Halloween Carnival Volume 4

by Brian James Freeman (ed)

  Halloween Carnival: Volume Four is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Hydra Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2017 by Brian James Freeman

  “The Mannequin Challenge” by Kealan Patrick Burke, copyright © 2017 by Kealan Patrick Burke

  “Across the Tracks” by Ray Garton, copyright © 2017 by Ray Garton

  “The Halloween Tree” by Bev Vincent, copyright © 2017 by Bev Vincent

  “Pumpkin Eater” by C. A. Suleiman, copyright © 2017 by C. A. Suleiman

  “When the Leaves Fall” by Paul Melniczek, copyright © 2011 by Paul Melniczek.

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Hydra, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  HYDRA is a registered trademark and the HYDRA colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  “When the Leaves Fall” by Paul Melniczek was originally published in the United States by Bad Moon Books, Garden Grove, CA, in 2011.

  Ebook ISBN 9780399182068

  Cover design: Elderlemon Design

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  The Mannequin Challenge

  Across the Tracks

  The Halloween Tree

  Pumpkin Eater

  When the Leaves Fall

  Dedication

  About the Editor

  The Mannequin Challenge

  Kealan Patrick Burke

  Theo sat in his car brooding for close to twenty minutes before killing the engine. There was still time to leave, still time to concede to the voice inside his head that told him this was a bad idea. He didn’t do parties, festive or otherwise. To him, it was all a bunch of small talk and big expense with no reward at all. Thus, the notion of standing in a room off the clock with a bunch of people he could barely stand to be around during work hours made the muscles in his shoulders tense up until he felt like he’d forgotten to remove the hanger when he’d put on his coat.

  He looked out across the dark parking lot to the block of lights on the second floor of the building in which he had worked for the past eleven years. In honor of the season, orange blinds had been installed in place of the customary Venetians. They were shut, but through them he could see the silhouettes of people dancing, guffawing, or swilling drinks. Multicolored spots of light flashed against the windows, presumably from some kind of disco machine. Theo rolled down his window and heard the faint rhythmic thump of the bass, as if the building had developed a heartbeat in the three hours since he’d gone home. A pair of scarecrows flanked the entrance, arms spread in idiot welcome. Black vinyl silhouettes of witches, bats, and haunted houses had been stuck all over the glass double doors. Those were going to be a nightmare to remove, and Theo didn’t intend to be the one to do it. No, sir. Let whoever put them there be responsible for their removal.

  Squat pumpkins grinned toothily at him from the steps to the front doors, the candles in their heads flickering in the slight autumnal breeze.

  Theo pictured the faces of the people in the office, many of whom would be drunk by now, some of them obnoxiously so. He imagined trying to navigate a room full of gyrating hips and flailing limbs, hooded eyes and insincere cheer, spilled drinks and dropped finger food, and shook his head. Keying the ignition, he felt reassured by the hum of the engine, which represented one of his most critical tenets: forward momentum. Always be moving forward to the next place, the next goal, the next objective. No, he was not the partying type. It represented stalled motion with no legitimate benefit. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gone out in the afternoon to anything more exciting than a movie at the dollar theater (he’d be damned if he was going to suffer the exorbitant costs imposed by the bigger chains) or to walk his Labrador, Freddy, around the neighborhood. Thinking of his beloved pet—dear, uncomplicated, and quiet Freddy—made him yearn for the warmth and familiarity of home, and he started to put the car in gear. Started, then stopped, his hands on the wheel at ten and two, eyes on the empty cars around his own, foot poised above the gas pedal.

  Nothing about this idea appealed to him.

  Nothing at all.

  And yet…

  And yet sometimes he found himself wishing that it did, that he would awake one morning with renewed vigor and a more adventurous outlook on what had, without him knowing, become a very dull and predictable existence. Oh, he couldn’t deny that there was a certain comfort and security in routine, in knowing ahead of time how his day was going to play out. A place for everything and everything in its place, as his dear departed mother used to say, and though she had meant it in regard to neatness, he’d nevertheless applied it to his life as a whole. Still, though, he hadn’t always been quite so rigid, or so joyless. He’d never found it easy to make friends or to be around other people, had certainly never been popular, but he’d had acquaintances, people with whom he’d enjoy the occasional meal, or a drink, while discussing topics of mutual interest. He’d played golf before the arthritis in his knees had removed the luxury, had wandered around town browsing the antiques stores and bookstores or just to get out and see what there was to be seen. He’d had a charming little nook in a nearby Irish pub from which he could enjoy random encounters with strangers or watch the patrons and imagine life stories for them, only to stop when he realized that the lives he imagined were invariably better than his own. This created an enmity for them they had done nothing to deserve, and he never went back there again.

  His life was cheerless now, devoid of randomness, and without it, without the unexpected, what was there to do but sit at home and wait for his time to run out? He would be sixty next year, and the liver spots were already annexing patches of territory across his body. A glance in the rearview mirror showed a sad-eyed man with a hangdog face and a mouth that had forgotten how to smile.

  He sighed.

  Freddy could wait a little while longer.

  Freddy would understand.

  Theo killed the engine and, bracing himself against the chill and the uncertainty of the evening, stepped out of the car.

  As he stowed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and walked the short distance to the door, he wondered if it was nothing more than manners or a sense of obligation that had led the employees to invite him to their Halloween party. His desk had, after all, been the only one that had survived the decorating blitz. When offered some orange and black crepe paper, he had nodded politely and then stowed it in his drawer. He had sat out the pumpkin carving during lunch break, preferring to utilize that time as it had been intended: for eating. And perhaps most significantly, he was the only one who had come to work today not dressed in a costume other than the one required of him: his customary charcoal suit, of which he owned four. He’d noticed his coworkers noticing, and assumed their disapproval would mark the end of their attempts to include him in their pointless celebrating.

  The invitation waiting on his desk at the close of the day said otherwise. He had stowed it in his briefcase with nary a glance, only to give it a proper inspection at home, where he could do so without anyone assuming it indicated interest or a commitment to attend. The invitation was a cheap photocopy, typical Halloween fare, pumpkins and bats all over the place. In comic sans, the message read:

  OFFICE PARTY 2NITE!

  8.30 TIL WHENEVER

  PRIZES 4 BEST COSTUME

  STAY 4 TRIVIA QUIZ
& MANNEQUIN CHALENGE!

  FOOD & DRINKS CURTESY OF MANAGEMENT

  He reached the front door and hurried inside. Before him was the corridor leading to the administration office. To the right, a wide stairwell led up to the accounts office on the second floor. Here Theo lingered, plagued with renewed uncertainty, until the front doors swung open with a squeal behind him. Startled, he turned around and found himself face-to-face with a witch in green makeup, much like the one from The Wizard of Oz, complete with fake nose and ugly moles on her chin, though Theo was pretty sure he didn’t remember that witch showing off so much cleavage.

  “Hey, Theo,” the girl he now recognized as Sally Thurston said as she hurried past him and mounted the stairs. “You waiting for someone?”

  “Hello,” he said, his response drowned out by the staccato sound of her stiletto heels clapping against the tile steps as she vanished up into the darkness. “No, I…” He trailed off and stared up the stairs, unsure what to do. He glanced at his watch. There was still time to leave, but the more that presented itself as the best course of action, the more annoyed at himself he became.

  “Suck it up, Theo,” he mumbled, and headed up the stairs.

  If regrets proved to be the cost of his uncharacteristic abandon, he could entertain them tomorrow. For now, there was little to be lost from popping in to show his face and say hello. Perhaps the gesture would be appreciated and remove some of the negative stigma he had quickly (and, to be honest, willingly) generated for himself among his coworkers. Maybe they would look at him anew. And even if the change wasn’t anything so dramatic, maybe they’d include him in more of their ventures. He was free to decline at any point, obviously, but wouldn’t it be pleasant just to be asked?

  Slightly out of breath, he reached the second-floor landing and shrugged off his jacket in an effort to look more casual, though it was unlikely to count for much, given that without it he still looked like he was dressed for work. Still, he told himself, Baby steps.

  He headed down the hallway to the Accounts Department. Here, too, the door was festooned with Halloween stickers. In the middle was a giant pumpkin wearing shades with the legend HAPPY HOLLA-WEEN! printed under its crooked maw. Another orange shade had been drawn down over the glass, making it impossible to see inside. Theo touched the door handle and a jolt of static traveled up his arm, rendering it unpleasantly numb. Mid-scowl, he looked at the handle as if expecting to see a novelty buzzer attached to it. There was nothing there, but now Theo cocked his head slightly, listening for the sound that should have been there, that he only now realized he hadn’t heard since he’d stepped out of the car.

  He thought he might hear laughter.

  He thought he might hear voices.

  What he heard, instead, was nothing at all.

  He waited. Did the absence of that pulsing heartbeat mean the party had died?

  A dreadful thought occurred to him, warring with curiosity to send him back down the stairs, outside to the car, and home to the comfort of the predictable.

  Sally told them I’m here.

  He imagined her hurrying into the office after running into him downstairs and waving to get everyone’s attention. “Guys, you won’t believe who showed up.”

  Had that been the scenario, he wanted to believe their reaction had been benevolent surprise, and yet that’s not how his luck had ever run, and thus he imagined hushed laughter, the rolling of eyes, the low whispers as they agreed as one to lock the door and pretend the party had ended. Worse, having run into Sally, they’d know he’d know they were deliberately shutting him out. We’ll show that old crank what we think of him. Shut off the music and stay quiet, everyone. He’ll go away soon…

  Paralyzed by indecision, Theo stared at the glass and the grinning pumpkin sticker. He knew he should go, but wasn’t that giving them what they wanted? After all, cruel people thrived only because their victims did nothing. Sally had seen him. They knew he was here. If he turned around and went home, they’d laugh about it for the rest of the night and he’d be the butt of their jokes every day from this moment on. Remember the night of the Halloween Party, when we locked the door on Old Man Theo? He had come here to be more sociable, to get out of himself for a spell, to make friends a part of his forward momentum. Instead he found himself, as he so often had, automatically excluded for daring to try.

  And that angered him.

  So, no, he was not going to go home. He would draw on every ounce of assertiveness and stay right here until they admitted him. He would be a part of this night if only to spite them and relish the discomfort on their faces when they realized their plan to make a fool of him had failed.

  Nodding to himself, he raised a hand to knock on the shaded glass, but then thought better of it. No matter what they might want him to think, he was not a guest. This was where he worked, and he had an equal right to be here. He lowered his hand, grabbed the door handle, and raised an eyebrow in surprise when it opened easily before him.

  —

  He’d expected to find the office empty, all his coworkers in hiding, pretending the party was over so that Theo would go home. But they were there, all of them.

  They just weren’t moving.

  As the door eased shut, Theo hung his coat on the rack inside the door, just as he did every morning, and stood there taking in the scene before him.

  His coworkers had placed orange filters over the spotlights in the acoustic tile, which had the desired effect of making the room look like the inside of a candlelit cave. The disco lights he had seen from the parking lot continued to spin in the corners, but with no music to accompany them, they seemed more like emergency lights.

  Death stood by the photocopy machine, a drink raised to its bony mouth. Beside it, a mummy leaned in close, its head resting affectionately on his shoulder. They were frozen in place, as if waiting for their picture to be taken. Beyond them in the aisles between the desks, more revelers were gathered. Hips were thrust out, faces were upraised, arms were akimbo, bodies pressed together, a menagerie of ghouls frozen in seductive thrall to the memory of music. They’d been dancing, clearly, but had, like everyone else in the room, stopped at the announcement of Theo’s arrival.

  Sophie, the witch, sat with one heel on the edge of her desk, her chair tilted back, a full drink in her hand. Sugar made the rim of her glass glisten. Strands of honey-colored hair threaded out from beneath her black wig. She, too, was unmoving.

  At the far end of the room, Frankenstein’s monster and his bride were caught in an embrace, their pale lips touching. Theo caught a glimpse of tongue and quickly looked away. Between the couple and the dancers, Raggedy Ann had stalled with a tray of food in her hand.

  There were perhaps sixteen people in all, every one of them in costume, every one of them playing statues.

  “Very funny,” Theo said aloud, forcing some cheer into his voice, because, in truth, he didn’t find it funny at all. Perhaps in the light of day he might have better appreciated the performance or the prank, or whatever it was, but in the sickly orange gloom, he found the sight of his coworkers all frozen in place a little unnerving. Even the sound of his own voice in a room devoid of all other sound startled him. Which, he supposed, was the intent. It was, after all, a Halloween party.

  Still standing just inside the door and very much conscious of the fact that even though everyone was pretending to be frozen they could still see and hear him, he surreptitiously produced from his pocket the invitation. A brief scan and he pocketed it again. STAY 4 TRIVIA QUIZ & MANNEQUIN CHALLENGE! So that’s what this was. Everyone here was playing at being a mannequin, but to what end? And how long should he expect it to continue? And had they pulled this same trick on every guest or was he the sole target of their silly prank?

  Feeling even more self-conscious simply by virtue of his mobility, he moved farther into the room and stood among the statues. He looked around, at turns impressed and disquieted by the intensity of their focus. “Very good,” he said again,
smiling and nodding to show his approval, hoping it would be acknowledged somehow by one of his colleagues. But no one moved. Beneath the heavy makeup, voluminous orange wig, and big red nose, he recognized Jeremy Lowell from Administration. Ordinarily a rather humorless and curt fellow, Theo was surprised to see him not only in costume at a party, but engaged in this odd performance with the others.

  “You must have been bored,” he said, and grinned to show he was joking.

  The clown didn’t respond, didn’t move. He continued staring across the room at where Sally sat, looking bored. His thick-fingered hands were joined together as if praying, or, more likely, hoping perhaps that Sally might be open to spending some time with him. Not that Theo could blame him. She was arguably the most attractive worker here. Even Theo had caught himself staring, caught himself wishing he were younger whenever she passed his desk and the scent of her perfume infiltrated his day. But he knew better than to make a fool of himself.

  He almost laughed out loud at that, felt the bitter grin spread across his face.

  Yes, it surely wouldn’t do to make a fool of yourself.

  The smile faded and he walked on toward the main aisle among the cubicles where the cluster of coworkers had stopped mid-dance. Though the whole thing was off-putting and he felt like the outsider not being a part of it, he nevertheless had to admit that he found it impressive. It couldn’t be easy to hold those poses for so long. And they were being so still. It really did appear as if they’d been frozen. He saw not a stumble of foot nor twitch of lip, heard not a rasp of breath nor scuff of heel. That many of them were probably drunk, too, only made it even more astonishing. He knew he wouldn’t last more than a minute in a given pose. Not only was it a physical challenge, it also flew in the face of his motto, his need to always be moving forward.

  The revelers around him formed a cage of monsters. One of the men, a werewolf he suspected might be the clerk, Lenny Hall, notorious ladies’ man (though one whose charms had failed to win Sally over), had his arms in the air as if reaching for the lights. His shirt was open, exposing a muscular chest covered in a patina of wiry black hair. An Elvira lookalike Theo didn’t recognize had her hands on his pecs, her lips spread in a broad grin, eyes hooded with lustful appreciation. Theo frowned and watched them closely, unblinking, until his eyes stung. They were not moving. At all. He had looked at Lenny’s chest to try and detect the rise and fall of the man’s breathing.