Horrorbook

by A. R. Braun

  With that she strutted down the street.

  Good God, she’s a sweetheart now. Yeah, right, and a newly-elected politician’s not going to turn out to be a crook.

  Taylor pointed at their pumpkins. “Kids, take her treats out of your buckets.”

  “There’s a lot of candy in here!” Nia cried. “I gotta dig through it?”

  “Yeah, do we?” Nathan asked.

  Jezzy stopped and wheeled on them, pinning Taylor with the evil eye. He did his best to battle the trance-like state that fogged his mind as the fight threatened to drain out of him. Then she likewise glared at Taylor’s wife.

  With a glazed-over look, Stacia turned away from Jezzy’s glare and faced him. “Really, Taylor, we’ve finally met the lady, and she’s kind and generous as all get out. Do you think that’s necessary?”

  Taylor felt two feet tall but tore his gaze from Jezzy’s and fought to stay determined. “It could be a trick.” A vibrato panic dominated his voice.

  “Jesus Krispies.” Stacia shook her head. “She couldn’t hurt a burglar, for God’s sake. Give the lady a break.”

  Taylor wanted to argue, wished with every fiber of his being he could spit the words out, but his speech caught in his throat.

  Just like that, it was decided. The kids would eat all their Halloween candy.

  Taylor sat up straight every time the kids coughed in the other room. On the couch with Stacia in his arms, he watched Bibliography of the Devil, a documentary about serial killers. It was a film based on horror author Miles Macabre’s non-fiction novel. No matter how many times I see this thing, it still freaks me out. Stacia had insisted, and in the typical form of the non-divorced, Taylor aimed to please.

  “Daddy!” Nia cried from the kitchen.

  “Dad!” Nathan echoed.

  Taylor bounded off the couch, running for the kitchen with his wife in tow, just knowing Nia and Nathan had swallowed treats laced with razorblades.

  Yet he found the children unharmed, cookies, apples and candy splayed out of the pumpkin candy holders, their half-eaten marshmallow treats in front of them.

  Nia pointed to the yum-yum with her little finger. “The fake sugar tastes too crunchy.”

  “It’s like chewing a rock,” Nathan said.

  “Don’t eat any more of it!” Taylor picked up what was left of the treats, feeling the outsides. It did have a loamy residue. Why, it looks like small chips of some kind of glass! He plucked a couple off and put them in his mouth, then spit them out in the sink. It tasted bittersweet, she’d coated them with artificial sweetener, all right, the hard bits were so fine one wouldn’t notice unless one was looking for it, but a more curious Halloween gift Taylor couldn’t have found. They were indeed a bit too crunchy.

  “What’s wrong?” Stacia grabbed one out of his hand, rubbing off the exterior and tweaking it between her fingers. “Oh, it’s just sugar, like she said, probably a cheap kind. That’s why it tastes funny.”

  “Geez, Stacia, don’t you ever question anything?”

  “Not always. Unlike you, I’d like to have some friends outside of this family.”

  Taylor walked over and set the remains of the treats inside a plastic baggie. “I’m going to take these over to that rock store tomorrow, the one that sells fine stones, and find out what it really is.”

  Stacia sighed. “Whatever. Paranoid, that’s what you are. Are you going to watch this movie with me or what?”

  Taylor waved her off. “In a minute.” He couldn’t stop looking at the curio. “If I find these laced with poison, I’ll kill her! The kids better not get sick.”

  But Stacia had already walked out of the room.

  In a panic, Taylor faced the children. “You don’t feel ill, do you?”

  They shook their heads and kept on nibbling, only stopping to drink their soda pops.

  “Let me know if you do.” Shoving the baggie into his pocket, Taylor walked into the living room.

  Taylor inched toward YOU MUST GET STONED, the rock store, wanting to find out what was in those treats. Queerly, an ice storm had hit during the night, and he had to walk at a slow pace, determined this would be the year he wouldn’t slip and fall onto the ice. He passed through the glass door of the shop, and the bell clanged. A thin man with round glasses, a mustache and a goatee looked up from his magnifying glass. Counters filled with stones surrounded him: lodestone, rock crystal, Aventurine, Agate, Tiger’s Eye and other rare minerals from all over the world, all with a story to tell if the rocks could only speak.

  The man smiled. “Taylor Marks. Never thought I’d see you in here. Happy All Saints Day.”

  Taylor nodded, ignoring the niceties.

  “Developing a new hobby to kill time while your wife’s, well, being a wife?”

  Taylor chuckled. He’d passed the store dozens of times, never having the desire to drop in until today. He’d gone to high school with the man but couldn’t remember his name for the life of him.

  “Nothing like that.” Taylor stepped up to the counter and pulled out the baggie. “Will you take a look at these for me?”

  The man stuck his hands out. “You don’t remember me?” He sighed. “Well, I wasn’t popular in school. Name’s Sid Hastings. You work at Amalgamated, no? I’ve seen you go in.”

  “Yes. Could tell me what’s in these—”

  “Oh, bringing me treats. My wife could learn a lesson from you.” He inspected them closer. “Hey, these are half eaten.”

  “The creepy witch in my neighborhood gave these to my kids. I just know there’s some kind of stone on the outside. Could you have a look and tell me what it is?”

  Sid opened the baggie and ran his fingers over the edges of the cookies. He looked up. “It does appear calcified. Good eye.” He placed them under the microscope and then frowned. Sid continued to inspect the food. He glanced up again, his face pale. “Can you tell me why there’s rose quartz sprinkled all over these marshmallow treats?”

  I knew it! “I was wondering the same thing.”

  “It’s ground up so fine you’d have to look hard to notice. The kids probably won’t get sick, but I’m at a loss for why she’d do it.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got to go home and call the police. How much do I owe you?”

  Sid waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry this witch ruined your Halloween.”

  Not wanting to be impolite, Taylor pointed at a couple of red-black Tiger’s Eye stones. “Give me these two, will you?”

  Sid nodded, sliding the glass back and placing them into a small, white bag. “On the house.”

  Taylor just looked at him. Ashen-faced, Sid didn’t look well.

  “Tell the cops I’ll back you up on this.” Sid placed the baggie in the white sack also.

  “Thanks, Sid. Hey, sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

  Side waved him off. “Come back anytime.”

  Taylor exited the store, pulling his coat tautly over him as a freezing breeze rifled through his frame. He hurried to the car, forgetting to slow down . . . and his feet went out from under him.

  He dropped the bag. It slid into the sewer drain like a hockey puck rocketing into a goal.

  Taylor’s back and elbows ached and throbbed. Gingerly, he rose, feeling foolish. Nobody stopped to help or to ask if he was all right. Teenagers laughed.

  “Goddamn it! Jesus Christ on a crutch and in a wheelchair!” Taylor crept toward the drain. He was so angry he could’ve spat fire and pissed razors. He peered inside the drain to see if he could retrieve it.

  No sign of the bag.

  There goes my proof.

  Taylor called City of Mowquakwa, and a huge salt truck had parked next to the drain, which they’d opened. Employees in brown work suits searched for his bag in the sewer.

  I just know Jezzy brought the ice storm. She broke out her crystal ball and spell book, bringing this down on my head so I’d slip and fall, losing the evidence. Taylor was sure of it, just as he’d known the sun would come out
this morning.

  Shaking their heads, the workers came out of the sewer.

  “Sorry, sir,” an ape of a man with curly blond hair to the collar and a beard said. “No trace of a bag.”

  Taylor pulled at his own hair. “Son of a bitch! Motherfucker!”

  The worker crossed his arms. “Hey, man, we did the best we could.”

  Taylor nodded, burning with anger. If there was a candidate for spontaneous combustion at the moment, he considered himself at the top of the list. “I understand. Thanks for trying.”

  The man looked at him cross-eyed as Taylor crept toward his car.

  When Taylor pulled into the driveway, he caught his two children, all dressed for winter in caps, snow boots and heavy coats, heading out of the yard. He opened his car door to greet them, but they walked right past him.

  “What, no hello for your old dad?”

  They didn’t answer.

  “Where are you going?”

  They kept on with their slow gait. Like zombies.

  Careful not to fall again, he maneuvered on the ice as if skating like a beginner. “Hey kids, wait up.” Finally catching up with them, he inspected their faces. Their dead-pan expressions disturbed him, their glazed-over eyes staring into oblivion.

  “Are you going to tell me where you’re headed?”

  “To play,” Nia monotoned.

  “With the Morrises,” Nathan said with no emotion.

  “All right. Be home in time for dinner.”

  Without turning around, the children held their right hands up for a goodbye. Shaking his head, Taylor crept toward the front door, ready for some hot chocolate. They’re acting weird. It better not be because of Jezzy’s treats.

  Once inside, he caught Stacia watching a reality show; she turned her lovely head, her mane sweeping around and following her noggin’s movement. “You’re home even earlier than before.”

  “Rose quartz!” He threw his stocking cap on the carpet. “The bitch put ground-up rocks in our children’s treats!”

  “What?” She rose from the black leather couch. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I stopped by GET STONED or whatever it’s called, the rock store, and he put it under the microscope.”

  She scowled. “I’ll call the police.”

  “I’d do it, but I lost the evidence.” He relayed the tale of losing the proof to her.

  Stacia shook her head.

  “Sid at the rock store said he’d back me up though,” Taylor added.

  Stacia put her hands on her hips. “Then call the cops anyway.”

  When the police came, Taylor explained, telling them Sid at the stone store would corroborate his story. The officers asked if the children had been sick. After Taylor answered no, they relayed some unfortunate information to him.

  Sid had died of a heart attack right after Taylor left the store.

  Taylor typed Jezzy Balkenheim into the computer and was given a link for a cult called The Gathering. When he clicked his mouse, he found out it was a local Temple of Set that met at 7:00 p.m. on Friday nights at Jezzy’s house. Online, she used her full name, Jezebel.

  They’d taught him in his Sunday school days that Satan meant “Set,” as in Lucifer being cast down from Heaven and set upon the earth.

  He typed in “rose quartz.” A link for an online encyclopedia came up. When he clicked on it, instead of rose quartz as the header, “Silicon dioxide” stood out in bold at the top of the page. As he scrolled through the information, he found it had no harmful effects unless inhaled, where it could cause damage, especially to children. Taylor breathed a sigh of relief. It actually prevented dementia. A common additive in foods—primarily a flow agent for powdered foods—silicon dioxide was also used in drinking glasses and bottles and could absorb water.

  Taylor clicked on a suspicious-looking link. He was redirected to a satanic site with a fiery pentagram. The site showed how to cast spells, offering printable, word-for-word protection spells, along with passion spells and destruction hexes. His stomach sank as he clicked on a link with the name of the stone.

  Rose quartz, a gem found at new age stores, is used for love spells to cause the possessor of the stone to fall for who sent it. This usually calls for a detailed spell to be cast by the sender, including magickal words invoked over the rock while it’s wrapped in silk, tied with lace and then taken out and delivered to the receiver.

  He put the pieces of the eerie turn of events together. She’d wrapped the marshmallow treats in packages made of silk tied with lace. That hadn’t been cloth, after all. His maleness hadn’t recognized the difference.

  Taylor bolted for the door.

  It didn’t take him long to find Nia and Nathan. They stood motionless on Jezzy’s front lawn, listening to her speak while she gesticulated with her delicate hand. Plumes of smoke rose from the cigarette dangling in her other hand.

  His weren’t the only children in the yard. Every kid from the neighborhood filled the space.

  Panicking, Taylor made his way through the crowd, parting them with care. They sure weren’t moving out of his way of their own accord.

  Taylor put his hands on Nia and Nathan’s shoulders. “Kids, let’s go.”

  Glassy-eyed, they looked up at him, cocking their heads to the side.

  “How come?” Nia asked.

  “Never mind,” Taylor answered. “Move!”

  Nathan’s face grew beet-red. “No! I’m listening to Miss Jezzy!”

  “That’s Jezebel!” He turned to the witch, heat rising to his face. “She worships the devil in her house.”

  Jezebel puffed on the cigarette and blew a few smoke rings, poking a manicured nail through one as she laughed. “So what?”

  Taylor pointed her out with his muscular arm. “You stay away from my children! I’m warning you!”

  Squinty eyed, she flipped him the bird.

  “Let’s go, kids. Double-time. Now!”

  Taylor dragged them out of the yard. Nia and Nathan fought him the whole way, keening louder than they ever had before, screaming, kicking, biting, as they tried to pull away.

  By the time he got them home and sent them to their rooms, he was out of breath and on the verge of losing his cool. He shook it off and headed for the comfort of his wife’s loving arms.

  Taylor called every parent in the neighborhood, and none of them seemed concerned. This caused him to worry. Do they all worship Satan? Maybe they’re in her coven.

  Supper was quiet and somber, and that was putting it mildly. Taylor had demanded the children have nothing to do with Jezebel. If they came within fifty feet of her house, he would ground them for a month.

  Nia looked up at her father. She had the face of an angel, positively glowing. “Daddy?”

  He drained a glass of wine. “Yes, pumpkin?”

  “Miss Jezzy just wants to be our friend.”

  Nathan’s eyes brightened, his eyebrows rose and he smiled. “She’s a real nice lady, Dad. Miss Jezzy says a ‘coven’. . .” He glanced at Nia. “Is that the word?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “She says ‘A coven is the best club there is. You get to do whatever you want, and it’s not stuffy and boring like our lives.’”

  Stacia frowned at him, as if to say Do something.

  He rose from the table, rattling the silverware. “I thought I made myself clear! Do you want the belt?”

  “But Dad!” the children cried.

  “Don’t. Test. Me.” Taylor removed it from the loops.

  Nathan lowered his head. “Oh, all right.”

  Wide-eyed, Nia blanched. There it was, that look, the frightened gaze a child gave a madman who’d punished her for no reason, or so she probably thought. He could’ve lived the rest of his life without seeing that.

  Taylor put his belt back into the loops and sat. “Glad you finally got my point.” He drew in a deep breath. “We will not consort with a witch in this household.”

  “Too bad.” Nia’s eyes pierce
d him.

  “Excuse me, young lady?”

  “Nia,” Stacia chided, “don’t talk to your father like that.”

  “No, no, no, I’m interested in Nia’s little ‘revelation.’ Just what do you mean by ‘Too bad’?”

  She eyed her green beans. “You’ll see.”

  Nia got the belt.

  Cursed by the idiot box and the dufus stick that controlled it, Taylor sat through a Miles Macabre marathon on Syfy. He’d already seen most of these. He and Stacia reclined on the couch under a fleece blanket. He’d yawned through Centaur for two hours, preferring The Destruction of Lorelei because he hadn’t seen it. Now, as Depopulation: Beast-Style blared, another flick he’d already endured, he drifted off to sleep.

  In his dream, Jezzy rushed around the kitchen with red walls and black pentagram candle holders with black candles, putting herbs in a boiling cauldron on the stove. She put on her oven mitt, snickered and pulled out a baby cooked golden brown on a cookie sheet.

  Taylor’s eyes snapped open, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, the nightmare drifting from his mind like the trails of burning embers. His rest became fitful. He kept waking to find Stacia unconscious on his arm. Being sleep-deprived, Taylor couldn’t find the energy to get up and tell her to come to bed. He laid his head down and shut his eyes.

  Yet he couldn’t sleep. Stacia snored, the television flashing on her face like a strobe light. He clicked the TV off, once again considering waking her and telling her to come to bed.

  In the window, a full moon hung in the star-filled, blackened sky.

  Two faces peered in at him.

  Shock brought him fully awake, but he couldn’t rise. Taylor coughed up phlegm and lung butter. He had no energy, and his head pounded with a migraine from Hell.

  Was that gas he smelled?

  Coughing, Stacia woke, retching and throwing up onto the carpet. She struggled to breathe for a few seconds, then sucked in a deep breath and rested her head on the pillow, closing her eyes and clasping her forehead.