, and they never left it locked because half of them had lost their keys. They rushed inside. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! was all Steve could garble. Did you see that? Almost blew the little shit's hand off! These fuckers are like dynamite! Butch said, pulling a pumpkin bomb from his pocket. We're going to jail, Steve said as the stark realization of consequences overrode the joy of the prank.

The fuck we are! Nobody knows it was us! They all ran to the kid as we scooted out. Let's just hang out here until the dance starts. We'll get lost in the crowd and finish what we started, Butch said confidently. You think they're still gonna have the dance after that? Steve asked. The boys heard sirens, and it wasn't just an ambulance. Butch knew the distinct tone of the Burnett Town police sirens because they had been called to Oak Street on more than a few occasions in his short lifetime. No way they're canceling the dance. No way that's gonna happen.

Let's just stay here until it dies down. The janitor's closet is the safest place to be right now, Butch said, almost believing it. The little boy was screaming his head off. Raymond took off his vampire cape and wrapped the kid's hand, trying to apply pressure, but not really knowing what to do with stark white bone and chunks of meat that was once fingers hanging from his hand. Where's his mother? Raymond screamed at the bystanders. They all just gawked at the scene until paramedics and police rushed through the cafeteria. Raymond looked at the kid and said, It's going to be okay.

I'm going to get the kids that did this to you. I promise, and I'll bring you all of their candy. The little boy looked back at Raymond, stopped screaming, and spoke so calmly, it startled Raymond into paying close, close attention. In my pocket, the boy pointed to his right pocket with his left hand. Get it out and eat it. Be the pumpkin man and kill them. Raymond was shocked at the calmness in the kid's voice. He heard the medics getting closer, and he could see the panic return to the kid's eyes. He reached into the boy's pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag.

It was a black bag sealed with an orange topper. It had green letters printed on the topper. Pumpkin Potion. Raymond backed away as the medics took the child away. He would be in Aiken Regional within 15 minutes. It was determined the dance would continue, albeit not on time. The police questioned the folks in the area, and they gave descriptions of a fat kid with a pillowcase mask and another kid dressed up like a monkey or a werewolf running from the scene when they heard an explosion, followed by a blood-curdling scream. They did a cursory search of the school.

Raymond gave them the names of the boys, so their houses would be next on the search list. They didn't find the boys. They were tucked quietly away in the janitor's locker in the gym, and would stay there all night if they had to. They would only come out if they heard the DJ start playing tunes. Steve would take off his mask and Butch would remove the wig. Luckily for the two of them, there was an unopened bag of large sized white t-shirts in the locker that belonged to one of the janitors. They ripped them open and changed their shirts.

Butch removed the makeup using soap and water from the janitor's sink. There was a gallon of bleach under that sink that he used to clean the blood jelly from his sneakers as best he could. The boys could now pass as hobos if the dance ever started. The gymnasium opened its doors an hour late. Kids were lined up waiting impatiently and cheered when the doors finally opened. Raymond was already inside, waiting just inside the double doors. He was going to put his eyes on every ghost and ghoul that walked inside. The DJ was starting the show with everyone's Halloween favorite, the Monster Mash.

You ready? Butch asked when he heard the music kick in. Yeah, Steve hesitantly replied, shuffling his feet. Maybe he finally realized that being friends with Butch wasn't such a great idea. If we need to get out quick, light a pumpkin and toss it in the crowd. Understand? Butch asked. Yeah, Steve replied. Butch opened the door and the two hobos stepped into the back of the gymnasium. Kids were already dancing. Let me know if you see Turdburglar. I want to give him a trick before we leave, Butch said. Steve nodded his head, but didn't say a word.

Monster Mash gave way to the Monsters' theme song. The boys walked around the edge of the gym. There were so many people, so many cool costumes. Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, zombies, demons, princesses. Every Halloween character was represented. There were even a couple of decent-looking Freddy Kruegers. Turdburglar at 12 o'clock, Butch said, and nodded toward the double doors where the kids were still filing in. Let's just go, man. We can get in some real shit if we hang around. Let's just say hey to a couple of kids so we have a... What do the cops call it on TV?

Abily... Abilie? Steve asked. Fuck that. And it's alibi, you moron, Butch replied. Steve felt a tap on his shoulder. He gulped and turned. It was Ms. Fletcher, and Steve was getting an eyeful of the bazongas he missed earlier. You two need to come with me right now, she said as she reached for both of their hands. Steve, being enamored with the bazongas, actually held his hand out before Butch slapped it away. We ain't going nowhere with you, Butch said. Kathy screamed out at the top of her lungs. Raymond! They're over here! She grabbed for Steve since he was the closest and caught the back of his T-shirt.

It ripped, Hulk Hogan style, as he pulled away from her. Butch reached into his pocket and pulled out a pumpkin bomb. He was crashing into kids left and right. Hey! Hey! Stop! Raymond was hollering, getting closer to the boys. Butch fumbled for the Bic. Eddie Hardy, seventh grader and middle linebacker for the LBC Lions, grabbed Butch around his waist and tackled him to the gym floor. Butch was crawling and kicking. The other kids were backing away. Steve stopped in his tracks. His days of getting in trouble with Butch were going to come to an end here.

Butch was no fucking Ferris Bueller, and he certainly wasn't Cameron. Fuck Butch. Raymond was instructing Kathy to call the police. Eddie still had his grip, but Butch wasn't trying to free himself. Butch was busy. He lit the fuse and held it for as long as he could. Raymond grabbed him by the shoulder, trying to help Eddie keep Butch immobilized. Butch grinned as he turned to see Raymond. Trick, turd burglar! He screamed and dropped the pumpkin bomb into Raymond's shirt pocket. It exploded immediately. Raymond's glasses flew from his face. His eyes felt as if they were orbs of hot lava melting his brain.

Eddie looked in horror at his 7th grade science teacher. Butch stood up, laughing for all he was worth. Steve pulled a pumpkin bomb from his own pocket, lit it, and ran up to Butch. Butch held up a hand to get a high five from his fat buddy. His fat buddy grabbed Butch's sagging pants by the belt line, grinned, and shoved the pumpkin bomb down Butch's underwear. It exploded. Butch fell to the floor. The crotch of his jeans were a black, smoldering hole. His twig and berries were nothing more than a bloody ground mess. Fuck you, Butch, Steve said as he walked away.

Raymond couldn't see. He could hear, but it sounded like everyone was in a tunnel. Kathy ran to him. He mumbled a single word. Water. Okay, okay. Kathy got a cup from the stack near the punch bowl, which was spiked when the first set of kids came through and retrieved water from the fountain. Raymond fumbled with the package while Kathy was getting the water. He ripped the orange topper from the pumpkin potion. Kathy attempted to give him water. He held out his hand instead, and she gave him the cup. He emptied the pouch of pumpkin potion into his mouth and chased it down with the water.

Raymond, what are you doing? Kathy asked. She reached down to help him. Raymond contorted in pain. His bones literally sounded as if they were cracking. Sirens were coming. He could hear them. He could hear her screaming for help. Raymond could hear everything. No tunnel. His eyes were clear, and the pain was gone. Raymond stood and held out his hand. No, stay away, he said. Kathy was wide-eyed. Raymond ran. His shoes burst under his feet. He escaped the gym through the janitor's closet. He was gone. No one would find him. Raymond Mathis was as good as dead.

It had been 72 hours since the events at LBC Middle School. Butch lived, but he was now a eunuch. Steve turned himself in to the police and confessed to what the boys had done. The little boy was lying wide awake in his hospital bed at 2 o'clock in the morning. No mother, father, aunt or uncle came to get him. But someone did. The tall man walked quietly into the room. The boy lit up holding up his bandaged hand. Did you kill them? The little boy asked. No, but I punished the one that did this to you.

Are you ready to go, my son? The tall man asked. I am, father. My daddy is the pumpkin man, the kid said with an excitement that made the tall man smile. I can fix your hand, you know. Really, truly fix it. But there is a trade-off, the tall man said. What is it? The boy asked. You'll stay this age forever, and I'll be with you forever. How does that sound? The tall man asked. It's all I've ever wanted, said the little boy. And at that moment, the little piece of Raymond that was dying away inside the tall man finally appreciated Halloween.

Pumpkin Spice and Nothing Nice by Charles Campbell 7 o'clock a.m. October 31st Amber Hanna sighed in frustration as she impatiently waited in line at Frankie's Donuts, a line that was threatening to spill outside the front door. By her count, she was in spot 8, and so far, every single person has ordered a pumpkin spice latte, or pumpkin spice donuts, or both. Amber was so over the fall season, she just wanted her caramel cappuccino and glazed donut before heading into the office. Everything was pumpkin spice, from candles to fucking Clorox. No shit! She saw pumpkin spice Clorox in the grocery store the day before.

She dreaded the three-block walk to her office, because as soon as she arrives, Amber knows the place will smell of pumpkin spice. Whoever thought of putting pumpkin spice in fucking everything ought to be bound and flogged. Needless to say, Amber was no fan, and would be happy when November first rolled around. It meant half-price candy and folks would start easing up just a bit on all this pumpkin spice shit. Fuck Halloween. Fuck pumpkin spice. It was almost her turn in line when a small hand tugged on her finger. Trick or treat, the little boy said.

Get away, Amber said and stepped forward to place her order. She felt a finger poke her on the butt and spun around. Trick or treat, the little boy repeated. Look you little turd. Where is your mother? Amber asked angrily. What's your problem? Frankie asked. Susie, the cashier, stepped aside for her boss. Oh, nothing much. I'm so sick of all this Halloween shit. The pumpkin spice bullshit. This coffee shop used to be great because it wasn't a fucking Starbucks or Duncan, but I'll be damned if you fuckers didn't go ahead and sell out. I hate all this pumpkin spice bullshit and snot nosed brats trying to touch my ass.

That is my fucking problem. Amber's face was beet red and she just couldn't stop the spew of venom once it started. The little boy with blue eyes and sandy blonde hair started to cry. You're a meanie. The pumpkin man is going to get you. The kid cried out. Pumpkin man, give me a fucking break. Amber said, get out of my store and don't come back. Since you hate us so much, go to Starbucks or Duncan, but you're not welcome here anymore. Frankie shouted, fine, Amber said and turned to leave. There was a tap on her shoulder.

It was the boy's father. Miss, the way you talked to my son was crass and unacceptable. You owe him an apology. The tall man with a dark complexion said, he wasn't angry, but he was serious. Yeah, that ain't going to fucking happen. You're lucky I don't call the police. The little perv tried to grab my ass, Amber said. She was over it and ready to go. Okay, so you're going to forgo the apology? Ask the man. Duh. Amber answered and began walking toward the door. The man tapped on her shoulder once more. She turned to let him have it for the final time.

He held out his palm and quickly blew orange dust into her face. Amber coughed and gagged. She breathed it in and swallowed a good bit of it. Her eyes burned and she was fiercely rubbing them. What felt like agonizing minutes was only a few seconds when she felt the cool water wash over her face. Frankie was pouring a bottle of cold Dasani over her eyes. It was helping. Did someone call the cops? Amber asked. Nobody said a word. Where? Where'd they go? Amber looked around. The little boy and tall man were gone. She thought about calling the police, but what was the point?

She'd go to work and tomorrow this Halloween horseshit would be over until next year. Ten Minutes Later Amber was tapping away on her front teeth with her index finger as she was trying to decide what she wanted from the vending machine. She rolled her eyes when she noticed what was in B7. Pumpkin Pie Pop Tarts. This season couldn't come to an end fast enough. She chose some generic peanut butter crackers and had just enough change in her pocket for Dr. Pepper to wash it all down. She needed something in her stomach to deal with all the Halloween freaks in the office today.

Shelley was a witch. John was a half-assed Frankenstein monster. Chuck was a bargain basement mummy and Tina... Well, she didn't know what the fuck Tina was supposed to be. She had drawn on whiskers so maybe some kind of a dying cat or something? Just another Halloween at Whitman's Insurance Agency. Chuck and Tina Whitman owned the place, and they were very firm believers in All Hallows Eve. Another year without dressing up, huh, Amber? Chuck asked as he held his arms out like a lumbering mummy from movies long, long ago. Yeah, well, you know, I really couldn't find anything to wear, Mr.

Whitman, Amber said. Looking at him made her want to puke. At least you're consistent. You sure you didn't try a little makeup this morning? Chuck asked as he pointed at her neck. You got a little something there. You get one of those pumpkin spice donuts from Frankie's? No, Mr. Whitman, let me go wipe this mess off, Amber said and excused herself from her desk. Thankfully, there was no one else in the restroom. Amber looked in the mirror and she could see the little orange smudge that mummy Chuck pointed out. She soaked a paper towel sheet with warm water and dabbed at the small spot on her neck.

She dried it and took another look. The smudge was still there, so she added a little soap from the dispenser and scrubbed a little harder. She dried it again and the smudge hadn't gone anywhere. Fuck! Amber whispered and tossed the paper towels into the garbage. She'd have to wash the spot away in the shower that night. It was par for the course. She'd have to work all day with that pumpkin orange blotch on her neck. Naturally, it would be pumpkin orange. She took one last look in the mirror and blew a strand of hair out from in front of her face.

Amber then went back to her desk. This morning was busy and lunch was fast approaching. Amber was hungry. The crackers and Dr. Pepper weren't quite the breakfast she expected. She fielded quite a few calls and set several appointments for the agents. Some customers came in with their young kids all dressed up. The little fuckers had their trick-or-treat bags, and the Whitmans were more than happy to fill them. To Amber, kids didn't belong in a place of business, even if it was Halloween. She rose from her desk and stretched her arms. Amber was going to take a walk down the block and grab a sandwich from Underground Joe's.

That's when one of the kids in the office shouted, Oh, wow, Mom, look at her! He shouted and pointed at Amber. I don't think she's finished her costume yet. Stop pointing. It's not polite. The portly woman said and waved at Amber before pulling her son away by the arm. What the fuck was that about? Amber whispered to herself. Then Chuck walked by and stopped cold. Amber, have you been getting into the Halloween spirit? Looks good so far. Chuck said and made a circle with his finger as he pointed at her neck. Amber's brow furrowed. She noticed the others in the office now looking at her.

Tina, the afflicted cat, put her hand over her mouth. That was enough for Amber to hightail it back to the restroom. Amber locked the door behind her and moved quickly to the mirror. She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Amber repeated. It was the only word her brain would register. The orange smudge had spread and there was more. The bottom half of her neck was pumpkin orange covered with what appeared to be black spider veins. There was no washing this shit away. Amber took a deep breath and exited the bathroom.

She moved quickly to the coat rack and lifted Tina's long black scarf. She wrapped it around her neck and shouted, I'm not feeling well, Mr. Whitman. Going home to lie down. She waved a hand in the air and almost knocked Freddie Caldwell over as she rushed from the building. Fifteen minutes later. Amber was safely in the confines of her one bedroom apartment when she immediately removed her clothes and stepped into the shower. She saturated the loofah with soapy water and went to work on her neck. There was no rush of orange and black makeup running down her chest.

She scrubbed harder, but nothing was happening. It was as if someone tattooed this shit on her. What the fuck? Amber screamed. The shower was as hot as she could stand it, and nothing was happening. She pulled the shower curtain and grabbed a towel from a clean stack on the shelf. Amber wrapped her body and opened the bathroom door to let the steam escape. Then she used a dry washcloth to wipe the fogging mirror. Amber almost fainted at what she saw. Not only did the orange and black mess not go away, but it spread even more.

Now, all of her neck was completely covered to the base of her chin. Amber's heart was racing. Her hands trembled as she attempted to remove her nose ring and quickly gave up on the notion when the scent crept into her nostrils. It was the unmistakable combination of nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice, and ginger. The fucking smell of pumpkin spice. Something else was strange. Amber noticed the color of her eyes were darker. They were a sky blue before, but now they were almost like dark pools of water. This was fucked up on so many levels. Then it hit her.

The man, the man at Frankie's did this shit. He poisoned me. Amber said out loud before thinking, what the fuck did that kid say? The Pumpkin Man will get you. Amber got dressed as she opened the Uber app on her phone. She was going to the emergency room. Thirty-four minutes later. It was mid-afternoon and Augusta University Hospital's ER was crazier than usual. As soon as the Uber driver dropped her off, Amber knew this was going to be a wasted trip. The ER waiting room was almost to capacity. A lot of them were snotty-nosed little shit sniffling and coughing all over the place.

There were prompt cares and pediatricians for this bullshit, is what Amber thought as she stepped to the front desk. The pretty young nurse smiled as Amber approached. Wow, that's some great makeup. You go into a Halloween party? No, Amber replied. She wanted to look in a mirror. Trick-or-treating with some kids then? No. How long is the wait? Amber asked. Well, the lobby's full. You can fill out this paperwork if you want to wait. The young nurse held a clipboard with a small stack of paper attached. You're looking at a two to three hour wait. We got a lot of sick kids today.

Fuck, Amber replied and waved off the clipboard. Amber walked away. The nurse smiled and greeted the next person in line. 17 minutes later, Amber shuffled back into her apartment and went into her bedroom. She turned on the light and stood in front of the full length mirror attached to the door. Half of her face was now covered in pumpkin orange and black to just under her nose. Amber stared in horror as the image was starting to present itself. Oh, my God! She screamed. The jagged black lines around her mouth formed the unmistakable grin of a jack-o-lantern.

The smell was back too and it was driving her bananas. It was as if her nose were made of pumpkin spice. It was sickening and caused her to convulse. She scurried to the bathroom and dry heaved. After a couple of minutes, she calmed down and caught her breath. The smell was still there, but the compulsion to puke her guts out was gone for the moment. Amber laid in her bed and sobbed. She cried herself to sleep. Four Hours Later Amber awoke with a pounding headache. The room was dark except for the television. One of the Halloween movies was playing and she really didn't give two shits which one.

As far as she was concerned, if you've seen one, you've seen them all. She placed her hands on her temples and was all but convinced that she just woke up from one of the most vividly terrible nightmares she's ever had. But the smell was still there, and she didn't think it possible. It was even more prominent. This stoked the fear in her like a blow poker to a dying fire. Amber turned on the light and fell to her knees in front of the mirror. Dear God, she screamed. Her face had completely transformed into that of a jack-o'-lantern.

It wasn't makeup or parlor tricks. It was one hundred percent her face. Her eyes were oval-shaped and so dark the iris blended with her pupils. The same type of black, jagged lines around her mouth now surrounded her eyes and nose. Everything else was pumpkin orange with streaks that looked like ominous roads on a map. Her shoulder-length hair was black with orange highlights. What did he do to me? Amber was panicking. She should go back to the hospital, but how could they fix this? She could go back to Frankie's. Maybe the tall man came back with his kid.

She could give the apology he asked for, and maybe he could fix it. That was her best shot. She didn't want to go out looking like this, but it was Halloween, so she shouldn't turn too many heads. Amber retrieved her phone and headed out. Frankie's was, after all, within walking distance. Nine minutes later. There were ooze and aahs when Amber stepped into Frankie's. A line of kids were waiting their turn at the candy table. Susie Reynolds was dressed as a witch. It was one of those Dollar General costumes, but Susie filled it out rather nicely.

Amber pushed to the front of the candy line. Susie didn't recognize her at all. Until she spoke, Susie, you seen that kid from this morning? Amber asked, Amber, that you? Wow, your makeup is amazing. Susie was thoroughly impressed. Shut it, Susie. The kid, the kid from this morning, have you seen him? Amber asked in desperation, No. Susie replied and, because of Amber's bitchiness, added, Didn't Frankie tell you not to come back? Come on, Susie, I need to find the kid and his dad. Let me sit in the back for a little while in case they come in.

Please, Susie. Okay, but if Frankie shows up, I'm not covering for you. Susie replied as she grabbed a fistful of candy for the next kid. Thank you. Thank you. Amber said before taking a seat in a booth facing the entrance. She was tapping her fingers nervously on the table. She kept her eyes on the front door, hoping against hope for the kid and his dad to return. Amber glanced at her phone to check the time, and an immediate lump formed in her throat. Her wrists were pumpkin orange. Amber was wearing gray sweat, so most of her body was covered up.

She quickly glanced around, held her breath, and took a quick peek down her shirt. Amber was on the verge of breaking down. Her entire torso was pumpkin orange. No, no, no! Amber was trembling uncontrollably. The kids, along with their parents in the candy line, started to notice her. Then a line of her very own started. Oh, wow! You're a pumpkin! Look, mama, she's a pumpkin! The little redheaded girl dressed like Raggedy Ann shouted. Where's the rest of your costume? She asked as she looked over the gray sweats. Amber gave the little girl a nervous smile and squirmed in her seat.

Come on, come on, please, Amber mumbled. You look so cool. You want some of my candy? A little boy asked. Amber smiled and shook her head no. There was now a full-fledged crowd of kids in front of her. Half of the kids were in the candy line and the other half were in the line to see the pumpkin lady. Please come, please, Amber whispered. The kids gawked and most of the parents were impressed with the detail of the makeup. Almost an hour passed and Amber was just about to leave and head back to the ER when she heard a familiar voice.

Trick or treat, he was wearing a pumpkin mask, but she immediately recognized the voice. It was the little boy with the blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. Hey, you want some candy? Amber grabbed a handful some of the other kids left for her on the table. Here you go. He held a plastic pumpkin in front of him and she dropped the candy inside. Look, I want you to know that I'm so sorry I yelled at you today. It was wrong of me and I shouldn't have treated you like that. Please tell your dad that I'm sorry.

Amber said, tears filled her black eyes. She could tell the little boy was smiling behind his mask. It's okay. Thank you for the candy, he replied and opened his arms for a hug. Amber scooched out of the booth and knelt down. The little boy hugged her around the neck and whispered in her ear. My daddy is the pumpkin man. When Amber stood, the tall man was there. He was behind his son holding a cup. Thank you for apologizing to my son. Halloween is his favorite time of year and he gets very excited. Here, the tall man said as he handed Amber a Frankie's cup.

Take this as an acceptance of your apology. Make sure you drink the entire cup. You'll feel like a new woman in the morning. Come on, son, let's go. The two of them walked out of Frankie's. Amber looked at the cup. It looked like a regular old cup of pumpkin spice latte. She took a sip and nothing ever tasted better on her tongue. It was hot, but not too hot. Amber drank every single drop. Nothing was left in the cup. She hugged a few more kids before she left Frankie's. She liked the feeling. One year later, the line at Frankie's Doughnuts was almost to the door.

By her count, she was in spot 10 and so far, every single person had ordered a pumpkin spice latte or pumpkin spice doughnuts or both. Amber waited patiently for her turn to order. Susie smiled as Amber approached. Nice costume, Amber. Not quite as good as last Halloween, but not bad, girly, Susie said. Amber was wearing a tight-fitting, sexy witch costume straight from the Dollar General. Thank you, Susie. I'll be by tonight to see what you're wearing. I'd like a pumpkin spice latte and two dozen pumpkin spice doughnuts for the office. Okie doke, Susie replied. A smiling Frankie approached the counter.

What a difference a year makes, huh, Amber? Amber nodded and replied, Yes, sir. I friggin love Halloween. Stalk by Mike Ashkewe I'm bored, lonely, and horny. This is not exactly a great combination for an exciting reading week. The exceptional and brilliant life of me, Joshua Fox, or Foxy to most of my friends. I wish the nickname suggested more success with the ladies, but well, let's say it's been a long, dry summer, and fuck if I'm not thirsty. Canadian Thanksgiving, the less cool cousin of American Thanksgiving, happens in October, but hey, it's reading week, so it kind of works out.

I'm coming home to my old stomping grounds from being away in the big city of Toronto. It'll be a week of getting together with some friends, playing some Dungeons and Dragons, and maybe putting on the skates for a few games of beer league hockey with the boys. Maybe I was expecting college to be like in the movies and ladies would be throwing themselves at me. I am somehow getting the idea that the sexy comedies of the 80s might have lied to me. There was a distinct lack of panty raids, and it was more study your ass off and get your homework done than endless fun.

I'm lucky that I got my college education paid for courtesy of the Ontario government and a summer of manning a hot dog cart at the Blue Jays games. The drive home up Highway 6 was, as always, long, boring, and, well, if you've never seen a cow, then hold on to your butts because you are in for a treat. I parked my ass at my parents' house in Owen Sound and hoped that This Week doesn't suck. My mom and dad have taken off to somewhere warm, sunny, and probably filled with conservative butt jobs like Florida. Come to think of it, maybe Owen Sound and Florida have a lot in common just with less alligators on meth.

Then again, I laughed at my own stupid thoughts and continued driving. Fortunately, Foxy wasn't totally without a clue or a plan for the week ahead in some ways. There is this cool thing called the Internet. Heard of it? Of course, you have. All the debauchery and raunchy shit you can imagine and all available at the click of a mouse. Kinda figured the boys might blow me off for the week with work, girlfriends, and kids, so I had to come up with a plan B. What's plan B, you ask? Internet hookups. Yeah, I know. Fuck sexy milfs in your area right now.

Just pay $9.99 and enter your major credit card. Nah, fuck that. I tried the sensitive approach, and cast a wide net, and tried the college dating website scene, and I'll see what happens when I cast a line. Before leaving my dorm, I fired up the old laptop, and sent off a few messages to some girls up in the area. I knew a few of them from going to high school, and some I knew by reputation alone. I kinda had a feeling that my odds of success weren't great, but hey, as a great wise man once said, you can't score if you don't take a shot, right?

Now wait, you're thinking, am I really this lonely and desperate? Yes and no. Before I left for school, I did have a girl I was going steady with, but well, it didn't work out. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was me. Maybe I shouldn't have tried to fuck her best friend Courtney. Maybe. TLDR, I'm an idiot and got what I deserved. However, who says that good guys don't get a second chance? Am I a good guy? Well, I'm not Hitler. That has to count for something. Coming into Owen Sound was something that I always looked forward to.

The lovely fall colors of the trees and the big hill coming into the downtown. Sure, this place sucked to grow up in, but I'll be damned if it wasn't a gorgeous place to look at for a little while. I drove up to my parents' house on the west side of town by the old blockbuster and unloaded my backpack and hockey bags, walked into the old house that was clearly built before people knew what HVAC was, and half-decent wiring. It's quiet here. Even the dog is gone. They almost never take that yappy thing with them on vacation.

That's pretty weird. Guess the neighbors finally said, fuck you, your dog won't stop shitting on our lawn, so no, Bob and Linda, I won't look after your mud. My room was just as I left it. It looked like a bomb went off in it. Dirty clothes, fast food wrappers, and I'm pretty sure a half empty can of Red Bull stuffed up under my computer desk. Speaking of my computer, I fired up the old desktop that I didn't take with me to school. I logged on to a few of the college dating sites that I was on before I left and kinda hoped that I'd find someone to help take my mind off things for a while.

Seems like more than a few swiped away from yours truly, but hey, this is just separating the wheat from the chaff. The strong survive, right? After sorting through like 20 messages and getting shot down almost consistently, a hit. I've never been so happy to see a blinking notification on a website that wasn't OnlyFans. Click that so fast that I thought the mouse would disintegrate in my hands. It was from Tracy Kidd. Totally out of my league, totally not into me. Yet. Hey, Josh, glad to hear you're coming back to town for a week. When was the last time I saw you?

Was it the baseball tourney in Sobble Beach or at Jeans Party in Chesley? It's been way too long. I was totally surprised to hear from you, though. Such a pleasant surprise. Sorry to hear that your friends ditched you for the week or likely will. That totally sucks. Blah, blah. Get on with it. But I kept reading with anticipation as this could go my way. Or I'm spending my week with a jar of Vaseline and Pornhub. So, I'm stuck this week by myself too, and I was wondering if you'd like to get together. No pressure or anything.

I have to close my parents' cottage for the winter and I could totally use a big strong man to help me out. Well, more like I'd rather not be alone in a giant house by myself for a week. So, tell you what, why don't you come up when you're here and we'll get together, have a few laughs, go in the hot tub and drink what's left in the liquor cabinet. Now, this is what I am talking about. I texted her so fast and after literally a few seconds, she replied back, holy shit. She gave me a winky face emoji and said she'd be available later tonight.

I texted back and asked for the address, but tried to play it cool. Pretty sure I look dumb as hell, but it's a bold move, Cotton. Let's see how it plays out. Got the address. I had a vague idea on where it was. Saubel Beach. It sounded like it was close to Saugine First Nation territory. The Indian Reservation. I'd been there a few times for hockey and had a few friends from there. Good guys, deaf the kind of people you want backing you in a fight. You don't fuck with Rez kids. Had an idea that kid was Ojibwe, but didn't want to ask.

It's cool, though. Native girls have the most intense dark eyes and that amazing black hair. I knew Tracy had a rep, but it was well earned. She didn't take any crap from any of her boyfriends, so she had that tough girl air about her. She was confident, undeniably sexy, but so far out of my league, it was like a 10-year-old kid playing in the NHL with a broken arm. I can't deny that I'd love to have a face off with her and jersey her if you catch my drift. Still, she responded to me, so if I didn't have a shot, then she wouldn't have answered me.

Maybe this reading week is gonna work out after all. Get together with a pretty girl, fuck her brains out, and return back to the dorms with an awesome story. I could also totally brag to my buddies Ryan and Dylan how I got laid and they decided to ditch me for things like jobs and beer league. Losers. I texted her back and said I'd take a quick shower and grab some supplies and head up her way within the hour. It was late afternoon, but I'd still make it up there before it got too dark. And then the real fun began.

I got in the shower and tried to imagine all the ways that I'd be all Mr. Super Sexy and Smooth Operator. Something felt kind of off as I got out of the bathroom, though. It kind of felt like someone was watching me. It only happened for a few seconds, but for a moment or two, I swear I saw a pair of eyes dart by my bedroom window. That would be crazy, because I was up on the third floor. Maybe cut back on the Red Bulls before I leave for her place. Got my luggage together, some condoms I had stashed for just such an occasion, and a six pack of Canadian from the fridge.

I'm sure dad won't mind if I take a few beers to entertain a lady. Again, something seemed weird as I was just getting my keys off the kitchen table, and I looked out towards the back door. I swear I saw the biggest damn dog I'd ever seen, just peering in at me and looking at me. Now, who the hell let that monster off the leash? Should I call the cops or help someone find their dog? Well, if it's important enough, then someone will come looking, and I'm sure that Cujo, the giant dog, will find his way home.

My car felt like something out of Fast and the Furious as I hit the gas and hit every single light out of town and up Highway 6 towards Sobble Beach. I cranked up the radio and started singing along badly to whatever was on. It frankly didn't matter. Tonight was going to be great. And I wasn't going to let anything spoil it. This fox was on the prowl, baby! Passed by a few small towns along the way to Sobble Beach. This place was world renowned as a tourist destination. Huge white sand beach, thriving beach community, and of course racial tensions because, you know, Northern Ontario.

I mean, why do people gotta be shitheads? Everyone's shit stinks, so why can't we all just get along? Right? Right. Leave it to me. I'll solve all the world's problems like the fucking United Nations. The only part of the ride that wasn't full of fun and fantasy was still shaking that weird feeling of those eyes watching me. The main road into Sobble was quiet. Like, so quiet you could hear a mouse fart for miles. This place rolled up the sidewalks after Labor Day weekend, and it was just the locals left here till the winter comes for the snowmobile crowd.

Everything was closed or being closed up, and the only thing open was a convenience store that sold stuff to tourists at inflated prices, and the locals knew better than to drive to Owens Sound. I used to spend a lot of summers here with the boys, and even my on and off girlfriends. We'd hang out by the giant sign at the beach entrance and walk downtown and not have a care in the world. Those summers were amazing, and I never wanted them to end. We'd usually rent a cottage a few times a summer along the beach, and it was nothing but parties, loud music, weed, and staying up all night playing poker or an old Nintendo till we passed out.

My GPS started droning on its directions to get to Tracy's place. Where in the hell was it? Back roads, twists and turns, and I don't even think I was anywhere near people at this point. If you lived back here, you either valued your privacy or had more money than sense to build this far back. It was dirt roads, trees, dense bush, and even an occasional swamp. Truly paradise. Come to think of it, the GPS lady sounded kind of hot. Wait, we are not fantasizing about fucking Skynet before Tracy, are we? We are. It's a new level of sadness, but that's okay.

It'll be prime time soon enough. Finally, I found the address, and it was tucked back about as far as one could go without being totally off grid. I think her neighbors must be easily 15 or 20 minutes away, and I haven't seen any cars pass me in at least that long. On the plus side, no one will hear her scream my name when we get down to it. I drove carefully along the dirt road, trying not to bottom out my car. I'm still paying this thing off, and the last thing I need is to take it in because I knocked off my muffler.

Her cottage comes into view, and it's way bigger than I expected. Looks like someone built this place by hand, and they had amazing taste as well. Two stories, big glorious windows, and a gorgeous wraparound deck, and even a little swing set. This place was like something out of a TV show or a movie. I pulled up beside her pickup truck and started to get out when I noticed something as I opened the car door. What in the hell was that smell? It smelled like a wet dog mixed with something else. It almost smelled like rotten meat that had been left out in the sun for a few hours.

You spend enough time in the woods and you know what trouble smells like. And this did not exactly scream friendly. Must be roadkill or something died in the woods nearby. I mean, there were bears, coyotes and foxes around here. Probably safe to assume that I should get inside quickly. I'd rather not end up as something's dinner tonight. I probably taste great. One last thing to prepare. I sprayed a little bottle of Axe body spray on myself before I went up to the door. Might as well smell like desperation and a little bit of horniness in a can, right?

I headed up the deck stairs and knocked on the big wooden door. I waited a moment or two and then knocked again and… nothing. Did I get the wrong house? I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone to text her, but of course, no cell service. I'm pretty sure even if I got a bar of service out here, it would be a minor technological miracle. Maybe she was fucking with me. I mean, it's entirely possible. I started to walk back towards my car in defeat and shame when I heard a voice call out from an upstairs window.

Josh! Hold on a few! I'm just getting out of the shower. Door's unlocked. Head into the living room. I'll be down in a few. That was Tracy. I opened the door and walked into the cottage and man, what a trip. This place was decked out in all sorts of things on the walls. There was a gigantic painting of a pack of wolves above a fireplace, and pictures of what I presumed were her family. They also had tons of handmade things that looked like they must have come from the reservation. I think I had heard that her brother, John, was a big shot dancer in the powwow circuit.

It's pretty badass looking, to be honest. I mean, I somehow managed to fuck up coloring books, so this was way beyond my skill level. I sat down on her sofa and just kept looking around the place, half being amazed by all the stuff, and the other time being kinda snoopy and way too curious. After about ten minutes, I hear footsteps coming down the staircase behind me. I can't contain my excitement, and I spin around on the couch and try to look cool. It didn't work, as I turned around so fast that I almost fell off the couch.

I looked up and saw Tracy Kidd for the first time since last summer. She looked gorgeous, long, black hair. Her makeup was done just right to make her eyes pop, and she wore a pair of gray sweatpants and a crop top black hoodie. She was beautiful. Hey Foxy, long time no see. Have any trouble finding the place? She said in a playful tone. Yeah, my GPS tried to take me into Lake Huron, but I got here all right. Man, your folks certainly made sure this place would be the biggest pain in the ass for a pizza guy or Amazon to find.

You'd be surprised how easily all the cousins find it after powwow. And John comes home for a few weeks. She laughed. I'm glad I was able to come up. By the way, thanks for messaging me back, Trace. I needed a friendly face or two while I was home. I'm more than happy to help. I even brought up a few beers as well. Well, aren't you a fucking gentleman? She laughed. Don't worry. I'm fully stocked out here as I got to close this place up for the winter and I'm not supposed to leave anything behind. My parents said, do what you want, but make sure the locks are tight, the windows closed, and the power is off before Thanksgiving Monday.

I'm just glad to be out of the city for a few days, so anything you need I got. I'll admit it took a lot of restraint to not say anything stupid or push my luck too far before we even had a chance to get comfortable together. Anything huh? Well that remains to be seen. Her voice and demeanor changed for just a second, and I think if I played my cards right, then I likely would not be sleeping on the sofa. I'm pretty handy and I can count to ten without using my fingers, so that has to count for something.

I joked back with her to see if I was gauging the room right. She smiled back at me, and it was the kind of look that suggested I could lower my defenses and see where things led, but slowly and try to play 3D chess as it were. Tracy sat down on the couch next to me, and we just caught up on old times, and what we've been up to since last summer. She was working for the Conservation Authority and doing some stuff for her brother, like helping him book gigs, so kind of like showbiz meets Captain Planet.

It did sound pretty cool if very busy and time-consuming. I told her that I was at Humber College for photography. I wanted to live my dream of being a sports photographer, maybe someday work for the NHL or the Canadian Hockey League. As the night passed, we started developing into deeper topics, and it was actually pretty pleasant. She asked me why we never hung out more in high school. I always thought you were too cool for me. You always had a boyfriend, and let's be real, most of these guys make UFC fighters seem like cuddly little kittens in comparison.

You could have just asked, Fox. You were a good guy, kind, and not too much of an asshole. I didn't care much for that Dylan friend of yours, but always thought you were all right. I remember the first time I saw you and your boyfriend fight at school. You punched him so hard when he laid his hands on you. It was like watching Wonder Woman come to life. It was pretty fucking awesome. Funnier when he begged you not to do it in front of his friends. Yeah, he had it coming. I dated a lot of jerks back then.

I could handle myself though. My grandmother taught me a lot of things. She taught me mostly to take shit from no man and to end it decisively. She looked at me differently when she said that to me. The air in the room seemed to shift, and it wasn't just idle chitchat anymore. It was something more real. I'm sorry that you had to go through that, Trace. You deserve better, a lot better. Trace inched closer to me on the couch, and actually started to cuddle into me. I actually felt all my bravado and all my intent ooze away as she did.

I was vulnerable, and so was she. This was the make it or break it moment. This is where I either have an amazing night, or I fuck it up completely. I've been lonely for a while, Josh. Things got different after you left. She almost whispered it like it was a secret she wasn't supposed to tell anyone. What do you mean? What's wrong? I asked and genuinely meant it. The idea of getting laid kinda became secondary now. I mean, what if this was something else? What if this was one of those moments where something becomes really real?

I know why you came here, but I'm not mad. Oh, fuck. No, no, it's fine. I wanted you to come. It's more than just a hookup, right? Um, how do I answer this? Maybe I'll play honestly, because I don't know. She can lay me out cold and leave me for the bears outside to eat. I'll admit it. A lot has changed since I came here and actually started talking with you. It's one thing to have a hot girl answer you on a dating site and another thing to have said hot girl invite you up to a cottage for a few days.

I get the feeling that you've been really real with me, and I haven't had that since Melissa, my ex. The one you tried to cheat on. Yeah, I own that fuck up. I didn't expect to say that out loud, but it came so naturally. If I'm going to be present and here in the moment, then I better be on my best behavior. You're not a bad guy, Josh. I can smell it on you. Okay, that's a weird thing to say, but sure. That's just the body spray. I nervously laughed. She sat up and sat on my lap and looked deep into my eyes.

She was a lot heavier than I expected to be, honestly. She was built like a tank. She didn't look this strong, but looks are deceiving. I'm pretty sure she could bench press me and not even break a sweat. No, Josh. It's perfectly fine. We all have needs and so do I. It's nothing to be ashamed of. She touched the side of my face and traced a line from my hairline to my cheek and cupped my chin in her hand. Normally, this is where I'd get down to business and go to town, but here I was absolutely in her hands.

I was her plaything and she knew it. She had this animalistic power over me. And on one hand, it was kind of scary how much I knew she could overpower me. But I kind of wanted it that way. I looked back into her eyes and there was something in there I didn't expect to see. I could see this primal hunger and this ferocity you see in a wild predator like a wolf or a lynx. This is a weird line between sexy as fuck and scary. I think I'm turned on but also kind of terrified. What would you say to a little game?

You win, you can have your way with me. And, if I win, then I can do whatever I want to you. Okay, um, what do I have to do? Answer me honestly and I'll know if you're lying. She said in a flirty but also serious tone. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and didn't take her deep brown eyes off me. She was sizing me up in a way that I can't say I've ever seen outside of a nature documentary. Suddenly, I felt like a kitten trapped in a cage with a lioness. This is either going to get kinky or weird.

Probably both. Relax your body and let me guide you. I need you to trust me, Josh. She took my hands and placed them on her sides, and she kept eye contact with me. I relaxed as much as I could. I was a little hard because, well, I'm a guy. She smiled at me and winked, and then got serious again. Do you trust me, Josh? She took my hands and put them on her breasts, and kept her body taut against mine. Okay. This is going places. I do. I stammered out. Do you want me, Josh? I do.

This is happening. Would you still want me if I told you a secret? Um, sure. I mean, it's not like you killed anybody, right? I could feel her body tense up as soon as I said that. And what if I did? Okay. Not sure I like where this is going. I don't think you're a murderer kid. Tough as shit, but you're not a killer. Tracy took my hands and guided them to her face and held them against the side of her head. And we just held hands like that for a moment. There was a tenderness and a longing in this moment.

I could feel my cheeks flush and my heart beating out of my chest like a jackhammer. What if you're wrong about me? Would you still want me? She relaxed our hands and leaned in to kiss me. I could feel her breath just as our lips were about to touch. And for a moment, it was like the first time I was with someone, and I totally forgot the peril I was likely in. Yes. Good. She whispered as she kissed me long and deep, passionately. This wasn't an I want to fuck you kiss. This was an I want you forever kind of kiss.

Now you only have to do one more thing. And it's simple. I want you to. But you have to prove how strong and clever you are. Can you do that? At this moment, I'm pretty sure I would have sold meth to nuns. I can do that. I want you to play hide and seek with me for 10 minutes, and I'll give you a head start. Seriously? All I got to do to sleep with this amazing, enchanting sexual goddess is play hide and seek for 10 minutes? This is going to be so awesome. Okay. That's it?

I laughed. That's it. I might suggest you start running now though. What? Run? Why? This seems a little hard core for for play, don't you think? I thought to myself, Tracy leaned in and kissed me again. And this time it almost felt sad, like a goodbye in a sense. She took herself off my body, off the couch, and stood up to her full height. If you're going to mate with me, then I need to know how strong and clever my pups will be. As soon as she said that, I thought I was going to shit my pants.

This little 5'8 dark skinned girl started to grow in front of me like something out of a nightmare. Her skin started to ripple, and a rough dark brown furry merged like a wave. Her features twisted and snapped like muscles and bone, snapping into new shapes. The face of Tracy Kidd was replaced by a long wolf-like snout, filled with sharp, unforgiving teeth. Those once kind hands shaped into impossibly long claws that scraped the hardwood floor beneath her. She towered over me at easily nine feet tall. A rough, almost unrecognizable voice growled out of her horrifying visage.

I'm going to count to 30, and then if you can survive for 10 minutes, I'm all yours. I screamed and screamed till my voice was hoarse and I started to run in any direction but where I was. Tracy Kidd was a fucking werewolf? Fuck I gotta run, gotta run, gotta run! I threw open the front door and tripped down the stairs as I went and landed hard on the grass out front and felt the wind get knocked out of me. I felt my car keys jab into my leg and Jesus Christ did that hurt. I started stumbling towards my car and thought about how the hell I was going to get out of here when I didn't even know where here was in this dark.

It was so pitch black and her porch lights were off. I struggled to get my car keys in the lock. They wouldn't turn. I kept turning the keys but the door wouldn't open. Shit, I must have bent the key when I fell. Fuck, I'm going to die here, aren't I? I felt beads of sweat run down my face and start to sting my eyes. Panic had gripped my entire body. This was it, wasn't it? This is where it all ends for me. I started running down the dirt laneway towards what I assumed was the main road that I had came in on.

I didn't even look back as I kept focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and doing the best to keep my forward momentum going. I just wanted to get with a girl this week. I just wanted to get laid right now. I just want to live to see tomorrow. Fuck, I'll take surviving the next hour if it means I can keep breathing. I kept running further and further into the darkness, and eventually the lights from Tracy's cottage could barely be seen because of the thick mess of pine trees. Looking around for anywhere to hide or at least a place to gather myself for a second and to catch my breath.

I'm not exactly in the worst of shape, but I could feel my legs start to turn to jelly and each breath start to burn as I gasped for air. Peeking off the laneway, I started dashing into the woods, and when I finally got into an area too dense to run, I started to slow down and carefully walk so as not to make too much noise. I couldn't hear anything except the faint sounds of a distant owl and the lapping of some nearby body of water. It's too quiet out here, and all I can truly hear is the blood pumping in my ears.

I have a lot to be sorry for if this is where it all ends tonight. I'm sorry, Mom and Dad. I know you wanted me to go off to school like my sister and become a doctor, but I wasn't smart enough. I'm mostly sorry to my ex-girlfriend, Melissa. You didn't deserve what I tried to do to you. I thought I was something special because someone else besides you took a liking to me, and I let it go to my head. I fucked up, and I made a lot of people unhappy in my life. Maybe I deserve to be torn apart by this creature, or turned into a weird breeding thing for her.

I probably deserve this. I leaned back against a tree and let out a sigh, and just looked up at the sky for a second. I don't know how long it's been since I ran from the house, maybe five minutes, and that's probably being generous. I could smell that rotting flesh again. Shit. Suddenly, something wet and heavy slammed into my chest and knocked me hard against the tree, felt like it cracked a rib or ten. I crumbled into a heap at the base of the tree and was instantly dazed. I tried to keep from passing out from the pain and keep focused enough to get my wits about me.

I opened my eyes and I instantly regretted that decision. Once again, I found myself face to face with something that shouldn't exist, yet here it was, right here in front of me. There was enough pale light cast from the overhead moon that I could see the face of the creature looking right into my soul. Tracy or whatever she was kept inching closer to me with her gigantic mouth drooling, her spit glistened in the moonlight like dew. Okay, this was really it. Tracy, if you're going to kill me, make it quick, and please don't make my mom and dad have to worry that I disappeared.

Give them something to bury. I croaked out in a weak voice. The werewolf stood up to its full height and cocked its head and looked at me. I looked up into the eyes of the creature, and suddenly they weren't the eyes of a monster. They were Tracy Kidd's eyes. Tracy's lupine form leaned down and moved closer to my body and nuzzled it like a dog would to an injured friend or owner. Her big wolf-like head nuzzled up against mine and touched the side of my face gently. This is not what I expected. Her form began to shift back into the 19-year-old native girl I had a crush on once.

She was naked, but at that moment it didn't matter. Josh, are you afraid to die? Yeah, I am. I don't want my parents to worry. Or my sister. I'm sorry for a lot of things in my life. I'm sorry that I came up here looking to take advantage of you. I'm sorry for everything, I whispered quietly. I know you are. I can smell it on you. You're a lot of things, Joshua Fox. But you're not a bad guy. She reached out again with her hands and cupped mine in hers and touched my face. I'm sorry, Tracy.

What would you say if I said I was still interested in you? Okay. I went from preparing to meet the Almighty to whatever this is. I'm confused. What do you mean? I didn't know how to process what exactly was happening at that moment. I'm lonely, Josh. I want to be with someone who can be honest like you are right now. What if I offered you a chance to be like me? Strong, powerful, and to be a part of something different? What exactly was Tracy asking me? She took back her left hand and extended one of her fingernails to an unnatural length and pointed it at me.

Be with me, Josh. When we mate with another, we take on strong spiritual and personality traits from the partner. I want my pups to have that honesty and that vulnerability you showed tonight. You could have tried to fuck me and then left in the morning, but instead you chose to talk and open up. You went with Plan B even though you didn't immediately mean to. Will I be just like you? Like... a monster? Yes and no. I'll have to show you how to control your new life, and you'll be different from everyone else, but you'll meet others like me.

It's not as scary as it sounds. Trust me. I found out from my grandmother in high school. How did you think I got so strong? Will it hurt? Just for a minute, Tracy leaned in and pressed her naked body against mine, and I felt her fingernail cut deep across my back. Pain and fire seared across the wound, and I wanted to throw up, but couldn't. I immediately passed out. The next day I woke up next to Tracy in an unfamiliar bed, and all my wounds had healed. I felt weird, like everything was moving in slow motion, but I was hyper aware of everything.

I could hear birds and things that seemed miles away. I felt like I was stronger than I'd ever been in my life. I got up out of bed and noticed I was also naked. Oh, that's unexpected. Well, if I had any fun last night, it seems like I wasn't totally present for that little escapade. I passed by a mirror and noticed something different about myself. I had the same animalistic look in my own brown eyes that Tracy did when we were on the couch last night. Well, this is going to take some getting used to, isn't it?

Strife of the Party by David O'Hanlon That's just nasty, Kesha said with a sour expression. Of course it's nasty, I'm a zombie, Bronson James shrugged. What do you want me to do, twilight it up? Sprinkle glitter on the guts? Make the puss pink? Bronson was the next Stan Winston. He'd gotten his start doing low-budget effects tutorials on YouTube. When he got into college, he started making props for the drama club, which led to a make-up gig with the community theater and a public access variety show. Then he did the independent film Murder on Bonanza Ranch.

Once the Beast studio saw what he could do with a few hundred bucks, they were beating down his doors with a never-ending string of classy projects like Amityville Conjurer, Great Lakes Shark Attack, and the Cleveland Cleaver. The last one got him his first Chainsaw Award nomination at 25 years old. Naturally, he went all out designing his Halloween costume. We're a couple, Kesha huffed. We should have costumes that go together. What the hell goes with a zombie? I don't know, he admitted. Vultures, maggots, that one asshole that swears he isn't bit even though everybody damn well knows he was?

You want me to dress like a white guy? She asked with a raised eyebrow. It really is always a white guy, isn't it? Bronson reached to embrace her with his gory hands. She slapped them away. Nuh-uh, you are not touching me with all that on you. How about I draw up another zombie concept for you? It's good experience for the team and will be the unlife of the party. He spreads his hands wide, flicking fake blood on the walls. It'll be a romance to die for. How long did it take you to get into that costume?

She asked. Only three hours. He smiled excitedly. I came up with this new m— Three hours? Bronson, have you lost your damn mind? I'm not sitting in a chair while someone puts zombie makeup on me for three hours. That's only like 45 minutes longer than you spend putting on your regular makeup, he offered, regrettably. Oh shit. Go on, what would you like to say about my beauty routine? You don't like it? Is it too fake for the man that makes make believe for a fucking living? Bronson sighed. There was ice skating uphill and then there was arguing with Kesha once she got on a tangent.

Only one of them was impossible. Is that what you meant? She continued. Are you comparing my makeup to your monsters? No. It was the only word he was going to get in. Maybe I should dress down like... What was her name? The skinny one with the flat ass who stole your car and left you broke. Charisma with a Z or some bullshit. Kesha spun around to leave the room. I'll go wash this off since you don't seem to like it. Her heels clacked across the hardwood floor, almost as sharply as the bathroom door slamming a moment later.

Bronson started counting silently. She was every bit as hot as a burning fuse and just as quick to explode. They had one of these arguments every other month and he'd learned the rhythm of the fight. It was Charisma with a Y that fucked him over and broke his heart, by the way. Bronson got to eight when he heard the lock click open and then the door banged against the stop before the knob would punch the drywall. She padded back into the room barefoot and working at her face with a makeup removal wipe. You know everyone at this party is going to be Ken and Barbie because of that dumbass movie.

Maybe a few ghosts and sexy nurses and from accounting will be a minion or whatever cutesy pajamas she can get last minute. But not you. She waved her hand at his costume. You don't even work for Hind and Heart. But you want to be the star with your Hollywood special effects and dangling guts. They're a nice touch, right? She put her clenched fists at her hips and scowled. I don't have to. I just thought you'd want to show off. I figured after you saw mine, you'd want something over the top too so they'd all still be talking about your costume next Halloween.

I want to show you what we could do. He twisted the latex intestines in his hands. We can do whatever costumes you want, babe. Really? You mean it? Sure, of course. He let the entrails fall and shrugged. You want to be Ken or Barbie? Bronson regretted not putting limitations on the whatever costumes you want bit. They stepped off the elevator into the grand hall on the 39th floor of the Hind and Hart corporate tower, wearing, as couples should apparently, costumes that went together. Awaiting them were no less than two dozen Barbies, mingled with their kens.

Two They-Live Aliens that Bronson recognized as Kesha's friend Mark and his husband Stewart. There was a Dracula, an Amina Harker, a Hawkeye and a Black Widow, a Bella and an Edward. For the most part, Kesha was right about the couples. There were the exceptions, of course, as well as the singles. To no one's surprise, there was also an abundance of Harley Quinn costumes. Two from the animated series, at least five from the Suicide Squad films, and one from the Axel Braun parody thereof. A few Wednesday Addams clones lingered with wolfmen, superheroes, ghosts, ninjas, and a couple of Jasons, a piss-poor Michael, and one really well-designed mummy.

A sexy Freddy gyrated on a man in a banana costume. A pair of inflatable dinosaur costumes butted heads. There was Anne in a 101 Dalmatians one-piece pajama. Bronson gave her a polite wave. She wagged her tail in response. At the bar, Gerard Hind wore a professional-grade Frankenstein costume that seemed appropriate for his powerful six-foot-five frame. Without the makeup, Hind looked like a retired linebacker, not the architectural genius that he was. Three interns in various stages of undress as sexy emojis, the evil, anger and sad ones, cackled lascivious at whatever the billionaire was saying. Security guard Tom patrolled the party topless as a dad-bod Rambo with his partner Jeanette, who at 63 looked anything but wondrous as Wonder Woman.

Bronson recognized Winslow from the company's Fourth of July party, despite his cleverly put-together spy costume that consisted of a trench coat and $2 mustache. Another man of mystery chatted it up with Winslow in an invisible man get-up, while he tried to figure out how to take advantage of the open bar with gauze over his mouth. And at the opulent fountain occupying the middle of the hall was Robert Hart, dressed ironically and insultingly as a construction worker. The octogenarian had been born the fourth richest man in America, and never worked a day in his life. He waved a hammer around like a scepter before the groveling peasants.

Among them were Esteban and Carly from Kesha's department. Esteban wore a pirate costume like you'd see on a romance novel cover, with his broad muscular chest revealed between the deep gash of the prissy v-neck collar. Carly, fully aware that she was a stone-cold milf, had optioned to dress up as a genuine cougar, or at least a pair of whiskers and a tan bodysuit that hugged every curve. Then there was Kesha and Bronson in their matching costumes. He stared down at the gold buckles on his shoes and his ridiculous striped socks. Kesha adjusted his top hat with a happy squeal.

It looks great, she told him. You really are the next Tim Savini. It's Tom, he mumbled. He eyed her costume with the blonde wig, spiked gold bikini top and short matching skirt that showed off her legs in their entirety. He turned to face his reflection in the gilded elevator doors. Yeah, well, at least one of us does, he said. You said Halloween costumes should be scary, she reminded him. This is my favorite horror movie. Leprechaun in Space isn't anybody's favorite horror movie, he grumbled. It is when you've only seen three horror movies. Kesha shrugged. It was this or that slumber party movie with the drill guitar.

Slumber Party Massacre 2 was an option? And this is what you chose? Baby, you wouldn't look good in a teddy. She tugged at his fake beard. Let's go. You need a drink before you shit shillings. The couple made it halfway to the bar before Kesha was stripped away from Bronson's arm by Carly to join the departmental mini celebration. The world's largest online retailer was expanding to brick and mortar operations, and Kesha's design had gotten hind and heart the contract. Kesha waved him to go on without her. He would have, regardless. The stupid costume was stifling.

Plus, the pants were a size too small and had his chileli in a bunch. But at least it gave him the character's trademark waddle. He sidled up to the bar and stared at himself in the mirrored back. He hadn't had a say in the costume, but he'd done an excellent job recreating Warwick Davis' makeup. He tugged at the crotch of his trousers to free up space, so he could mount the stool without tearing them. Good thing the drinks are free, Hind said, lumbering over to Bronson. I couldn't rustle a piece of gold from you if there weren't.

Many fools have tried to separate a leprechaun from his ends, Bronson said, imitating the voice as best he could. Many fools have died, and others became... friends. Hind laughed. That's a good one. I don't get it, the intern, dressed like a purple devil emoji, said. You wouldn't, kid. Hind waved her off and leaned on the bar, so Bronson didn't have to strain his neck, looking up at him. You know, I took Jennifer Aniston to dinner once. No shit, Bronson snickered. No shit, Hind assured him. Lisa Kudrow turned me down. I thought taking Jen out might make her jealous enough to reconsider.

Did it work? About as well as a fishnet condom. At least it protects against the crabs, Bronson shrugged. Hind smiled. I'm about to offer you a job so I have someone fun to talk to again. I'll settle for a double Jamison, Bronson said. Better make it a single, Winslow said, stumbling to the bar and rattling the ice in his glass. The golden Hind pours with a heavy hand. A couple of these in your after party is going to look like stuffing a marshmallow into a keyhole. Maybe you're just a lightweight, Bronson said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Good to see you again. So, a double Jamison for my new friend and water for... Do you even work for me? Hind made a show of trying to see through the shitty spy outfit. Oh, Winslow, for marketing. Right, right. That explains why you're shit-faced off a Bacardi swizzle. Is that what that was? Winslow hiccuped. He clumsily straddled the stool beside Bronson. Tasted like acetone and Sunny D A blonde sauntered past the bar, calling half-time on any further conversation, as the three men, and even the intern, watched her pass. Her blue shimmering dress dragged the floor with white ruffles at the hem and tassels along the arms and hips swayed as if she brought her own breeze.

Cockles decorated her hair and auger shells dangled from her ears along a thin porcelain neck. Talk about a glow-up, the intern said. That's Bea, Gleason's secretary. I don't remember seeing her at the Fourth of July party, Bronson added. She's new, Winslow drooled. She went from nerd to knockout. Is she supposed to be Elsa? Bronson asked. The ocean, the intern corrected her. She rolled her eyes and turned behind. Can I get another mojito, boss man? No, the billionaire shook his head. You can't have another because you haven't had a mojito. That's a daiquiri in your hand.

I took French. She shrugged. I don't know Mexican. Heinz started to explain that daiquiri is a Tano word, then shook off the notion. His partner, the perpetual lech, hired the three interns to keep employee morale up. He turned to the wall of assorted alcohol to make the next round. Winslow leaned toward Bronson. The movement proved too much for his compromised equilibrium, and he toppled on to the leprechaun. Lad, you've had a few too many, yet you've had hardly any, Bronson said, getting into his character. That is some body of water, Winslow huffed. He gave a half-ass whistle.

I'd love to disappear in her Bermuda Triangle. Bronson heaved Winslow back onto his stool. The two watched Bee make her way through the crowd. The employees and their plus-ones had all stepped aside as she flowed across the dance floor. She weaved through them in a wave-like fashion befitting her attire. Some seemed to drift after her, as if drowned into her wake. She was mesmerizing to watch, but her figure wasn't what had Bronson's attention. There was something off about her. Bronson couldn't put his finger on it. You're right. I'm done drinking. Winslow smoothed his fake mustache.

Gonna go play in the ocean. I don't think your dingy is up to the challenge, bud, Bronson said. Be sure to have a nice memorial tomorrow. Winslow tried to wink but blinked both eyes instead. For all those seamen getting swallowed by the ocean tonight. Winslow slipped off the stool, stumbled, then corrected himself, and popped his collar up as he spy walked after his quarry. Bronson shook his head. He turned around as Frankenhein set down the whiskey and clanked the glass with his own. You're Kesha's beau, aren't you? Hind asked. We haven't formally met. You're in movies, I hear.

Yeah, I do effects for genre films. He learned that kept people interested far longer than saying he worked on horror flicks. I was going to wear something I'm designing for a new movie tonight, but Kesha insisted on matching costumes. I see. Hind looked around for Kesha and cocked his head, then looked back at Bronson. So you two decided on Baywatch Leia and Spooky Smurf? Close enough, Bronson snorted and sipped his drink. Did she show you her concept for the new account? Hind asked. It's brilliant. Modeled after the ruins of an ancient temple I discovered. Discovered?

I was going to be an archaeologist originally, Hind told him. That's how I got into architecture. Unlike my partner, I wasn't born into money. I had to choose between digging up the past or building it here in the present. All of my works have utilized the esthetics of ancient civilizations, sometimes even using original materials from historic sites. That's pretty awesome, Bronson said, taking in the room itself for the first time, ignoring the people and tacky furnishing. He could almost see it. What civilization is this? Roman, for the most part, but with a flourish of Persian.

Hind gestured to the fountain. That's authentic. Found it tucked away in the Hindu Kush. Hart was still entertaining guests as he walked around the rim of the fountain. It seemed even more of an elitist dick move to Bronson, knowing the structure was over 2,000 years old. He'd assumed it was just a show of wealth. And it certainly was, so he hadn't paid it any attention before. The entire thing was carved to look like a mountain. Two figures stood facing away from each other at the top, with the water pumping out of the peak between them like a waterfall.

Reliefs that had been worn by time ringed the base of the fountain depicting people as if they were praying to the things above. In their religion, good and evil were twins, Hind explained. Ahriman, the devil, was a circumstance of their god's existence. Bronson tried to figure out which figure was supposed to be the evil one. They didn't look any different to him. Maybe that was intentional. People often did bad things with the best of intentions, after all. His mind wandered back to the woman dressed as the ocean. He didn't see her anymore. He also didn't see Winslow.

He considered the possibility that the inebriated dweeb had indeed somehow seduced the mysterious woman, then settled on the more realistic possibility that he'd been abducted by aliens. What about this temple? Was that Persian, too? Bronson asked before swiveling around on his stool. Kesha doesn't talk much about her process, just the final result. Oh, it is something much older. In fact, there's a significant debate if the culture existed at all. Hind looked suddenly excited. Say, would you like to see some of my collection? A lot more than I'd like to be sitting on this uncomfortable-ass stool.

You guys can afford better cushions, Bronson joked. My partner picked them. He's got no point of reference, Hind said. His ass is usually cushioned by someone's lips. Hind rounded the bar and signaled for Bronson to follow him with an excited smile. Bronson gave the crowd another scan for the woman, then found Kesha, who gave him a curious look. He shrugged and followed her boss through a doorway beside the bar. Hind's boots clomped loudly as they proceeded through a narrow hall to a tiny stairwell. My escape route, Hind told him. When parties get to be too much, I can retreat to my office, and when work gets to be too much, I can retreat to the bar.

The stairs played hell on Bronson with his tight trouser, and he didn't think the seams would hold the entire trip. Luckily, it was a short ascent to the next floor, and they came out right into Hind's lavish, but somehow still reasonably down-to-earth office. Bronson turned to take it all in, and saw the door they'd entered through swing shut, revealing itself as a false bookshelf. That was exactly the kind of thing he'd buy when he made it big in Hollywood. Glass cases held various artifacts spread around the office, and Bronson made his way to them in turn.

He paused at one filled with stone rubble covered in crude markings. Their alphabet is unique to them. No one even knows what they were called, Hind said. They built their cities on ancient coasts, which is why every site that's been found is submerged. The temple I spoke of was found 12 miles off the coast of Cyprus back in 1968. There's no other structure like it. It's almost as if the society rose out of the ocean itself. That's a crazy thought. Bronson moved to another case with a rock inside. It was clearly a sculpture, but time had destroyed any clue as to what it represented.

I spent the last two years bringing the temple up in pieces, much to my partner's dismay. Dismantling an ancient church does sound like the start of a horror movie. What did you do with the pieces? Reassembled them here in the sub-basement of this building. That's a… wow, the whole thing? It wasn't whole after so long, unfortunately. I salvaged what I could and have been trying to figure out how to fill in the gaps for over a decade. It's a problem I was hoping to speak with Kesha about, actually. I want to bring her in. I've never had an employee with such talent.

To fill in the gaps, Bronson repeated. Hines' smile slipped in what appeared to be genuine hurt over the implication. He put a hand on Bronson's shoulder and gave him a gentle shake of his head. What do you notice about all these pieces? he asked. Bronson pondered on them. There's no metal. That's correct. Hines clapped with a small chuckle. These people, whoever they were, built metropolises. While the rest of the world was still living in cages, if they hadn't died out, there's no telling how much further advanced we'd be as a species now. Understanding them, revealing their brilliance and intelligence to the world, that will be something that lasts longer than any building I've ever created.

How did they die? Bronson was interrupted by a pounding on the door. Hines stomped toward the center of the room. His body stiffened at the strangeness of the intrusion. Who is it? He shouted. The door swung open. A disheveled man stumbled into the room and slammed it behind him. He fiddled with the locks before rushing to hind. Bronson eyed him suspiciously. It was Halloween, but something bothered him about the man's costume. He wore a tattered, bloody toga. The gold laurels in his gray hair were bent and askew. He appeared to be dressed as Caesar after the surprise party.

The man grabbed hind's jacket and attempted to pull the much larger man close. I knew you'd be here if you weren't at the party. I need you, Jerry. It was Robert's stupid idea. It's always his stupid ideas. Bronson stepped away from the two and nodded to the door. It was clearly business related and he wanted to get back to Kesha anyhow. She was probably tired of telling everyone who she'd come dressed as and it wouldn't make as much sense without her leprechaun. Hind signaled for him to stay. Whatever terrible business decision Robert made this time, he can afford to correct, Hind said.

You worry too much, Gleason. Bronson stiffened. The girl in the ocean costume was Gleason's secretary. That's what the intern had said. He wasn't sure why that bit of information made his blood go cold. He thought about the woman again. Something had been wrong with her costume. He almost had it when Gleason started shouting again. Fuck the business, Gerard. This isn't about the company. It's about that. Gleason jabbed a finger toward the door. I didn't want anything to do with it. Robert insisted. He thought it would impress them. Your fancy fucking temple. He said they'd feel like princesses or some shit.

Who? This time it was Hind with a fistful of fabric as he lifted Gleason off the floor. Who did he take there? The secretary. My secretary. Gleason looked around. The nerdy one with the tits. We were going to fool around. You know how Robert is. He brought the three bimbos along. He told them it was at the pre-party. I've been stuck down there with them all goddamn day in your stupid tomb. I'm afraid I have to deal with this. Hein dropped Gleason to the floor. Perhaps you can speak to Kesha. I can have you both down for a tour without imbecilic interruptions.

Yeah, that'd be cool. Bronson back toward the door. I should really go find her anyway. She's probably getting pissed. Bronson found his way to the elevator and chewed the inside of his jaw while he waited for the car. Fake blood was his business. No matter how real it looked, the smell was always wrong. So why could I smell it for real on Gleason's toga? He asked himself. As if the pants weren't tight enough, the whole scene with Gleason had made his ass chew up any slack they had to spare. The elevator opened and he stepped inside, pushing the button for the floor below.

The three bimbos had to be the emoji triplets, he thought. His stomach soured. What did Julius Sleazeball mean? He had been trapped with them all day. I just saw them and the secretary. Hell everyone saw her. They didn't look like they had been in some dingy ancient temple all day. They damn sure didn't look like the hot mess that Gleason was. Why the fuck did the blood smell real? In the quick trip down, Bronson made up his mind to grab Kesha and get the hell out of there. Bronson gasped at a glimpse of his reflection in the parting doors.

He stepped out and waved for them to hurry up and close again. He stared at himself this time. His chest tightened. Experience told him he was right. But if he was right, he needed to find B. Bronson scanned the crowd, but there was no ocean in the Cleveland high rise. One of the emojis, the angry one, buzzed through the crowd. A glass broke and someone swore. Another person shouted a threat back. Bronson needed a better vantage point. He jogged to the fountain and pulled himself up by the ancient deity's body. Amalabu Ken was in a shoving match with Dracula.

Bronson ignored them. B was all that mattered. The devil emojis' giggle carried over the crowd noise. Two of the partygoers were sucking each other's tongues while their dates looked on disapprovingly. Tom's camo pants were around his ankles as he stormed Barbie's dream house over one of the uncomfortable bar stools. Bronson spun back to the fight. More people were pushing each other now. Stewart and Mark were taking turns kicking the shit out of a Klingon. One of the Jasons was being choked out by Jeanette's golden lasso. The last of the interns, the sad emoji, moved through the fray lightly dragging a finger across a wolfman's cheek.

He squeezed the champagne glass in his hand until it broke. Bronson flinched, but the werewolf didn't. Not even when he drove the stem through his own eye socket. The pushing turned into a riot. The other side of the room had broken down into an orgy, and in both crowds sobbing revelers found inventive ways to kill themselves. All three groups screamed in their own ways. The three emojis cackled over the din of death and ecstasy. Bronson spotted Kesha stumbling, trance-like toward Esteban. The pirate had dropped his cutlass to unsheathe his sword. Kesha ripped his frilly shirt open, tearing furrows in his chest with her nails.

Bronson jumped down from the fountain and charged to tackle Esteban before he could plunder the booty. A feral shriek pricked Bronson's ears a moment before someone plowed bodily into him, and they both crashed through a table together. Perfect landing! Carly meowed and licked Bronson's face. Don't worry, I've been spayed. This is not fucking happening. Bronson tried to shove the cougar off of him. She bit into his cheek until her teeth scraped bone. Bronson managed to roll over and the kitty quickly wrapped her legs around his waist. Her nails clawed at the heavy fabric of his jacket.

Carly pulled her head back, taking most of his prosthetic cheek and part of his real one with her. She winked at him while she swallowed it. What's the matter, sugar? That the first time the pussy ate you? She gripped his throat and purred. You'd be lying if you said you didn't want this cougar. Bronson slipped the sack of prop gold from his pocket and used it like a sap to knock her unconscious. Even out cold, she still gyrated against him. He pried her legs apart and wriggled from their grasp. He ran over and swatted Esteban's hand with the sack as he peeled off Kesha's top.

No need to cockblock, Esteban rubbed his hand. I could use a first mate. Ahoy, sailor. Kesha wrapped her arms around Bronson's neck. You can scuttle me together. I'll take the aft, matey. Esteban grabbed Kesha by the hips. The fuck you will! Bronson swung his girlfriend to the side and cracked Esteban across the jaw. The pouch busted on impact, showering his unconscious body with loot. Looks like you found me gold, Captain Jack. Kesha's tongue played along Bronson's ear. He pushed her back and shook her. Now is not the time and these are not the goddamn pants!

He looked around at the chaos. We need to get away from the three emoticunts so you can snap out of this. Bronson pulled her arm and dragged her away. Where are we going? She whined. There's a perfectly good table to fuck on right there. I'm too horny for all this walking. There's a better table over here, Bronson pulled harder. I just don't want an audience. That sounds dull, the angry emoji said as she stepped in front of him. Everything is more fun in a crowd, but if the leprechaun doesn't want to get lucky, there is an alternative.

The blade sank deep into his shoulder and he whirled around, barely stopping short of punching his attacker. What the fuck, Kesha? He shouted. Sex and death are the foundations of a great party. The emoji growled behind him. Foundations. A light bulb clicked in Bronson's mind. He caught Kesha's wrists as she lunged to Claw's face. She struggled to break free and he ducked to scoop her over his shoulder. She twisted the knife, still lodged in his back, trying to free it for another attempt. As they hit the middle of the room, her hand moved from the hilt to caress his back.

Sensually. That made sense. Whichever emoji chick was closest would influence Kesha's behavior. Bronson stepped backwards until she tried for the knife again, and then immediately went forward until she started with the foreplay. He stopped between the two points. What's going on, Bronson? Put me down, she demanded. He did, but made sure not to let her step out of the safe zone. Kesha crossed her arms, quickly realizing she was topless. She covered her nipples with her palms and looked around at the literal fucking chaos occupying one half of the room and the ultraviolence on the other.

What is happening? She threw her hands into the air and then immediately brought them back down to cover up. And why are my titties out? Esteban took your top off, Bronson said matter of factly. The murder-suicide orgy thing is because of the interns. Goddamn sorority girls are always causing trouble, she mumbled. We need to find B, Bronson said. Oh, we do, Kesha huffed. If this is about Esteban, I don't know what he was thinking. I told him that was a one-time deal. It doesn't have an... Wait, you actually fucked Esteban? Once! Before we were together?

Before we were serious, Kesha shrugged. What does that matter? Right now, it doesn't. He turned toward the elevator. Oh, fuck me. Exactly my plan, Carly said. Anger and the devil joined her on either side. Anne crawled in front of them on all fours. The ass of her PJs was torn open and blood stained her teeth, indicating that she'd had fun on both halves of the room. She licked her lips and yipped like a puppy. We want your lucky charms, Bronson, she started to pant. What the hell is going on here? Kesha whispered in his ear.

It's called a party, you dumb bitch! The sad emoji said as she joined the others, blocking their escape. You don't seem to like our treats, so how about a trick? She patted Ann's head and the accountant sprang from the floor and charged. Not at them, but past them. She barked wildly as she sprinted across the room and threw herself through the floor-to-ceiling window. Bronson spun and shoved Kesha ahead of him. Someone clapped their hands and another person whistled. The party animals stopped their recreation of the entire Kamasutra and turned their attention to the fleeing couple.

Across the room, the brawlers disengaged from one another in a similar fashion. Stop them! The interns shrieked in unison. Bronson spotted Hein's escape route, but Kesha was too far ahead of him to get her. He passed it and tried to catch up. The crotch of his pants ripped from his waddling gait, finally freeing up his movement. He stumbled and nearly fell into the middle of a disentangling gangbang, but turned it into a diving roll that looked mostly intentional. He regained his footing and followed Kesha down a corridor. The mob swarmed the narrow passage on their heels with makeshift weapons and swollen sex organs as the powers of the interns converged into an insatiable, bloodthirsty lust.

Where are the stairs? Bronson shouted. Here! Kesha hit the crash bar and toppled through the doorway, nearly going over the guardrail beyond. Bronson spilled in behind her and pushed the door closed as fast as he could against the hydraulic hinge. The crowd pressed against the other side. The door started inward. Bronson put his feet on the guardrail to brace it. Push harder! Kesha demanded. Maybe if you hadn't stabbed me! That's not fair! I don't even remember stabbing you! You remember Esteban stabbing you, though. Bronson grumbled as the door started to open again. Take off my belt!

Not this shit again, Kesha sighed. Not for that, Bronson said in a strangled voice. Tie the handle to the bracket up top to buy us time! Oh, she did what she was told and the door jutted open a few inches but held firm. Hands lashed through the gap. Bronson sidled past them and the couple descended the stairs, only to be greeted on the next landing by Winslow. His cheap mustache dangled from the corner of his blue lips and his bloodshot eyes stared up at the ceiling. Kesha prodded his chest with her foot causing water to spurt from his mouth.

I think he drowned, she said. In a fucking skyscraper? Bronson shook his head. It was B. Why are you so hung up on B? All this supernatural weirdness is happening and you're getting jealous? You're the one that brought up Esteban, she said. Were you possessed by an evil emoji at the time? Bronson reached behind him and jerked the knife out of his shoulder. This is not your fault! Cheating on me was. Right now we have 38 flights of stairs to climb down and all your co-workers are trying to kill us and fuck us in no particular order because they've been brainwashed by the sorority house of a thousand corpses so excuse the hell out of me but we will talk about that shit later!

The sound of the horde battering the door ceased. Shit! Bronson held his breath. That's bad. Bad? They gave up. They're probably banging in the hall again. Or they're taking the elevator so they can get ahead of us. We need to get to the temple in the basement. Temple? Kesha raised an eyebrow. What does Jerry's Pet Project have to do with this? Bronson, tell me what's going on! Bronson didn't bother. He was two flights down before she started running after him. They hit the 27th floor when a door banged open above them. A few whales let them know they were no longer alone in the stairwell.

Bronson thought about the weight limit of the elevator. The possessed would have to come down in groups, meaning a longer delay in the waves as they got further down. A door broke open two floors below when they took the next exit, running out into the drafting department. No one was waiting for them. We need to get to the elevators, Kesha said. They're using it, Bronson reminded her. We'll find a place to hide. Only one elevator goes above the 13th, Kesha wheezed, leaning on a drawing desk to catch her breath. We're below that. There are four more cars that go all the way to the lobby, and then we can get the hell out of here.

Okay, yeah, that's good. Bronson spotted the bank of elevators. But we're not leaving. He pushed the call button in one of the elevators dinged. They moved toward the parting doors when Robert Hart sprang on them. The geezer swung his hard hat, flooring Bronson with the first blow. He stood there with his flannel shirt open over his liver-spotted, saggy torso. His pants were gone, but he kept the costume's tool belt and work boots. A throbbing erection led the way as he stepped forward and put a domineering boot down on Bronson's chest. Kesha, Hart growled. I thought I was the boss around here, but it looks like you've given Bobby Jr.

a raise. Looks like he's still coming up short. She fired back. Let's see if you still feel that way when we're finished. I even brought protection. He slipped the hardhat back onto his head. He took the hammer from his tool belt. Maybe I'll nail you to one of these desks. I prefer my humps to stay sti- A hammer fell from his hands as he rushed to grab the stump spurting among the silver pubic hair. He stumbled away and Bronson sat up, slapping the dismembered member away from him. Heart backed into the wall and slid down it.

The hypersexual curse of the emoji kept pumping blood to the missing organ. The geriatric watched in horror as the nub twitched with the final drips of his life. I guess you lost custody of Bobby Jr. Kesha stomped on the appendage and grounded into the carpet. Bronson picked up the hammer and held it up to the light. Yeah, thought so, he said, showing it to Kesha. See the blood? So what? We just left a riot upstairs, she said. Another elevator dinged and the doors opened to an empty car. They jumped inside and pushed the button for the lobby as a gang of maniacs burst into the room.

The doors closed and the car started down. They could hear the fists beating against steel above them. Bronson gave her the hammer. The blood is dry, he said. It's not from the party. It's from the pre-party him and Gleason threw. They rode down in silence. Bronson shucked off his costume giving the coat to Kesha to cover her breasts. He peeled away the prosthetics last and glared at them mindfully. The elevator chimed at the lobby. The couple crossed to the maintenance door and descended down into the basement. Three drowning victims and coveralls greeted them, but they didn't stop to examine the bodies.

Bee had been there, which meant Bronson was right about the temple. Down in the sub-basement, saltwater had flooded the area around the temple. Halogen lights illuminated the structure. Bee waited for them on the stone steps leading into the holy structure. Bee waited for them on the stone steps leading into the holy structure. Twin monoliths embedded with fossils of ancient sea life stood on either side of the entrance. Jack-o-lanterns burned on the steps next to the scattered debris from Hart and Gleeson's private party, including a discarded sad emoji costume. Bronson approached the secretary with his hands raised passively.

I know, he said softly. Bee looked at him curiously. She didn't stop him as he reached up, and stroked her face, smudging the makeup and revealing the scaled flesh below. You're not Bee, he told her. He tugged at the wig, pulling it away from the thinned head. I've done a lot of makeup and prosthetics. You did a really good job. The being stepped back and waved him into the temple. Kesha ran quickly to his side, but kept her eyes on the strange creature in the human costume. Its false eyes didn't blink as it watched them go by.

Inside the temple, they found the first intern. Blood stained the wall where one of the degenerates had smashed her face against it. The angry emoji still had her costume on, but her head was a different story. A replica Roman dagger laid in a gory pool next to her. Sadness was slumped in the corner of the next room, wearing only her bra wrapped tightly around her throat. They entered the sacrificial chamber of the people that worshiped the sea, and found the girl dressed like the ocean sprawled on the altar in the center of the room. A mosaic of shells and colored stones showed the creatures coming out of the waves to meet the chieftains of the ancient civilization.

A worn, barely identifiable statue of a humanoid fish held an outstretched arm over the sacrifice. The other limb had broken off long before. Bronson walked on to the raised ring that surrounded the table. Bits of skull were indistinguishable from the broken seashells in Bee's bloody hair. Hart's hammer had reduced her face to a caved-in pulp. A flash drew Bronson's attention to the corner of the room. Gerard Hind puffed a cigarette to life and let the lighter go out. Where's Gleason? Bronson asked. Hind blew a spear of smoke from the corner of his mouth. He chewed the air trying to find words that tasted right.

Where is he? Bronson shouted. Here, the voice whimpered. I'm here. Bronson looked around, then up. Above them, Gleason dangled from his wrists like bait on a hook. Bronson looked at the massive CEO who gave him a simple shrug instead of an answer. The fake bee entered the chamber. She peeled away her dress revealing her modeled, platinum scales. These are their gods, Hind explained. Or their devils. Can't have one without the other, really. A sacrifice was made here. And a prayer was answered, the fish person said. Apparently, they're not big on subtlety, Hind said. Bee asked for vengeance and that's what she got.

Not entirely, the entity corrected him. We didn't do anything to her, Kesha cleared her throat and lowered her voice. I mean, all the rest of us were innocent. No, we're not, Hind said. We all knew what a lecherous piece of shit Robert was. He's been using his position to force himself on women for years, and we've all made it into a joke. He became a cliché old pervert that everyone made fun of around a water cooler while he went on doing whatever he wanted. A malignancy starts small and spreads, the ancient creature said, joining Bronson and Hind next to B's body.

Robert Hart became emboldened by your apathy. He did this because you did nothing. So, what happens now? Bronson asked. You chose not to flee. You cared for this stranger. The being rested a webbed hand on B's mauled face. You may leave this place. I care about people, all of them, Bronson corrected the deity, including the ones that haven't been killed upstairs. I want everyone to leave. The thing glared at him curiously. Everyone? Well, not that motherfucker, Bronson pointed up to the suspended Gleeson. He can die. Agreeable terms, but only if you are prepared to make a trade.

Bronson thought about it. He turned to Kesha and took the hammer from her shaking hands. He stepped around the altar and presented it to the aquatic overlord. I killed the other one, the one that did this, he said. Neither he or this weapon will ever hurt anyone ever again. This is what I have to trade. Not good enough. The being stroked Bee's hair and gingerly lifted one of the Auger shell earrings. It worked the hook from her lobe. You ask for many lives and bring me only one. Two, Bronson said, sharper than he meant. No way, pal, Hine chimed.

I caught that twerp. The two of you will become our priests. The creature seized Bronson by the back of the neck and forced the earring through his lobe. This will be the symbol of our pact. Hine leaned on the altar so Bronson could see the other shell dangling from his ear. This sacred day you call Halloween, the creature continued. It is now our sacred day. You will bring me more like Robert Hart and Philip Gleeson. You will split their chests and give their black hearts unto us. This is the trade for everyone. That's it? Bronson molded around for a half a second and nodded.

Deal. Now I feel bad, Heinz said. I didn't even ask them to let the rest of you go before I agreed. Dick, Kesha hissed. We're going to head out now, Bronson said. He patted the fish god on the shoulder and tried not to gag at the clammy, moist texture. Happy Halloween. Not yet. It caught him by the wrist. There is still one matter. A shimmering body slithered through the shadows at the base of the mosaic. Heavy, thick skin scraped stone as it moved around the room. The elongated fin cast a fluttering shadow in the work lights.

A bulbous, yellow eye shined a moment before the thing sprang from the darkness. The 30-foot eel tilted its head and clamped down on Gleason's kicking legs. The monster tore the appendages away with its dual set of jaws. It snapped down for another bite, leaving only the bounded hand still dangling overhead as it retreated out of the temple and into the building's sub-basement. The three humans exchanged shocked glances. The deity clapped Bronson on the shoulder. Its maw spread to reveal dozens of serrated teeth. In a gesture, Bronson recognized as its terrifying attempt to smile. See you next year, priest, it said and started out of the chamber.

It paused in the doorway. I forgot my manners. Happy Halloween to you as well. Tricks and Treats by Keith Tomlin Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, devils and demons, allow me to introduce myself, said a tall thin man in a dark red suit. People call me Jack, Jack Scratch. Flamboyantly removing his top hat, he gave a deep, almost mocking bow. I am what you call a talent scout, a headhunter, if you will. I scour the afterlife for people of extraordinary passions, people devoted to the pillars of our organization. Namely, blood, death, and pain. Jack twirled his hat between his fingers and, with a flourish, snapped it into the air and it landed perfectly on his head.

He grinned and rubbed the ends of his handlebar mustache that sat atop his Van Dyke goatee before continuing. Once a year, on Halloween, the big guy downstairs allows me to come to visit you mortals to get a preview of the up-and-comers, the minor leaguers who may be called up to the big leagues. Jack began strolling down the sidewalk, past parents with children in costumes who paid him no attention. Take this place, this small midwestern town, an idyllic little slice of heaven, Mayberry, apple pie and all that. What could possibly happen in a place like this?

Well friends, you may be surprised. Take a look over there at that lovely family. The White Lion Jacques Blanc, a middle-aged rotund man dressed in an expensive white suit, watched his son, Leon, his beloved white lion, walk up the path to the two-story house. His wife, Patricia, stood behind him, her face also glowing with love. Leon, dressed as a clown with white and red face paint, knocked lightly on the front door and waited, holding his plastic pumpkin-shaped bucket in front of him. As the door opened to show an elderly woman, Leon raised his bucket and, in a slight French accent, said, Tic-a-treet.

Oh, what a lovely clown! Here you go, sweetie, the woman exclaimed as she dropped a handful of candy into his bucket. Leon thanked her and walked back to his parents. When Leon stopped in front of him, Jacques reached out and lightly gripped him on the shoulder. He asked his son, almost in a whisper, Is this the house? No, papa, Leon replied. Well, then, the hunt continues. Lead the way. Jacques said, gesturing forward with a silver-tipped walking cane. Leon nodded, then turned and walked down the sidewalk. Using the cane to support himself, his father limped behind him.

They stopped at over a half a dozen more houses, each trip to the front door ending with more candy, and Leon informing his father that this was not the house. As Jacques watched his son walk up to another house, he pushed back his impatience and frustration. It would not do to unintentionally influence the boy. Once again his son knocked on a door, and this time it was a large man in his 30s that answered. The man barely looked at the child before dumping a candy bar into his bucket and shutting the door without saying a word.

His son stared at the shut door for a couple of heartbeats before turning to walk back up the driveway. Jacques fought to keep his excitement from showing on his face. He could tell this was it. He patiently waited until his son walked up to stand before him. Well, son, is this the house? He asked as neutrally as he could. Leon looked at his father and then his mother. Yes, papa, mama, this is the house. Jacques gently patted his son's cheek and nodded. He took another look at the house and began strolling down the sidewalk with his son's hand in his.

Richard Lane struggled against his urge to slam the door, his rage simmering. Those damn kids knock on his door, mock him, and he's expected to give them candy. The worst part is that he has to or risk spending the next day cleaning up toilet paper from the trees and eggs off of his front door. Those kids need discipline, not hugs and cuddles that their pansy-ass fathers give them. His knuckles turned white as he clenched his hand in anger. He wanted to scream and rage, smash everything in sight. He forced himself to calm down, knowing that he would have to wait to release what he called the beast.

When the doorbell rang again, Richard's rage threatened to explode. He made himself take a couple of slow, deep breaths before rising to answer it. Adapting a calm façade, Richard opened the door to see a young boy dressed in a clown outfit. He was slightly surprised as he recognized the boy as one who'd stopped by earlier, the one with the faggy French accent. Please, sir, Leon said, with tears streaking his makeup. I cannot find my papa. Can you help me? Uh, sure, kid. Come on in. I'll call the police station, Richard said, caught off guard. Sobbing, Leon entered the house.

Richard leaned outside and looked up and down the sidewalk. Not seeing anyone, he locked the front door and turned off his porch light. Richard turned and looked at the child standing in his living room. He licked his lips and tried not to shiver with anticipation. So, kid, just wait there and I'll call the cops, Richard said soothingly. He reached over and picked up the receiver from a phone sitting on a cheaply made end table. He pretended to dial a number and began speaking to the dial tone. Yes, hi, I have a kid here who says he lost his parents.

Uh, okay, I'll hold. Richard moved the phone away from his mouth. They're transferring me to the correct department. Yes, I have a kid here who lost his parents, Richard paused. Um, I don't know his name. I'll let you talk to him. With his left hand, Richard reached the phone out towards Leon while his right hand slipped behind his back toward the knife hidden under his shirt. Ah, there's my boy, said a booming voice behind Richard. Startled, Richard turned toward the voice while his right hand drew out a large hunting knife. As he brought up the knife, all he saw was a figure in white and a silver streak racing toward his head.

The floor shook as Richard hit the ground, a trickle of blood running down his face where the silver handle of Jacques' walking stick connected with his temple. Richard's head throbbed as he regained consciousness. The face of a man dressed in a prissy white suit slowly came into focus. Ah, Mr. Lane, Jacques said, checking the wallet in his hand. You are awake. What the fuck is going on? Richard groaned. Why are you bastards in my house? Mr. Lane, Jacques chided. That is no way to talk in front of a lady and a child. Patricia looked down at him, disapprovingly.

Richard tried to rise only to find that he was tied to a chair. He began to struggle as Jacques continued speaking. Mr. Lane, my son has developed a talent for finding bad men. And you, Monsieur, are a very bad man, Jacques said, shaking his head. My family has suffered greatly from men such as yourself. Three of them attacked our house. I was savagely beaten and spent many months in the hospital, learning how to walk again. My wife was violated. Jacques paused, his voice nearly breaking. Patricia had tears flowing down her cheeks. My son was able to hide, but he saw everything.

Somehow this awoken power within him. And now we travel, reading the world of monsters such as yourself. You're fucking nuts! Richard screamed as the beast took over. I'll fucking kill you and the little bastard! He struggled against his restraints, and triumph flashed in his eyes as he felt the wooden legs begin to give. Leon was staring off into the darkness of the kitchen. The basement, papa. He keeps them in the basement, he said quietly. Like a balloon pricked with a needle, Richard instantly deflated. What? Basement? You're crazy! No, Leon said, his voice laden with sadness of the ages.

It is true. You did unspeakable acts to children, and you placed their bodies in the ground below us. Bullshit! What liar told you that? Richard bellowed indignantly. They did, Leon said, as a dozen young boys began to stream out of the darkness of the kitchen and into the living room. They surrounded Richard and stared at him with soulful eyes. Are you crazy? There's nobody there, Richard responded bewildered. My son, Jacques stated, he can see and speak with spirits, ones who die with violence. Bullshit! Fuck this! Richard once again strained against his restraints and was rewarded by the arms of the chair, snapping and freeing his hands.

He began to lunge out of the seat when Jacques yanked the silver handle of his walking stick, exposing a long, thin blade. Richard's eyes widened in shock as this blade pierced his throat. Jacques flicked the blade sideways and severed his carotid artery. The Blanc family watched impassively as Richard collapsed back into the chair and slowly bled out. After a few seconds, Richard stood and looked around in shock. He stopped and stared when he spotted his own lifeless body. Backing off in terror, he turned only to see the young boys surrounding him. The children leaped on him, clawing and tearing.

Richard screamed in terror and pain. The boys dragged Richard into the kitchen toward the basement door. Jacques bent down and hugged his son. Are you okay? He asked. Lyon nodded. Yes, Papa. Good. You saved many lives tonight. Don't you ever forget that. Jacques stood and began to clean the blood from his blade with a white handkerchief. Patricia leaned down and whispered in Lyon's ear. She straightened and looked at Jacques. Papa, Lyon said. Yes, my son. Mammon wanted you to know that she is proud of you. Of us, Lyon told his father. Thank you. Where is she?

Jacques said, ignoring the tears rolling down his face. She's in front of you. Jacques reached out, his hand passing through Patricia. Je t'aime, mon chérie. Jacques shook his head. How touching. Jacques was relaxed on a park bench. His long legs stretched out in front of him. People walking by detoured around him, without seeming to notice him. Jacques reached into his jacket. Another thing I miss about this realm, he said, pulling out a cigar. You can't beat a good smoke. Jacques snapped his fingers, and a flame erupted from his thumb. He lit the cigar, leaned back, and exhaled with obvious pleasure.

Ah, you mortals make sin taste so damn good. I love sin that you can drink or smoke. Some people, however, prefer their sin to be more... Physical, Jacques said. Take a look at the trio of young men over there. Jacques pointed to a group of high school boys hiding behind a bush. They're about to learn some quick lessons in the ways of sin. The Countess Ryan did not have a good feeling about this. He looked over at his friends, Tim and Alan, and wondered how they talked him into this. Guys, let's just go home, he said for the 10th time.

Dude, don't be a pussy. I told you, my brother said that this chick loves high school dick. He and some friends came here a few years ago on Halloween, and they all got laid, Tim explained for the 10th time. What's the worst that could happen? She'll slam the door in our face and you'll go home and jerk off again. Alan shoved a mask at Ryan. Put on your mask and shut the fuck up, he commanded. Ryan gave up and slipped the elastic band of the cheap plastic mask around his head. He briefly hesitated before following the other two boys across the street and through the front gate of a run-down two-story house.

Tim hesitated at the door until Alan poked him in the ribs. Tim took a deep breath and knocked. After a few seconds, the door was opened by a stunningly attractive woman in her mid-thirties. She wore a low-cut silk robe along with an amused expression. Why, you boys look a bit old to be out looking for... Treats, she said suggestively. Her voice was silky smooth and had a hint of an Eastern European accent. Alan poked Tim again. Tim tore his eyes from her cleavage and began to stammer. Um, yes ma'am, my brother Terry was here a few years ago and said that you like to...

I mean, that you have... Halloween parties. Ah, you are looking for treats, she purred. She looked each of them in the eyes, a knowing smile on her face. Come in, I might have some candy for you. She stepped back and gestured them in. The boys shared an amazing look before moving inside. The house was very warm and, in contrast to the exterior, surprisingly well furnished. The furniture looked old and the artwork on the walls looked expensive. She shut the door and led them to the living room. She turned and looked at the boys who were awkwardly standing just inside the living room entryway.

Come on, take off your jackets and have a seat on the sofa. She smiled. Leave on your masks. While the boys complied, she walked over to a liquor cabinet and began fixing drinks. As she presented each boy a drink, she bent low and allowed them to look down the front of her robe. When done, she stepped back and looked them over. So, my name is Elizabeth. What are your names? Alan nearly spilling his drink, pointed at each of them in turn. I'm Alan. This is Tim. And the skinny nerd on the end is Ryan. Ah, such nice American names.

You're lucky. I have plans tonight, but I think I can squeeze you in, Elizabeth said. She stared at each of them, her piercing gaze stripping them down to their souls. As she looked at him, Ryan began to panic, feeling like a rabbit being examined by a wolf. I think we should go, Ryan spoke, breaking the spell that seemed to have enveloped the room. Nonsense, she said, laughing. This is beggars' night, is it not? Where I come from, it is bad luck to turn away a beggar, she sighed wistfully. I wish I had more time to get to know each of you, but we'll have to make do with the time we have.

She pointed at Alan. You, I think, will be first. She headed to the stairs leading up to the second floor. As she began to climb, she slowly tugged at the knot in the robe's sash. Don't make me wait, she cooed as the robe slipped from her shoulders. She was wearing nothing underneath. After she disappeared upstairs, Alan turned to the other boys. Fuck yeah, hope you like sloppy seconds. Alan jumped to his feet and practically ran up the stairs. Ryan and Tim sat in stunned silence for a few minutes until Tim leaned over and whispered to Ryan, Wow, I can't believe this is happening.

It's like something out of a porno. Something is wrong here. This doesn't feel right. Ryan whispered back. Tim lifted his mask. Damn it, you always do this shit. I don't know why we're still friends. You'd rather be at home in your mom's basement playing Magic the Gathering than out at parties and getting laid. But I like Magic the Gathering, Ryan replied, sounding hurt. Grow the fuck up, Tim snorted, looking away and pulling his mask back down. The two sat in awkward silence until a voice called them from upstairs. Tim, would you like to come up here and join me?

Tim stood, took a look at Ryan and shook his head in disgust. He turned and, without a word, walked upstairs. Ryan sat on the couch by himself. Many times he started to get up to leave, but he knew that his life would be hell on Monday if he did. Alan would be sure to let everyone know at school that he pussied out on a sure thing. Ryan said after endless minutes of contemplation. It's not like they don't make fun of me now. This is bullshit. I'm just gonna go, Ryan thought. Just as he stood to leave, he heard a soft voice from upstairs.

Ryan, you are not leaving, I hope, said the soft voice, sending shivers down his spine. Come to me, Ryan, she commanded. Almost without conscious thought, he rose and began to climb the stairs. His mind was screaming danger, but his body kept climbing. At the top of the stairs was a short hall with several doors. The door at the end was open. Ryan entered to see Elizabeth stretched out on the bed, wearing a thin negligee. Come here, my darling, she whispered, patting the bed. Her voice had a raspiness that it didn't have, before. Ryan, as if in a dream, sat down on the bed next to her.

She reached out and stroked his chin. At her touch, he jerked his head away. She laughed. Oh, come on now, we'll have none of that. You are the one who piqued my interest. The others were meaningless. It is you that I wanted, she said, snuggling up to him, her tongue flicking out to touch his ear. Ryan jerked back, shaking the confusion from his mind. Where are my friends? He said, leaning away from her. They're fine. They sleep like the dead. What we did takes a lot out of a man, but wait, you wouldn't know that, would you?

She said, teasing him. He looked confused. Darling, I love it that you've never been with a woman. I have, I mean, I'm not a virgin, he protested. Shhh. Back in Hungary, where I grew up, I had a maid who taught me all kinds of things. One was how to look into someone's eyes and tell if they've ever laid with another. She also taught me this. Elizabeth grabbed the back of Ryan's head and pulled him toward her. He resisted at first but soon gave in to the passionate kiss that followed. Ryan was lost in the kiss but started to panic as his lips began to burn and grow numb.

The numbness spread across his face and moved down his body until he was trapped inside a body that he could not control. Sleep, my darling, Elizabeth said, as Ryan slipped away into unconsciousness. Ryan woke to the sounds of chains rattling. Groggily, he tried to sit up but found that he was lashed to a board, suspended in the air. He was on his back with his feet elevated slightly. He tried to look around but could see only cold white, tiles lit by flickering candles. Ah, you are awake, Elizabeth said, pulling on a chain and lifting Ryan higher.

I so miss the days when I had others do chores like this. It doesn't seem right that a countess should be doing manual labor, but times have changed and I am no longer a noble woman with a castle full of servants, she said wistfully. Ryan tried to talk, to yell, but he found he couldn't make a sound. There, there, darling, it will be over soon. You saved me much effort coming to me like this. The spell for eternal youth is quite simple, but it does require the blood of a virgin, and they are so hard to find nowadays.

As Ryan struggled to free himself, Elizabeth stripped nude and began chanting. When the last of the incantation stopped echoing off the sterile white walls, she picked up a hollow metal tube that had a needle on one end. She expertly pierced Ryan's neck with it, and blood began running out of the open end and into an antique bathtub. Elizabeth kissed Ryan on the forehead. Thank you, darling, for giving me your life. She stood naked and climbed into the tub, allowing the stream of blood to run over her face and flow down between her breasts. Ryan silently screamed as his life flowed from him.

Such a shame, Jack said, shaking his head. I have a special position that I keep open for the Countess but, I fear it won't be filled anytime soon. So sad, she could be such a great asset to the organization. Oh well, let's get on with it, shall we? Jack took a few steps and then stopped to lean against a fence. Even small towns can have big town crimes, and desperation can bring out the worst in people. Will it be enough to earn a management position in the organization, or will they end up being one of the endless drones beaten and tortured for eternity?

Well kids, let's find out. Keep an eye on that gentleman standing in the shadows down there, Jack said, pointing to a clump of bushes down the street. But first, I wouldn't be a true representative of Satan without a couple of advertisers, now would I? They'll sell you something and then we'll be back for a final tale. The Bunny Eddie Young looked again at the hole in his jacket. He was lucky that the bullet the cop had fired missed him by an inch. He smiled when he recalled how he put one in the middle of that pig's face.

Fucking cops, he thought. Eddie cocked his head and listened to the sirens off in the distance. He cursed as he realized that they were getting closer and on top of that, he thought he could hear a helicopter too. Okay, think, he said out loud. Looking around, he saw several groups of children and adults walking down the sidewalks, the youngsters all in costume. He needed to get off the street. A lone man walking around when kids are trick-or-treating may look suspicious. He also needed a car. Hidden in the shadows between a tree and some tall bushes, he studied the nearby houses.

The blue house, the woman that answered the door to pass out candy, was in her late 20s or early 30s. There was a little Jap car in the driveway. No man would own a little pussy car like that, at least not one living with a woman, Eddie thought. He strolled past the house and noticed that there was no car seat in the car or anything else to indicate that she had kids. As he turned back around, he noticed a little girl who couldn't be more than six or seven, leave the sidewalk and approach the blue house's front door.

She was dressed in a white one piece bunny suit wearing a rabbit mask, her bunny ears bobbing with every step. Eddie looked around and did not see any adults nearby. He didn't know why this child was alone, but he was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Decision made, he began walking briskly up behind the little girl who had knocked on the door. Just as the door opened, he stopped next to the girl who tilted her head back to look up at him. Mindy opened the door and exclaimed, Oh, look at the little bunny, so cute.

The little girl shifted her gaze to her and held up a pillowcase for candy. Eddie gave his best smile. I know, she is a little angel. I hate to bother you, but can she use your bathroom? Eddie drawled as he pushed the little girl forward into the doorway. Mindy seemed surprised but instinctively stepped back, allowing Eddie and the little girl inside. Um, I guess, she said, taking a few more steps back as Eddie kept moving them forward. Once inside, Eddie pushed the door shut, then shoved the girl at Mindy who had to grab the girl's arm to keep her from falling.

What are you doing? Mindy gasped. Words died in her mouth as she looked up to see a large handgun pointed at her head. Shut up and listen, bitch. Eddie snarled. The first time you do or say something I didn't tell you to, I'm shooting this damn kid in the head. The second time, I'm shooting you. He punctuated his words by pressing the gun to the child's head, and then hers. Mindy's face went pale with fear, and she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Where's your husband? Eddie asked. I don't have a husband, she said. Your boyfriend?

Roommate? I live alone, Mindy said. Okay, darling, so here's what we're going to do. Eddie said as he noticed the child walking to the front door. Get that fucking kid away from the door! Eddie exploded. Mindy rushed over to the child and wrapped her arms around her. She looked at Eddie and asked, Is this your daughter? Shit no, just some brat off the street, Eddie answered, walking over to the window to peer outside. Mindy lowered herself to her knees and looked the girl in the eyes. Sweetie, what is your name? Are your parents around? Daddy or mommy?

Seeing no recognition in the eyes, she hugged the girl. I think she may be mentally handicapped. Great, Eddie said, as he let the curtain fall back into place. I picked a fucking retard. We don't use the R word. Look, I'm a special ed teacher, and we have to be patient with kids with special needs, Mindy scolded. Lady, I don't give a fuck. All you need to know is that if you fuck up, I'll blow her brains out the back of her head. Eddie commented coldly as he walked around the living room. Mindy stroked the girl's hair and whispered words of comfort.

From behind her mask, the child's eyes flicked back and forth from Mindy to Eddie. Eddie stopped pacing and looked at Mindy. Okay, here's the plan. I'm going to stay here for a bit, and then I'll tie you up and leave you here. I'll take the kid and leave in your car. At the first door I pass, I'll drop her off in the parking lot, and someone will find her. You can't drop a child off in a parking lot, Mindy said indignant. She stood to face Eddie. You are not taking her anywhere. Mindy pushed the little girl behind her, shielding her from the intruder.

Eddie laughed humorously. I'm not asking for permission. I'm telling you what's going to happen if you and the brat want to get out of this alive. Eddie waved the gun in the air. Remember, I'm the guy with the gun. Mindy's retort was cut off as they heard the sound of a refrigerator door being opened. Eddie cursed as he realized that the child was no longer in the room. He shoved Mindy across the living room and stormed into the kitchen. Mindy was just rising to her feet when Eddie came back into the room and practically threw the child at her.

If you don't keep an eye on her, I'm gonna put one through her fucking head. Mindy said nothing. She just hugged the child. For the next half an hour, silence hung over the living room. Eddie paced back and forth, occasionally looking out the front window. Finally he nodded. Okay, it looks like trick or treat is over, he said. Give me your car keys. They're on the table next to the door, but the car won't start, Mindy said. What? Eddie said. Yeah, my dad thinks it's the battery. He's supposed to stop by tomorrow to look at it.

Mindy stated, her fatigue showing in her voice. Are you fucking serious, you damn bitch? Eddie screamed as he rushed over and grabbed Mindy by the neck, lifting her to her feet. If you're lying, I'll break your fucking teeth, snarled Eddie as he drew back the hand holding the gun. Mindy brought her hands up to block the blow. Movement in the corner of Eddie's vision caused him to stop and turn just in time to see the child going out the front door. Shit! Eddie yelled, tossing Mindy back to the floor. He rushed over and grabbed the little girl by the back of her bunny costume, yanking her inside and slamming the door.

God damn it! I fucking told you! Eddie screamed as he threw the child on the couch. He grabbed one of the couch pillows and covered the girl's face with it. He shoved the gun into the pillow and was about to shoot when Mindy let out a scream and leaped on his back. Eddie threw back his elbow and Mindy went flying, crashing into the coffee table. Time stood still for Mindy. Everything was blurry except for two things. The gun poised above the pillow and a heavy ceramic ash tray that was knocked off of the coffee table.

She reached out for the ash tray and as soon as her hand made contact, time began to flow once again. Eddie rammed the gun into the pillow. Before he could pull the trigger, Mindy swung the ash tray as hard as she could, striking him in the back of the head. Eddie groaned and the gun fired hitting the couch inches from the little girl. Eddie tried to roll over to bring the gun up but Mindy raised the ash tray and swung it again and again. She didn't know how many times she hit him, but when she stopped, the bloody gory mess atop Eddie's shoulders was not recognizable as a human head.

Mindy let go of the ash tray and fell to her knees sobbing. Minutes later she felt a small hand touching her shoulder. Looking up to see the little girl, she enveloped her in a crushing bear hug. Mindy then sat the girl on the coffee table and examined her. Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Mindy asked, getting no response. Seeing no signs of injury or blood, she began to remove the mask. The little girl tried to push Mindy's hands away, but Mindy tried to soothe her. Shhh, it's okay. I need to make sure you're all right, Mindy said in a soft voice.

Despite the girl's silent protests, Mindy lifted the mask and then stopped, frozen in shock. The skin on the child's face was leathery and rough. Strands of thick, coarse hair dotted her face and there was a pig-like snout where her nose should have been. Two small tusks jutted out of her cheeks and her mouth was wide with thin lips. The child's eyes searched Mindy's and finding fear and revulsion, the child smiled, showing rows of little razor-sharp teeth. Mindy's last words were a plea to her god for help, a plea that went unanswered. Oh well, I don't think Eddie is going to make the cut.

So few live up to their true potential. What is today's society coming to? Jack said, shaking his head sadly. Jack looked down at his wrist. Oh my, look at the time! I had a thoroughly enlightening time with you, and I thank each and every one of you. I hope I can express my gratitude in person one day. Jack bowed. I must be going now. So little time left. I haven't gotten my hands wet all night, and that simply won't do, said Jack, grinning like a madman. With that said, I'll take my leave of you and bid you adieu, Jack said, bowing once again.

Looking around, Jack called out, Isabella, come on, dear, we have deeds to do. A young child wearing a bunny mask and a one-piece white bunny suit, wet with red stains, emerged out of the darkness. She grabbed Jack's outstretched hand, and they walked off into the night. Tricks and Treats, Volume 2. So nice, we had to do it twice. A cool breeze blew down the sidewalk, past the swarms of costumed merrymakers, stirring up small cyclones of discarded candy wrappers and haunted house leaflets. A lone figure stood in the center of the chaos, head down like a stage actor, waiting for the curtain to rise.

The tall, impossibly thin man had on a top hat and wore a bright, gaudy suit with tails. With his handlebar mustache and van dyke beard, he looked like a demonic circus ringmaster. He leaned on a cane blocking a substantial part of the sidewalk, but the revelers unconsciously parted around him, like he wasn't even there. Suddenly, as if someone flipped a switch, the strange man sprung into action. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, writers and wrongers, killers and prey! He said as he spun in a circle, his cane whipping through the air, barely missing some of the pedestrians.

I am the Count of Carnage, the Prince of the Perverse, the Phantom of the Faithless, and your humble host, he said, winking. Jack Scratch. He performed an impossibly low bow, his hat almost touching the ground. Standing up straight, Jack began strolling down the sidewalk. Tonight is a special night. The unholiest of nights. All Hallows Eve, or Halloween as you humans call it, Jack spoke. This is the one night a year that I can leave the infernal flames of hell and walk among you mortals. He paused to light a cigar. The pure joy of it registered on his face.

As Hell's Director of Talent Acquisition, I have been all over your world. I have seen the worst you have to offer. However, there is one place that never disappoints. One place where killers seem to multiply like rabbits and mothers constantly weep. Jack stopped and spread his arms. He took a long, deep breath, and seemed to shiver with anticipation when he exhaled. You can just smell the crazy en- He continued strolling down the sidewalk. Strickfielders love Halloween. Just look at them, he said, pointing to the mob of trick-or-treaters crowding the street Walking the streets. An entire town raised to love the gruesome and the macabre.

So used to murder and mayhem that they spend an entire month celebrating it. Just thinking about it brings a tear to my eye, Jack said. What happens when someone doesn't appreciate the darker side of life? One who moves into a community but rejects what they hold dear. Jack stops and points at a house across the street. Well, there's no time like the present, so let's find out. This one is called Beggars Can't Be Choosers by Morgan Moore. Now go away kid, you bother me. The sound of the doorbell ringing brings Melissa White to her front door.

With a sigh, she scoops up the bowl set by the door, opens it, and is greeted as she had been all night by a group of kids dressed up for Halloween. They all shout at once, Oh wow, look at you all, you're so spooky. Melissa doesn't even attempt to mask how over the night she was. She quickly hands each child a piece of candy with the best smile she can muster. All right then, you scary kids, don't eat too much and be safe out there. Before a child can even blink at her actions, Melissa shuts the door and releases a sigh.

God, I hate Halloween. The irony was not lost on Melissa that for how much she hated the holiday, she moved to Strickfield, a town which didn't just celebrate the holiday yearly, but around the clock come October. If she would have known about the village's infatuation with the damned day, she would have never moved there. But it was affordable and she wasn't going to turn down the small house that she had inherited from her aunt. What made it seemingly more insufferable than any other Halloween was the costumes she saw. It was one thing for a kid to dress up like a movie monster or a psychopath, but she saw child after child dressed like actual killers.

Upon announcing her intentions to move District Field, and once getting there, Melissa quickly learned the village had a history of killings and numerous serial killers, some of which taking on near-idol status in the small community. So since October started, she got to learn all about every last one, and got to see every child up to adults dressed as those lunatics. It made her sick. Melissa rolled her eyes and walked over to her couch and plopped down on it. She looked at her hand which still had the bowl she was using for candy. With a shrug, she reached into it with her other hand.

Nothing touched her fingers or palm, as she searched for something to snack on. Melissa looked into the bowl and was met with the sight of nothing but her hand being inside. Ah, shit, she muttered. She was screwed. On the one hand, it gave her an excuse to just turn off the lights and call it a night, but she knew better. She had been seen handing out candy, and even with it being nine o'clock, there were still people roaming the streets in search of treats. Eventually her doorbell would be pushed and then knocked on until she would be forced to answer it.

Heavens knew what would happen if she did and had to announce to the beggars that there was no more candy to be had. Keep participating in this rotating psycho fashion show and get more candy or call it a night and probably have the house and my car messed with. Melissa contemplated her options. It didn't take her long to reach the conclusion to grab her purse and keys and find a store that somehow still had candy to buy. Melissa slowly drove through Strickfield her speed due to the number of people blindly walking through the streets. She groaned at the snail's pace she was going.

All would be fine as Melissa had passed a few stores that were clearly still open, yet the heavy foot traffic made it next to impossible to turn in to any of them. As her drive progressed less and less buildings became present as scenery. From what little she had traversed the village in her short time there, Melissa had never come out this far. Most of the activity was in the heart of the village, not out in the boonies. On the plus side, being this far out meant there was no foot traffic to hinder her driving. But being out this far in the dark on Halloween definitely sent a shiver down Melissa's spine.

Melissa continued her drive through what started to look more and more like countryside. Her attention suddenly snapped to the left. Was that? She questioned, having driven past whatever it was, too quickly. Melissa put the car in reverse and slowly backed up to what had caught her eye. The sight of it brought a smile to her face. In front of her was an old general store that was still open. Thank God! Melissa maneuvered the car into what could pass as a parking lot for the store and turned the car off. Outside, she shivers as the autumn air brushes against her, crisp and chilly.

Melissa made her way toward the general store, cautious of the environment and its lack of outdoor lighting. Only the faint glow of the light from inside the store led her way. As she opened the door, a bell chimed and nearly gave her a heart attack. God, this place is old, isn't it? Melissa walked around the store. The light inside faint as it was from the outdoors. The place reminded her of an Amish store she visited once in Indiana. Everything on the shelves appeared to be homemade, stored in either plastic bags or mason jars, handwritten labels carefully glued to each item with what it was and how much it cost.

Melissa was certainly impressed by the amount of items the store seemed to have and its owners had made. Melissa continued to walk through the store in search of any kind of candy she could find. Rounding a corner, she found what she was looking for, a small wooden shelf against the wall filled with bags of homemade candy. Perfect, she exclaimed. Melissa plucked a couple of bags from the shelf with a smile. She turned around to head back toward the front of the store, only to find her path blocked by a man. He was only a few hairs taller than her, but was very visibly over double her age.

May I help you, he asked. The old man, while taller than Melissa, spoke with a softness that she assumed came from his old age. His attire, whether a Halloween costume or his everyday clothes, reminded her of a pioneer or the Amish, only without the beard. It seemed rather fitting for him. Oh, sorry, I think… I was just trying to find some candy. Melissa fumbles out. The old man looks her up and down and smiles. Well, it looks like you found some. Is that all you need? I would say yes, Melissa responded. Great. Well, then let's get you cashed out and on your way.

The man smiled and turned to head toward the front of the store. Melissa raised an eyebrow quizzically, but shrugged and followed after the man. Up front she tossed the bags onto the counter. Run out tonight, did you? he asked. Yeah, didn't expect to get as much foot traffic as I did. Must be new to the area, aren't you? Bingo, Melissa replied with a slight smile. Oh, there's a pretty smile. I'm not surprised you weren't more prepared then. Halloween is a big night and a big deal for those here in Strickfield. Always has been, the old man explained.

So I've heard, Melissa answered with a small roll of her eyes. Not a fan of Halloween? The man asked after catching her rolling her eyes. Not really. I always found it kinda goofy growing up. If anything, living here has made me dislike it more. Constantly being surrounded by it does no favors for me. Not to mention it's pretty revolting seeing kids dressed up as serial killers. Well, it's up to the parents what their children want to do. That's part of the problem. It's disgusting how okay it is that this, and forgive me for saying it, Backwoods Town idolizes mass murderers and a stupid holiday that's only point is to drive candy sales and horror movie rentals.

Truth be told, I wouldn't even be buying this if I wasn't afraid of having the little rugrats kick my door down. They'd probably try to eat me in place of the candy. Melissa ranted to the store owner. She paused after finishing her sentence and looked at the old man. His face, which minutes ago showed an old warmth and pleasantness was now replaced by cold eyes and a frowned, furrowed brow. Something about the old man's face and how he was now holding his body made the hairs on Melissa's neck stand up and put her on edge.

It was as if her insulting the holiday had offended the once kind sales clerk. Having committed a mortal sin, Melissa felt her cheeks grow hot from embarrassment at the situation. How much do I owe you? She asked cautiously. Well, dear, let's just call it paying it forward. He answered. I don't get it. She responded in confusion. Well, paying it forward means I give you these because of generosity I've received. He explained. Oh, okay. Melissa carefully reached across the counter and took the bags of candy. She went to walk away and head back home, but paused.

The words the old man had just said rewound and then replayed in her head. Melissa turned around and looked at the old man. Hey, may I ask you something? Of course, he replied. You said you received a generosity. I'm curious as to what it was, Melissa questioned. Ah, well, let's see. You gave me some sourness, which as you could expect is something we use in many of our goods. Besides, you got some chocolate coins, so we can just consider those your pay for the ferryman. The old man elaborated before ending with a warm smile. Melissa looked and confused terror at the old man.

On one hand, she didn't understand what any of this had to do with generosity. Yet something about how he spoke and the way he was smiling made her feel as if a terrible event was going to happen. Um, right. Well, I gotta go. Melissa choked out. She turned around to leave only to find herself surrounded by what she assumed was the old man's family. Each one was dressed in the same Amish-like attire, the only difference being for the girls who wore dresses of the same fashion. Melissa couldn't believe they had appeared as quickly as they did and found herself equally unable to find a way to escape their encircling of her.

As they got closer and closer, Melissa felt panic overtake her, shutting down all brain function and leaving her like a defenseless newborn baby. She dropped the candy save for the chocolate coins, remembering what the man had said. Yes, yes, I think this might be the best treat we could have gotten this year. Now remember children, we must remember to pay it forward. Strickfield gave us this wonderful package of ingredients. Yes, yes. New from Crows in Hand Old Time General Store. Short on candy bars, but need something sweet for your trick or treaters? Try our new Sour Nut Clusters.

All the salty crunchiness of the nuts you love with the sourness and coating of your favorite candies. They're so crunchy and sour, you'd almost think we made them from your worst enemies. So come on down and get yourself our new Sour Nut Clusters at Crows in Hand Old-Time General Store. My, my, Jack said, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. I'm not normally a fan of recycling, but he eats another one. You can't argue with the results. Best damn sour nuts I've ever tried. Jack began to stroll down the sidewalk, his cane twirling in his hands.

Strictfield attracts killers and fiends of all types. Humans, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, everything and anything is possible in Strictfield. It baffles me why any good-hearted mortal who makes it out would ever come back. But if they did, wouldn't it be grand if they unintentionally brought death and destruction with them? Not only is Strictfield a cruel bitch, it also has a wicked sense of humor. He grandly gestured at a pair of women across the street. Well, we'll see what happens to these two young ladies in just a moment. But first, here's something even more terrifying for you.

A word from our sponsors. What? You think hell pays well? Not a chance. Halloween Cookies by Keith Tomlin Children, teenagers and even adults walked the streets in costume, their laughter reverberating in the chilly October air. Two women, Megan Smith and her aged mother May, turned off the sidewalk and headed up a walkway to the front door of a modest yellow two-story home. May was all smiles as she looked around the neighborhood she lived in for most of her life. When they reached the door, Megan rapped sharply and they waited. Within a few seconds the door was opened by a slightly overweight man in his early thirties dressed as Beetlejuice.

Trick or treat, May yelled. Trick or treat, the man said back to her. Suddenly his eyes grew wide as he realized who was standing at his door. Auntie May? Is that you? Daniel? I wouldn't have recognized you if Megan hadn't told me that you lived here. Daniel stepped forward and gave May a gentle hug, trying not to smash the covered tray that she was carrying. I haven't seen you in what? 15 years? Let me get Sarah. Daniel stepped back inside and yelled for Sarah, his wife. After not hearing a response, he apologized. She's giving the baby a bath and putting him to bed.

Why don't you come in and wait? She would love to see you. Sorry, dear, May said, patting his cheek. I have a lot of houses to visit tonight. After all, it's Halloween. Don't worry, though. I'm moving back to Strickfield. So you'll see a lot more of me. I'm moving in with Megan and her boyfriend. She lowered her voice. I was living with my other daughter in Phoenix, but she's getting divorced and had to move into a smaller house. Mother, don't air our dirty laundry in public, Megan said, aghast. Oh, hush, Daniel is family, May retorted.

When May lived in this neighborhood, she considered any kid within eight blocks of her house and their parents family. She would give every kid small but thoughtful gifts for birthdays and Christmases. She never said no to babysitting and her house was a wonderful chaotic mess of children. She loved every second of it. Twelve years ago, after her husband passed, her health began to fail and her children convinced her to move to the warm and dry climate of Arizona. The losses of her beloved husband and her adopted family blew out the spark she had in her eyes and her life in Arizona became one of mere existence.

But now that she was back in Strictfield, there was a new bounce in her step. May was about to ask about Daniel's parents when she noticed a young, green-faced child with big eyes peering around his legs. My, who is this? May exclaimed. Daniel gently scooted the child forward. This is Chloe, my daughter, he said proudly. I'm a ninja turtle, Chloe said shyly, pointing at her Leonardo costume. That sounds like fun. Do you eat flies? May asked, bending down to look the little girl in the face. Chloe laughed. No, silly, I eat pizza. Good choice, May said.

Do you eat cookies? Chloe's eyes brightened at that. Yes, ninja turtles can eat cookies, she exclaimed. May looked up at Daniel who nodded. Let's see, she said as she opened up her Tupperware tray. We don't have turtles, but we do have bats, spiders, kitty cats, and wolves. Ooh, I'll take a wolf, Chloe said excitedly, reaching out. There you go, dear. May smiled as she handed the little one a sugar cookie, shaped like a wolf. Chloe turned and ran deeper into the house, holding the cookie to her chest like she was afraid that someone would take it from her.

Daniel called after her. Hey, come back and thank Auntie May. Sighing, he turned back and apologized. May waved the apology off and, after her daughter helped her stand back up, she held out the tray to Daniel. Care for a cookie? Daniel's shoulders slumped. I wish I could. I always loved your cookies, but I'm diabetic and I've already dipped into her candy bag more than I should have this evening. They stood there for a few minutes more and exchanged their goodbyes, ending with May promising to stop by on Saturday to meet the rest of the family.

As the women turned to walk away, Megan realized that she hadn't seen her mother this happy since before her father died. Chloe played with her Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures, acting out scenarios where they saved April O'Neil from a rampaging wolf in the form of May's sugar cookie. When this became boring, she had Leonardo cut the head off the wolf cookie, ending the threat. She celebrated by eating the cookie head first, savoring each bite. Chloe put her figures away, grabbing her coloring books, and began to carefully draw within the lines. After a few minutes, she started to sweat, and a feeling of intense fear began washing over her.

She started to yell out for her father, but something, a feeling of apprehension, held her back. A figure passed her open door, causing Chloe to shrink back in terror. The creature looked like a monster. One of the wolf men from the scary movies that her parents didn't let her watch, but she did anyway. She heard the front door open. Snarls and howls floated down the hall, ending when the front door was shut. She sat there on her bed, paralyzed until the creature walked by again, pausing in her doorway. It stared at her, its lips curled back in rage, spittle spraying from its mouth as it glowered at her.

Chloe broke her stillness as she screamed and rolled off the bed, grabbing the plastic katana from her costume. She dove under the bed. She waited, trembling with fear, until the wolfman on his knees pulled the blanket aside and peered at her, his long teeth glinting in the lamplight. Chloe screamed again and thrust the sword forward, catching the monster in the face. It pulled back and let out a horrific howl as she scuttled out the other side and ran out of the room. My god, it's so good to see you, Aunt May. Christine said, giving the old woman another hug.

Same here, my dear, it's so good to be back. I've been gone for way too long, May replied. Christine waved her daughter over and presented her to May. This is Dee. She would have been two or three the last time you saw her. My, she's grown into such a lovely girl, May exclaimed. Christine looked down at her daughter and pointed at May. Dee, this is Auntie May. She was everyone's favorite neighbor when we were growing up. Dee looked at May and in a flat, bored tone said, hi. She looked back at her mom and asked, can I go to my room and listen to music?

Christine sighed, fine, go. Dee began to walk away when May spoke. I almost forgot. Do you want a Halloween cookie? She held out the tray to the girl. Dee hesitated and nodded, grabbing a cookie shaped like a spider before walking off. I'm sorry. You know how teenagers are, Christine said, apologetic. Oh dear, no need to tell me. May responded, pointedly looking at Megan. Nonsense. I was an angel, Megan said, playfully smacking her mother on the shoulder. Dee flopped on the bed, grabbing her phone out of her back pocket and putting in her earbuds. She absently ate the cookie as she scrolled through Instagram posts and listened to music.

After a few minutes, she began to feel strange, like someone was watching her. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up. She removed the earbuds and heard screeching and scratching coming from the other room. She slowly rose from the bed and made her way into the hall. Scott is working second shift at Mirren Automotive. He'll be sorry he missed you. Let's all get together and have dinner some night at DeNoyer's Grill, Christine said. Noticing the look on May's face, she said, Sorry, I forgot you have an issue with that place. Mom is slowly getting over it now that she's not able to cook as much as she used to, Megan said.

May couldn't contain herself. I don't think you can call something homemade if it's being cooked in the back of a kitchen of a diner. Besides, I still say that they stole my recipe for country fried chicken gravy. May huffed. Dee snuck down the hall, the clicking and scraping getting louder with every step. She stopped at the doorway to the living room and peered around the corner. She quickly pulled back, stifling a scream. Fighting the panic that threatened to immobilize her, she looked around the corner again. Standing where her mother had been was a humanoid creature with the head of a spider.

In addition to the two legs the creature was standing on, there were six thin spider-like legs sticking out of its back. The legs absently tapped and scraped along the open front door and the walls surrounding it. Two other spider creatures stood on the porch and all three were emitting high-pitched noises. Dee slowly backed down the hall, her heart racing as she tried to clear her head. She thought, what would dad do? Then she remembered the shotgun. Every year on his birthday, he took her to the Sportsman Club to shoot skeet. So she knew how to use a shotgun and she knew where he kept it.

Decision made, she turned and ran toward her parents' room. Daniel looked at his eye in the mirror. It was swelling shut and he couldn't see anything out of it. His wife Sarah walked into the room and put her arm around him. How's your eye? She asked. Not good. I'll probably have to go to the ER, Daniel said. Chloe's not in her room, Sarah said. I wonder what got into her. I have no idea. I was asking her if she liked the cookie when she freaked out and hid under the bed. When I checked on her, she jabbed me with that damn sword.

Daniel said, wincing with pain as he dabbed a damp washcloth around his eye, cleaning up some of the fresh blood seeping from it. I'll keep looking for her. Hopefully she didn't leave the house, his wife said. She was scared to death. Poor thing. As soon as we find her and calm her down, I'll head to the hospital, Daniel said. No, I don't want you driving. We should call an ambulance, Sarah said. Daniel was about to protest when he heard light footsteps running down the hall. Chloe stormed into the room wearing the full Leonardo costume and brandishing a large butcher's knife.

She began swinging it wildly with almost superhuman strength, plunging it first into her father, and then into her mother, over and over again. A few minutes later, Chloe stood over the remains of the two wolf monsters. She was wiping blood from her face when she heard the high-pitched howling coming from the baby's room. She gripped the knife with determination and turned, walking out of the bathroom. Christine examined the cookie in her hand, shaped like a cat. Wow, the details on these cookies are amazing. She exclaimed, I know, perfect for Halloween. When I moved in with Megan, she gave me an amazing set of horror-themed cookie cutters, May said.

I found them at some hole-in-the-wall antique store near the Stricfield Town Center mall called Tinker's or something like that. The owner was a bit peculiar, but the prices were amazing. Megan interjected. Christine was about to take a bite when she heard a yell behind her. As she turned, the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being racked filled her ears. Jack holds up one finger like he's waiting for something. Off in the near distance, you can hear gunshots, and Jack swings his hands back and forth like he's conducting a symphony. The people milling about the street jump, startled, and look around.

Not seeing any immediate threat, they hurry on about their business. When the last shot ends, he sighs. Oh well, that was fun while it lasted. You have to give it up for Isley Tinker. He does good work. I don't know how he stays in business selling cursed antiques at such low prices. Artists, Jack rolls his eyes. Jack begins to continue strolling down the street when suddenly he stops. Wait, I know that smell. The sickly sweet scent of decay, Jack said, breathing deeply. I think we're in for a treat, he said, almost giddy with anticipation. That's what I love about Strickfield.

You never know who you'll run into. He turns and points at the house up the block. Ah, there we go. I wish I had popcorn because I am expecting quite a show. Smoke them if you got them, Jack said, as he lit up another cigar. After a quick word from our sponsors, of course. Beggar's Night Massacre by Rob Fields. As I walked down Park Avenue with my plastic pumpkin basket in my drink bottle, I got to thinking more about how the village of Strickfield made trick or treating a full week instead of just one night.

This year, I heard people calling the last full week of Halloween Beggar's Week. I think I can see why the people here call it that. By definition, Beggar's Night is when trick-or-treating falls on any other night but Halloween. But now there are six additional nights of trick-or-treating prior to Halloween right here in this village, meaning the first six nights are technically Beggar's Nights. I take a quick drink of the red liquid from my bottle and see the porch light of my next house. I walk up to the door of 19 Park Avenue and ring the bell.

I can hear Bobby Pickett's Monster Mash playing inside. The door opens making the music louder. And that's when I see her. Megan Harris? I ask. Megan's dressed like a sexy vampire. I am also dressed as a vampire only I look more like Dracula. Megan opens the screen door. I think you're too old to be trick-or-treating, Richie. She says holding the large bowl of candy in her arm. I smirk. Not in Strickfield. Anybody can trick-or-treat here. No judgments or age discrimination. Never has been. Anyway, where you been hiding? People at Strickfield High have been saying you disappeared two years ago.

Megan smiles a little. I'm here now. Just then, this beefy guy comes and stands at the door with her. I don't care what Strickfield Law says about trick-or-treating. You're too old, dweeb. Then he grins. Yeah, maybe you're in your second childhood. He scowls now. Get lost, fuckstick. But I ignore him. You know, I've been looking everywhere for you too, Megan. Then the guy whom I recognize as Mike Stanley opens the door and steps out onto the porch. You deaf nerd? Beat it or I am gonna beat your ass. Mike, just stop, Megan snaps. This is my house.

Just like that, the buffoon listens to her and backs off. And I know he'd like nothing better than to lay into me. Megan turns back. Hey, since you're here, I'm inviting you to my party. Come on in. Richie Hawthorne? Are you fucking serious, Megan? Mike protests. Megan glares at him again. Last time, shut the fuck up or you can leave right here and now. This is my house and I'll invite whoever I want. I don't give a rat's ass what Ken says. She points to him again. Just stop. Again, Mike obeys her. Then Megan steps aside to let me come in.

There are plenty of people from Strictfield High here at Megan's Shindig and in costume. People are drinking cups of what looks like red punch. The TV's on. A news report about people disappearing from area high schools is on. I watch the report attentively, reading the lips of the people talking over the loud music. Then Megan comes up beside me. Listen, I'm really glad you're here at my party tonight. I let Megan bring me into the kitchen. She opens the fridge and gives me a can of soda. Even though the others are drinking out of two big punch bowls on the dining room table.

Megan just stands there expectedly. I turn and follow her through the kitchen and out the back door. As soon as we're private enough, she turns and faces me. I've been watching the news, I tell Megan. How long did you think it would be before your parents ended up being featured on it? How long were they out looking for you after you disappeared from Strickfield? Megan kind of looks desperate now. I know you haven't lived here in Strickfield for long, Richie. You have no idea how my parents constantly smothered me with their religion. It was always them telling me to read my Bible or tuck my shirt in, or my skirts too short.

I couldn't take it anymore. I had to lose them. I raise my finger. Yeah, but you just ran away from home. You never showed up at school. The police were out looking for you. If you were that desperate to leave, you should have just left Stricfield. But here you are, out of the blue, having a Halloween party and hosting trick-or-treating. Aren't you afraid people might recognize you? Cops are stepping up their patrols this week. What if they saw you? Face it, Megan, you're not exactly a subtle kind of girl. The two of us look at each other for a long while, and then things are about to get serious when we hear people hooping and hollering nearby.

As soon as we go back inside, this gang of hoodlums enters Megan's house. The others already here don't seem to care. They're all drinking their red punch and doing whatever. I remember seeing these guys at Strickfield High. The leader is Ken Stover. He's probably been in more trouble with Principal Vandeist than Bella Tabon and Ronnie Brunswick combined. Suddenly, Ken pulls Megan to him and locks her in a hungry kiss. Megan wraps her leg around him and kisses him back. When they finish, he shoves her away. Then he goes and smashes the sound system to kill the music.

Now everyone's looking right at him. Look at you fuckers having a Halloween party. Then Ken screams at Megan. You didn't invite us, you stupid bitch. He quickly shoves her to the floor. Did you forget who's running the show around here? Yeah, not inviting us ain't polite, Darren Jever's adds. We ought to just give Megan to the cops and tell them she's back, Bart Parker suggests. Then Gerald Atkins points right at me. Who's this fuck? He ain't one of us. Ken comes right at me. I know nobody invited you to our group. Know why? Cause ain't nobody part of this group without me saying so.

I invited him, Megan snaps, standing up. Ken points right behind him at her. And I'm uninviting him. He points at me now. Get the fuck out of here, you panty waste. But Megan isn't done yet. We all know the Master's coming. What if he decides Richie might be a worthy offering? You never disappoint the Master. I can tell Ken still wants me gone. He backs off, however, and pats my shoulder. Enjoy yourself, fuckface. Suddenly, the doorbell rings. The gang answers the door to see two pizza delivery guys standing there with a bunch of pies. Um, delivery for 19 Park Avenue?

One of them stammers. Ken opens the screen door and yanks them both inside. The pizza boxes spin or drop to the floor. Then I see the entire gang shudder before they charge. Their hands become claws. Their faces get even uglier than they already were. And then the others here are transforming. Ken tells everybody, Pizza's here! Help yourselves! The pizza guys scream in total terror as they leap to their feet and try running. But where can you run in a house full of bloodthirsty vampires? Suddenly, Ken shoves me aside. Out of the fucking way, milk-sop! The pizza guys keep running before Mikey Stanley snags one of them.

Megan snatches the other one. He points to the pizza guy Megan has. Give me that one! But Megan won't give him over. We save them for the master. Ken raises his hand to strike her. You keep forgetting your place here, bitch! I'm calling the shots here! Only reason I took you with me was cause you was running from the master. He made you, but you ran away. When I found you, you needed blood. You kept saying the master's coming. We still ain't seen him. If he's so fucking badass, how come he ain't never found you, huh?

Also, you ain't never seen what he looks like. Megan shakes her head. I'm telling you, Ken, you're greatly underestimating him. I did escape, but I can feel he's very close. I never should have run away. You can't beat him, Ken. He'll kill you. She addresses the others at the party now. All of you. Now, Ken finally strikes her, sending her to the floor again. Nobody comes to her aid. Ken turns and points at me. Grab him too. There's another mortal for us. Megan suddenly jumps on Ken's back. Run, Richie! Get off of me, bitch! Ken yells.

Get the milk-sop, guys! I quickly turn and run through Megan's house. I grab my pumpkin basket of candy as I reach the back door and escape. I don't get far when I'm grabbed and pulled back into the house. Now I'm thrown to the floor next to the pizza guys. Ken rubs his hands together. Boys, we are gonna have a banquet. He points to Mike. How about you order us some more pizzas? Mike pulls his cell phone out and starts to punch in a number. Then I hear some of the other vampires making noise about something.

Now I see the house is catching fire just like that. What the fuck? Ken yells. Now the fire starts burning the vampires until they're being smothered by it. All except Megan, me and the pizza guys. Megan quickly grabs my arm. Let's get out of here. The master's here. He's burning everybody in here alive. I won't let him take you too. The four of us make it through the burning vampires into the back door. We're out in the backyard and keep moving. As soon as we're far enough, we turn to see the house is completely engulfed in flames.

We even hear the vampires inside screaming as their immortality is ending most cruelly. Megan and I keep moving with the pizza guys until we're in a small wooded area. We made it, Richie, Megan says, we're safe, we're free now. She's about to take my hand, but suddenly I slap hers away. Did you really think I would never find you, Megan? You were a fool to think you could truly escape me. I use my power to force Megan to fly back and hit hard against a big tree and fall forward. She lifts her head up and looks at me with utter horror now.

You can't be the master! I smile cruelly now and lean forward and slash both of the delivery guy's throats with my long sharp claws. Then I drink them both up. When I'm finished, I look right at her. You ungrateful cow! I came to you and offered you a way out of your miserable mortal life. I gave you immortality and running away is how you repay me? At least now I know and understand where your kind come from. You only care about yourselves. Truly, I was foolish to sire you for your beauty alone. No, it's not like that, Megan protests standing up.

I point to her now. Too late, you've abused the gift of immortality, giving it to all those unworthy vermin back there. You even killed your own parents in cold blood. When will you understand? You became mine when I sired you. Mine. I would have given you your heart's desire. All you had to do was stand by me and obey me. Now I must destroy you. I reach into my suit coat and pull out a very sharp steak. No, Richie, Megan begs, please, no. I could have just left you to burn in that fire with the others, but that would have been showing you mercy.

You need to suffer for your betrayal and your treachery. I kick Megan to the ground and get on top of her. Megan screams as I raise the steak and end her. Once she's nothing but ash, I stand up and retrieve my plastic pumpkin basket. There's still plenty of time to go trick or treating, while looking for more food. That's the problem with kids today. Ungrateful for the gifts they're given, Jack stated as he shook his head. As a fire truck pulled up to the burning house, sirens blaring, Jack took a peek at his watch. Oh my, it's getting late.

I have to head down south soon, but I can't leave without partaking in the best sport that Strickfield has to offer. Hmm, let's see. Jack opened up his jacket to show a row of knives attached to the inner lining. Decisions, decisions. Jack finally selected a long, thin razor-sharp blade and tested the balance in his hand. I must leave you now. I prefer to do my wetwork alone. Goodbye, until next year. Toodles, my friends, Jack said, waving goodbye. Tricks and Treats 2025 by Keith Tomlin Parents walked the streets of Salisbury, Massachusetts, shepherding children in Halloween costumes from door to door.

A couple in light winter jackets led their own children wearing Marvel superhero masks past the plain brick wall that made up the east side of Cooper's Pharmacy. They showed no reaction when two spotlights flipped on, illuminating the wall. Shadows emerged from the light, forming a crowd of people surrounding a ring. A ringmaster in a top hat and tailcoat strutted into the middle, waving a cane like he was conducting an orchestra. He raised his hands and the shadows formed two trapeze swings above him. Dark images of a man and a woman swinging through the empty space.

Circus music began to play, louder with every second. When the trapeze artists reached their zenith, they leaped from the swings and launched themselves at the crowd, transforming wings springing from their backs and fingers elongating into claws. The shadow crowd tried to run, but they were ripped apart, black blood splattering the wall. The ringmaster waved his cane and ran forward, leaping an impossible distance and emerged from the bricks. Jack Scratch slid on the sidewalk, barely missing two couples with a line of children, all oblivious to his presence. He landed on one knee, hands raised in the air, as the wall turned dark, completely covered in the shadow blood.

Brushing dust from his bright red coat, Jack spoke in a booming voice, Ladies and Gentlemen, Saints and Sinners, Killers and Victims. Buongiorno. They call me Jack Scratch, and I am your humble guide through the unknown. The tall lanky man bowed so deep that his forehead touched his knees, yet his red top hat stayed on his head. Popping back up like a snake springing at its prey, Jack began to stroll down the street, speaking nostalgically. Ah, Halloween again. My favorite holiday. I mean, what other day can you get sweets along with the savory sounds of slaughter?

Such joy brings a tear to my eye. Jack mockingly wiped his eye with a gloved hand. Pedestrians shifted unconsciously aside as Jack passed. After a few minutes, he began to speak. It's been such a busy year, he said conspiratorially. So much going on, many plans in motion. No rest for the wicked, as they say. I was able to get away for a few hours to experience my favorite pastime. Human suffering, he said, longingly, waving his cane in a circle. So many experiences from all around the world to choose from. But he took a long, deep breath.

My senses tell me that this town holds a few secrets. Jack stopped his stroll and slapped his forehead. I almost forgot. I brought a friend this year. He whistled, and a large black hound leaped from the shadows. Steam rolled off her massive body as she stood in the cool night air. Every exhale brought a stream of flames and her eyes glowed with hellfire. Meet Daisy, my ex's sweet little pooch. My ex got called away on a possession gig and I generously offered to watch her. I really don't mind. I actually like this bitch more than the other, Jack said, as he lovingly stroked the top of Daisy's head.

Standing up, Jack paused before saying, What I find amazing about humans is their desire to live forever, but few are willing to do what it takes. The man that lives here, Jack pointed to a rundown house, is the exception. No hesitation, no qualms, no regrets, willing to sacrifice anything, even the innocent. I think I'll call this one Rebirth. The wind blew cold, sending leaves scurrying down the sidewalk past young children in store-bought costumes and bored-looking adults acting as chaperones. Eli dressed as a tiny firefighter gleefully jumped into a shallow puddle, causing his dad Marcus to leap backwards to avoid getting wet.

Marcus looked at his wife Danielle and smiled, shaking his head. You had to wear your new shoes, Danielle said. I know, Marcus sighed, looking down at the now muddy Nikes. He raised his voice a bit and called out to his son. Eli, we need to head home, it's getting late. Eli turned to his dad, shocked that this night could ever end. But I still have room in my pumpkin, he said, holding up a three-quarter full plastic pail, shaped like a jack-o-lantern. Okay, one more, but that is it, Danielle said. Eli screamed, Yes! and ran ahead.

Marcus looked at his wife, annoyed. She sheepishly shrugged. It's only once a year. Let him have his fun, she said. Marcus reluctantly nodded as she snuggled up against his side and rested her head on his shoulder. Marcus reached out with his left arm and pulled her closer. They held this pose as they walked up the sidewalk, Marcus awkwardly matching his gait to hers. The houses have been getting further apart, and the blocks were getting longer as they near the edge of town. The yard of the next house was overgrown with tall grass and weeds. The concrete pathway leading up to the front door was cracked and uneven.

The two-story house looked abandoned. The paint was chipping, and there were no lights inside or out, showing if anyone lived there. Shudders buried under ropes of ivy covered the windows. Eli veered right at the pathway, excitedly running up to the front door. Wait, I don't think anyone lives there. Let's hit the next house, Marcus yelled. But Eli had already run up the steps and knocked. Once, twice. After a short pause, the front door opened and an elderly man, the oldest man that Eli had ever seen in person, stood in the doorway. He was dressed in a black suit with an ancient jacket, the kind you may find on an old gunfighter.

His face was lit by candlelight from inside the front room, and his paper-like skin was almost transparent. Marcus thought he could see every beat of his heart. My, my, what have we here? The man named Jacob said in a raspy voice, drier than the Sahara Desert. Eli, come on, let's leave the nice man alone, Marcus said, sensing trouble. He separated from his wife and began walking across the lawn toward his son. Eli stared up at the man, speechless and unmoving. The old man leaned down and looked Eli in the face. Yes, you'll do. You'll do quite nicely.

It's nice to see that the prayers to the dark one do not go unanswered. Jacob croaked, his lips splitting as he smiled. Seeing the hungry and demented expression on Jacob's face, Marcus yelled, Eli, step away! When his son remained, Marcus screamed at the old man and demanded he leave his son alone. He began to run. Jacob rose up to his full height. The cracking and popping of his bones could be heard across the yard. He turned to Marcus and gave a self-satisfied smile and a mocking tilt of his head. Danielle let out a gasp and Marcus unconsciously flicked his eyes in her direction, noticing that her confused expression was being replaced by panic and concern.

He looked back at the house just in time to see the front door slam shut with a metallic clang. The plastic pumpkin basket hit the front stoop and cracked open, spilling candy all over the concrete. His son was nowhere in sight. Danielle screamed as Marcus reached the front stoop. The door was locked. Marcus hurled himself at it, pounding with his fists. Hey, open the door, goddammit! Marcus' hands were throbbing, but he kept hitting the metal door over and over again. Nothing moved. The night was quiet. He ran to the windows and found that each of them were shut tight with steel shutters fastened to the walls and rusted bolts covered in appealing blue paint.

Danielle was already dialing 911. Her voice shrill and panicked. Help! A man just took my son. We were trick or treating and he just grabbed him and took him inside his house. Marcus rubbed his shoulder, feeling like he may have broken something against the metal door. Looking around in panic, the sweat ran in a river down his back. Shit, shit, shit, shit, he thought, struggling to think through his panic. He could still hear his wife give the address of the old house and more details on what happened. Suddenly, an idea formed, and his head whipped back to look at the way they had come.

Danielle, wait here. I remember passing a patrol car a few blocks back. I'm going to see if he's still there. He looked over at his wife as he started to run, but it looked like she did not hear him. Marcus ran faster than he had ever ran before in his life. Four blocks later, he saw the patrol car sitting under an ancient elm tree. He ran up to the driver's side window, partially rolled down, gasping for breath, and began to pound on it. The police officer, Officer Parker, who was alone in the car, almost dropped his half-filled cup of lukewarm coffee and reached toward the holster on his side.

Marcus noticed and took a step back, holding his hands up. Officer, a man grabbed my son and dragged him into his house. The doors are locked and I can't get inside, Marcus said in between breaths. The cop rolled the window down the rest of the way and gave the panting man a long, cold look. He finally nodded and asked which house. Marcus fought the urge to run back to his wife. Instead, he took another deep breath to calm himself and replied. It's about four blocks up the street, white, two-story house with blue shutters. Paint is peeling and the lawn needs mowed.

Gotcha. I know the house. I'll meet you there, Officer Parker said. Marcus nodded, turned, and started running back up the street, his shoulder throbbing with every step. Parker threw the plastic coffee cup out the window and slammed on the accelerator, throwing wet leaves both all over the street and on Marcus. Eli stood unmoving and began to whine as the front door slammed shut behind him. Jacob turned and gave Eli another appraising look and nodded, satisfied. He grabbed the front of the child's costume with the strength that belied his old and thin arms. Turning, he quickly went up the stairs, dragging Eli without effort.

When he turned down the hall at the stairs top, he heard the faint thud of someone banging on the front door. Jacob passed several doors leading off of the hall and finally stopped at a wooden door covered in runes and cymbals at the end of the hallway. The door creaked when opened and Jacob cleared the cobwebs from the doorway. Pulling the kid inside, he kicked the door shut and tripped the deadbolt with his left hand. The room was shrouded in darkness and when he flipped the light switch, a single bulb hanging on a wire in the center of the room, barely illuminated a few feet around it.

The room was painted black and a blood red pentagram covered the majority of the floor. Jacob dragged Eli to the center of the pentagram and spoke one word to him. Stay, he commanded. Eli felt invisible hands surrounding him, pinning his arms to his sides, even supporting him as his body went limp with fear. Jacob approached Eli in the middle of the floor and placed a hand on either side of the child's face. He began to chant strange magical words, and Eli began to tremble and shake. After a few moments, Eli rose two feet up in the air as a stream of golden light began to emanate from his chest and flowed into the old man.

Jacob began to chant different words, and soon a stream of red light began to flow from Jacob's eyes and mouth into Eli's. Officer Parker was talking to Danielle when Marcus finally reached the house. He leaned against a tree, breathing heavy. His head pounded from the unusual strain he put on his body. He started to walk over to the police officer, but a coughing fit made him stop and put his hands on his knees, trying desperately not to throw up. Officer Parker jotted down some notes and asked Danielle another question. So did you see the old man abduct the child?

Yes, Danielle said, frustrated. I told you he grabbed Eli and disappeared into the house. And Eli is the child, the officer asked, looking up from his notes and seeing the hot anger in her eyes, now directed at him, gave him the answer. Okay, ma'am, let me take a look around. The officer began walking up to the front stoop when Marcus, still wheezing, reached his wife. His arms enveloped her, and at first she resisted, but soon broke down and began to weep. Officer Parker banged on the door asking for the occupants to answer. After a few tries, he left the porch and examined the shutters covering the first set of windows.

He then looked up to find that metal shutters covered the upper story as well. As he walked along the front of the house, he heard sirens in the distance, approaching fast. He turned the corner and checked all of the windows on the ground floor as well as the back door. All were sealed securely. When he returned to the front yard, he found red and blue lights illuminating the growing darkness. Marcus was arguing with several other police officers, demanding that they go and get his child. Parker approached him and asked that they move back. What the fuck are you doing just standing here?

Go get my son, Marcus yelled. Sir, we'll need you to step back away from our investigation. We can't do anything until you back up, Parker said in a voice usually reserved for young children. What? My son was abducted and you are spending your time lecturing me. Marcus was furious. Sir, I don't want to have to arrest you for interference with a law enforcement officer, Parker said in that same condescending tone. Danielle put her hand on Marcus' chest and gently pushed him back, shaking with rage, exhaustion and despair. He let his wife lead him across the sidewalk to stand next to one of the recently arrived police vehicles.

Parker led the other officers to the front door. Well, I think we have enough for exigent circumstances, but this place is locked up tighter than my grandma's butthole. Any thoughts? Another officer asked. Parker was the breacher on the local SWAT team, and as such, he kept his SWAT gear in his patrol car. I have a ram in the car, we can try to breach the front door. Also, call the sergeant, we may need someone with a bit more authority on scene. I have a feeling this will not end cleanly. The other cops nodded, and two of them moved to keep an eye on the sides of the house.

The other one picked up his mic and began transmitting. The lights emanating from Eli and Jacob began to dim, and the darkness began to regain its hold on the room. Jacob reached behind him under the jacket and pulled out a large, thin knife. He reached up and made a small yet deep cut on Eli's forehead. The child did not react, and Jacob smiled. He made a small cut on his finger and placed it against Eli's cut. Suddenly, the darkness vanished, as the gold and red lights seemed to explode. They began to pulsate. The brightness of the lights became almost unbearable for Jacob, and he closed his eyes.

Despite the pain, he knew he could not leave the circle until the spell was complete. As the second stretched to minutes, the pain grew. The brightness of the lights pierced his skull, while the heat from them began to singe the thin tufts of hair that he still had on top of his head. The pain made him shiver in pleasure and anticipation. After what felt like hours, but more likely ten minutes, he heard the downstairs door slam open. The shouts and the thudding of booted feet carried up the stairs. Jacob smiled. The end was near. The footsteps approached closer.

The police officers paused just outside the room and tried to open the door. The deadbolt held and Jacob knew it was finally time. He whispered a blessing to the Dark Lord and raised his knife, waiting. Boots kicked in the door and the frame burst into splinters. At that moment, Jacob opened his eyes and the streams of light stopped. Eli's eyes briefly glowed red, a triumphant grin on his face. Jacob's eyes flashed gold and were filled with confusion and pain. Eli slowly floated to the floor while Jacob turned toward the police officers. Drop the knife, Parker demanded as he trained his gun on the old man.

Mom, dad? Jacob asked, looking around. I said drop the knife and back away from the child. I will fucking shoot you. Drop the knife. Eli was standing directly behind Jacob and blocked from view of the police. He reached out and gave Jacob a push toward the officers. Jacob stumbled forward, putting his hands up to try and balance himself without realizing he was still holding the knife. Shots rang out as the police opened fire, striking Jacob several times in the chest and once in the head. Jacob dropped like a rock, and one of the officers slowly walked around the edge of the room.

His gun still trained on Jacob. Son, come here, away from him. Are you hurt? Eli shook his head no. Marcus burst into the doorway, startling the officers. After realizing who it was, they gestured at Eli to come to them. He slowly walked toward his father, who wrapped him in a loving embrace. After a few moments, he let go and looked down at his son. Holding back tears, Marcus asked, Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Eli stared up at his dad and shook his head. I'm fine, father. He won't be bothering anyone else. He served his purpose, Eli said with a soft, rough voice.

Father, Marcus said, confused. You've never called me that before. Oh, sorry, father. Dad, Eli said in that same rough voice. Are you sure you're feeling all right? Marcus asked. I'm fine, dad. I just want to go home and get situated for bed. It's been a long day. Eli replied, before turning and walking slowly and deliberately down the hall toward the stairs. Marcus stared after his son. Eli usually only had two speeds, full speed ahead or sound asleep. Maybe it was just the stress affecting all of them, but Marcus could have sworn that the child that walked away from him was not his son.

He slowly followed Eli down the hall as more sirens sounded outside, hoping and praying he was wrong. Jack stood beneath a street lamp, its light flickering as though nervous to reveal him. He gave a slow clap, the sound too sharp, too echoing in the night. My, my, wasn't that touching, he said with a grin. A family torn apart on All Hallows Eve, the night when the veil is thin. Such promise in The Little Ones, innocence is so very fragile. One day it's a lollipop and a laugh, the next it's blood on the floor and a soul bound for my employer's collection.

He drew a cigar from his jacket, lit it with a flame that danced up from his thumb and took a deep drag. Ah, sin always tastes better with a smoke. Exhaling smoke like a dragon, he pointed down the road toward a two story house. And speaking of sin, allow me to introduce you to a man larger than life. Some call him Action Jackson, but trust me, his bark is bigger than his bite. He tapped the cane against the ground, the pavement cracking just slightly. Shall we pay him a visit? I'll just call this Big Bill.

Don Jackson, action to anyone who'd ever owed him or attended his dog fights, slammed his car door and strolled toward the sagging Two Story at the end of Salem Avenue. The place leaned like it had stopped caring years ago. Two couples walking with their toddlers dressed In superhero costumes smiled and waved at him. Fuck off, was his reply. He ignored the shocked looks of the adults as he let himself inside the house and shut the front door, causing bits of flacking paint to fall off of the frame. After locking it, he looked around the dark, cluttered room.

The house was eerily quiet, and that's how he liked it. He spent the day around barking dogs, and the last thing he wanted in the evenings was even more noise. Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair and walked upstairs to the bathroom, taking off his jacket on the way and tossing it on a chair covered in pizza boxes. His image in the bathroom mirror caught him. Blood was splattered across the left side of his face, and his right cheek and neck were smeared with red gore. Grumbling, he grabbed a washcloth, moistened it, and began scrubbing.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he began to make a call as he headed to the bathroom to change out his blood-stained clothes. The phone rang twice before it was answered by a man with a soft, almost whiny voice. Hello? Hey, Dingo, how's the Doberman doing? Don asked. Oh, hey, Action. Not too well. He went downhill since you left. I got most of the bleeding stopped, but there may be tendon damage. He could be out for months. Don sighed. He'd spent good money on that dog. Okay, damn. Go ahead and throw him in the ring with Tipper.

Let the Rottweiler get some experience. Will do. Oh, and the Brindle is doing good. The bite wasn't as bad as it looked. She took it like a champ. She's a killer. Don sat down on his bed, suppressing a sigh. The Brindle Pitbull was Dingo's find, and now he'd never hear the end of this. Good. We'll get her in the ring next week. Make sure she's ready. I can't lose any more money over these fucking dogs. Roger that. I'll see you in the morning. Don hung up the phone without a further word. He sat there for a few minutes, his eyes closed, just basking in the silence.

With a grunt, he stood and changed into a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, clipping the sheath of his knife on to the elastic band of the sweats. He wandered downstairs and opened up the freezer in the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of cheap vodka. Pouring himself a drink, he left the bottle on the counter and headed in to the living room. He sat down in his favorite chair, which was the only one without junk or old pizza boxes on it. After searching for a few moments, he found the remote under his right leg and turned on the TV.

Flipping through the channels he, finally settled on a rerun of an old Rockford files. Don took a large swig of his drink and stared mindlessly at the TV. A strange noise from upstairs jolted Don from his stupor. He muted the TV and cocked his head. He could have sworn that he heard claws on the wooden floor upstairs. After hearing nothing for a few minutes, he took another big swig and unmuted the television. Sitting there, watching Jim Rockford get his ass handed to him again, Don began to doze off. Images of fights, teeth flashing, blood spraying and dogs shrieking snapped him awake.

Fuck, Don said, he'd seen thousands of dog fights and had personally dispatched dozens, maybe hundreds of dogs, either through sacrificing them to his other dogs or by the edge of his hunting knife that he always had with him. All that blood and he had never batted an eye, but this time he felt something. He felt an echo of the pain he inflicted. God damn it, I'm getting soft in my old age, he mumbled. He took another swig of vodka and leaned back, closing his eyes. A loud crash jerked him awake. What the fuck? He exclaimed, rubbing his eyes, he looked at the stairs, thinking that the noise came from the second level.

He stood up, turning off the television, his knees cracking like gunshots. He stumbled a bit as he walked to the stairs, feeling more drunk than he should. His body was used to him drinking on an empty stomach. He slowly ascended the stairs, listening carefully for any sounds out of the ordinary. At the top of the stairs, he turned right towards the bathroom. He crept down the hall, feeling increasingly stupid. He finally stopped, shaking his head at his own foolishness, and strolled to the bathroom. As he stopped and put his hand on the door knob, he nearly let out a scream as something nipped him in the ass.

He flipped around, hand on knife. But the hallway was empty. Snaking his left hand behind him, he was able to turn the knob and open the bathroom door, just enough to squeeze through. He slammed the door shut and sat on the toilet, with the seat down. He leaned back, trying to ignore the stinging bite on his rear. Sleep beckoned him. Action snapped awake. He was sitting in his chair, in the living room, confused and disoriented. Wait, what? He mumbled. I must be drunker than I thought. Looking over at the glass half filled with vodka, he took a drink with a trembling hand.

The pounding on the front door nearly made him drop the glass. Trick or treat, said the muffled cries from outside the door. God damn it! Get out of here, you little bastards! Don roared. Laughter floated through the door, followed by wet thuds. Great, Don thought. Those sons of bitches egg my door. He stood to chase the little bastards off when pain shot up his hip. He forgot all about the vandals as he reached down the back of his pants. Pulling his hand out, he noticed a little blood on his fingers. Staring in disbelief at the crimson wetness, he remembered being nipped by something.

The sounds of a dogfight coming from upstairs lifted the fog clouding his mind. What the hell? He said, turning towards the stairs. As soon as he took a step, the sounds stopped. Like someone threw a switch. Okay, fuck this. Someone is really fucking with me. Don said out loud, feeling a bit comforted by speaking to himself. He picked up his phone and called Dingo. Hey, boss, what's up? Dingo said after a few rings. Don could hear people talking in the background, along with glasses clinking. Don rolled his eyes. Dingo was probably at that damn dive bar he loves so much, the kind where a cockroach is considered a garnish.

Did you bring any dogs over here? Don asked. No, not since Big Bill, Dingo replied, sounding confused. Are you fucking with me? Don growled. What's that? Dingo said, his voice faint as he spoke to someone at the bar. He said some lame joke and a female voice laughed. Don could only imagine what type of woman would find Dingo funny. Dingo had always felt that it was better to score with five twos than with one ten. Sorry boss, what were you saying? I said, are you fucking with me? Don got progressively louder with each word until he was screaming.

Dingo gulped. Um, I don't know what you mean. I would never fuck with you, sir. Okay, you better have everything ready for tomorrow. Don hung up, grinning sourly. There was nothing special planned for tomorrow, and he chuckled over the thought that Dingo would spend all night sweating, thinking he forgot something. Another hit of vodka spread its warmth through his entire body. His mind went back to Big Bill. He felt a tinge of something every time he thought of him. Was it regret? Sorrow? He was not used to feeling things like that, so it was difficult for him to put a finger on it.

Big Bill was a mastiff pit bull German shepherd mix, one of the biggest dogs Don had ever entered into a fighting ring. That dog was the toughest son of a bitch he had ever seen. Vicious and cunning, Bill made a name for himself across the tri-state dog fighting circuit. In fact, the winnings from his fights bought the very house that Don was currently standing in. Bill's reputation was such that eventually, Don had to give crazy odds just to get any action. He started doing handicap matches where Bill had to fight two or even three other dogs at the same time.

A lot of those matches were clusterfucks turning into a free-for-all, which the crowd loved, but other times the opposing dogs concentrated on Bill, who, due to mounting injuries, had an increasingly difficult time winning. For some reason, Don's eyes began to water. Damn dust, he mumbled. Outside of the ring, Bill was the friendliest dog Don had ever encountered. It was like he had a switch with two settings. Friendly goofball or vicious killer. Bill's last fight was still vivid in Don's mind. It was two pits versus Bill. The pit bulls were young and inexperienced, but one latched on to his rear leg and would not let go.

Bill eventually came out on top, but his leg was mangled. There was no coming back from that injury. Don had Dingo dig a grave in the basement and fed Bill a steak laced with sedatives. When the big dog was out, Don Action Jackson slit his throat and dumped him in the grave. He then walked upstairs, not looking back, no matter how much he wanted to. The last thing he heard that night before hitting the bottle hard was Dingo throwing dirt on the grave. The glass began to slip from Don's grip as he was falling asleep.

Echoes of the yelps of pain Bill had let out when that pit bit deep into his thigh, ringing in his ears. He suddenly realized that the sound was coming from inside the house. From the basement. Don leaped up, confused. The yelp of pain turned into a howl of rage that shook the house. Claws hitting the wooden basement stairs could be heard underneath the roar, ending in a loud crash as something huge threw itself against the basement door. Another crash and the beast was in the kitchen, drawing his dagger with trembling hands. Don took a few timid steps forward, the roar still ringing in his ears.

Don stopped dead when Big Bill rounded the corner. Most of his flesh had rotted away, but he still had his eyes that were staring deep into his soul. Don was stunned, unable to move until Bill took a step toward him, with a growl so loud that the windows shook. Unthinking, Don dropped the knife and turned to run. But before taking a step, he froze again. Half a dozen dogs stood between him and the front door. These dogs were translucent, ghost-like. Some had their throats sliced while others had ragged, vicious wounds. Don turned back toward the kitchen and saw that Bill was now within several feet of him.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Good boy, Don stammered. Bill growled louder. It was only business. I didn't mean any harm. Bill's skeletal jaw made him look as if he was smiling, and the smile only grew bigger when Bill leaped at dawn. Parents of trick-or-treaters heard screams coming from the unkempt house at the end of the block. Cell phones came out of pockets, but no one called the police. Deep down, they realized that whatever was happening to the neighborhood bully was likely well deserved. Jack leaned against a crooked fence, running the flat of his cane along the wood, sparks trailing after.

Now wasn't that delightful? His smile was wide, his teeth white and sharp. Some monsters are born, some are built brick by brick in violence and cruelty until there's nothing left inside, but rage. But others, like Dawn, think they are one of the big boys, right up until they run into something, like Big Bill. Daisy let out a low growl. I'm sorry, darling, I almost forgot about you. Go ahead, have some fun. Jack clapped his hands in joy as Daisy ran off towards the Jackson house. She's been such a patient girl. You have to reward good behavior, you know, Jack commented, not all horrors are of your own making.

My dear audience, no, sometimes you stumble unsuspectingly into the terror or perhaps you walk into it willingly. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. You've all had that dream, haven't you? Trapped, nowhere to run, no one to hear your screams. Let's see what happens when the dream becomes a reality. He strolled in silence for a few blocks before stopping by an old run-down house with a couple of young men sitting in a car in front of it. Ah, here we are. Look at these shady characters. Whatever would they be up to? Jack smiled, a wicked gleam in his eye.

Guess they'll find out all about the room. John looked at the run-down house sitting on a corner lot. The lawn was overgrown, and the white paint on the porch was peeling off in long, curling strips. Really? John said, turning to the large man behind the wheel. This is your big score? Stop bitching. You're lucky that Alan is in jail, or your ass would be out there stealing candy from the damn kiddies. Webber growled, pointing at the groups of costumed children roaming the sidewalks. The place is a shithole, John said. We'd be lucky to find anything other than roaches.

Look! Webber leaned in, his tone shifting to the serious one he used only when selling someone on something illegal. I know a guy that works for that doctor drain cleaner outfit. The sewer pipe in the basement of this place got all backed up. They were called out to unclog it. The damn snake got tangled, and while his boss was working on it, he had a look around the basement. He found a hidden room, all filled with jewelry. He didn't have time to grab anything, but said there was some good shit there. John was still unconvinced.

Why isn't he here helping you? This is his score. He's a giant pussy. Hell, I was able to talk him into taking a 10% finders fee, which means he'll basically take anything we give him. What's he going to do, bitch to the cops about it? Webber smirked. Hell, I even offered to throw in some naked pics of my sister just to sweeten the pot. I was going to give him some pics of your sister too, but then I'd have to spend 10 minutes trying to convince him it wasn't proof of Bigfoot. Suppressing a chuckle, John turned back toward the house.

He looked at the cracked picture window and the rotting trim boards surrounding it and thought they would be lucky to find two plates that matched. Fuck it, he decided, as he pulled a kid's plastic Shrek mask down over his face. Let's get it over with. I ain't got nothing better to do tonight. Webber grinned that wild grin that made people question his sanity. He slipped on a cheap Adam West Batman mask and opened the car door. Trying to look casual, John, tall and lean, relaxed against the fender while Webber crouched, pretending to check the front tire but actually scanning the streets.

Once the sidewalk was clear of children and parents, they quickly sprinted to the side of the house, slipping into the shadows created by the streetlights, sliding along the exterior wall toward the rear of the house. They stopped at each dark window to peer in and listen. Seeing and hearing nothing, they reached the back corner. Around it, a flickering light hung above a weathered old wooden door with peeling, dirty yellow paint. A dented screen door lay on a cracked concrete slab that served as the back porch. Webber unscrewed the light bulb just enough so the light went out, while John moved to the other corner of the house and peered around.

Seeing nothing, he gave Webber a nod. The back door was locked. Webber pressed his shoulder against the door, pressure building until a crack sounded and metal clattered inside. Both men checked the street again before easing the door open. A piece of hardware scraped the floor. Webber took out a small flashlight, cupping it to keep the beam low. They were in a 1950s era kitchen. The fridge and stove were ancient and bugs skittered away from the light, making Jack shiver. The basement should be through that door, Webber whispered, shining on a warped door in the corner near a dark hallway.

John nodded before he realized that Webber could not see him in the darkness. Okay, let's go, he said. The old vinyl floor creaking each time they took a step. John opened the basement door, assaulted by the stench of raw sewage. Oh, damn, he gagged. That reeks. Come on, you pussy. It's not that bad, Webber said. Although in the dim light, he looked like he was struggling himself. Jack steeled himself and went down, the stairs creaking loud enough to make him wince. At the bottom, Webber's light swept to a floor drain. Its edges crusted with toilet paper scraps and brown sludge.

Jack groaned and skirted wide, following Webber toward the far wall. A large cabinet stood in the back corner. Webber shone the light at the floor, and John could see where the dust and litter on the ground had been recently disturbed. Putting the flashlight in his mouth, he helped John move the cabinet aside to reveal a narrow door. John opened it, and they stepped inside. The room lit up with bright lights as Webber found the light switch. The room stood in stark contrast to the rest of the house. It was clean, immaculate, and clinical. The room, roughly 15 feet by 6 feet, had rows of glass shelves that lined the walls on both the left and the right, while there was only one shelf on the far wall.

On the side walls, jewelry rested on velvet cushions or porcelain busts. Each piece paired with a photo of a young woman, most in black and white. Some looked like senior portraits, others like modeling headshots. A few showed women sleeping. Those made John's skin crawl. Dude, what the fuck? Webber said, Looks like a damn museum. John just nodded and slowly walked along the wall, stopping every so often to examine a display. He didn't know much about jewelry, but he could tell some were cheap costume pieces, while others had the look of high-end jewelry. Occasionally, he started to reach out to touch a piece that must be worth thousands, but when his hand neared, he could detect some kind of aura radiating from it.

Sorrow and pain flooded his emotions. He would withdraw his hand and study the picture next to it. He found that the women in most of the photos were wearing the piece of jewelry on display. He looked over at Weber and grimaced. Weber was casually pocketing each piece of jewelry on his side of the room. He sometimes picked up a picture of a particularly striking woman before tossing it to the ground. The woman in the portrait already forgotten. John made his way to the lone shelf on the wall opposite the door and looked at the black and white picture of a good looking young man.

In front of the photo were two red roses next to an urn with the inscription My Beloved Ernest. He glanced around to confirm that this was the only picture that wasn't a woman, twice as large as the other portraits and the shelf looked more like a shrine than it did a display. John was just about to turn away when he noticed a folded piece of paper tucked in behind the picture. When the scrap of newspaper was unfolded, the headline Local Serial Killer Executed in Electric Chair jumped out at him. Under the headline was a picture of a man, the same one as in the portrait, being led in chains down a corridor.

A mocking smirk stitched on his face and piercing eyes that seemed to stare deep into John's soul. He stared at the news clipping, mesmerized, until Weber broke the spell. Holy shit, Weber exclaimed. I know this chick, he said, pointing to a picture of a young, attractive blonde woman. My mom went to school with her. This chick was an actress or some shit, starred in a couple of those cheap 80s horror movies. Mom said that she got hooked on heroin and went missing. Rumor is that she fell into the river and drowned. He picked up the earrings displayed in front of the picture.

Taking a closer look, he said, damn, I think she's wearing these earrings in the picture. Weird. He shook his head as he pocketed them. Looking back at the urn, John felt something, but it wasn't the jewelry. It felt dark and chaotic, like a cigar box full of hornets that had been shaken. The maliciousness vibrating, pulsating, waiting to be released on an unsuspecting world. Gasping, John took several steps back, staring wide-eyed at the urn. He looked over at Webber and saw he was walking to him, jiggling his pockets with a wide smile on his face. What did you get, John boy?

Man, I found a ton of good shit. Webber stopped and looked at the shelf that John kept flickering his eyes to. What you got there? I'm not sure, John mumbled. He was about to tell Webber to stay away from the evil thing, but a loud thud drew his attention to the door of the room. An old woman, shriveled and weathered, was standing in the doorway. From the state of disrepair, the house and, more notably, the basement was in. John was surprised to see her well dressed. Her hair was done up in a beehive hairstyle from the sixties, and he could have sworn she was wearing makeup, even though it must have been well past her bedtime.

The sight was jarring against the rot of the house. What, she said in an icy voice, is going on here? Um, ma'am, John stammered, we're with the plumbers you called recently. We were told to check and make sure there were no further issues. The woman just stared at him, her gaze sending shivers down his spine. So, um, we knocked, but no one answered. The boss would get mad if we... John trailed off as he realized that she was now staring past him. John turned and found that Weber had picked up the urn and was studying it.

Leave that alone, the old woman said. Drop it. As she said the word drop, Weber looked up. A blank expression on his face, and he just opened his fingers. The urn seemed to fall in slow motion, turning several times before it hit the ground. It shattered, releasing a cloud of dust. The dust rose through the air, and defying gravity seemed to gather around Weber's head. He inhaled deeply, and the dust seemed to force its way into his nose and mouth. Weber held his breath for a ten count, then began to cough. John looked back at the old woman, and she just stood there, a loving smile on her face.

Confused, he looked over at Weber, who had gotten over his coughing spell, and was now just standing there, a crooked smile on his face, and a dark glint in his eyes. Well, now, how have you been, honey buns? Weber said, with a Kentucky drawl, that he did not have before. The old woman stared at Weber like a teenager in love. Ernest, finally, I knew you would find a way back, she said, her smile threatening to break her face. Of course, darling, old lover boy here would never leave his best girl alone for too long. The tension grew in John as he looked between the other two, each looking longingly at the other.

Well, I'll be leaving and I won't say shit. He edged toward the door. Neither Weber nor the old woman moved or spoke, continuing to stare at each other. After a minute of this, John began to slowly shuffle his way toward the door. Still staring at Weber, the old woman spoke, Ernie, can you do me a favor? For you, anything, including the moon and the stars. She smiled even bigger. Can you take out the trash? Darling, it would be my pleasure, Ernie replied. John heard the metallic click of a knife being opened, and he bolted toward the door.

An arm like a band of steel grabbed him around the throat, and pain, unimaginable pain, shot up through his back. His vision went red, and then black. A few minutes later, Ernest shut the door to the room, and reached his left arm around the old woman. You know how much I hate to leave a mess, but I think I have a good excuse this time, he said, as he kissed the top of her head. Let's go celebrate. We have a lot of work ahead of us. She giggled like a schoolgirl. I have a couple of perfect girls for you to add to the collection, she said, her eyes shining with madness.

He kissed her again, and they walked up the stairs, laughing like two teenagers in love. Sitting on a low stone wall, Jack watched the strange couple exit the house and walk up the street. He applauded politely, each clap echoing unnaturally into the empty night. Bravo! Oh, well done. Three tales of terror, each more delectable than the last. Families shattered, monsters unleashed, and souls gnawed down to marrow. A proper night's entertainment, wouldn't you agree? He leapt down with the grace of a dancer, tipping his hat. But alas, the witching hour wanes, and I must return to the warm embrace of hell.

The Dark Lord does so love his bedtime stories, and tonight I'll have three of the best to whisper in his ear. Jack paused, leaning forward, covertly. His grin stretched wide. Sleep well, my little sinners. Perhaps next year, it will be your tale, I tell. With that, he turned and whistled into the night. Daisy came bounding out of the darkness, her muzzle wet with a crimson liquid. He patted her head and strolled into the mist. With a last crackle of sparks from his cane, they were gone. The curtain is falling now, but I would not rush for the exits.

Tonight, a prank created a legend, a pumpkin curse found a convert, a hunter found a new kind of partner, and one office party ended with a job description that nobody could have imagined. And Jack Scratch, well, he's made his rounds through trick-or-treat streets, counted the predators, admired the monsters, applauded the revenants, and probably added a few names to Hell's hiring list. And don't worry, he'll be back this season with a brand new Halloween horror story. The candy bowls are empty now, the porch lights are going dark. Somewhere a mask is being put away. Somewhere another face is discovering it no longer comes off.

And yet somewhere else, an old-fashioned showman is tipping his hat before the curtain closes. That is Halloween. One long night when the monsters walk beside us, sometimes in costume, sometimes in skin, and sometimes smiling, while they hand you candy. So, my spookies, make sure you're subscribed, because we're bringing you brand new Halloween horrors every single week in October, and of course, every single Wednesday the rest of the year as well. So don't miss it. You need a good scare, like you need a hole in the head. That is, if you're a jack-o-lantern. Until next time, my spookies, thanks for listening.