Halloween Screams

by M. L. Bullock

  Mark had three tasks. First, pretty up the produce, which meant moving the fruit and vegetables around and hiding the brown spots. Then he had to stock the empty baked goods shelves and unload a pallet of cans. That’s a cinch, he thought with a grin. He walked toward the storeroom and surveyed the offerings. Mark did like baked goods; he would start with those first. And once he got them arranged and helped himself to a snack, he would move on to something else. He wondered if his stepmother might appreciate some produce. Might as well stock up while he was here. Maybe that would shut her up and she’d stop nagging him for grocery money. At least for a few days.

  Mark rolled the baked goods tray out of the storeroom and down aisle one.

  First things first.

  He helped himself to an orange snowball, his favorite treat. They were usually pink, but the bakery was cranking out orange ones in honor of Halloween. He tore open the cellophane and popped one of the confections in his mouth, chewing it up like a fat chipmunk. Mark waved at the surveillance cameras, knowing full well that they didn’t work and hadn’t in months. Mark had made sure of that. How much money had Crazy Man wasted trying to get them fixed? Mark had laughed about it behind the old man’s back.

  He greedily reached for another snowball when the speaker system sprung to life again. “Welcome to Crazy Man’s Discounts! The only place where you’ll find crazy deals every day of the week! Even in the dead of night!”

  Mark stopped in mid-chew. Hadn’t he just turned that off? And when did Crazy Man add that little tidbit at the end? He’d listened to these announcements at least a dozen times every day for two years now, and he’d never heard that one. Chomping on the snowball, Mark walked back to the office to turn off the damn loudspeaker again. He must have left something on, or maybe it was on a timer now.

  Mark’s skin crawled when he saw that the light on the board wasn’t lit up. The thing wasn’t on. He decided to do the smart thing—unplug it from the wall. That should shut him up. Just to be sure Maggie and Jake weren’t pulling a prank, he looked inside the supply closet. It was large enough to hide someone, but there was no one in there. Finding nothing and no one, Mark decided to head back to the store floor to finish his work. The quicker he got out of here, the better. But before he left the office, his eyes caught something moving on the in-store cameras.

  What the hell? When did those start working? Mark walked closer and stared at the four screens. One was focused on the bread aisle, and it had to be in real time because he could see the bread rack. No, it wasn’t real time; he was watching a recording. From just a few minutes ago. He was watching himself chomping on a stolen sweet. He’d have to delete this before Becky Sue saw it—or JJ. Mark suddenly realized he wanted to keep his job a little longer.

  Just then, someone ran across the aisle behind him. He hadn’t seen him during his snowball-fest, but he saw him now. A man. Then he heard a loud sound, like metal crashing to the floor. The stranger must have knocked the bread rack over. Jetting out of the office, Mark yelled a warning.

  “Hey! I see you! What the hell are you doing in here? The store is closed!”

  The store is closed, a voice whispered back to him.

  “Hey! Get out of here! You aren’t supposed to be in here!” He jogged to the cash register and reached beneath Becky Sue’s drawer. She always kept a small metal pipe under there. Store policy said you couldn’t bring a gun, but metal pipes were cool, apparently. Swatting at a dangling bat that hung from crepe paper ribbon for practice, Mark ran as quietly as possible back to the bread aisle, back to the spot where he saw the intruder. The rack wasn’t toppled over, and he didn’t see a soul. Yelling profanities and a string of threats, Mark continued his investigation but in the end found nothing. No one. Nada.

  Must be some kind of joke. A trick of the light. But he hadn’t imagined that whisper. No way, no how.

  He let the metal pipe rest on his shoulder as he patrolled the aisles one more time. He’d lock up and get out of here, but before he did that, he’d delete the video and go shake down the donation jar. He needed gas money, and maybe money for a beer. He smiled at that idea. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. He wouldn’t completely abandon his tasks because he had to keep this job or his stepmother would put him out, as she’d threatened many times already. However, he could do just enough to make the produce look good, move the cans to the back of the warehouse for stocking later and toss the bread on the shelves. Easy peasy.

  Mark carefully made his way back to the customer service desk. He glanced around for a second or two and, seeing no cameras on him, stuck his hand in the old pickle jar hoping to score a few dollars. How long had this thing been up here? If they hadn’t found a cure for Lyme disease by now, or whatever this fund was for, they never would. He’d barely scraped the surface of the coins when the voice of his former boss boomed over the loudspeakers once again.

  “Welcome to Crazy Man’s Discounts! The only place where you’ll find crazy deals every day of the week! And have I got a deal for you!”

  Mark released the cash and glanced around the store. No way should that thing be on. He’d unplugged the damn machine! Running back to the office in a full sweat now, Mark flipped on all the lights. Whoever was in here was going to get it. Big time.

  I have a deal for you. Who’s ready to make a deal?

  “Hello? Who’s in here?” Mark rubbed his lip and clutched the metal pipe, ready to swing at anything that moved in the office. “Enough playing games! Get out here and face me like a man. Come out where I can see you, coward.”

  Have I got a deal for you!

  Mark reached down behind the electrical panel. Sure enough, the speaker was unplugged, yet somehow it was still playing. Was there a second speaker system? They’d all taken turns at mimicking Crazy Man while he was still alive, but nobody could copy him as well as Mark could. And he sure as hell wasn’t doing any mimicking now. This whole situation was becoming more improbable—and creepier—by the second.

  “That’s it! I’m out of here.” He didn’t know who he was speaking to, but he wanted it to be known that he was done with this foolishness. Forget the change, he told himself. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He flipped off the lights again, reached in his locker for his keys and headed toward the back door.

  That’s when he saw him. The dark shadow wearing Crazy Man’s cowboy hat.

  I said I have a deal for you.

  “Crap!” Without thinking it through, Mark threw the metal pipe and then watched the shadow flutter and rematerialize a few feet closer to him. “Get back!” Mark retreated further into the office. This wasn’t a good idea. There was no way out except through the service window that hadn’t been opened in who knew how long. Mark wasn’t thinking reasonably. He didn’t know what to do, and suddenly the shadow was gone. Had that really happened? The metal pipe was lying on the ground, so he knew he hadn’t imagined it. Mark began walking toward the door when he heard a whisper in his ear.

  You ready for the deal of the century?

  Mark spun around, but there was no one there. He felt someone pinch his arm. “Ouch! Cut that out!” Mark reached for the door handle. He couldn’t remember the alarm code, and he didn’t honestly care if he left the building unlocked. All he could think about was getting in his raggedy Mustang and leaving Crazy Man’s Discount Store behind. For good. He was done with this place, this job. Then he felt a strong hand slap him across the face, so hard it made his lip bleed. “What the hell!” Not knowing what else to do, Mark took off running in the opposite direction. Whatever was in here with him, whoever it was that he couldn’t see, wasn’t going to allow him to leave through the front door. And again, he heard the whisper.

  How about that deal now? You play, you pay.

  “What deal? I haven’t been playing! Who are you?” He knew the answer. He didn’t know why he even asked the question.

  Here’s the deal—you die! And there was the shadow again. Complete with the cowboy hat.r />
  Mark backed away until he banged into one of the large freezers. He spun around, his heart leaping in his chest. He reached for the door handle but thought twice about going in there. In this freezer, they stored boxes of frozen vegetables, pork chops and chicken. He felt a punch in the back that propelled him into the cold locker. He snatched the door open with a scream, hid inside and put his back to the meat while he waited to see who would come in after him.

  And he waited. Nobody came, but suddenly the freezer door slammed shut with vicious force. And to his horror he heard the pin slip in the outside lock.

  Mark understood his dilemma. He faced a night in the freezer and would be locked in here until someone found him, until someone rescued him. Becky Sue would show up in the morning, just like clockwork, but who knew when she would come to the freezer? How was he going to make it all night and then some?

  Then he had an idea. Mark reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. The wimpy light wouldn’t be much help, but he could call someone. Someone who might care enough to come help him. With shaking fingers, he tapped on Becky Sue’s contact information. His heart leapt when he heard the phone begin to ring.

  “Pick up the phone, Becky Sue. Pick it up.” He moved his feet around; he was already feeling cold, and his feet were getting stiff. Mark wanted to cry when he heard the click on the other end. Someone picked up but said nothing. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

  All Mark could hear was breathing on the other end of the line.

  “Becky Sue? Can you hear me? I need your help. I’m in the—”

  A low chuckle interrupted him. “Thank you for calling Crazy Man’s Discount Grocery Store. We are closed right now, but we open at 8 a.m. Of course, you’ll be dead by then.”

  “Wh-what?” Mark stammered. “Becky Sue?”

  “I do hope you enjoyed your treat. It’s on me, son. How’s that for a deal?” Mark screamed as pain surged through his fingers. They cracked and crumpled under the power of an invisible force. “Sticky fingers, sticky fingers. Time to pay the piper, son.”

  Mark dropped the phone, and even in the dark he knew it had shattered into a million pieces.

  He died long before he froze to death.

  The Costume Contest

  Ginger put the finishing touches on her mask. A girl can never have too much glitter, she thought with a smile. The white glue and blue glitter stuck to her fingers, but she was determined to finish the job. She didn’t have long now. Hopefully the glue would dry before she had to leave. Holding the mask up to her face, she grinned again. She gave herself a thumbs-up in the mirror and left the mask to dry on the table.

  Ginger couldn’t believe her luck. How fortuitous that she would score such an amazing costume and then receive a personal invitation to a neighborhood costume contest. It wasn’t that she was that interested in meeting her new neighbors, but the prize money would come in handy and she felt confident she would win. From what she’d seen in the building and in the town in general, she was definitely the prettiest girl here. Hands down and twice on Sunday.

  After washing the glue off her fingers, she walked back to her bedroom and touched the fabric again. How delightfully airy and lacy; it almost had a supernatural quality to it, if you believed in those sorts of things. It was absolutely beautiful, and she knew gowns. She’d won enough pageants in her lifetime and donned enough gowns to know a winner when she saw one. The whole reason she went to the thrift store was to find some clothes to wear to work. Ginger didn’t have a job yet, but she would need one, at least for a little while. Until she could find another guy to take Jed’s place. What a complete disappointment he’d turned out to be. And to think, he’d lied about his finances, pretended he had money. It wasn’t until she’d moved to this godforsaken city that she found out the truth.

  But now that she’d put Bucks Valley in her rearview mirror, she was determined not to go back. How could she stand the shame? And would her Momma ever let her live it down? If Ginger had to hear “Pretty is as pretty does” one more time in her life, she’d scream. That was her Momma’s favorite saying. Surely she could find a well-paying job here as a hostess or something.

  She’d found a smart black pantsuit that cost all of about ten bucks, but then her eyes fell upon the ethereal blue costume and she couldn’t resist. The moment she saw it, she pictured herself as an enchanted fairy princess. The garment had to be vintage—she could tell by the stitching—but it didn’t look like it’d been worn very much. There had only been one tiny tear on the left sleeve, and Ginger could sew a bit and fixed that right up. Just to be sure she had everything straight, she read the flyer again.

  Neighborhood Masked Costume Contest

  Prizewinners Receive $500 Each

  Categories: Goriest, Scariest and Most Beautiful

  Winner of Each Category Receives a Prize.

  October 31, 11 p.m.

  St. Genevieve of the Stars Church

  All Contestants Must Wear Masks

  After a quick bath and about an hour of working on her shining red hair and her makeup, Ginger shimmied into the costume. Oh yes, this will do nicely. She looked a picture. Seemed a shame to cover her beauty with a mask, but she had to follow the rules if she wanted to win. She could always take the mask off at the end, after she had the prize in hand, and let everyone see her beautiful face.

  Ginger slipped on the mask, which was mostly dry now, left the building and headed to the small church at the end of the street. She thought it strange that they would have a costume contest at the church—and that it would be so late. Not that she was much of a churchgoer. Good thing the church was so close; otherwise, she would have to take the bus. She hated public transit and rubbing up against the unwashed masses.

  Even stranger was the fact that there were no cars in front of the church, but she did see a few of the other contestants walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street—and beside her. Where had all these people come from? Passing to her left at an incredible speed was a woman who was obviously a contestant; a dark-haired witch with bright red lips and a voluptuous figure. Well, if that’s the only competition, I should win hands down. Oh, great. There’s another one, but she’s too skinny to be a winner. A woman dressed as a princess in a puffy pink dress sailed past her without speaking a word or turning her head Ginger’s way. She too wore a mask, just as instructed on the flyer, but she had bits of leaves in her updo and smelled like a pile of dust. Obviously, once upon a time, she’d been a pretty woman in a bland sort of way.

  No one spoke to Ginger at all, but she didn’t mind—she didn’t want to chitchat with her competition, anyway. She stepped inside the church building and off to the left side, following a stream of contestants who were quietly entering a dimly lit gymnasium. She didn’t recognize anyone, but then again, they were all wearing a mask or a costume so ghoulish that it would be impossible to recognize anyone’s face.

  Ginger made her way behind the other contestants and found herself standing before a rickety table behind which sat a lady dressed as an old-fashioned pioneer woman, with a knife protruding from her neck.

  “Name and category,” the woman gurgled. Boy, she’s really getting into her role.

  “Ginger Louise Alcott, and of course my category is Most Beautiful.” Ginger posed in front of the table.

  The bloodied pioneer woman didn’t even crack a smile. “Sign here.”

  Ginger picked up the pen and scribbled her name on the rough paper. Was that red ink? How creepy. She shivered as she walked away and looked around her. The place was certainly filling up. Scratchy music played on a record player, but nobody spoke. There were no excited whispers, no gossiping tongues. No sugared-up children bouncing around. Now that’s odd.

  Ginger took a seat in a rusty-looking, cold aluminum chair. A chill crept up her arms, and she rubbed them quickly to get the blood flowing. It probably would’ve been smart to wear a jacket, but she wanted to walk in looking l
ike a million bucks…or at least five hundred. Wearing a jacket to a costume contest seemed counterproductive. She glanced around and noticed that no one else was wearing jackets either.

  “Welcome, everyone,” a man dressed as Dracula said as he stood behind a wooden podium on a stage at the back of the gym. “How exciting to see so many contestants here tonight.”

  The crowd applauded, but Ginger couldn’t help but flinch at the smell. The room had a musty odor now, as if everyone here had dug their costume out of a pile of mothballs. No, that wasn’t quite it. She wrinkled her nose as the stench grew stronger. Beside her sat a figure in all black. A woman? A man? Who could tell? Even the fingers were covered with black satin gloves. No, it had to be a woman because she wore a black satin Victorian dress. The woman turned to face Ginger, and her face was covered with a thick black veil. And although Ginger couldn’t see her, she could feel her. Feel her smiling, grinning, gaping at Ginger. Ginger nearly fell out of her chair but quickly regained her composure. She had a prize to win.

  “Now, first things first. If all the contestants for Most Beautiful would come join me on the stage, we can begin.” Eager to leave the woman in black behind, Ginger hopped up and walked to the stage. She was surprised to see so many ghoulish characters joining her. There were at least a dozen, and for the first time, she could see that each of them was wearing a sash. Was she the only woman without one?

  “Ah, welcome back, Miss 1972. You were always a crowd favorite. Please, give a round of applause for Miss 1972!” said the man in the lame Dracula costume. The crowd obediently clapped their hands, and it was a horrible sound. Nobody moved, spoke or otherwise appeared animated, except when instructed to applaud.

  “And here is Miss 1981. So glad you could make it, Winona. What a lovely sight!” The witch answered with a mock curtsy, and the crowd applauded again.

  “I don’t understand,” Ginger said. “What is going on? Was I supposed to wear a sash?” She really wanted to win this contest and paid no attention to her quiet inner voice that warned her to leave.