Again, Hannah couldn’t put her finger on what was different—Tilly ate her meals, and when Hannah asked the staff at school if they’d noticed her not eating lunch she was told that everything was fine: Tilly was happy and productive, and eating well with her friends in the canteen at lunchtime.
And yet the weight was falling off her. Her fingers were long and bony, the knuckles large protuberances dotted along pale stalks; she complained of being cold, and her cheekbones had actual hollows underneath. What healthy eight-year-old had hollow cheeks?
A few days after Tilly had tried to sit Jack by the TV she’d had to take him and the cloak back to school, ready for “dress rehearsal” for the Parade. She’d come home that night with no appetite, looking as if she were about to cry. Hannah had tried to find out what was wrong, but all she’d say was that she was tired. No amount of wheedling or coercing had got anything more out of her than that, and Hannah had given up before risking seriously upsetting Tilly.
Then, on the Monday before the Parade (Halloween was on a Friday this year, a fact Hannah had noted with some disquiet), Hannah was approached by Annie’s mum as she waved Tilly goodbye. She had her coat pulled tight around her against the biting wind, and her hair looked as if it never saw a brush. She also looked scared.
“Can I talk to you?” she said, and looked as if she expected the answer to be no.
“Of course,” Hannah said, and forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Hannah.”
The woman smiled, and put out her hand. “I’m Sarah, Annie’s mum.”
“Hello,” Hannah said, and shook her hand. It was like shaking a wet fish. “How’s Annie?”
“She’s fine, worrying a bit about the Parade on Friday. I’m sure Tilly is, too.”
“She seems to be, not quite sure why.”
Sarah stared into Hannah’s eyes, her own brown eyes serious. “Aren’t you?”
Taken aback, Hannah shook her head, trying to laugh it off. “Well no, there’s no reason she should be, is there?”
“I wanted to warn you,” Sarah said, placing her hand on Hannah’s arm. “Before Friday.”
Hannah opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by Mrs. Smythe, as ever busily patrolling the playground before closing the gates until home time.
“Is there a problem, ladies?” Her tone was icy, her expression stern as she saw the two women standing close together.
“No,” Sarah shot back quickly, “of course not. We were just … getting to know each other—the girls are friends, after all.”
Mrs. Smythe flashed a smile, gone in an instant. Hannah just had time to notice how white her tiny teeth were. How pointed. “Well yes, they are,” she agreed. “Lovely girls, the pair of them. Now if I could just close the gates?”
She was ushering them out of the playground, moving forward relentlessly and giving them no option but to step back until they were outside the school grounds. The gates clanged shut behind them, and Mrs. Smythe turned a heavy key in the lock. “Right then,” she said, “see you tonight, ladies! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” With a laugh, she directed that last at Sarah, then turned and marched briskly back toward the school entrance. The doors slammed shut behind her, leaving the two women standing alone on the outside, wondering what had just happened.
Sarah was leaving. Whatever she’d wanted to say, Mrs. Smythe had made her think better of it.
“Wait,” Hannah said. “I thought you wanted to warn me about something?”
Sarah stopped then, her expression pained. “I did. It’s just … she knew, didn’t she? She knew what I was doing. And I don’t want… .”
Hannah was alarmed now. “Don’t want what?” she asked. “What did she know?”
Sarah shook her head, turning around to stare at the windows. “She’ll see. I have to go.”
She turned away and started to move off, and Hannah only just caught the whispered: “Walk behind me, I’ll tell you when we’re out of sight.”
The two women started to walk away from the school, Hannah crossing over to the other side of the road so that no one could think they were chatting. She wondered what Sarah was so scared of, and what was wrong with them talking anyway. As she turned the corner, she stopped and leaned against the wall, watching to see what Sarah would do.
Annie’s mother looked both ways, then crossed the road at an angle that would take her away from the view of anyone looking out of the school. When she was sure the street was empty, she crossed again and stood by Hannah. “You live near here, don’t you?”
“Just up the road,” Hannah answered, and gestured toward her house. “The one with the red front door, see?”
Sarah nodded. “I’ll go round the block first, then knock on your door.”
Then she was gone, walking swiftly down the street, head down in case anyone spoke to her. Hannah watched for a few seconds, then made her way home, shutting the front door loudly behind her and leaning against it.
She was in the kitchen making tea when the knock came, less than five minutes later. Sarah was inside the house almost as soon as Hannah had got the front door open, slamming it shut behind her.
“Tea?” Hannah asked.
Sarah shook her head. “I can’t stay. If anyone finds out I told you, I’ll lose her anyway.”
“Lose who?” Hannah asked, shocked at the fear evident in the woman’s eyes.
“Annie. I’ve already lost her brother. I won’t lose her too.”
“What do you mean, you lost her brother? How?” Hannah was starting to wonder whether the woman was seriously deranged, and thinking about ways to get her out of the house without incident, or who she could call for help.
Sarah laughed. “I know. I look mad, and sound worse. But I did, I promise.” She turned around and stared through the front door’s peephole, scanning the street outside. “Your kitchen’s at the back, isn’t it?”
Hannah nodded.
“Should be safe there,” the woman answered, and Hannah could only follow as she scurried down the hall and into the warmth of the kitchen. Once there, she pulled the blinds down and shut the door behind them before sinking onto a kitchen chair and resting her head in her hands as she leaned on the table.
Hannah inched forward, reluctant to touch her even though she was clearly in distress. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” she asked, her voice gentle, but was rewarded with a shake of the head and a muffled sob. She left the woman alone, then, and sat on a chair at the end of the table, watching as Sarah pulled herself together. She didn’t think she was dangerous, but you could never be sure.
Finally, Sarah pulled a dirty white cotton handkerchief out of a pocket and blew her nose loudly, sniffing as she crumpled it up and put it back. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, still sniffing furiously, and finally stared at Hannah as if daring her to make fun.
“What’s the matter?” Hannah asked. “You can’t just give hints of something awful and then not say anything, you have to tell me!”
Sarah glared at her. “Wasn’t hinting,” she said. “Told you the truth.”
“You told me some of it, maybe. Barely anything, really.”
“All right!” Sarah gathered herself up, frowning, and whispered, “Halloween’s different here. It’s because of the house.”
Hannah flinched and turned involuntarily to stare in the direction she knew the “haunted house” to be. “The house?”
“They say it’s haunted, and it is, but it’s only the ghosts of the children it’s taken. They don’t mean any harm.”
Hannah was horrified. “Children?”
“They go missing every year,” Sarah whispered, as if afraid she was going to be overheard and reported. “It’s the Halloween Parade.”
“The Parade?” Part of Hannah was aware she was simply parroting what Sarah was saying, and that she sounded like an idiot, but she was lost for words. What did you say to something so crazy? Did you humor the speaker, go for help, what?
Sar
ah sighed. “I know you think I’m mad. Perhaps I am mad, I don’t know anymore. But it’s true. The kids do the Parade every year, and one always goes missing.”
“Missing?” There she went again, repeating what the other woman had said.
“Tell me,” Sarah said urgently, leaning forward to grasp Hannah’s hands. “Does she have the jack-o’-lantern? The old turnip thing?”
Hannah nodded, feeling all the warmth drain out of her as she did so.
“Has it moved yet?”
Hannah shook her head, and now she could feel the tears welling up. She was sitting here, listening to some lunatic and, to cap it all, now she was going to cry. Finally she got herself together enough to get out, “I … I’m not sure!”
“Then maybe it’ll miss Tilly out. I hope so.” Sarah glanced around, as if suddenly fearful that it was here, listening to them. “Where is it?”
“School,” Hannah answered. “They wanted it back for a dress rehearsal.”
“Oh, God.”
Neither woman spoke for a time, each staring at the other in dread. Hannah wondered which of them were mad, or if perhaps they both were.
“I have to go,” Sarah said finally. She looked visibly lighter now that she’d unburdened herself, whereas Hannah was sure she looked a million years older. “Maybe it’ll be all right.”
“They need helpers for the Halloween Parade, don’t they? I asked Tilly, but she never said any more,” Hannah asked suddenly, gripping Sarah’s sleeve as she stood up. “I could help?”
Sarah nodded. “That’s right, they do. If you can keep her close… .”
Then she turned and was gone. “Good luck,” she said, over her shoulder. “I hope I’m wrong.”
Hannah stared after her as the front door slammed once more. The house seemed immeasurably colder all of a sudden, and she shivered. She stood and went back to the living room, wanting to look out of the window, and stopped short in the doorway as a scream caught in her throat.
The jack-o’-lantern smiled at her agreeably from the coffee table, not frowning now. It was happy.
When Hannah collected Tilly from school that evening she tried to find Mrs. Smythe, dragging the girl along with her while she looked.
“But why do you want to see her?” Tilly asked, worried. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, love. I just want to volunteer, that’s all.” It was starting to rain, and the sky was iron-gray, whipped into scudding clouds by the rising wind. Hannah shivered, and bent to pull up Tilly’s hood.
Mrs. Smythe appeared out of nowhere, frowning. “Goodness, Tilly looks freezing! Shouldn’t you be taking her home?”
“I … I wanted to volunteer,” Hannah stammered. “For the Halloween Parade.”
“For the Parade?” Mrs. Smythe looked stunned.
“To help,” Hannah went on. “You know, be a helper.” She stared down at her daughter and inspiration struck. “Tilly gets nervous. I could walk with her.”
“Mu-um!” Tilly was dragging on her hand, eager to get her away from school and stop the embarrassment.
Mrs. Smythe smiled, an unpleasant expression on that vapid face. It lent her a malignancy that Hannah hadn’t noticed before—that smile said she knew what Hannah was doing, and it wouldn’t do any good. “Of course,” she said. “If you’d like to walk with Tilly that’s absolutely fine. I’ll see you on Friday, at home-time,” she said, ushering them both toward the gates. “Get out of the cold now,” she said. “Take Tilly home.”
Hannah nodded and muttered a “thank you,” but Mrs. Smythe had already got them outside the gates and locked them out. She stared out at them and grinned, suddenly, and Hannah was forcibly reminded of the way a snake could spread its mouth wide when it wanted to swallow something.
“Come on, Mum!” Tilly was dragging her homeward, obviously mortified at her mother’s actions.
Hannah said nothing more, just took Tilly home and started dinner in a lonely kitchen. Tilly had stormed upstairs and slammed her bedroom door shut as soon as they were inside. The rain was still hammering down, running down the windows in sheets; it made the sullen atmosphere inside the house even gloomier.
As she stood at the stove, mindlessly stirring a pan of beans, Hannah found herself wondering if all this was real, or if she was locked in a padded room somewhere, howling her loss in vain at the walls. She heard Tilly moving across the hall upstairs, followed by the slam of the bathroom door, and wiped her eyes. It was only a few days until Friday. She’d find out soon enough.
Friday dawned bright and clear, but cold. The blue sky held the promise of ice later on, and Tilly had moaned loudly at the bright red hat and scarf her mother had made her wear. Hannah had brooked no argument, confident Tilly would be easily recognizable in the dark. She waved her daughter off with a smile, and nodded a greeting to Mrs. Smythe in return to her own, then she went home to prepare.
She didn’t mean to be separated from her child—not tonight, not ever. She went through the items laid out on the kitchen table and nodded her satisfaction. There was a torch, small enough to fit in her coat pocket but still powerful; spare batteries, and a knife—its blade maybe three inches long but slim, sharpened to within an inch of its life. Hannah was pretty confident that, should someone try and take Tilly, she wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Tilly was all she had left, and no one was going to hurt her.
The day passed slowly, but finally it was time to leave for the Halloween Parade. Hannah locked the door behind her, hoping they’d both be back later, the Parade over for another year.
The school was eerily quiet as she approached, its windows dark as they watched. Mrs. Smythe was waiting for her at the gate, a look on her face Hannah couldn’t decipher.
“Come along,” she said, “Tilly’s waiting for you.” She turned on her heel, her footsteps echoing her way up the corridor, disappearing through a door most of the way down on the right. Hannah hesitated before walking into the room after her, wondering why it was so quiet. Then she stepped inside, and understood.
The room was empty save for Tilly and Mrs. Smythe, the latter holding Tilly firmly by the wrist as she stared expectantly at Hannah.
“Where are the other children?” Hannah whispered.
“They’re outside, waiting. Here you are.” With that, she pushed a silent Tilly forward, proffering the child’s hand.
Hannah grasped her daughter’s hand, shocked by how cold it was.
“Tilly?”
The child said nothing, but Hannah was relieved to feel her grip tighten on her mother’s hand.
Hannah looked up at Mrs. Smythe. “Why isn’t she talking?”
The teacher smiled. “All part of the Parade, my dear. She’s under strict instructions not to utter a word until she reaches the house and hands over the jack-o’-lantern.”
“Hands it over?”
Again, that nod, impatient this time. “To the Keeper of the Flame.” Then she was gone, as if that answered everything.
Hannah straightened up, adjusting the black cloak Tilly was wearing to try and keep her warm. Was she wearing makeup? Her face was bone-white, her eyes sunken into dark hollows. Her mouth was turned down, and Hannah didn’t know if that was makeup or Tilly was just scared. “C’mon, kiddo,” she whispered, “let’s get this over with so we can go home.”
Tilly followed her without argument, holding her hand tightly. Hannah found herself impressed at how far she was taking the role. Then they were outside, following a straggly line of kids in Halloween costumes, all eerily silent.
At least the rain had stopped. The night was as cold as Hannah had feared, and she shivered, but was surprised to see that none of the children seemed to be affected. They walked for what felt like miles, and Hannah realized that she didn’t know where they were anymore. These streets were narrower than the ones she was familiar with, their surfaces slick with something darker than rain, the buildings old and ramshackle, and there was a smell, thick and dank, as if something dead were nearby.
It wasn’t Tilly. The creature walking beside her had no flesh that she could see—its eyes were nothing more than hollows that somehow managed to be empty and threatening at the same time. Its face was a sickly off-white, marked in places as if its features had been hewn, not grown. The black cloak flapped over a body that was barely more than suggested, clad all in black that hid any identifiable detail, rather than Tilly’s familiar school uniform.
Hannah tried to free her hand, but the creature just kept walking and wouldn’t let go. She was forced to maintain her pace and stay in the procession, her mind racing. This couldn’t be real. She was holding Tilly, not some monster, and when the procession was over she’d get her daughter to take off that damn costume and they could go home.
Hannah staggered blindly on, and at some point the roads became the ones she knew again. When she looked down, she saw that now she walked alone, and in her hand she held a stick with the jack-o’-lantern attached, nothing more. She groaned, praying that she was hallucinating, and recognized Tilly’s teacher, Mrs. Smythe, when she turned around and started to laugh.
Finally, their destination came into view—the “haunted house.” Its windows were ablaze with light, and the street leading up to it was lined with people. Hannah recognized several of the parents from Tilly’s class, and standing alone apart was Sarah, an arm held protectively around a terrified Annie as she held her back from the front of the crowd. Sarah couldn’t meet her eyes.
Then the children ahead of her started to enter the house, and Hannah began to cry. When it was her turn, finally, she stood in the open doorway and saw … nothing. The children that had gone before were nowhere to be seen, and Mrs. Smythe was sitting halfway up the rotting staircase, a robe of some kind covering her considerable bulk.
The Mammoth Book of Halloween Stories: Terrifying Tales Set on the Scariest Night of the Year! Page 17