Harvest Moon

by James A. Moore

  Jeremy nodded. “I don’t know if I did or not. I’m sweating too much in this stupid costume.”

  They sat where they were for a while, neither of them quite ready to move just yet.

  Melissa sighed. “So, you know we have to haul ass out of here, right?”

  “I’m thinking maybe, yeah.” Jeremy looked around the area and shivered. “I’m thinking maybe Texas or Alaska would be better places.”

  “Well, I can think of one little problem.”

  Jeremy nodded. “You mean like not knowing where we are?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Guess we better start walking.” He looked up at the full moon and nodded his head at it. “That’s east. I think the town is that way.”

  “So, we’re out near the Hollow?” Her voice shook a bit and he reached out and clutched her fingers. She squeezed back gratefully.

  “More or less.”

  “Okay. That’s all right. I’ve been out here before.” He looked at her, her face hidden under makeup that was in turn obscured by the semi-darkness.

  “I think maybe Derek is dead.” The words came out before he could check them. Derek wasn’t exactly one of his friends, but he could have been. They were getting to know each other.

  Melissa looked at him and sighed. “I hope so. If not, the burns will leave him crippled.”

  “Are you serious?” Melissa seemed pretty cool, but that was just a damn weird thing to say.

  “Yeah. Would you want to spend the rest of your life in a hospital bed, maybe getting skin cut from one part of your body and having it put in other places?” Her voice sounded harsh, as if she was fully expecting him to say yes.

  “No, probably not.”

  “So why would you wish it on Derek? I saw him. He was on fire.” She turned away, her voice choking on the last word. “Can we just talk about something else?” Her hands rubbed her biceps as if for warmth.

  “Yeah. I’m sorry.” He hadn’t lost anyone in his life. His mom was alive and his dad hadn’t been taken to jail. Maybe it wasn’t quite an epiphany, but it dawned on Jeremy that maybe she would look at things a little differently if only because of what had happened to her family already.

  “Let’s just go, okay?” Melissa didn’t look back, she just started walking. Jeremy tried to keep up with her.

  VII

  The Haunted Hayride came to a halt not long after word of the fire. There were no survivors as far as anyone could tell and the police were busy trying to understand exactly what had happened. Craig Gallagher looked at the wreckage and shook his head. The firemen had done what they could, had gotten there in nearly record time considering that the blaze happened on Farmside Road, which was about as far from the firehouse as you could get.

  “This whole damned town has gone to Hell, you ask me.” Craig closed his eyes and counted slowly to five. Edgar Walker wasn’t worth actually counting to ten. He wasn’t that big a nuisance. Ed liked to chase around town and work his magic as the local doomsayer. Damned near everything that ever happened in town was an excuse for the old man to rant about how everything was going to hell.

  Sadly, he seemed to feel that as a paid official of the town, Craig was obligated to listen. Just as sadly, he was right to a certain extent. He hadn’t crossed the line where Craig told him to shut the hell up, but he was getting close.

  “Edgar, I’m dealing with a tragedy here and I don’t know who is involved yet. I really need to concentrate.”

  “Well, hell, Craig. I thought you already knew all the people on there. I saw them myself. It was Mark Gardner in the seat and about seven kids in the back as far as I could tell.”

  That one earned him a ten count. “I know about poor Mark, Edgar. It’s the rest of them we need to identify.”

  Before Edgar could respond, Craig heard the laughter. It wasn’t natural. Nothing that he knew of could make that sort of sound outside of a Hollywood sound shop. From where he stood, there was little to see except for a figure dressed in a floppy hat and a cloak, both of which looked to be several sizes too large.

  “They died well, officer. Or should I say they died well done?”

  Craig had his hand on his pistol in around half a second. There were seven kids dead in front of him and some sick fuck was making light of it. That wasn’t the sort of thing he liked to hear. It was more the sort of thing that made him forget he was supposed to be an officer of the law.

  “Why don’t you step out here, mister, and we can have a nice talk about this.” It wasn’t a question. No one in his or her right mind would take it as one.

  The shadow figure just laughed again and started moving. Craig followed after him calling to Glenn Donner to stay on the scene until Howard Harris could get there. Howard was a good man, but with his son missing for almost two days, he wasn’t quite as quick to respond as usual. Glenn radioed back an affirmative and Craig started running.

  There weren’t a lot of times when Craig Gallagher had to give pursuit on foot, but that wasn’t really a problem for him. One of his hobbies was staying in shape and for him that meant a regiment of jogging. Still, the smart-ass was making him look embarrassingly slow.

  He ran harder and felt himself starting to get winded. “Enough of this shit.” He drew his pistol and fired a warning shot well above the man’s head. Most times he wouldn’t have considered doing anything at all like that, but he knew there was nothing ahead of the man but more woods. The comedian didn’t stop. If anything he ran faster, weaving between trees large and small and dashing past obstacles that seemed intent on tripping the police chief with every move. Craig kept running until he couldn’t run any more. He felt the hot stitch in his side and his legs trembling; sweat stung his eyes as it fell from his brow.

  He took half a minute to catch his breath and when he looked up, he discovered something unexpected had occurred.

  He was lost in the middle of the woods, with absolutely no idea where the hell he was or how to get back.

  “Oh, this is fucking beautiful. Glenn will love this.”

  VIII

  The night grew older. Most of the smaller children were in bed, more than a few of them with stomach-aches that would have to be dealt with by weary parents before the night was truly finished. The one true curse of Halloween for most families was the ghost of too many candy bars before sleep time.

  Not so at the Leonard Cinema. Despite the unfortunate accident earlier, the night was really just beginning. There were far too many people in the building and any number of fire safety regulations were crushed in the almost constant flow of kids and parents alike out for a good scare.

  This year’s spectacle was better than most. If the hope of the kids from the Watersford Academy focused on scaring the crap out of a few hundred willing participants, then they were doing a fine job, mostly thanks to the donations of a few of Hollywood’s best and brightest. It was good to be connected.

  But it was on the second floor, behind a locked door, that the real action was taking place. Troy Hammer was strutting like a rooster, pumped up on pure hormones and a double dose of his father’s Viagra. His long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail and his naked, bronzed body almost trembled at the idea of what was to come. It wasn’t every day he got to nail a virgin and he wanted to make sure it would be a night she never forgot as long as she lived.

  Beth could be a pain in the ass as girlfriends went, but she made up for all of it when she promised him he could pop Erika’s cherry.

  No two ways about it, Erika was a piece of work. She had a fine young body and a face that was made for moaning. He’d been thinking about what she’d be like in the sack since the first time he’d seen her and she hadn’t even really started to bloom back then. These days she was a prize and, added bonus, she was a virgin that was all his. There was something about the idea of taking a girl’s innocence that just got him hard. Not that he needed any help after two of his dad’s little helpers.

  Erika was up there already, and
Beth was helping her get ready for the main event. She was supposed to come out wearing some sort of sacrificial outfit. He was all for it. Whatever it was, he intended to have her out of it in record time.

  Behind him, the weird prop that Beth had told him about was pulsing, beating slowly like a heart, but with a tempo that was all wrong. He’d looked at it earlier and thought it was a little creepy, but there was something about it that kept puzzling him, gnawing away at his mind and he was damned if he could figure out what it was.

  He ran a hand over the cold surface, felt the sinewy stuff under his fingertips and shivered a bit. What was it? There was something about what Beth had said that didn’t make any sense.

  Beth came into the room, leading Erika by the hand. Erika was dressed in a sheer, nearly transparent negligee and nothing else. She did wear a blindfold, however, as she was led to where Troy was waiting. Troy felt his erection jump at the thought of driving himself into her as deep and hard as he could. His blue eyes traced the curves of her young body and he flashed her a grin that would’ve shamed most politicians.

  And while his mind was working on the idea of Erika’s body, the thing that had been bothering him all along finally clocked home. “Hey, Beth? If this thing’s the main attraction, what’s it doing up here?”

  Beth smiled enigmatically. “I never said the main attraction was for everyone, did I? Special guests only for this part.” Erika tilted her head and he had to wonder whether or not she was drugged. She wasn’t acting like he expected. She didn’t even seem nervous.

  Without preamble, Erika stepped toward him, her eyes still blindfolded, and her hands moved to the negligee’s front, opening it, revealing her body. Troy forgot all about the thing behind him as he watched her pale skin come into view. He swallowed hard and felt his palms start to sweat.

  He took a step toward his prize and made himself step back when Beth glared at him. One word from her and the whole thing was off. She said she wanted him in the spot where he was, and that was exactly where he intended to stay. No way in Hell was he going to screw this up.

  He didn’t hear it when the thing directly behind him split, but he smelled it. Despite the chemical help. The stench from within the dark thing was almost enough to wilt his erection.

  “Jesus! What the fuck is that smell?”

  He looked first to Erika, and then to Beth, wondering if this was some sort of trick they were playing on him. The look on Beth’s face told him otherwise. Last spring the two of them had been hitting the hard stuff and Troy was driving her home when they almost ran into a tree that had fallen in the road. Good brakes and better reflexes had stopped them from becoming so much roadkill. But while they’d been rolling he had seen the same look that was now on Beth’s face, a statement of the absolute horror she felt. Only now it was magnified. She stepped back from him and shook her head, denying what she was seeing.

  Either she was a better actress than he had ever imagined, or she was terrified. He turned to where the thing was waiting and saw what came out.

  The hag stepped from her cocoon, the thick red fluids that had been inside with her sluicing away in a thick torrent. She was gaunt, withered, and ancient beyond his ability to fully grasp. Her eyes were almost human, but there was something off about them. The dark where the whites should have been was the only instantly recognizable thing. Thin hair streamed down her narrow shoulders, held in place by the embryonic fluids that still dripped onto the floor around the ancient crone.

  The alien eyes of the thing looked at Troy and narrowed in what he hoped was concentration and not anger. Then the long, lean arm of the creature flashed out and gripped Troy’s throat, lifting him easily off the ground.

  Somewhere off in the distance, Beth started screaming. Erika still stood nude in front of him, but Troy was too busy dying to really notice. He tried to break the monster’s grip, but his best blows were ineffectual. Slamming his forearms into the ones that held him up in the air was like punching a steel bar. All he managed to do was hurt himself.

  The witch did much, much worse. With one hand still holding him off the ground, she reached down with her free hand and touched his erection. Thin, wrinkled, waterlogged lips peeled back from uneven teeth. She was smiling at his hard-on.

  Troy wanted to be sick as he felt her fingers trace the outline of his bulge, touching everywhere and teasing. Long, blackened nails traced the underside of his testicles and he froze, petrified of what she might do if she was suddenly in the mood to hurt him.

  She didn’t keep him guessing for long. The only reason he didn’t scream as she suddenly raked her talons over his privates was because her hand on his throat tightened first.

  Alvina Bathory held him tightly and began tearing. She hadn’t eaten in so long. It was a wonderful treat that she savored, flavored with his fear and pain. While she consumed her prey, Beth watched, horrified.

  When she was finished, Alvina cleaned herself hastily, wiping the worst of the spill from her withered mouth. She looked at the girl Beth, and smiled at her. Beth, for her part, whimpered. Pity. She’d hoped the girl would be stronger. Alvina licked her fingers and contemplated what was to be done with the young girl she’d chosen as her mortal protégé.

  She reached down to the small gathering of drop cloths spilled across the floor, leftovers from when she was carried into her new haven. Modesty aside, it was cold and she didn’t much feel like freezing. She wrapped one of them around her body, almost like a toga. She looked at Beth and then to Erika.

  Beth was rocking back and forth, her motions barely conscious, and her face pale. Erika was still standing perfectly still, barely breathing. Alvina breathed in deeply and moved herself in front of Erika. She leaned in close and pressed her mouth against the young girl’s, exhaling into her unresisting mouth. For one brief instant it seemed that the girl became aware of her surroundings, her eyes growing wide and a small whimper of protest coming from her. Then she was silent.

  Alvina looked at Beth again and made a simple gesture, spoke a blasphemous phrase and then watched with satisfaction as Beth slumped to the floor, unconscious.

  She had never moved through the building before, had never, for that matter, seen a motion picture, but she easily figured out the basic layout. Alvina moved quietly downstairs from the projection room to the main area below, amazed by the noise, the screams—pleasant, but not truly loud or sincere enough—and the flashing lights designed to heighten fear and anticipation.

  There was a small army of people down below, many of whom, foolishly, were dressed inappropriately for Samhain. She had expanded her consciousness while in her grave, experienced a great deal vicariously, and so could understand quite a few of the concepts placed before her. While she had never been impressed by Elvis Presley, the performer came close to having his own religion. There were no less than three people, one of them female, dressed to look like the dead singer. Several children were wearing toy weapons and cheap plastic boots that marked an era of the country’s past, during the westward expansion. She sought and found the term she was looking for: they were dressed as ‘Cowboys.’ A few more dressed as comic book characters, a handful scattered around the area disguised as political figures.

  Alvina Bathory grinned. They had forgotten the secrets that used to be known to almost all. They wore costumes, yes, but in many cases for the wrong reasons. The idea was to hide their weaknesses behind horrific disguises, vile representations of the creatures that could kill, could tear their very souls apart. Instead, they dressed as mockeries of their leaders and effigies of the people they admired, real and imagined.

  “Rules, my boys. There are rules we follow, and so few of these fools understand them anymore.” Her voice was a whispered rasp, a scratching bone across carved granite. Still, all three of her children heard her across the miles that separated them and the cacophony of people laughing and screaming through the mock haunted house.

  Alvina stepped down into the crowded room filled with Halloween
costumes and artificial horrors. The first few people who saw her were frightened and then amused, thinking the tall, withered hag was merely another part of the haunted house. She corrected their misjudgment. A casual flick of the wrist sent one man, dressed as an officer of the law, sliding across the dusty linoleum floor, his weight stumbling several other people in the process.

  “Come to me, children. It is time to finish this.”

  The man she’d tossed aside came back at her, angry, offended that she would push him aside. Alvina held the fingers of her left hand apart and spoke in the old tongue. Lightning ripped from her jagged nails and whipped through his overweight form, frying the buttons on his false policeman’s uniform to his blistering flesh. His eyes and hair caught aflame at the same time, and Alvina smiled serenely as costumed faces all around her screamed with genuine fear.

  “Remember, children, those dressed as beasts and demons are to be left alone. We do not forget the old ways.”

  Alvina stepped forward, into the crowd of people who suddenly found themselves in a haunted house that bore real threats. The people screamed. And the witch cackled, her laughter growing louder and louder as the slaughter began.

  Chapter Nine

  I

  Melissa and Jeremy heard Craig Gallagher long before they saw him. He was cursing under his breath and moving around with all the subtlety of a drunk on a ship caught in a storm. Every step he took sent leaves through the air and his big grown-up feet seemed to find at least one twig to break every time he stepped down anywhere at all.

  Despite everything, they had to resist the urge to smile when they saw him in the woods. His shoes were covered in muck, his pant legs were dirty up to his knees, and his face had a slightly wild and terrified expression glued to it.

  When Melissa called out to him the policeman almost had a heart attack; his eyes were wild and his broad face looked more like a startled rabbit than anything else. “You okay, Officer Gallagher?”