Halloween

by John Passarella

  She’d been in Karen’s old room when she thought she heard rattling downstairs. Ray had been in the kitchen, fiddling with a yo-yo of all things, when she’d gone upstairs. But the sound she’d heard came from the front of the house. Expecting news that Allyson had arrived, but hearing nothing but a rattling of locks, she feared something was wrong.

  The house was only as secure as its weakest point of entry but, by inviting others into her home, she’d added new variables. Human variables. People who had not spent the last forty years in a low-level state of fear and paranoia, always expecting the worst to happen on any given day, at any given moment.

  “Ray?” Laurie called.

  As she suspected, Ray had gone outside to converse with the police, and had, naturally, left the front door unsecured. She peered through the right vertical window panel, trying to take in the scene through the obscure glass.

  First thing she saw was The Shape, standing below the front porch, his back to her. Then she saw a body sprawled unnaturally at his feet—Ray!

  Her breath caught. Stunned, she swayed forward and raised her hand to the doorframe to steady herself. As quickly and quietly as possible, she re-engaged all the door locks and lowered the open bar into its brackets.

  Karen hurried down the stairs. “Mom?”

  Recovering from the shock of Ray’s death, Laurie slipped into defensive mode. The years of drills and weapons practice had brought her to this moment. She was prepared. She was in control. She would not panic.

  Laurie shook her head at Karen, index finger pressed to her lips to command silence. With a head nod, she directed Karen away from the door, toward the middle of the room. “He’s here, Karen,” Laurie said. “Michael is here. Go to the shelter and hide. You’ll be safe there.”

  Wide-eyed with a fright she’d never thought she’d experience, Karen seemed to accept that Laurie’s dreaded moment had finally arrived. But Laurie had trained her daughter well enough that she didn’t panic. Her concerns were practical: “What about Ray? What about Allyson?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Laurie assured her, hoping Karen felt her confidence and determination—but not the sliver of fear that had her heart racing. “It’s time. Now. It all ends tonight.”

  Without protest, and nodding through tears, Karen rushed to the kitchen and spun the island counterclockwise. She lifted the secret door built flush with the surrounding tile but, before descending the steps to the shelter, Karen turned to face her mother—armed and ready to face the psychopath that had haunted her for years—and they shared an intense look. In that moment, Laurie knew what her daughter was thinking. Is this goodbye? Will I ever see you again?

  Lips pressed tight, Karen gave her mother a brief nod, went down several steps before reaching up to grab the door and flip it closed. Laurie stared after her, watched the island spin back to its normal location, once again hiding the shelter entrance.

  Immediately, she returned to the front door with her shotgun to keep an eye on The Shape. As she neared the right vertical pane of distorted glass, a fist smashed through the left window and Michael’s right hand grabbed her face, dislodging her glasses as he pulled her closer to the door. She tried to twist free, but his powerful arm slipped lower and wrapped around her throat, shoving her face against the wooden door. Despite her struggles, her strength was no match for his and she remained helplessly pinned there. With the door separating them, he couldn’t strangle her, only hold her in place, until—

  —his left arm burst through the other window-pane, his hand reaching desperately for her. If he got both hands on her head—her face—

  She blocked the gruesome thought. Since she couldn’t pull herself away from the door, she twisted around within his grasp, trying to loosen his hold, and ended up with her back pressed tight to the door. But that freed her arms and her hands.

  Angling the shotgun barrel toward the window, she switched off the safety and pumped a round into the empty chamber. A second later, Michael’s frantically grasping left hand closed over the top of the barrel—

  Laurie pulled the trigger, momentarily deafened by the roar as she watched Michael’s left hand explode in a mist of blood, his index and middle fingers completely disintegrated. Only his thumb, ring and little fingers remained.

  As both his arms let go and withdrew through the broken windows, Laurie staggered away from the door, her momentum carrying her to the base of the stairs before she regained her balance.

  Glancing back at the shattered windowpanes—new breaches into her home—Laurie needed time to reassess. Crossing through to the kitchen, she moved the island along its turning axis and opened the secret door to join Karen in the shelter below. Once there, she flipped a circuit breaker to turn off the upstairs lights, then turned the switch to slide the island back into place.

  * * *

  Breathing deep and measured, The Shape reaches his intact right hand through the broken window closest to the locks and lifts the open bar barricade, tossing it aside. Then The Shape feels along the doorjamb for the locks, unlatching them one by one, finally turning the deadbolt above the doorknob. With the restraints gone or disabled, The Shape turns the doorknob and enters her house, now cloaked in darkness.

  * * *

  In the basement shelter, Laurie opened the weapons locker and swapped her 12-gauge shotgun for the high-powered bolt-action rifle with its detachable magazine. Then she stood before a frightened Karen and squeezed her hand.

  “This is it. It all ends tonight,” Laurie said softly, repeating her statement from earlier, hoping it would comfort her daughter, knowing the fear would end—and soon. “I’m ready—we both are. Do you believe me?” After a moment, Karen nodded. “Good!”

  In the momentary silence, they both heard distant footfalls on the floorboards, the slight creak of the joists. From the direction of the sound, Laurie placed him in the living room.

  Karen glanced up at the ceiling, following the sound. “That’s him,” she whispered. “Isn’t it?”

  Laurie nodded.

  Minutes ticked by and Laurie began to wonder. What the hell is he up to? What’s taking him so long to search the house?

  Then she heard the creak of the stairs.

  She should have had security cameras in the house, with monitors in the shelter. It was maddening to have him roaming through her house with no idea where he was or what he might do next…

  Before the growing anxiety became overwhelming, Laurie said, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You think this house is my cage?” She smiled. “You’re right. But not tonight. Tonight, it’s a trap.”

  They both looked up. Finally, the measured footsteps had moved closer, almost directly overhead. A fine mist of dust motes filtered down, glinting in the light.

  He’s in the kitchen.

  “I’m scared,” Karen said.

  “We can do this. We can kill him,” Laurie whispered, her voice even softer than before. “Let’s burn this motherfucker to the ground.”

  Then Laurie held her hand up for silence.

  They waited, listening. The footfalls sounded directly overhead.

  Raising the rifle to her shoulder and tilting the barrel upward, Laurie tracked the steps. With her eyes closed for a moment to focus only on the sound, she visualized where he was with each methodical step. Then she opened her eyes, worked the bolt, aimed and fired, then repeated the well-practiced firing motion again, and a third time, in rapid succession.

  BOOM!—BOOM!—BOOM!

  Standing motionless, Laurie cocked her head and listened for any sound from above. Other than bits of wood fluttering down to the floor, she heard nothing.

  Into the renewed silence, Karen said, “This is your fate.”

  Laurie looked at Karen. She no longer saw fear in her daughter’s eyes, only the grim determination to see the family nightmare finally come to an end. And, at last, the acknowledgment that Laurie really had prepared herself for this, that she would rise to the ultimate challen
ge of stopping Michael—permanently.

  Karen distilled all those feelings into two words, spoken with icy calm: “Kill him.”

  After turning the switch to move the kitchen island, Laurie scaled the basement steps and lifted the secret door high enough to scan the kitchen for any sign of him. When she saw the immediate area was clear, she opened the door the rest of the way, lowering it quietly to the tile floor before climbing the rest of the way into the kitchen.

  In the dark and quiet house, her senses were on high alert, looking left and right, anticipating the slightest sound, the smallest movement…

  She stalked into the living room, stepping lightly so as not to give away her own position. Turning to face the living room closet, she worked the bolt in one smooth motion and fired a shot right through the closed door. Then she stood still, listening. After a moment, she yanked open the door—

  —but the closet was empty.

  She closed the door and moved on, down a short hallway to a first-floor bedroom. She opened that door and peered inside the dark room. Taking a small flashlight out of her pocket, she flicked it on, took a step through the doorway and swept the room with the narrow beam. No furniture. No hiding places. Empty.

  Backing out of the room, she reached for a switch mounted on the wall and flipped it. Instantly, a metal security gate dropped down from within the wall with a metallic shunnnk! sound—and locked in place.

  She repeated the whole sequence on the last room downstairs, also empty, her flashlight revealing nobody inside before she flipped another switch, dropping a second security gate—shunnnk!

  Shining her flashlight along the hardwood floor, she spotted a trail of blood, the glistening drops leading to the stairs and up the steps. At the top of the staircase, the blood trail turned right. Laurie turned left, creeping toward Karen’s childhood room. Flipping the switch on the exterior wall, she dropped another security gate in place—shunnnk!

  Retracing her steps, she passed the staircase, following the blood trail on the floor to the other end of the hallway, to her bedroom. Gradually, she noticed her bedroom door was slightly ajar. When she’d left the room earlier, she’d closed the door. From within the dark room, a dim light glowed.

  Laurie took the last few steps up on her toes, reaching forward with her left hand. Fingertips extended, she pushed the door open…

  39

  Clutching the rifle in both hands, Laurie stepped into her bedroom.

  Unlike the clutter on the first floor, her bedroom décor tended toward the tastefully minimal, fewer distractions for the eyes. Limited hiding places. So, naturally, her gaze shifted to four standing mannequins posed in silhouette against the open glass balcony door.

  He’s been busy…

  Distracted by the sight of the mannequins, which obviously hadn’t been in her room before, she suddenly registered another person breathing nearby. With a quick turn, she faced her closet, a glance down revealing a trail of blood leading right to it. At that moment, she heard another noise from within the closet. Without hesitation, she worked the rifle bolt and fired into it.

  Wary, she waited a moment or two before yanking the closet door open. And saw a lifeless body slumped on the floor of the closet—Ray!

  Gasping, Laurie turned away from his body back toward the balcony and the three standing mannequins. Three!

  Suddenly, in a blur of movement, The Shape attacked from behind, wrapping powerful arms around her. She somehow managed to work the bolt of the rifle but couldn’t bring it to bear. Leaning forward to break his grip on her, she staggered toward the balcony. But he matched her step for step. He knocked her right hand clear of the rifle’s wooden stock and wrested it away. In her attempt to regain the rifle, one of them pulled the trigger. The shot gouged a hole in the ceiling before the rifle spun away and slid across the floor.

  Fortunately, she slipped free of Michael’s grasp the same moment she lost possession of the rifle, but her momentum carried her into the mannequins, knocking them to the ground and falling herself in the process. Amid the tumbled mannequins, she clawed at her belt, yanking her hunting knife free of the sheath. In a moment, she sprang to her feet, knife in hand.

  As he stepped close, she swung the knife at him.

  He caught her hand and stopped her mid-thrust. With his superior strength and despite how much she strained against him, he twisted her hand around, turning the blade toward her instead. With a violent shove, he drove the knife into her gut.

  She doubled over in pain.

  Then his hand clamped around her head, fingers clawing into her hair, and lifted her face high enough to look into her eyes, maybe one last time before the end.

  Is the moment enough for him? Does it even matter?

  He hurled her backward with more force than she would have thought possible. Her body smashed through the glass of the balcony door with enough momentum that she continued to flail, over the waist-high railing, one heel brushing the edge before she plummeted to the ground below.

  * * *

  Walking past the jumble of fallen mannequins, The Shape steps onto the balcony, booted feet crunching on broken glass, and peers over the edge.

  The Shape sees her body sprawled below, utterly still.

  The Shape stands there. Breathes.

  Wants nothing…

  “Mom?”

  The voice calls from beyond the bedroom.

  And The Shape recognizes the voice. From the police cruiser.

  The youngest one—Allyson.

  Turning, The Shape looks to the open bedroom door. Listens for a moment.

  Then turns back to the balcony, breathes the night air, glances down again—

  Laurie is gone.

  * * *

  “Mom?”

  From the depths of the basement shelter, Karen heard her daughter’s voice. Without any thought for her own safety, she raced up the steps and located Allyson in the middle of the living room. Even in the relative darkness, Karen could tell her daughter had been through an ordeal: ripped clothing, forehead and chin smeared with grime, hair mussed. And she smelled like she’d slept in the woods. But there was no time for questions.

  “Baby,” she called urgently, “come and hide!”

  Allyson looked around, worried. “Where’s Grandmother?”

  * * *

  The Shape walks from Laurie’s bedroom down the hall to the far bedroom and stops at the security gate barring the door. The Shape grabs the bars, testing the strength of the gate, but the gate doesn’t budge. The Shape knows Allyson is not in this room, turns around and walks to the stairs.

  * * *

  Karen heard a heavy footfall at the top of the stairs.

  Urgently, she whispered to Allyson, “He’s coming.”

  “I’m scared.”

  Karen took her daughter by the hand and led her through the archway back to the kitchen. She pointed to the opening in the floor. “Go!”

  She followed Allyson down the stairs, twisting around to close the door quietly behind her, then turned the switch to reset the island above it.

  * * *

  At the bottom of the stairs, The Shape scans the living room, notices the hole in the closet door and checks inside. Nothing. Silence. After walking down the short hallway, The Shape finds security gates on two other rooms. Dead end.

  The Shape hears a sound—

  —turns suddenly, startled.

  Returning to the living room, The Shape grabs a fire poker from behind the wood-burning stove. The Shape turns in a slow circle, notices unusual light shining upward in the kitchen.

  Crossing through the archway, The Shape looks down at the source of the light: holes in the tile floor—bullet holes.

  After setting the fire poker on top of the counter, The Shape grabs the island and rocks it, pushing and pulling…

  * * *

  First, Karen heard the heavy footfalls above, walking across the kitchen, the slight groan of the floorboards and joists. Then she saw a shape move
past her line of sight through the bullet holes in the ceiling. Next, a heavy clank, something metallic hitting the countertop.

  “What is—?” Allyson whispered anxiously.

  “Shhh!” Karen motioned her daughter away from the stairs.

  Just in case he…

  A moment later, she heard a struggle—no, not a struggle, someone heaving a heavy weight. Wood cracked, metal creaked, straining, the ceiling above her trembling.

  “Oh, no!”

  “What?”

  “Stay back,” Karen whispered as she scurried up the steps.

  Michael had discovered their underground hiding place and was trying to knock over the kitchen island to get to them. Unless he figured out how to rotate it first, and then—

  At the top of the stairs, she heard a loud squeal of metal, the tortured rumble of the damaged island rotating out of its normal position to expose the shelter door. Karen had only a second or two to recover from her mistake—she’d forgotten to lock the secret door behind them. Grabbing the knob of the slide bolt, she slammed it into the locked position just as Michael tugged it upward. The door shook against the lock housing holding it in place. But she knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  Scrambling back down the steps, she picked up the Smith & Wesson revolver her mother had left on the bed for her. A last resort.

  The door rocked again, then shuddered as Michael’s boot slammed on it. Still it held. For a moment, everything was quiet.

  “Mom, is he—?” Allyson asked softly, a hopeful note in her voice.

  Karen knew better than to think he’d give up. Her mother had certainly taught her that much in their years together.

  Karen shook her head grimly, waiting…

  And flinched as a heavy object slammed into the door.

  Then a metal spike burst through the wood, wrenched back and forth until long cracks began to split the door panel. Not a spike, she saw, as the wrought-iron shaft dipped lower through the hole it had gouged—a fire poker.

  In seconds, he ruined the integrity of the door, breaking it free of the slide lock. His hand reached down and pulled the damaged door up and out of his way.