by Mark Kasniak
“I wanna go to Disney World!” the little girl whined. “Why did you steal from me?”
“Just go away!” shouted the witch as she slammed the door.
The witch then went back to the kitchen and grabbed the small plastic bottle which contained the pills that she’d been taking. She read its label as fast as she could, looking for anything that might say that if she took too many, she might experience bad dreams, or hallucinations, or delusions, or whatever.
There was nothing.
The witch put down the bottle of pills and then ran her nervous, sketchy hands through her hair pulling on it at its roots. This is crazy, she thought. Just a couple of brats trying to get a rise out of me, that's all.
“We just want to know why,” a little voice said coming from the living room directly in front of her. “Why did you take our money?” questioned the little voice, and attached to it was a small girl, diminutive, frail, and just as ashen as the children who were outside had been.
“I couldn't get my dialysis, and my kidneys failed as a result,” the little girl said.
“How did you get in my house?” the witch cried out in fear, her voice running away from her. “I'm calling the police,” she then said as she opened a kitchen drawer pulling out a large knife.
“Are you going to tell them what you did?” asked the little girl.
“I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!” yelled the witch, and then she raced to the other side of the kitchen in search of the cordless phone that sat in its cradle at the end of the counter. She picked it up and immediately began pressing the buttons for 911 even before she heard a dial tone. The witch put the phone to her ear, and whispered to herself, “Come on... come on, come on, come on…,” as she waited for emergency services to pick up on the other end.
“How come I couldn't go to space camp?” a voice suddenly on the other end of the line asked.
“What?” uttered the witch pulling the phone away from her ear, she then looked at it as if it were broken.
“I was supposed to go to space camp before I died of leukemia, and you took that from me. You spent the money that’d been meant for me on a fur coat. Why?”
“Because it's cold in the winter, and I like to dress in style, that's why,” the witch sardonically spoke into the receiver before slamming the phone back down into its cradle.
“You took my liver,” another ghostly boy said from behind her, and she spun around wielding the knife before her. “You took my liver, and I died from blood poisoning,” he accused, pointing an outstretched bluish finger at her.
“Leave me alone!” the witch screamed at the boy. “All of you... leave me alone!” she cried as she shakily held the knife outwardly.
“I wanna go to Disney World,” the little girl who was outside, but now indoors, whined as she stood next to the other little girl, who mysteriously materialized in the living room.
“I want my heart,” the boy who had first knocked on the door said as a malaise that was hovering next to the two little girls filled the room, the boy from the outdoors appearing from out of nowhere in its mystical haze.
“I want my trip to the Grand Canyon,” a fourth child called out appearing in the living room with the others.
“Give me back my trip to space camp,” the little voice over the phone said stridently as if the phone suddenly turned itself on to its loud-speaker setting.
“Give me back my medicine,” a new voice demanded as another child appeared from the mist to join the others.
“Go AWAY...,” the witch screamed hysterically.
“I want my liver,” the little boy, no longer on the phone, but standing behind her said. “I want my liver.”
“Can I go to Hawaii now?” asked a new girl flashing into existence at the edge of the fog.
“Get away from me.... Get away from me... ALL OF YOU!” the witch yelled to the children as she wielded the knife out before her.
The witch then slowly backed away from the kids, careful to keep her knife aimed at them the entire time.
“M-My Keys,” she babbled to herself as she searched the outsides of her pockets for them. “Upstairs... they must be upstairs,” she whispered as she shifted her gaze to the staircase.
Quickly she moved, but the children stayed where they were. She then began climbing the stairs two at a time until she had reached the top. When the witch stepped into her bedroom, she looked around frantically.
“Where are they… where are they...,” she said as she hurried around the room checking the nightstand and the top of her dresser where she would have commonly left them, but to no avail, they were missing.
“Come on, COME ON...,” the witch then cried as she began throwing the blankets from her bed thinking that they may have fallen from her pocket when she had lain down after coming home from work earlier that day.
“Are you looking for these?” an eerie little voice said from behind her.
The witch spun around to see the ghost of a girl standing behind her. She was just as white and transparent as the others and her eyes appeared as void of life and as black as oil. She stood before the witch with an outstretched arm and at the end of her fingertip hung the witch’s car keys.
“Give me those!” the witch commanded while jabbing her knife forcefully in the air towards her.
“I don't want what doesn't belong to me,” the ghostly little girl told the witch. Her translucent body fading in and out of the fog that began filling in around her feet.
The witch stepped forward, one arm cocked back ready to lunge forward with a piercing stab, the other reaching out for the keys.
“You just stay right there now,” the witch ordered the girl, “No sudden movements, alright?”
The girl did as she’d been told.
The witch grabbed the keys from the girl’s hand, then began making her way inch-by-inch around the child heading towards the door.
“Can I have my medicine now?” the girl asked, “I can't breathe without my medicine.”
“I don't have your medicine,” the witch told her sounding disdainful. “I never had your medicine.”
“But you stole the money that was meant for my medicine. Money for medicine my mama couldn't afford because she’s only a maid. I gave you what you wanted back… Why can't I have what you took from me back?”
“You're dead, kid,” the witch said, shaking her head sympathetically at the girl. “You're dead, can't you see that... The medicines not going to do you any good anymore, so just go away.”
The little girl just stared at the witch but remained unemotional, silent. Quickly, the witch turned away from her to begin heading for the stairs and ultimately the front door. At the edge of the top of the stairs, though, she stopped before making her way down, peering over towards Jenna's room. She had forgotten all about Jenna, who she figured by now was either still sound asleep in her bed or dead, murdered by these spirits. The witch fleetingly thought about going into the room and grabbing her daughter from her slumber, wrapping her up in one of the coverlets and running out of the house together. But, ultimately, the witch shook her head, mumbling, the hell with her.
When the witch turned to make for the stairs the children were unexpectedly there, dozens of them encompassing the entire flight of the staircase, their mouths agape exposing their sharp, pointed, razor-like teeth.
The witch lost her balance upon seeing them, slipping off the first run of the staircase when she saw the malevolent spirits standing there so very close and reaching for her with their claws. She didn't even have time to scream before she was already on her way down, falling and passing through the mist that made up the children’s presence, dispersing it like it was nothing more than smoke being exhaled. She put out her arms to break her fall and protect her face. But, as she tumbled the knife she’d been carrying in her right hand shifted and pointed back on her when her hand struck the hard, wooden staircase and her wrist bent back. The knife embedded itself in her, having caught her chin’s underside when the w
itch slammed down forcefully upon the staircase.
She slid down to the next step, and the knife drove itself deeper into her chin. She then hit the step after that and the knife pierced fully through her jaw and into her tongue. The next step pushed it even further up into the roof of her mouth.
The children disappeared into vapor as she continued to tumble and by the third to last step of the staircase the knife was staunchly working its way up through the witch’s jaw inching its way closer to its hilt. Soon it completely severed her tongue and made its way into her sinuses. With the pressure put on the knife from being slammed into the second to last step, the knife began cutting into her brain. With the last step, it entered her brain fully. Then, when the witch had finally hit the floor of the landing, the knife buried itself wholly in her skull like it had entered into its protective sheath. By the time it finished it had severed her brain in two, only stopping because its hilt had finally reached her jaw bone.
The witch lay dead at the bottom of the stairs, her blood flowing freely from out the gaping hole created at the base of her chin like somebody had left a tap turned on. Her crimson liquid beginning to pool on the white tile floors like spilled paint.
From up at the top of the stairs, the sounds of a bedroom door could be heard slowly creaking open. Behind the door stood Jenna, sleepy-faced and peering out down the hall after having been awakened when her mother plunged down the stairs. Jenna then tipped-toed out of her room making her way to the very edge of the staircase where she then rubbed the cobwebs from her eyes and waited for her vision to adjust to the light before heading down.
Halfway down the steps, she noticed her mother's body at the base of the stairs and she stared at it. Jenna took a deep breath before continuing to head down being careful not to step on her mother’s corpse as she slipped past. When she hit the floor, she made a quick little leap over the crimson pool of blood, its irony smell reminding her of liver and onions a favorite of her father’s. The very thought of food began making her hungry.
The spaghetti and meatballs still sat atop the stove, locked away in their plastic containers, and Jenna grabbed herself a plate, filled it high before popping it into the microwave, hitting several buttons and managing to turn it on. She then sat at the kitchen table eating her very late dinner and enjoyed every bite of it before heading back to bed.
“Darn... as much as I hate to admit it… but, that was a pretty good story, Murray,” April said approvingly.
“Yeah, that was pretty good,” agreed Henry, “maybe even the best one so far. But you're still a jerk, Murray.”
“YE-ah, yair sill a yerk, Merreee,” Tilly repeated.
“Ugh... what did I tell you about talking, Tilly?” Murray said with an air of superiority. “Thank God we don't have to listen to any story come out of you tonight.”
“Oh, stuff it, Murray,” Ally said in a raised voice scolding him once again. “Don't get all high and mighty because you told a decent story. It's not like it was the best one here tonight.”
“Yes, it was,” Murray retorted.
“No... it wasn't,” Ally quipped. “I still have to go.”
“Oh, this ought to be good,” Murray grumbled. “What better way to cap off the evening than with a story about ponies and rainbows and magic wishes coming true. Yeah, that's really going to top my hair-raising tale and put an exclamation point on tonight.”
Just then the jack-o’-lanterns heard the old man down at the end of the driveway asking the old woman to grab him another beer. She had been on her way up to the house to get more candy for the remaining trick-or-treaters that may arise.
“You've had enough beer already,” the old woman said, calling back to the old man. “Besides, it's getting late and Halloween will be over soon, anyway. The kids on the street are already starting to dwindle.”
“All the reason to have one more beer!” whined the old man.
“No!” shouted the old woman from the porch as she stood next to the jack-o’-lanterns, who were trying desperately not to give themselves up by laughing.
“Ah... you're no fun,” said the old man throwing a rueful hand up in the air in a show of frustration. “You say you’re fun... But you are no fun.”
“Well, now that he's cut off, he should settle down and be just about done for the evening,” Henry said in a low voice once the old woman ducked into the house.
“Yeah, it looks like he's already settling down to pass-out,” April added and the rest of the jack-o’-lanterns then glanced towards the end of the drive to see the old man giving into head nods. His noggin loosely rolling back and forth and around on his shoulders like it was on a swivel.
“Maybe we should finish up too, then?” said Henry. “Ally, I believe it was your turn.”
“Yep, Aweez urn,” Tilly confirmed.
“Tilly!” shouted Murray derisively.
“Shhutt Up! Meriey,” Tilly responded. “Yorah-up, Ah-wee.”
“Thank you, Tilly, I'll do just that...,” Ally said. “Now who is it that needs to pick my character?”
April stated, “I haven't picked one yet, I'll go.”
Just then the old woman came back out on the porch with the remaining candy she had left for the trick-or-treaters. The jack-o’-lanterns remained silent as the old woman eased her tired and arthritic body down the steps of the front porch before making her way over to the old man who was already busy snoring away in his chair.
“Okay... it looks like we might have time for one more so make it a good one, Ally,” April said, still using a low tone as if the old woman was still right next to them on the porch. “Your character will be... will be...” April then paused for a long moment, and just before Murray was going to say something to her, she started in again, “Oh, my god... it's him.”
“It is who?” asked Henry.
“Him!” April exclaimed. “Over there... across the street—wearing the clown suit.”
“Oh, my, I think it is him,” Henry concurred.
“Yeh, ieh-isz,” Tilly agreed. And, this time Murray didn't say a word to her about speaking.
“I'd know that wicked smile of his anywhere, we should do something,” Henry demanded.
“Like what?” Murray asked earnestly. “What could we possibly do now? Besides, that was years ago. None of us are even sure of what he may look like anymore. We probably have the wrong guy. You should just go on with your story, Ally. Let's just get this night over with.”
The jack-o’-lanterns grumbled amongst each other, but ultimately they knew Murray was right. Finally, Ally agreed, saying, “Fine. I will go on with my story.”
“His name is Alan Monroe but some kids know him as a clown, others a magician. We knew him as a cowboy.”
Alan Monroe had always had a thing for Halloween. Maybe, it was the candy or the dressing up, but Alan didn't think so. Deep down, Alan had always known what it was. It was death. It was the one day a year where it’s been said that the dead could come back to roam the Earth.
It as well just so happened to be the one day a year that Alan thought he could act out his disgustingly, depraved thoughts without feeling guilty about them. To Alan, Halloween was nothing more than a free pass. A pass he would get once a year that would allow him immunity to let his inner desires run wild and he could torment the world.
Alan had always been a runt as a child because of his weakened immune system. He was a foot short for his age and where other children were able to go outside and play on colder days, Alan had to stay indoors for fear of coming down with pneumonia. It was an ailment he had a knack for contracting which had landed him in the hospital several times before.
As Alan sat forlornly at his bedroom window watching the other children play hide-and-go-seek or two-hand touch football in the street, he had to settle for being a distant spectator.
And, when the neighborhood children would eventually catch on to Alan watching them from his perch high in his second-story window, they would give him the finger or
stick out their tongues at him and shout obscenities his way.
Things weren't much better for Alan even when he’d be allowed to go outside. He would offend have to sneak around the neighborhood and not be seen for fear of being bullied and ostracized.
Not being accepted by the other children only made Alan turn inward to escape. Escape from his lousy body. Escape from his imprisoning bedroom. Escape from his never-ending boredom. As the years passed, Alan's fantasies became an outlet for him. They became a way for him to imagine himself as someone else, someone powerful, strong, and courageous. It also allowed him to be somebody cruel, mean, and vengeful.
Alan committed his first murder when he was only twenty-years-old. He had drowned a ten-year-old boy named Colin Matthews in the creek not far from his house after he'd smacked little Colin on the head with a brick. At the time, the time of year happened to be winter, and when the police found Colin's body under the ice... they determined wrongly that it was an accident. Putting on their report that, Colin had slipped on the ice, hitting his head on the frozen ground before slipping down into the water and drowning.
The close call with getting caught scared and thrilled Alan at the same time, and from that moment forward, he knew he needed to be more careful.
Over the years since that first murder, Alan had continued in his sickening downward spiral into insanity. He had convinced himself that by killing his victims on Halloween—Devils’ Night—he was somehow not responsible for his actions. That, the killings, he would partake in would somehow be out of his control because it was Halloween and therefore not his fault.
Approaching this Halloween, Alan Monroe had picked up the clown costume that he decided he would go as this All Hallows Eve from a local party store. He figured dressing up like a happy clown would be a good lure that would attract children to him, plus the make-up would work well at disguising his face.
His plan was simple, just to mingle in with the local kids as they made their way down the streets trick-or-treating. Then, when he had the children’s attention during the magic tricks he would perform for them, he would quickly slip a piece of his poison-laced candy into their bags. He made sure that it was always something good, too, something children always wanted to eat first so he could maximize his kills.