THE
HALLOWEEN
GIRL
JEFF O’BRIEN
Copyright © 2016 Jeff O’Brien/Riot Forge Studios
Cover by Don Noble
All rights reserved.
DEDICATION
For Douglas Vance Castagna, who told me to just detach.
And for Christoph Paul, who told me to just finish the goddamn thing.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is an intensive rewrite of an old, short lived book of mine called Cassie, which was a sequel to another old book of mine. In the off chance that you’re one of the very few people who read that, sorry if you thought this was a brand new story. However, in many ways it is a brand new story. Things have been added, things have been taken out, and things have been changed completely. Most of all, this is now a standalone story, and I like it a lot more. If you like it half as much as I do, then I think I did all right.
This book is also a vast departure from my normal tone that usually consists of humor, boobs, and good old fashioned trashiness. This is not a funny book, and completing this new manuscript was often times depressing. You might need to keep your tissues handy, but not for the same reason you’d need them while reading that other smutty stuff I write.
With love,
Jeff O’Brien
2/20/16
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A big round of thanks to everyone at Riot Forge, my comrades and allies.
Another round of thanks to bands such as: Samhain, Deceased, Morbid Angel and Deicide, whose kick-ass tunes carried me through to painful task of writing this book.
There are many others deserving of my thanks, but to name them all would fill another book of its own
I love you all.
PROLOGUE
“The tape is now rolling.”
“Good morning,” muttered Bill. “I don’t know why they think I need to talk to you. I’m only going to be telling you the same loony shit I’ve been telling every other head doctor they’ve thrown on me since I got here.”
“Well, you tried to kill yourself two nights ago, Bill. I specialize in that kind of thing. I’d like to be your friend and try to keep you from doing that again.”
“Friend.” Bill laughed at the word. “If you were my friend you’d assist me in getting the job done.”
“Suicide is a pretty permanent solution to a temporary─”
“To a temporary problem, were you just gonna say? What exactly is temporary about spending the rest of my life in a psychiatric facility, doc?”
“I could make you better, Bill. And then you could leave this place someday.”
“That’s just the problem, doc. I’m no safer out there than I am in here.” Bill inhaled deeply and prepared to explain his affliction yet again to another skeptic man of science. “I’m not here because I have some diagnosable chemical imbalance. Sure, you could call it mental illness. Demons living inside someone’s head probably fits that description. But they’re not an illusion, doc. They’re real certified demons. There’s no prescription or cure for that…aside from what I tried to do to myself the other night.”
“Why don’t you start from the beginning then,” the therapist suggested. “Tell me about Red Eyes.”
“I see you’ve read my files,” said Bill. “Sure, I’ll tell you all about him. But what’s the point? You’re not gonna believe me. None of the other doctors did.”
“Tell me about the night before you came here. The night Stephanie died. The night you set the fire in the church.”
“I didn’t set the fucking fire!”
“Who did?”
“Nobody did. I mean I suppose it was Red Eyes. He was awful pissed. But the fire just sort of happened.”
“And why was he so pissed?”
“Because Death. Death tricked him.”
“Death,” said the therapist, and began shuffling through the folder on his lap, looking for the right page. “Ahh, Death. The woman in white, as you seem to often refer to her as.”
“Yes. Stephanie. She’s the only thing that keeps me safe from anything. Even in this place.”
“Stephanie was your girlfriend, correct?”
“She was. But now she’s Death.”
“Okay, let’s go back a little before that,” said the therapist. “How did Stephanie become Death?”
“You must already know this, doc. It’s surely right there in my files.”
“These files are just words, Bill. Words scribbled down by other doctors and therapists who haven’t been able to help you. I want to hear it from your own mouth, in your own words.”
“Fine.” Bill balled his fists and began rubbing the stress out of his fingers on the palms of his hands. “It was all because of Stephanie’s father. Real piece of shit that guy was. Beat her senseless her whole life. Tied her up and whipped her with his belt. Put his cigarettes out on her. All that shit. I used to dream about killing the bastard myself. Still do, actually.
“Anyways, Steph came to me one day after school. This was back in ninety-eight. She said a demon came to her the night before. A shadowy form of a man with glowing red eyes, hence the name. Red Eyes. He said he’d kill her father for her. She just had to agree to do him a favor when the time came.”
“And what was it that she had to agree to?” asked the therapist.
“He didn’t tell her at first. That’s how Red Eyes is such a tricky fuck. He finds the most desperate and helpless people to prey upon. Offers them a life-saving deal and makes the compensation sound like nothing all too difficult.”
“And you claim that Stephanie’s father was in fact killed by Red Eyes.” The therapist examined a particular page of the file closely, and then looked up at Bill.
“Did Red Eyes actually do the murder himself?” Bill raised his arms in a contemplative gesture. “I don’t know. However it was done, it was either by him or under his instruction. And a couple days later Stephanie’s father was dead. And for a short while everything was great. Stephanie was eighteen so there were no legal ramifications to her staying with me at my mother’s house. We were happy. I was happy, probably for the only time in my entire life…until Halloween.”
“What happened on Halloween, Bill?”
“Just like it says there in my file, doc. Red Eyes came back looking for Stephanie to fulfill her end of the bargain.”
“And Stephanie still didn’t know what exactly her end of the bargain was going to be?”
“Correct. Not until she and I went to the church that night. That’s when we found out what her end of the bargain was.”
“What happened when you got to the church?”
“We walk in, and there on the altar is Red Eyes. And this was where things got even weirder. We both wanted to run, but we somehow weren’t able to. A second later we’re standing right there on the altar with the bastard. Like he pulled us forward with his demon power or whatever. Then he handed Stephanie a knife.”
“And that’s when Red Eyes told Stephanie that she had to kill you.”
“Right. A life for a life, I guess. He takes one, she gives him one.”
“But Stephanie couldn’t do it. She couldn’t kill her boyfriend.”
“I’m still here. Talking to you. Obviously not.”
“So what happened, Bill?”
“That’s when Death showed up.”
“The woman in white, but not Stephanie.”
“Correct, doc. Not yet Stephanie.”
“So what happened?”
Bill leaned his head back against the chair, summoning the strength to tell this story yet again to some scholarly asshole who did a bad job of pretending to relate to and understand just what he had gone through.
“Death and Step
hanie,” began Bill, “they looked at each other. Sort of nodding like they were having some kind of silent conversation. Like they had some deal of their own worked out. Death was crying, like she felt bad for Stephanie or something. That’s when Red Eyes got really pissed, and shit started catching on fire. So…”
“Bill, are you all right?” The therapist leaned forward in his chair and put a hand on Bill’s forearm. The arm was trembling, and Bill had started to sob.
“I can’t do this again!” cried Bill in a sudden burst. “I want to go back to my room.”
“And that’s when you say Stephanie became Death?” asked the therapist. “Just give me another minute, Bill. I want to understand.”
“I said I want to go back to my room! Red Eyes is here. He’s back. None of this shit matters anymore!”
“He’s where, Bill?”
“Everywhere! In my head. In this room. Just let me go back!”
“Okay, Bill. We can be done for today. You can go back to your room. I’m going to prescribe you some sedatives, okay? And I’m going to keep someone posted right outside your room.”
“Can you prescribe me enough to kill me?”
“You know I can’t do that, Bill.”
“Fuck you. I’ll find a way with or without your help.”
“Find a way to what?”
“To fucking kill myself.”
ONE
It was five minutes until closing time, and Tom felt no real need to hurry home. He was more comfortable here in the book store than he was at home or at his supposed girlfriend’s apartment where he would avoid going at all costs tonight.
The night looked dark and foreboding, as New Hampshire nights always seemed to Tom, who was a native of Boston’s suburbs sixty miles to the south. He simply dreaded the eerie quiet; a few police sirens and domestic disputes would be the perfect soundtrack to put him at ease. As Tom was about to walk out from behind the counter and lock the door, a man came in holding some antique looking leather-bound book.
“Good evening,” Tom said to the man, who appeared to be as old as Tom but aged beyond his years. “We’re gonna be closing up in just a minute.”
“Okay,” the man said with a friendly nod. “I just have something I want to show you.”
“Cool, what do ya’ got?”
“Take a look at this here,” the man said as he placed the book down on the counter. “You gotta’ check this out.”
“Dark Magic and Spells for Beginners?” Tom said to the man, raising a possibly interested brow. Upon closer inspection he realized the leather jacket of the book was simply an artificial touch put on what was clearly a novelty item.
“Well there’s a lot more to it,” the man said with great enthusiasm. “This book goes well beyond all that shit. It tells you how to summon demons, and even how to be cautious when dealing with the devil.”
“Dealing with the devil?” Tom asked, laughing. “Sounds fun. Do me a favor, would you?”
“Sure,” the man agreed.
“Can you just go flip the lock on that door shut so no one else comes in? I probably shouldn’t have you here past closing time, but hey, this looks like something the goth kids might come in and buy.”
“I think it’s something you might want,” the man said, blowing some black and grey hair out of his eyes.
“Just might be,” Tom said, looking the man over. His face was friendly, yet told of a hard and troubled past. It was his eyes, mostly. They were strong eyes that had perhaps seen terror and rose above it with grace and poise. Tom figured he was possibly a veteran, and decided that he liked this guy, especially because of the old Metallica t-shirt he was wearing.
“I gotta’ tell ya, man,” Tom began, “I like your style. Old-school Metallica and books about dealing with the devil and conjuring demons. But you realize this book is a novelty item, right?”
“Indeed,” said the man. “Same goes to you. Great Dying Fetus t-shirt.”
The stranger either didn’t hear the second part of Tom’s comment, or was willfully ignoring it.
“Death to false metal,” Tom said with a synthetic laugh that was soon echoed by the strange but friendly last minute customer, who then went over to lock the door. “So tell me, man. Why are you looking to sell this?”
“Oh, I’m not looking to sell it at all. I came here to show it to you. It’s sort of on loan. And you don’t even want to know what I had to go through to get it.”
Now thinking the he was behind a locked door with a stranger who might just be a maniac, Tom became uncomfortable by the man’s last words.
“You want to explain that one to me, uhh, what was your name?”
“Bill.”
“Bill. I’m Tom.”
“Oh I know. I know all about you, dude.”
“Excuse me,” Tom said.
“I said I know all about you. I know about your past. I know about the shadows. I even know about Cassie…the Halloween girl. And if you’re smart, you’ll take a look at this book with me.”
“Okay…Bill.” Tom closed the book and pushed it across the counter. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re really here. But I’m going to ask you just once to take this book and get the fuck out.”
“I come in peace, Tom,” Bill assured him. “I’m not just some loony. I’m here to help you. Now open the book to page six-six-six.”
“Page six-six-six?” Tom asked, almost giving in to a laugh. “This really is a joke, isn’t it?”
“Have you listened to anything I’ve said, Tom? I know just as well as you what’s out there waiting for you. Now please, open the book.”
Tom did as he was instructed by the stranger and turned to the specified page, which was the start of a chapter on dealing with the Devil.
“Now take a good look at what you see, Tom. This holds a great importance to you. There are all kinds of ways of dealing with old Red Eyes.”
“Red Eyes?” Tom asked, breaking out into a cold sweat.
“You still won’t stop questioning me, dude? Really?”
“Okay fine,” Tom agreed.
“I know Red Eyes just as well as you do, Tom. Back in ninety-eight my girlfriend and I had quite a little run-in with him. You want to see what I have to show you now?”
“I’m listening.”
“Good. You can willingly deal with him, and you can unwillingly deal with him and have to pay similar consequences.”
“I see that,” said Tom as he read down the first page of the chapter.
“The latter might sound a little familiar to you. Or at least it will pretty soon. I know what it’s like to love someone the way you loved Cassie. And I know what you’d be willing to do to be with her. All that matters is that you do it right.”
“Are you going to tell me how you know all this shit?” Tom clenched his jaw and balled his hands into white-knuckled fists. “I understand you know all about Red Eyes, but how do you know about me and Cassie?”
“Forget about that. Not important. Like I said before, that book is on loan and I don’t have much longer to help you. So read that chapter quick.”
Begrudgingly, Tom read the chapter as Bill hurried him along with his antsy body language.
“You’re a strange man, Bill,” Tom said as he finished the chapter and looked up, only to find himself alone in the store. “Bill?” he called out to no response. “Dude, you want your book?”
Scanning his head all around the store, he saw no sign of the stranger. The small store offered no place for him to be hiding, either. Tom walked out from behind the counter to lock the door, figuring Bill must have snuck out while he was reading, but the door was still locked.
“The fuck?” Tom said to himself and turned back toward the counter. Where the book had been resting was now nothing more than a pile of ashes.
Tom reviewed all his visitor had told him mentally. Though his visit had only lasted mere minutes, the depth and accuracy of all he had said made the words seem endless.
“Bill,” Tom said to himself. “Back in ninety-eight.”
Tom turned to the computer and brought up a Google search, typing Leedham,Massachusetts Church Burning 1998 into the search field. It was a long shot, but also the only shot of making some sense of this.
Before Tom could click on any results from the urban legend websites that reported regularly on all the mysteries and lore surrounding the event that had happened in Tom’s hometown eight years after his own experience, he saw a headline that read Bill Richmond, 34, Found Dead, Suicide…
Not bothering to click and read the article, Tom let out a deep exhale and looked out the windows of the storefront into the dark night, focusing on all the shadows and unseen pockets of darkness between the old brick buildings of Portsmouth. The dread he had been putting off facing for so long washed over him.
The shadows were calling him, and he knew he couldn’t ignore them any longer. It appeared they were now actually coming right for him.
***
The moon over Portsmouth, New Hampshire hung strangely low that night. People driving down the Spaulding Turnpike looked up and thought they saw it sitting right atop the trees running parallel to the road. Other than a brave coyote or two making mad dashes across the road and causing near pileups, mayhem and havoc went mostly unseen to the human eye.
Less than a mile away on Islington Street the night was silent. Only the occasional whirring of a car passing by could be heard by Bob Keller as he sat on his front porch, rocking gently in his chair. Even the crickets seemed to have taken the night off from their humming in the tall grass.
Rusty, Bob’s loving Pekingese, sat by his side, curled up into a ball with not a care in the world.
A lonely old fart and his dog.
Bob Keller knew he looked just like a stereotype, but didn’t care. It was a stereotype of a man who had worked hard all his life and served his country with honor and bravery.
The Halloween Girl Page 1
