This is Halloween

by James A. Moore

  Erika looked right at them and right through them, as if they weren’t even there. Then she started running again, heading further into the deep woods and the night.

  Tracy was the first one hot on her trail, moving with ridiculous ease when you considered everything they’d already been through. Shannon was fast in pursuit, but Tracy absolutely tore all hell out of the distance between them and their prey.

  Shannon wanted to be upset with Erika, because, really it was very inconvenient, this whole running away thing. Instead she was elated. Erika was alive...a little whacked on the mushrooms, but alive. That had to count for something. If they could just get the girl back to the dorms quietly, she could apologize and grovel tomorrow and the whole ugly mess could be behind them.

  She saw something moving across the forest floor at high speed, something dark and fast and heading straight for Erika.

  Shannon froze, her skin crawling as she tried to track whatever it was. The thing moved like a snake, undulating across the ground, sometimes going around obstacles and other times going over them.

  Whatever it was, it moved faster than Tracy and was almost to Erika already.

  Erika turned sharply on one bare heel and started back the same way she’d already come, her feet lifting high and her naked body almost dancing as she came back, a look on her face that had nothing to do with happiness or any other emotion that Shannon could easily comprehend.

  She bolted right past Tracy, and the bigger girl made a grab for her but captured only mud and debris that slipped from Erika’s sweating body.

  Erika slowed down when she reached Shannon, panting heavily and looking her straight in the eyes. Erika’s expression slowly grew into a smile and she spoke softly. “Not you. I like you.”

  “Ummm...I like you too?” She had no idea what else to say.

  Erika nodded her head slowly and then fell to the ground, unconscious and barely breathing.

  Shannon was still watching the fallen girl and trying to decide what to do about her when the darkness wrapped around her body and started squeezing.

  There was no air to breathe that wasn’t deeply rancid. There was nothing to see but strained, red and black flesh, rotting and bleeding around her. She pushed and kicked and tried to scream, but to no avail. All too soon the darkness grew deeper and she felt the world fade away.

  XX

  The girl fell unconscious and that was good. Not being seen by her would make everything else much easier to handle.

  The one called Shannon stared down at her and looked ready to panic. Whatever the case, she could not be allowed to hurt Erika. Patrick wrapped himself around her and squeezed as gently as he could until she passed out.

  Then he slipped away from her and looked over the muddy form on the ground. Erika’s breathing was fast and shallow and she looked feverish. He touched her tentatively and she opened her eyes slightly.

  “Patrick, my boy.”The voice was a little girl’s; the words spoken came from his mother. “There’s not much time and this is the one I want. She’ll die if you don’t make it right. Save her for me, Patrick. Make her whole and take her where she belongs.”

  “Mother...I don’t know how to save her.”

  “Take my tongue from her, draw it away like breath from a dying man and it will come to you. Then deliver it to another, pass the poison to one of the other girls. Not this one, and not the little bitch who started all of this. I have plans for her.”

  “Mother, when are you coming home? When will you be back with us?”

  The girl’s blue eyes fluttered several times and her voice became slurred. “Not yet, my sweet boy. Soon, but not yet. It is not time.”

  “Mother, I’ve waited for so long.”

  His mother gave no answer and the girl shivered in the cold. Patrick moved over her and formed a mouth to place over her full lips. As she exhaled he drew in her breath and felt the poisons leave her body, drawn out not by his stealing of her breath so much as by his mother’s will. His was not to question the ways of a witch, but merely to obey.

  When he pulled back from her, the girl was pale and close to death. Still, she drew in a lung full of air and gasped, shivered again and began to breathe normally.

  Behind him the blonde girl did not move save to draw in a breath, but not far away the other girl-child, the one who had been trying to capture Erika saw him and shook her head, horrified by the sight.

  Patrick shifted, changing his shape and taking a form closer to human. His flesh was raw and wounded and would need still more repairs.

  The tall girl looked on, mesmerized by the changes he made in his flesh. Before she could recover her senses, he lunged and grabbed her, pulling her closer to him. She was strong for a little girl, but no challenge for him. Patrick had been a child when he failed his mother, barely an infant. These days he was much, much more than that.

  She fought, trying to break free, but he pulled her closer until he could press his mouth to hers, and expelled the poisons he had drawn from Erika. The girl fought harder still, trying to escape, and he held her tightly, idly curious as to the appeal of a kiss. This was his second in only a few moments and it did nothing for him.

  For the girl, the kiss was devastating. He felt her skin grow hot and feverish, felt her muscles relax as the toxins poured into her body and her spirit.

  He’d have left her to die peacefully, but that was not an option. He was damaged by the forest, cut and bleeding in a hundred small places and just as importantly, Erika needed to be repaired.

  Before her flesh could be ruined, Patrick skinned the dying girl, taking her epidermis into his body and leaving her bared for the world. He drew in her unmarred youthful skin and moved quickly to the girl called Erika, pushing aside the mud and filth and delicately layering new skin over the cuts and wounds that covered her.

  She was young and lovely by human standards. He cleaned her of muck and filth as he carried her away from the death he’d been forced to deal out.

  Shannon he left by the dead girl, unconcerned save that he not harm her. Where she woke was unimportant. How she lived was not his concern.

  Patrick lay Erika on the ground and dressed her as best he could in her muddied clothes. He then slipped her over his shoulder and moved back toward the Academy.

  He’d heard Denny’s screams earlier and knew where the man was. He would check on him later if he needed to, but for now, the girl was his only concern.

  It was almost time for the sun to rise when he had finished his tasks.

  Denny was not present when he found the remains of the other girl, the one he’d thought safe from all of the mayhem. She had triggered one of his many traps and died for her folly.

  Her flesh was fresh enough and he used it to repair himself one more time before assuming his human guise again. After so long as a human the form was comfortable. He found he liked having teeth again and there was comfort even in the skull he had used for so many years.

  Patrick felt for the children that died that night. He pitied them for their foolishness, just as he had always pitied the foolish. But he did not miss them and there was no deep remorse within him.

  He could hide among the humans, and that was a very good thing, but he could not be a human: Much as he might want to dwell among them and much as he found comfort in their presence, they were still as different from him as the fingerprints that each of them held distinctively as their own.

  Patrick had the truck loaded with fresh milk by the time Denny showed up. He quelled his excitement over the contact with his mother, knowing that someday soon she would need him again and he would answer her call: How could he not? She was his mother and he was her servant for all time.

  Denny remembered the donuts this time and that was good.

  Neither of them said anything about their night in the woods, and if Denny was subdued through the daily rituals, that was fine with Patrick.

  There was a storm brewing at the Partridge house. Both of the daughters stoo
d outside, holding on to each other and crying, as the Chief Constable looked at them, his face a study in anxiety and grief.

  Before Denny could climb out of the truck, Patrick was standing and taking the delivery to the front door. The last thing he wanted for either of the girls was for them to deal with Denny and his stares.

  Melissa walked over to him as he put down their delivery, her eyes puffy and her face streaked with tears. “I don’t think we can pay for that.”

  Patrick looked at her closely and nodded. She was in shock, unable to fully register whatever tragedy had befallen her. It was hardly the first time in his life he had seen grief knock the pins out from under someone.

  “What happened, Melissa?”

  “My Dad...He had a fight with my Mom.” Her face broke a little, scrunching up as the tears started. Patrick put out his arms and she fell into them, crying, wailing her grief into his broad chest, her body wracked by sorrow.

  Patrick held her, doing his best to calm her down. He spoke very little, but his hands stroked her hair and he rocked her softly while she cried. It took very little effort for him to understand the depths of her pain. Once upon a time his mother had been killed too.

  When she had cried herself out, Patrick led her back to her sister, who looked to be handling things a little better, for the moment at least. “You two watch out for each other, okay?”

  Both of the girls nodded their heads.

  “What about your milk?” Her voice was as small as she was.

  “I’ve got it covered. It’s yours. Drink it and stay healthy.” He had every reason to believe the milk would sit on their stoop and curdle before either of them remembered it. There was nothing he could do about that, but he also knew no one would begrudge them the cost of a couple of quarts. He left the girls alone, but marked them. He would watch over them for a time, because that was what you did when you ran across people in trouble and because, in the case of Melissa, he understood her grief.

  The rest of his day was uneventful and that too, suited Patrick’s desires. The simple routines of the day gave him comfort as few other things in the world ever did.

  Night Eyes

  with Charles R. Rutledge

  Halloween, 1973

  Wellman, Georgia was not a big town. Nestled in the north Georgia mountains, surrounded by hills, valleys, the occasional river or creek and enough farmland to guarantee a few good harvest festivals, the town didn’t need to be much larger than it was, and none of the people living there ever seemed to mind the lack of extra traffic or crime.

  It would be very easy to say that times were simpler back then in 1973, but it would also be a lie. There were issues that still needed tending to, social and political alike, and plenty of both. Asia was causing a few problems, and while a lot of people believed that the status quo was just fine as it was, there were people of color who were unsatisfied with their lot in life and Caucasians who thought those very same people were getting “uppity.” No, life was not simpler, but in Wellman it certainly seemed that way to the boys and their solitary female companion.

  It was Halloween time, and the autumn was just about as perfect as it could be. The air was cold and crisp, the scent of wood smoke could be caught on the breeze—and if you looked to the hills around Wellman, more than one fire could be seen in the distance, several of which led to campsites, but a few of the older folks in town would have sworn they led straight to hippies who were out to destroy the rights of Americans everywhere with their strange notions of how the world should work and their insanely long hair. Sometimes change takes time and almost always there’s a bit of resistance along the way.

  All of which was as far removed as the moon to the kids who gathered together in the town square to compare their collections of candy that night. The square was decorated with Halloween in mind, with a collection of decorations in the windows of all the shops surrounding the square proper, and a graveyard of Styrofoam headstones scattered across the lawn of the small grassy park in the center of town. Mostly the headstones bore names like M.T. GRAVES and FRANKENSTEIN, and mostly they were fairly simple in design, but they had the proper creepy effect in the darkness that swallowed Wellman when the sun set. Several adults were out that night, mostly in front of the various shops that were open for a little late night fun. And of course there were the monsters. The local chapter of the Jaycees always had fun with Halloween and the decorations. They also had fun with dressing up and having a town sized party in the square. There was music—recorded music only that year as half the band members that should have been there were currently off in basic training at Fort Bragg—and there were decorations and old man Harper—possibly the only man in all of Brennert County who would prosecute a shoplifter of any age at all—had stretched a sheet across the side of the Harper’s Rexall drugstore and a few horror movies would be played with the projector that he’d arranged to liberate from the high school. It was too early for the really scary movies, so currently they were playing “The Ghost and Mister Chicken.” Later in the evening they’d be playing something with a few more teeth.

  Todd Wellman—who swore, incorrectly, that the town was named after his grandfather—was dressed as a scarecrow. He looked impressive enough, but the resulting rash he got would linger for almost a week. The burlap sack he chose was a little gamey and he didn’t listen to his mother when she told him to wash the fool thing first. At eleven years of age, Todd was one of the oldest of the group and fairly sure that he was in charge. Some days he was right. Others he was sorely mistaken.

  Josh Larkin was nine that year, and for the first time in his life his parents were letting him go trick or treating without one of them along to make sure he was safe. He’d had to beg for the privilege. Not only was he among the youngest of the group, he was also the shortest by several inches. That might have held back some kids, but as Josh had made very clear a few months earlier to Blake Kincaid, the class bully, he wasn’t the least bit afraid to get into a fight. Blake had kicked the crap out of him, but it hadn’t been an easy fight for the bigger boy and by the time it was done he’d decided maybe there were easier targets than the kid he’d always called “Inch Worm.” Josh was dressed in a homemade Superman suit that his mother had sewn for him. He might have lacked the fancy boots, but every boy there was envious of the shirt with the flawlessly sewn S shield on the chest. Josh never noticed the envious looks. He was too busy wishing he had real x-ray vision whenever he looked at CeeCee.

  CeeCee Taylor was the only girl allowed to run with the guys that particular year. Mostly she was allowed because she played better baseball, willfully got into trouble with the best of them, and was, frankly, a bit meaner in a fight than the rest of them. She was a tomboy, of course, because no other type of girl would have been caught dead with the group. CeeCee conceded to being a girl at Halloween only because she had no choice in the matter. Her mother had made a witch outfit for her the year before and seeing as she hadn’t grown out of it she got to wear it again. She didn’t mind at all. CeeCee rather liked being a witch. Also, the broom was just the right length for bonking people on the head when she got bored. CeeCee was easily bored, as all the boys had learned.

  Bodey Harper—grandson of the nearly legendary old man Harper—was wearing a white sheet over his body and his face was painted white, except for the skull like shadows his older brother had painted over his eye sockets to emphasize the shape of his face. The end result was a rather unsettling looking ghost shape. Bodey was big and he was pudgy and he had exactly no modesty. He was probably a little bigger than Mikey Foster, but no one ever called Bodey fat and almost everyone called Mikey fat. The difference a little confidence can make is often astounding.

  Mikey was not there that year. He would have been, but a bad spill off the dirt bike his parents had given him had resulted in a very badly broken leg and hip. Instead of trick or treating, he was laid up in the hospital. Because he was forced to by his parents, Josh was also gathering candy for hi
s friend in the hospital. Not being completely altruistic, Josh had managed to smuggle a few of the candy bars from Mikey’s bag into his own, but he had also replaced them with bubblegum, because he wasn't a crook.

  Paul Griffin was dressed as a clown, with green hair and a hobo style face. His clothes belonged to his uncle, and had all been altered just enough to let him wear them without tripping over the length of the pants or the sleeves. Paul had started puberty a little faster than the rest. At ten he was already dealing with growth spurts and towered over everyone else.

  The last boy in the group was Walt Raley; everyone called the boy Raley, not by his first name, but by the last, because that was how he’d always introduced himself. Even the teachers at school called him by his last name. Raley was possibly the most likely to get everyone in trouble with his mouth. Not because he was firing off insults—which he did, but always under the right circumstances—but because no matter what the situation, no matter how insane or potentially dangerous, it was Raley who was most likely to say “I dare you,” or, heaven forbid, to go one step further with “I double-dog dare you,” which everyone knew couldn’t be turned down without looking like a complete coward.

  No one was quite sure what Raley was dressed as, but there was a cape thingy and there were bones painted on his shirt and his pants. He seemed offended that no one recognized what he was supposed to be and refused to speak further of the matter. None of the others really cared enough to push the matter. There was candy to consider.

  That particular night wasn't too much different for the group, except, of course for Mikey. It was Halloween and they’d finished their candy hunt, but now they were wired on sugar and they were looking to have fun. And unfortunately for the group, it looked an awful lot like they wouldn’t be having their fun with everyone else in the Square. The why was simple enough to answer: the Blackbourne Boys were heading into the Square and at that particular time the whole lot of them needed to not be seen by the Blackbournes.