All Hallow's Eve: The One Day It's BAD to Be Good

by Carolyn McCray

  He reached his hand out to help the next person, but no one waited at the opening. Paxton knelt and looked down the duct. Three people were clustered just a few feet down.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It looks like Sixtus is stuck on something,” Ruth answered, and then turned to Evan. “Go on. I will catch up.”

  But her son frowned, looking ready to cry. “No. I want to—”

  “Come on, kid,” Paxton said as he put his hand inside the duct. “You’re just getting in the way.”

  Evan looked at his mother, but she nodded. “Go on.”

  Once the boy put his mind to it, Evan hustled down the tunnel. Michael helped him out as Paxton got down on his knees to better assess the slowdown. It looked like Sixtus’ belt got caught on something. Ruth was trying her best, but it just wasn’t letting go.

  Worse, the entire tunnel was a burnished orange.

  “Ruth, get out of there!”

  “Don’t leave me!” Sixtus yelled.

  “We’re not leaving you, you idiot,” Paxton spat out. “I need her on this side to help me pull you.”

  “Oh,” Sixtus said.

  Quickly, Ruth climbed over the guitarist. Paxton took her hands and pulled her toward him. For the briefest second, their faces were only inches apart. Her cheeks were flushed with heat, and tiny locks of hair were plastered against her face. Ruth was the least put together he had ever seen her, yet she had never looked so lovely.

  “Thanks,” Ruth breathed out, and then she pulled away. Louder, she called to Sixtus. “Undo your belt.”

  Oh, yeah, they still had band members to rescue.

  Crammed side by side, Ruth and Paxton reached out to Sixtus.

  “I still can’t move,” the guitarist complained.

  As smoke billowed down the tunnel, Paxton tried to hurry this along. “We’re just going to have to pull you out of your pants.”

  They each gripped one of Sixtus’ hands.

  “On the count of three…” Paxton said.

  “Wait!” Cecilia yelled, pointing to a small electronic keypad. “I think it’s—”

  Sixtus’ screams filled the duct, echoing off the metal. He thrashed, pulling his hands back to his belly. Between the smoke and the flailing, Paxton had a hard time seeing what in the hell was going on.

  But then metal glinted.

  “Is that …?” Ruth asked, “is that a sword?”

  Before he could confirm her guess, another sword arced though the duct and skewered Sixtus. Blood pooled around the guitarist.

  Paxton felt a crush of people behind him. “Get back!”

  He had no idea what was happening, but it wasn’t going to end well.

  * * *

  Cecilia covered her mouth in horror. “It’s booby-trapped!”

  “Just like the room,” Michael added.

  Another clunk. Another scream.

  “Swords,” Dahmer murmured beside them. “Six swords. That’s how Sixtus was martyred.”

  Oh, God, he was right. And there were three swords so far. Another scream. Four swords—with two more to go. Cecilia looked at the electronic keypad on the wall. A circle spun and flashed like a countdown. It went from green, to yellow, and finally, to red.

  A fifth scream.

  The circle went back to green.

  “The keypad is controlling the swords!” Cecilia announced. “We’ve got to find a way to shut it off!”

  But Dahmer backed away. “I can’t. I just…” He and the rest of the band retreated.

  “Help us figure this out,” Michael implored, but that just made them shy away even more. “What wimps!” he said, turning back to Cecilia.

  She frowned as she inspected the keypad. “You’re the one who worshipped them.”

  “Yeah, well,” Michael snorted. “I’m over it.”

  They needed someone who was into electronics—a nerd. She turned to Jeremy’s friend. “Evan, can you help out?”

  The boy shrank back. Fear was painted across his face. Cecilia didn’t blame him, but she needed his skills.

  “Please, Evan, we need you to see if there is a way to disconnect this.”

  A sixth scream rang out, unnerving them all.

  “Maybe it’s too late?” Michael asked.

  Paxton pulled his head out of the shaft just long enough to shout, “No, he’s still alive, but we need those swords out, now!”

  Evan bit his lip, but stepped forward. The keypad glowed green. The circle had stopped spinning, but Cecilia guessed that was because the six swords had already been unleashed.

  “It looks like … It looks like a simple toggle interface,” Evan stammered.

  “Which means?” Cecilia asked.

  “Well, I think that if we were to cut the wiring behind the keypad, it might release.”

  Michael nodded. “Then do it.”

  “No, I mean, I can’t be sure. It could make things worse.”

  Cecilia looked at Evan. He had to be kidding.

  “Um, I don’t think it could get any worse,” Cecilia stated.

  * * *

  Ruth wished Cecilia’s words were true. Superheated metal was buckling behind Sixtus, and the heat came at them in waves. Forget the swords. If they didn’t all get out of the metal duct, they would end up looking like that poor scalded boy.

  “Sixtus, stay with us, man,” Paxton pleaded, but the guitarist had gone limp a moment ago.

  Keeping hold of the guitarist’s hand, Ruth pulled her head out of the hole.

  “Evan …” she said softly.

  He looked down at her with his big brown eyes. He looked so young and frail. He was not up to making this decision. But she was.

  “Do it. Pull the wiring.”

  “But Mom—”

  She shook her head. “No, buts. It is my decision. No matter what happens, it’s my call. I just need you to do it for me.”

  The sound of the metal duct groaning must have gotten through to Evan, as he used his Swiss Army knife to pry the control panel off the wall.

  “He’d better hurry,” Paxton said from inside the duct.

  With one last look of reassurance, Ruth ducked her head back inside. A burning beam had broken through the tunnel farther up, and flames licked at Sixtus’ boots. She could hear Cecilia urging Evan on.

  “Evan, cut them!” Ruth ordered, as the tunnel crumpled like a child’s toy under the heat.

  Even above the roar of the flames, she heard a loud clunk. The swords retracted into the wall.

  “Pull!” Paxton yelled.

  As flames whooshed down the duct, Ruth was way ahead of him.

  Throwing her weight back, they pulled Sixtus from the shaft.

  * * *

  All Cecilia could see was smoke as Paxton and Ruth tumbled from the shaft. Fire followed, engulfing Sixtus. Michael was there, though, with the fire extinguisher. A cloud of white poured over the red and black.

  Paxton choked as Ruth sputtered.

  “Mom!” Evan said, as he ran up and hugged her.

  Cecilia waved her hands in front of her, trying to see how badly injured Sixtus was. His arms were barely burned, but his torso looked downright singed. But what about his legs?

  Where were his legs?

  It took a moment for the scene to fully register. They had only pulled out half of Sixtus. Intestinal loops slid from his abdomen, spreading across the floor. Michael tried to pull her away from the sight, but Cecilia’s feet were planted. The scene was so incomprehensible that she could not look away.

  “Crap. I thought he felt a little light,” Paxton said.

  “Light?” Dahmer said, incredulous. “Light? He is missing his legs. His legs!”

  “Thanks for pointing that out, devil-guy,” Paxton shot back.

  “We have got to get out of here!” Rage shouted, pointing to the Exit sign.

  Cecilia broke from her stupor to yell, “No!”

  Everyone looked at her, and even Rage stopped in his tracks.

  “Think a
bout it,” Cecilia said, trying to bring the panicked thought to full form. “The killer has forced us to this point—right to an apparently awesome way to exit. I just… I don’t think we should take the bait.”

  Before anyone could respond, a pounding came from the ceiling. A muffled cry followed. “Help! Help!”

  The same look crossed everyone’s face. Was that a real cry for help, or just another trap?

  Paxton pulled his gun. “I’ll go check it out.”

  “Screw that!” Dahmer exclaimed, following Rage to the Exit sign. “Every man for himself.”

  Pancreas pointed at Paxton. “I’m with him. I’m staying with the guns.”

  “Your loss, man,” Dahmer sneered.

  “Don’t!” Cecilia yelled, as the Exit sign flickered an ominous red.

  But Rage hit the release bar on the door. For a second, they could see the storm whipping rain against the trees outside.

  “Peace out!” Rage yelled as he stepped over the threshold. Something clicked. Rage tried to move his foot. “What the hell?”

  Dahmer retreated as Rage begged for help. “Get me out of this, man!”

  Cecilia wanted to turn away as something sprang from the ground and flew up to block the entrance, but she couldn’t. Long, steel spikes attached to an old mattress frame hurled upward, impaling Rage through the face, chest, and gut.

  He sputtered once, and then sagged against the spikes.

  Michael pulled her into his arms, forcing her away from the sight.

  The pounding continued overhead.

  “Help! Anybody! Help!” the muffled voice cried.

  * * *

  “Damn it!” Paxton cursed. There was nothing they could do for Rage or Sixtus, but whoever it was in the attic seemed to need them. “Stay here,” he instructed the group, although he doubted that Dahmer heard him as he puked in the corner.

  “I think this might be a two-gun situation,” Ruth stated, as she guided Evan to Cecilia. “Everyone stay put. We will be right back.”

  “No freaking way!” Pancreas said. “You guys are supposed to serve and protect, man. I mean to take full advantage of that!”

  Michael took Cecilia’s hand. “I agree. We’ve got to stick together.”

  Damned twice over. There was nothing worse than having to protect civilians while going into an unknown situation. And hadn’t they noticed? Ruth and Paxton didn’t exactly have a great track record so far—two dead civilians in the last two minutes.

  “He’s right, isn’t he, Mom?” Evan asked Ruth.

  Cecilia stepped forward. “Uncle Pax, it’s no safer here. Nowhere is safe. There’s just together.”

  Out of everything that had happened, his niece’s quiet words nearly made Paxton crack. How had he lost sight of the importance of keeping a bond alive and strong, even under these dire circumstances? Perhaps it was even more important now.

  Paxton could only nod. He feared that if he said anything, it would come out sounding all mushy. Now was not the time to lose it.

  Instead, Paxton headed toward the handle dangling from the ceiling. Ruth set up on the other side of the attic entrance, pointing her weapon upward.

  “Everyone stay far enough back…”

  “For the splatter?” Dahmer said, as he wiped bile from his mouth.

  “Or fire tumbling down,” Pancreas added.

  Great. Now the band decided to be helpful.

  Paxton looked at Ruth. She nodded her readiness. Taking in a sharp breath, Paxton tugged on the handle, pulling the attic stairs down. Shockingly, nothing happened. No flames burst out. No swords flew through the air.

  He could get used to this.

  Step by step, Paxton made his way up the wooden stairs. He noticed that Pancreas was right behind him. Like on his ass right behind him. If the band member could have climbed into his pants, Paxton was pretty sure the guy would have. Within moments, Paxton reached the top of the stairs. He flashed his light around the hazy attic. Dust and smoke made it hard to see past a few feet.

  Carefully, he mounted the last step and fully entered the attic. Paxton paused for a moment to make sure that his legs weren’t cut off or anything before he waved for the rest to join him. He could hear the crackle of the fire down below. If they didn’t hurry, the flames would overtake them.

  Once everyone was on the landing, Paxton inched forward. Sweeping his light quickly in front of him, he tried to catch any sign of movement.

  “Wait,” Cecilia whispered harshly, “Back over there.”

  Paxton brought the light back to the right. Was there a glint of metal? He swallowed hard. Glints of metal had not served them very well tonight. And was someone standing over that glint?

  “Stop!” Paxton bellowed. “Hands up!”

  But the figure scurried away… glint of metal and all.

  Trotting, Paxton crossed the distance, but lost the figure in the haze. Plus, there were like a hundred old boxes and dressers cluttering the floor. It was like an old lady’s furniture maze up here.

  He crossed back to the object on the floor. Sure enough, it was a body. Facedown. He stood guard as Ruth checked for vitals. Frowning, she shook her head.

  “Who is he?”

  Ruth carefully turned the body over. At first, Paxton was relieved that it wasn’t Jeremy, but then Cecilia pointed at it.

  “Oh, no!” Cecilia cried. “It’s John!”

  Paxton looked over, confused. “Who’s John?”

  Michael pointed down. “That’s the altar boy.”

  “The one you thought was the killer?”

  Cecilia cried into Michael’s shoulder as he answered, “Yeah.”

  Crap.

  Paxton liked it way better when they had an actual suspect.

  Now they were back to flying blind.

  CHAPTER 10

  Cecilia pressed up against Michael’s shirt, trying to crush the tears away. John. Rage. Sixtus. Helen. All dead. More than likely Quentin, too. And who knew how Frannie, Connor, and Paula fared?

  John’s death hit her hard, though. How poorly had she thought of him? Yes, he was a jerk, and yes, he probably had done some inappropriate things with that girl, but he did not deserve to be flailed open the way he was. What if they hadn’t run from him? What if they had convinced him of the danger? Would he be alive right now? Or would he have died just as horribly as Rage and Sixtus?

  Paxton and his partner spoke amongst themselves about whether to follow the figure deeper into the attic or to find an escape route down from the roof. But the way the rain was pounding against the small windows, that option seemed as dangerous as the fire from below. Only this attic—this attic, where they found poor John, separated the sound of each natural threat. His mother was going to lose her mind. She lived for him.

  Choking back a sob, Cecilia turned her head so that her cheek rested on Michael’s chest. His heartbeat no longer soothed her. Now she wondered how many more minutes it would be beating. Did she truly have three days of torture ahead of her?

  Her body shuddered, even though she tried to stop it. She needed to be strong at least for Evan, who looked ghostly pale and drawn.

  “He’s really dead?” Evan asked. “The football captain? I mean, if he couldn’t fight the killer off…”

  Cecilia watched as Ruth hugged her son. “John was just a kid, too. We’ve got guns. Paxton and I know how to fight.”

  The boy nodded, wiping tears away. But Cecilia could only think of Rage and Sixtus. Look at how much guns and experience helped them. But she couldn’t give up. Cecilia had to believe they would survive. Somehow. Even going home and finding her mom passed out drunk in the bathroom would be a welcome sight. Well, almost.

  “Cec?”

  Cecilia jerked her head toward Paxton. “Yes? I’m sorry.”

  Her uncle’s tone was low. “We’ve decided to break one of the windows and take our chances outside,” he warned.

  She could only bob her head like a doll. Outside in the storm, with no walls to protect
them, didn’t sound like it increased their chances. But there was no arguing that inside was safer. The house was going to burn to the ground. But where was the killer going to flee to, then? Outside with them?

  Paxton gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then moved to the far side of the room. He picked up an old wooden chair and used the legs to shatter a small stained glass window. Everyone but she rushed over to look outside. Cecilia could tell by their body language that their descent was not going to be easy. The roof had looked super-steep on their way up the hill. She could only imagine what it looked like from way up here.

  Movement from deeper inside the attic caught her attention.

  Was that the flap of a cape?

  Cecilia screamed as she moved away from the hideous hawk mask, a bloody knife raised against her.