Halloween Spirits: 11 Tales for the Darkest Night

by Anthology

  Margaret whispered in her ear. “I lied. It really does hurt.”

  One second, and the car whizzed past, its exhaust lingering like a sigh.

  “See you tomorrow?” Margaret said, sitting on the stone fence, pale under the scant moon.

  “I guess so.”

  “You get this way,” Margaret said. “When you’re dead, you want to play games all the time.”

  “I guess I’ll find out someday.”

  Ellen crossed the highway and tried to drift through the trees the way Margaret could. But it was no use. She was too solid, too real, she belonged too much to the world with its hard wood and hard people and hard rules. If only she were someone’s invisible playmate.

  But she wasn’t. She forgot games, laughter, the red sweater that Margaret had been buried in. Her thoughts were of nothing but Mom and home.

  Ellen moved onward through the night, only half-dead, not nearly dead enough.

  TRICK OR DIE

  Rick Pickman

  The host placed the weapon in Bobby’s small hands, turned to the camera with a gleaming, wet grin, and said, “There aren’t many eleven-year-olds who get to go trick-or-treating with a real shotgun, are there, Bobby?”

  Bobby hefted the thing, surprised by its weight. “Cool,” he said, as he lifted it to sight along the barrel. He’d never guessed his Halloween soldier costume would be completed with this, the ultimate accessory.

  Bobby’s two teammates—Lily, a bright young Asian girl dressed as a vampire slayer, complete with garlic-clove necklace and satchel of stakes, and Troy, way too big for his age and looking even bigger in football uniform and incongruously wielding a solid wooden bat—had already been introduced to the worldwide audience of Can You Take It?, and Bobby’s anticipation amped up to eleven as they all faced the solid barrier in front of them.

  “The challenge tonight, on this Halloween edition of Can You Take It?, is…” Ted, the immaculate host, paused to give the camera his best intense stare, “Our three contestants have one hour to collect candy from ten houses. Sounds easy, right? Well, consider this: The street on the other side of this wall is full of monsters. Real monsters. That’s right: These three daring trick-or-treaters have to survive the ultimate Halloween. Now we’ve equipped each of them with all the weapons they’ll need, but it will be up to them to figure out what to use against which monster. One wrong choice—and this will be their last Halloween.”

  Ted turned to look at the kids. “Are you ready, players?”

  Bobby jacked a shell into the shotgun, just like they’d shown him earlier. “Let’s go,” he said. He didn’t feel that brave, but he was already unpopular at school because he liked Halloween and horror movies, and if any of the kids there saw this (and if Bobby survived long enough to return to school), he didn’t want any of them teasing him about how he’d pussied out in the beginning.

  “Happy Halloween, and good hunting!” Ted called after them, as they were led to a heavy metal door in the barrier.

  A sweaty production assistant opened the door, and Bobby saw a small chamber with another door on the far side. The three kids entered, then looked on in surprise as a young woman in riot gear and a helmet entered with them. “Hi, I’m Mandy—I’ll be your cameraperson tonight.”

  Bobby wondered if Mandy had been conscripted by the Rights of Corporation Act (his Business teacher had explained that it gave corporations the power of eminent domain over both persons and property), or if she was crazy enough to do this for money. She seemed fairly calm behind the helmet’s faceplate, so maybe she knew something they didn’t. “Are the monsters real?”

  Mandy barked one laugh. “Oh yes, they’re real. Fortunately, so is your shotgun.”

  Bobby swelled with determination at the thought that it might be up to him to protect the courageous—and hot—camerawoman. Perhaps she’d reward him on the other end. He was just starting to appreciate girls, and he imagined her sharing Halloween candy with him.

  “I don’t have a shotgun,” Lily said, pawing through her satchel. “I’ve got stakes, and—,” she held a black device too big for her small hand, “—a…what is this, a taser?“There was a grating sound, and Bobby forced his attention away from the girls to see the inner door swinging open now, slowly, on creaking hinges. He sensed the others tensing beside him, and hoped they’d be able to keep up; Lily especially looked like a monster appetizer—two, maybe three bites. And she was right—what good would a stupid taser do against a monster?

  He lifted the shotgun, holding his breath, as the doorway opened on a scene of…a quiet suburban street. Small houses, trees and lawns lined both sides; lights glowed from within the houses, and a slight autumn breeze sent leaves jitterbugging along sidewalks. He could see the solid sectional barrier walls rising up behind the houses and at the end of the street.

  There were no monsters. In fact there was nothing; no other pedestrians, not even sounds from within the houses. The three kids didn’t leave the small area behind the door until Mandy whispered to them, “Remember: One hour, ten houses.”

  “What happens if we take longer than an hour?” Lily asked.

  “Then you have to meet with the Producer. And nobody wants that.” Bobby thought he saw Mandy shiver under her riot gear.

  “Right,” he said, stepping forward, hefting the canvas bag (bearing the Can You Take It? logo) he’d been given to collect his treats in. He walked into the street—

  —and almost immediately felt hands on his shoulders and heard a guttural moan. He tore away, spun, and saw a zombie that’d been hidden just out of sight behind the door. For a second, Bobby could only stare in disbelief: There was no question this thing was real. No makeup job could have created that face, with gaping holes revealing tendons and bones, shredded skin rotting in strips, and the smell, oh yuck, the smell nearly made Bobby gag. He stood hypnotized as the thing advanced on him, claw-like hands extended, reaching out for him, touching him already—

  “Hit it, Troy!” Lily was screaming at the bigger boy. She even tried to pry the bat from his grip, but he wasn’t letting go. In fact, Troy wasn’t doing anything.

  Bobby backpedalled rapidly until he could get the shotgun up, and he pulled the trigger. There was a deafening sound, the blast nearly knocked Bobby off his feet, and he felt something wet and pulpy splatter his own head. When he was done flinching, he looked and saw the zombie’s headless body at his feet.

  “Gross,” Lily muttered.

  Bobby, still wiping zombie goo from his face (and thankful that he had the military hat on—most of the zombie brains had splattered the cap’s bill), advanced on Troy, who stood paralyzed in terror. “Hey, why didn’t you hit it? It wasn’t even coming after you.”

  Troy turned haunted eyes and chattering teeth Bobby’s way, and stuttered out, “I-I-I’m a-f-f-fraid of m-m-monsters.”

  Lily stuck one hip out, and Bobby realized she was kind of hot, too—not as hot as Mandy, but pretty cute for twelve. “Are you kidding? You’re practically big enough to be a monster!”

  Mandy listened to something, and Bobby realized she had a headset inside the helmet. She nodded, and then turned to the kids. “Let’s get going—the Producer is worried that we’re slowing the pace down.”

  “Sure,” Bobby said, throwing a derogatory head cock at Troy, “if Little Bo Peep here can get it together.”

  That got through to Troy; he shrugged off his fear and gripped the bat tighter. “I’m c-c-cool,” he said.

  “Okay.” Bobby started towards the first house on the left. Lily walked behind him, still glancing back at the smacked-down zombie. “Wow. I watch this show every week, but I always thought the monsters and stuff were fake.”

  Bobby looked at her uncertainly. “You thought the ghosts were fake when they killed six people in the haunted house show?”

  “Well…yeah. I don’t believe in ghosts. Or…I didn’t.”

  “Well, now you know.” Bobby was realizing that Lily was not only pretty brave, but s
mart, too. He decided that Troy had just advanced to the position of likeliest monster meal. “Let’s get to the first house.”

  They approached the small bungalow cautiously. A picket fence surrounded a neat little yard bisected by a walk leading to the front door, and Bobby wondered if someone had lived here up until today, until Can You Take It? had exercised its corporate rights to claim the house.

  A pair of bright, happy jack-o’-lanterns glimmered on the small porch, and Bobby had to remind himself that this wasn’t regular trick-or-treat, what he would’ve been doing if the producers of Can You Take It? hadn’t appeared at his door and taken him away, leaving his mother sobbing while they reminded her that Bobby might win $100,000…

  …if he lived.

  Bobby looked around, uncertainly, then turned to Mandy. “Do we…ring the doorbell, just like regular trick or treat?”

  She nodded behind her camera. “Just like regular trick or treat.”

  Bobby raised a hand, started to reach for the bell—and Lily’s arm shot out, blocking him. “Hold on,” she said, then turned to Mandy. “Are any of the monsters inside the houses?”

  Mandy—who Bobby suddenly realized hadn’t joined them on the porch but was rather six feet away on the lawn—said, “You never know who’ll answer the door on Halloween. All part of the fun, right?”

  Before Bobby could say anything, Lily had plucked a stake from her satchel and was directing Troy. “Troy, you should make sure nothing sneaks up on us. Bobby and I will ring the doorbell, then, once we know it’s safe, trade places with you.”

  Bobby tried not to imagine getting flayed alive in school tomorrow over letting a girl give him orders…but she was right. “Okay,” was all he said, before ringing the doorbell.

  It took a few seconds while the kids waited, Bobby holding the shotgun ready, Lily with a stake poised overhead, Troy trembling and trying to focus on his job as rear guard. They heard footsteps at last—they even sounded like human footsteps, and then the door was unlocked. It swung back slowly, squeaking, until at last it revealed a terrified-looking old man who held a bowl of candy in shaking fingers.

  “Trick or treat,” Bobby and Lily said, without much enthusiasm. Then Bobby added, “Are you a monster?”

  “No,” the old man said, his voice dry and trembling as if he was being vibrated, “but you kids need to be careful—”

  “We know that,” Lily said, thrusting out her satchel. The old man dropped a pack of candy into her bag, then gave one to Bobby.

  “Your turn, Troy,” Lily said, rotating away as Troy turned, his canvas bag held out, the candy dropping into it—

  And that was when the werewolf seized the old man from behind and tore his head off.

  Troy cried out and staggered back, falling off the porch onto his large ass and staring up as the seven-foot-tall supernatural wolf balanced on two legs, its snout drenched in blood as it worried at the neck stump on the body. Bobby was dimly aware of Lily frantically rifling her satchel. “I don’t think I have anything for a werewolf—”

  Bobby couldn’t see a shotgun doing much damage to this thing, unless—

  He reached into the ammo bag he wore over one shoulder. He’d glimpsed something in there earlier, something that’d made him wonder…there it was: The other shotgun shells were all red, but this one was silver.

  He fired the first rounds at the massive furry nightmare just to get the shells out. “That isn’t going to work—” he heard Lily squeal behind him.

  “No, but this will,” he answered, ramming the silver shell in and pumping the gun.

  The werewolf lunged forward just then. Bobby felt its hot, blood-scented breath on his head as he raised the shotgun, he felt its chest hit the barrel, and he fired.

  The werewolf blew apart, and for a few seconds Bobby was deafened by both the thunder of the blast and the piercing shriek of the werewolf’s death scream. Then it staggered back, fell—and by the time it hit the wood of the porch deck, it was a man again, a naked man, now missing most of his chest, his limbs blood-spattered.

  “I got him,” Bobby said, feeling both victorious and disgusted. “He’s dead.”

  “He’s naked,” Lily said, and Bobby realized she was staring. She was only twelve, after all.

  Bobby had been splattered again, but this time the blood was hot. He wiped off what he could, and his stomach did a somersault.“Troy?”

  Troy was close to tears. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. I’ll try to get it together…”

  “I hope so,” Lily murmured, as she walked past him, “because right now you’re about as useful as a nun at a Gaga concert.”

  Troy glowered at her back. Bobby hoped that was good sign. “C’mon, Troy. We got our candy. Next house.”

  Mandy smiled. Bobby thought he heard her murmur something like, “Attaboy.”

  Bobby’s brief feeling of triumph over the werewolf was being buried beneath layers of cooling blood and feeling like he was being used. He decided Mandy was looking less hot by the second. He walked up to Lily, now on the sidewalk and walking toward the next house, and bent down to speak to her softly. “I think it’s up to just you and me.”

  “You know, Billy, you did okay with that werewolf, but…” Lily trailed off, her gaze turning skyward.

  “It’s Bobby…” he had followed her gaze, and now saw the big shadow swooping overhead. “What kind of bird is that?”

  “It’s not a bird…” Lily still had the stake clenched in one small fist, and her eyes never left the—

  —bat?

  Then the soaring shape was changing, spreading, growing as it fell, sprouting arms and legs, and Bobby heard it hissing, and then Lily’s arm was moving up, the stake aiming for the chest of the thing plummeting towards them—

  Lily staked the vampire, and Bobby winced as he was showered with blood again. “Gaaahhh!” he cried out, dancing away.

  The man-bat hit the ground, but it wasn’t quite dead yet—it writhed in agony and shrieked, until Lily dropped to one knee and plunged the stake perfectly into its heart. Its motions ceased immediately, and the dead thing aged, from a youthful appearance to a grizzled old man. Lily stood up and peered down at it—or, specifically, at its groin. “Why are these monsters all naked?” Then she turned brightly to Bobby. “Anyway, I was saying—I’m happy to work together, but if you get vamped or turn into something else, I’ll kill you if I have to.” She strode on past Bobby, leaving him thunderstruck.

  Then a sound came from behind him, and Bobby turned to see two tiny trick-or-treaters, no more than six or seven, approaching Troy. Both were dressed as witches, in black dresses and with tall, pointy hats, and both carried little cauldrons. “Huh?” Bobby heard Troy say.

  He was right. There couldn’t possibly be any real children trick-or-treating here tonight…could there?

  “Troy…” Bobby wanted to say more, but didn’t know what it should be. Hey, Troy, those are probably not real little kids, so let’s kill ‘em? But what if they were real?

  The kids saw them and slowed down, then walked past them carefully. “What are you two freakazoids looking at?” said one of them, in a feminine voice that was too gravel-filled for a child.

  Bobby pumped the shotgun. The two tiny witches reached into their cauldrons—which Bobby abruptly realized were not plastic trick-or-treat props, but real cast-iron cauldrons—and removed wands. They pointed the wands at the boys and began to intone something.

  And Troy stepped forward and swung the bat.

  Both witches shrieked as they flew through the air at least sixty feet before being caught in the upper branches of a tall sycamore. Their wands, which they’d dropped, glittered with unnatural energies until Troy lifted one cleated foot and crunched them both. Then he turned and looked at Bobby. “They weren’t kids, were they?”

  “No, Troy. You did good.”

  “They weren’t exactly monsters, but they were kinda, right?”

  “Yep. You did it—you killed monsters. Good swing,
too.”

  By the time they caught up to Lily, she’d reached the front door of the next house and was waiting for them. This house was every neighborhood’s nightmare—rundown, sagging, glassless windows gaping like miniature black holes, walls largely bare of paint and splintering, yard dry and overgrown. “Talk about haunted houses,” Bobby said as he and Troy approached. This house and its environs seemed to suck light and heat right out of the surroundings; Bobby shivered and wondered how Mandy’s camera was even going to capture this.

  “Ready?” Lily asked.

  Bobby nodded. Troy stood a step below, waiting.

  There was no bell, so Lily knocked on the crooked wooden door.

  Nothing happened. There was no sound of footsteps, no light going on. Nothing.

  Troy squinted at the door. “Hey, did anybody get a flashlight?”

  Bobby reached down to his utility belt and found a small mag lite holstered there. “Yeah, I did.” He pointed it where Troy was looking.

  The door was breathing. The wood was bulging outward, silently, then in again, then out, then in.

  “What is that?” Lily whispered.

  As they watched, Bobby’s light beam picked out a new action: The ancient wooden door was now pressing out in the shape of a human figure, like one of those special effects from old horror movies. The figure seemed to coalesce, and then it separated itself from the door. It hovered before them, a translucent, undefined, roughly human shape.

  “It’s a ghost,” Bobby breathed out.

  Troy shrugged. “Doesn’t seem so bad, especially after the werewolf and the witches—” Troy was cut off as the ghost floated forward, extended a vague arm, and encircled his throat. He lifted several inches into the air, choking, swinging his arms and legs, but he swung at empty air. Bobby reversed his shotgun and swung the butt like a club, but there was nothing to hit. He turned to look at Mandy, desperate. “What are we supposed to do with this?”

  “Sorry, Bobby, I can’t interfere.”

  Lily was thinking out loud. “So, what are ghosts supposed to be—basically some form of electromagnetic energy, right?”