HALLOWEEN HUNT

by Richard Laymon

  The ghost was first to reach the wall. He jumped, grabbed the top, and pulled himself up. Linda stopped at the wall. Glancing around, she saw the headlights speeding closer. She leapt and hooked her fingers over the rough stone at the top of the wall. She squirmed and kicked. It was hopeless.

  Then hands closed tightly around her wrists and pulled. One of her feet was shoved upward, maybe by Dave. She flew up the wall. Her knee found the top. The ghost held her steady as she stood.

  Dave’s car was about a hundred feet away. The ghost started hurrying toward it, walking quickly along the top of the wall. Linda followed close behind.

  “Hurry.” It was Dave’s voice. He was behind her.

  The car of the watchman sped closer and stopped near the wall ahead of her. Its door swung open and a man charged out. “All right!” he yelled. “Hold it right there!” He ran toward the wall.

  Linda jumped. She felt herself falling for a long time. Her feet hit the ground. Her knees folded and she tumbled through the grass. Looking around, she saw that the others had also leapt from the wall. She pushed herself up and raced for Dave’s car.

  Seconds later, it was speeding away from Woodlawn Cemetery.

  Dave laughed nervously. “Well,” he said, “one down and two to go.”

  “Forget it,” Linda muttered. She touched her knees. They stung. They had been scraped badly while she was trying to climb the wall. Her neck, right shoulder, and arm ached, too. They must have been hurt when she hit the ground.

  “You can’t quit now,” Dave said.

  “Oh, no? Watch me.”

  “Do you want to lose out on a hundred dollars?”

  “Take me back to my car, please.”

  “If anyone quits,” Walt said from the backseat, “the team loses.”

  “That’s not fair,” Linda snapped.

  “It’s in the rules. And it is fair because it’s the same for both teams.”

  “She wants to quit,” said the ghost. “Don’t push her.”

  “I’ll be out a hundred bucks,” Dave argued. “So will you, pal.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a big deal to me. Who are you anyway?”

  The ghost didn’t answer.

  “Walt, you invited this turkey.”

  “He’s not a turkey,” Linda said. She looked around at him. “Thanks for helping me… whoever you are.”

  “I’m Gary Thorpe,” he said.

  “Gary’s a new English instructor at the college,” Walt said.

  “Why didn’t you introduce yourself earlier?” Linda asked.

  “It’s a Halloween party,” he said. “I thought that a mysterious stranger would add some spice. Now, Dave, how about taking the lady back to her car?”

  “No way.”

  “Then I quit, too. It’s over.”

  “Hey!”

  Linda frowned. She didn’t mind forcing Dave to lose the prize money. But Gary was a different matter. Gary had stuck up for her. And he had helped her onto the wall. “Never mind,” she said. “I’ll go through with it.”

  “Are you sure?” Gary asked.

  “Yeah,” Linda said.

  “All right,” Dave blurted out. “Now you’re talking.”

  “One thing,” Linda said, looking back at Gary. “If you’re new in town, how did you know where to find Borden’s grave?”

  “He was my cousin. I’ve been to the grave once before.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Walt said. “Geez, I’m sorry.”

  “Does madness run in the family?” Dave asked.

  Linda glared at him.

  “Maybe,” Gary answered. “You better not turn your back on me.”

  While they talked, Dave had circled the cemetery and driven back into town. Now he eased the car to the curb.

  Linda looked out her window. Across the lawn was an old house with floodlights shining on the bushes in front. The sign above the door read, SIMON BROTHERS FUNERAL HOME.

  “Oh, no,” she muttered.

  Dave took out the list. “Number two. Hair from the head of a dead person.” He folded the paper. “I sure hope the Simon brothers have a customer in there tonight.”

  “We can’t do this,” Linda said.

  “No sweat,” Dave told her.

  “It’s not right. Dirt from a grave is one thing. But this is actually messing with a dead person.”

  “Chicken?”

  “That’s not the point. This is… wrong.”

  “Only a couple of hairs are needed,” Walt explained.

  “You’re an idiot, coming up with something like this,” Linda said angrily.

  Walt chuckled.

  “You don’t have to cut any,” Dave told her. “I’ll take care of that.” He patted the knife on his belt.

  “She’ll have to go inside, though,” Walt said. “Everyone has to be present. It’s in the rules.”

  “This is getting to be pretty serious business,” Gary said. “In fact, we’re talking about crimes. Breaking and entering, disturbing a body…”

  “As for breaking and entering,” Walt explained, “that doesn’t apply. The Simon brothers don’t lock the door. Their parlor is open to the public twenty-four hours a day.”

  “But cutting hair off a corpse…”

  “It won’t mind,” Dave said and laughed. “If we sit around arguing forever, the other team’s going to end up winning.”

  “What’s number three?” Linda asked. “It might be even worse than this.”

  “Three’s a cinch,” Dave said.

  “What is it?”

  “A splinter from the attic of the Winslow house.”

  The Winslow house had been empty for years. Linda knew that it was boarded up. They would have to break in, but she supposed that breaking into an old place like that wouldn’t be much of a crime. Who would care?

  People said it was haunted by the ghost of Ramsey Winslow, who had hanged himself in the attic five years before.

  But Linda didn’t believe in ghosts.

  Except for the ghost in the backseat. She didn’t want him to lose out on the prize money just because of her.

  “That doesn’t sound so awful,” she said. “Okay. Let’s get the hair, finish up with the house, and get it done.”

  As they walked to the door of the funeral parlor, Linda glanced at Walt. “You didn’t set up any tricks here, did you?” she asked.

  “No. Honest. I didn’t even know we’d be coming here. Dave might’ve decided to go to one of the other funeral parlors in town.”

  “Okay.”

  As Dave reached for the door handle, Linda grabbed his arm. “Wait,” she whispered.

  “What is it?”

  “Tom Simon and his family live here. Upstairs.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, they’ve probably got a buzzer to let them know when someone comes in.”

  “Yeah, so?” Dave asked.

  “So you’d better make it snappy,” Linda said.

  “You worry too much.”

  “Dave!”

  “Give me your knife,” Gary said. A hand came out from under the sheet. “I’ll do the cutting.”

  “Help yourself,” Dave said as he gave him the knife. “Better you than me. Ready?”

  “Just a second. This has to be fast. I don’t want to trip over my sheet.” He removed the chain necklace, pulled the sheet off, and handed the bundle to Dave.

  In spite of his mussed hair, he was very handsome. Linda stared at him. He looked a year or two older than she. He was slim. His plaid wool shirt and jeans gave him a rugged appearance, as if he would be at home in woods or mountains. The calm way he looked back at Linda took away some of her fear.

  “All set,” he said.

  With his free hand, Dave opened the door.

  They rushed inside. The hall was dimly lighted. Linda heard quiet organ music, probably a recording.

  Gary, in the lead, raced through an entryway. Linda followed, with Dave close beside h
er and Walt at the rear. Stopping, she watched Gary dash across the room. There was only one coffin. From where she stood with Dave and Walt, she couldn’t see the body inside it. She was glad.

  Gary halted beside the coffin. He reached inside with both hands. His back blocked Linda’s view, but she saw his arm moving. Suddenly, he whirled around and raced toward them. “Got it!” he whispered, raising a clenched fist.

  She heard Walt and Dave running for the door, but she waited until Gary was near before rushing after them. Then she was outside, sprinting for the street.

  Nobody spoke as Dave sped the car to the end of the block. He turned a corner. “Beautiful,” he said. “Got away clean as a whistle. I bet we were out of there before Simon even got out of bed.” He pulled to the curb and stopped. Looking around at Gary, he said, “You got the hair okay, didn’t you?”

  “Here’s your knife.” Gary handed it to him. Then he opened his left hand.

  Dave opened the door to make the inside light come on.

  Gary’s hand was full of brown hair.

  “What did you do,” Dave asked, “scalp the guy?”

  Gary grinned. “He won’t miss it.”

  The hair was the same color as Gary’s. Linda saw a shaggy place above his ear.

  “True enough,” she thought, “the corpse wouldn’t miss that hair.” For all she knew, the coffin may have been empty. “That’s great,” she told Gary. “Here, do you want your costume back?”

  He thanked her when she handed the sheet and chain back to him. Then he put the sheet over his head, hiding the place from which he’d cut the hair.

  He had cheated, of course, but it didn’t seem dishonest. The game, the scavenger hunt, was insane. Linda knew that, and so did Gary. He’d been smart enough to get the hair without touching a corpse. Linda was proud of him.

  “Next stop,” Dave said, “the Winslow house.”

  “Woooo,” said Gary the ghost.

  Linda grinned.

  Dave drove out past the north end of town, and down a dirt road to the Winslow house. Linda got out of the car.

  The sight of the house gave her a shiver that had little to do with the chilly wind. Beyond the fence, the yard was a tangle of weeds. Fallen leaves from the trees in front of the house tumbled through the night. The house was two stories high, with a steep roof and overhangs that cast black shadows over the windows and porch. Where there were no shadows, the old wooden siding looked as pale as bone in the moonlight.

  Dave opened the trunk of his car. He took out a jack handle.

  “What’s that for?” Linda asked.

  He pointed to the pry bar at one end. “To get us inside,” he explained. Then he took a flashlight from the trunk.

  The gate squawked as Gary pushed it open.

  Dave led the way. Linda followed Gary, with Walt behind her. She waded through the weeds. They snagged her feet and scratched her legs. Then she was out of them. The porch steps creaked under her weight.

  They waited on the porch while Dave pried off a board across the door. “Careful of the nails,” he warned, tossing the plank aside. It landed with a clatter that made her shake.

  Dave ripped three more boards away, and then rammed his bar into the gap between the door and its frame. He tugged. With a loud groan and crack, the door loosened. He kicked it. It flew open. He slid the jack handle under his belt.

  “Anybody home?” he called into the blackness.

  “Don’t,” Linda whispered.

  Dave laughed softly as they stepped inside. Walt closed the door.

  Linda shut her eyes and opened them. There was no difference. The air smelled ancient and moldy. She heard the wind outside sighing against the house. The only other sound was the quick pounding of her own heart.

  “Pretty dark in here,” Dave finally said.

  “You’ve got a flashlight,” Linda reminded him.

  “I think I like the darkness,” Dave said.

  She heard a floorboard groan. Something brushed against her face. She jumped back, gasping, and slapped out.

  “Ouch!”

  “Quit it, Dave.”

  “Okay, okay.” He turned on the flashlight. He was holding it under his chin so the light streamed up his face. It gave off a weird light that made him look strange and ugly.

  “Real nice,” Linda muttered. “You know, you’re wasting time with all this fooling around. Do you want the other team to win?”

  “She’s right,” Gary said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Just having some fun.”

  Turning away, Dave swept the flashlight beam around the empty rooms. Then he aimed it up the stairway. “That’s the way to the attic, I guess.”

  They crossed the creaking floorboards to the foot of the stairs. Dave started up. The others followed. “I wonder why old Winslow hanged himself,” he said.

  “He was mad as a hatter,” Walt answered.

  “One of your relatives, Thorpe?” Dave asked.

  Gary said nothing.

  “Lay off,” Linda said. “Why,” she asked herself, “was Dave acting like such a creep?”

  “He always has been a creep,” she thought. Dave could be nice, but she had to admit there had been plenty of times when he had acted like a total jerk. His taking Tanya Raines to the concert had been a rotten thing to do. But Linda realized now that it hadn’t been the only reason for the breakup. Just the last straw.

  In spite of everything, she was glad she had come to Walt’s party. After tonight, there would be no more regrets about Dave. She would count herself lucky to be rid of him.

  And she had met Gary Thorpe. Casper, the Friendly Ghost. Already, she liked him a lot.

  “So where do we find the attic?” Dave said in a loud voice. It shocked Linda from her thoughts.

  They had reached the top of the stairs. Dave pointed his flashlight to the left. Its beam lit a long, narrow hallway. A window at the far end mirrored the light’s silvery disk. Along the hall were many doorways. He swung his flashlight the other way. The hallway in that direction looked no different.

  “One of the doors,” he said, “probably leads to the attic.” In a low voice he added, “Where Winslow hanged himself.”

  Dave turned to the right and began walking slowly down the hallway. Linda stayed close to Gary.

  “I’ve never seen a real ghost,” Dave said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and meet one tonight.” He threw open the first door so hard that it banged the wall.

  Linda jumped. Gary took her hand and squeezed it gently.

  “Just an empty room,” Dave said, shining his light through the doorway.

  He continued along the hall, flinging open each door and looking inside. At the end of the hall, he opened the final door. “Ah-ha! The attic stairs!”

  Standing behind Dave and clutching Gary’s arm tightly, Linda peered up the narrow staircase. The flashlight beam showed steep wooden steps and a closed door at the top.

  “Beware of Winslow’s ghost,” Dave said and began to climb.

  The walls were too close for staying beside Gary, so she let go of his arm. He went ahead of her. She and Walt followed behind. She couldn’t see past him, but she heard the door squeak open at the top.

  “One splinter from the attic coming up,” Dave said in a cheery voice.

  “Wait till we’re all there,” Walt warned. “Rules are rules.”

  “Righto.”

  Linda followed Gary up the final stairs and through the attic doorway. Walt swung the door shut.

  “Okay,” Dave said. “Everyone’s here. Is just a splinter from the floor okay?” he asked Walt.

  “Sure.”

  Dave knelt down and pulled the knife from his belt.

  Someone moaned.

  The moan came from the darkness across the attic.

  Dave shined his light toward the sound.

  A small stool lay overturned on the attic floor. A pair of feet dangled above it, swaying. The body, hanging from a roof beam, turned slowly
on its rope.

  Numb with terror, Linda stared at the body. She felt as if her wind had been knocked out. She locked her knees to keep herself from falling.

  “Winslow,” Dave gasped.

  Gary grabbed Linda’s arm. “It’s just another trick,” he whispered.

  “No,” Walt said. “Honest.”

  As Linda gazed at the hanging body, it kept on turning. The glow of Dave’s flashlight lit its face. The eyes were open, staring at her. The lips twisted, lifting and showing teeth.

  The face… Linda knew the face. Her terror turned to rage.

  The hanging body was Hank Dunsmore, a pal of Walt and Dave. He was the guy Erin had said couldn’t come to the party because he was out of town.

  Furious, Linda whirled around and slapped Walt across the face.

  “Hey!” Walt cried out.

  “Think you’re real smart!” she snapped. Her voice was high pitched, shaking. She swung at Walt again, but he ducked.

  “It’s not my fault!” Walt whined. “It was Dave’s idea. The whole thing. He wanted to get back at you for dumping him.”

  Behind her, Dave began to laugh. “Pretty neat gag, huh?”

  Linda spun to face him. Fists clenched, she lunged at him. Gary caught her shoulders and stopped her. “Let go!” she cried.

  Gary said, “Don’t waste your time slugging that jerk. You might hurt your hand. Let’s just get out of here.”

  “Aw,” Dave said in a teasing voice. “What’s the matter, Linda? Can’t you take a little joke?”

  “It was really a good one,” Gary said, stepping around Linda. He grinned into the beam of Dave’s flashlight. “That guy’s rigged with a harness, isn’t he?”

  “Yep.”

  “I thought so. Nifty trick.” Then he rammed his fist into Dave’s stomach. Dave went down, dropping the knife and flashlight to the attic floor. “Come on, Linda. Let’s get out of here,” Gary said.

  They turned away.

  A single low word stopped them. “Help.” It was Hank Dunsmore.

  “He sounds as if he means it,” Gary said.

  Linda nodded. “Maybe he’s choking.”

  Gary picked up the flashlight. Linda grabbed the knife. As she straightened up, she saw the beam light Hank.

  Why hadn’t she noticed before? The shock of seeing someone hanging must have blinded her to it. The legs of his jeans, from knees to cuffs, were in shreds. There was blood forming a small puddle on the attic floor.