Halloween Carnival, Volume 3

by Brian James Freeman (ed)

  And then things went from bad to worse.

  The oxen were taken first, slaughtered one by one in the dead of night. Then the horses, whose cries were said to have sounded like children. Desertions followed, or at least what they thought were desertions, until they found the bodies in the high country, hanging from the trees and gutted like so many stags. Shortly thereafter the men started vanishing from their beds. Louis Roberts, or so the story went, left first his dog tethered in front of his home, and then his youngest son, who was so cold by the time it came for him that he didn’t even cry out when it took him.

  There had been no attacks the following night, or the one after that. Instead, the settlers had awakened to find slabs of frozen meat on their doorsteps. They’d been so near death at the time, they questioned neither where it came from nor if it had been carved from one of their number. Henry Wallace had offered up his own malnourished son the following night and was rewarded with the hindquarters of a bull elk. But it wasn’t until a week later, when all the meat was gone and the community was once more staring down the barrel of starvation, that Zebulon Stanton tied his fourteen-year-old daughter to a tree while his wife screamed and begged the gathered crowd to intercede. Nellie Stanton dislocated her own arm that night in the process of escaping and went from house to house, sobbing and pleading for someone to let her in, until her cries turned to screams many claimed to have heard echoing through the valley for months afterward.

  Winter passed without further event and spring arrived with rivers overflowing with trout, hills alive with game, and more raw timber than they could use in a thousand lifetimes. More important, they discovered what came to be known as the Highland Lode and enough gold that they were able to put all of their struggles behind them. Zebulon Stanton built a smelter to process the ore, while others opened a trading post and a general store, a Western Union, and a haberdashery, and started farming the surprisingly fertile land. Thom’s family razed a dozen acres of forest and turned it into grazing land for a herd of cattle bred in the Swiss Alps.

  Several families shunned the obscene wealth and continued west. Although no one knew for certain whether or not they reached their destination, most believed they’d fallen on hard times as more than once their personal effects passed through the trading post, coupled with stories of finding the wares by the side of the road or fishing them from the river.

  Life was perfect for a full ten years. The town blossomed into one of the most prosperous in the entire burgeoning state and boasted nearly four hundred residents. Few of them had been around for the early sacrifices, so when winter arrived once more and the livestock started to vanish, only the original settlers, who formed the town council, knew what to do. The newcomers were easily convinced of the danger and a tradition was born.

  Through the decades what began as an offering became a demand. Animals were slaughtered and daughters left tied in the town square. Some of the more homely girls went unclaimed, leading to the killing of even more animals and men who strayed too far from their homes. It was only after George Gregory offered his teenage daughter, her legs withered by infantile paralysis, that Old Scratch, as it had come to be known, slaughtered one of Gregory’s goats on Devil’s Night and used the blood to mark the door of Grover Smith’s home. On the following night, All Hallows’ Eve, it came for Etta Smith under the cover of a blizzard and the town elders were forced to acknowledge that they’d made a deal with the devil.

  And the devil always gets his due.

  “Not tonight,” Thom said out loud.

  He could see the town spread out below him through the trees and wished more than anything that he’d live long enough to watch it burn.

  —

  Thom studied the town through the scope of his rifle from where he hid within the arms of a spruce tree at the precipice of a rocky knoll, spared from the elements until he was confident of his approach. He caught a fleeting glimpse through the blowing snow of Ryan Roberts’s crew cab in front of his house and heard the strangely comforting lowing of his cattle from their shelter. Both the mayor’s F-150 and the chief’s Grand Cherokee were parked at the station. They would wait until after dark to come for Jessie, while everyone else was distracted by costumed children running through the streets in search of candy. Halloween was an awkward display of pseudo-normalcy that came off like a charade for those who knew what the remainder of the night held, but it was an integral part of maintaining the illusion that what they were doing was somehow right. As with every other year, a strict 9:00 curfew would be enforced. The last thing anyone wanted was for their children to be out in the open when it came for its offering.

  The storm intensified when the sun descended behind the mountains and the shadows crawled down through the foothills. The weather was both a blessing and a curse: It would help conceal him, but it would also further narrow his window of opportunity, as trick-or-treating would be limited to a matter of hours, assuming people were even willing to brave the storm for that long.

  Thom waited until he heard the delighted cries of children in the distance before removing his backpack and dumping its contents onto the frozen mat of pine needles. He shoved the box of bullets into the right front pocket of his jacket—although he knew that if he somehow went through all four rounds in his rifle, he likely wouldn’t get a chance to reload—and the buck knife into the left. He’d packed two costumes so he could choose the right one based on the weather. The grim reaper would have served him best most nights, but under a storm like this, the ghost costume would work perfectly. He just needed to make sure that no one got too close to him or his size would give him away.

  The hooded robe was snug over his jacket but left just enough room to slide his rifle inside against his chest. The flared cuffs concealed his hands and the tattered cheesecloth overlay blended in perfectly with the blowing snow. The mask was made of nylon with black mesh for the mouth and the eyes, which narrowed his field of view to an uncomfortable extent.

  His hands shook when he shoved the backpack and the flashlight under the tree and stepped out into the open. If this didn’t work, he’d consigned himself to a violent execution and his daughter to a fate worse than death.

  He clutched the rifle against his chest, drew a steadying breath, and picked his way down the icy hillside.

  —

  Thom stuck to the gullies and drainage ditches as long as he could before taking to the streets became inevitable. He felt painfully exposed on the slick sidewalks, but he managed to steer clear of the larger groups of children and avoid the houses with lights in their windows. He wished he’d thought to bring a pillowcase full of candy to complete the illusion, but he never got close enough to anyone that it became an issue. The hardest part was maintaining an even, casual stride until he reached the edge of the park, where he ducked behind the trunk of a skeletal maple and waited until he was certain no one was watching before sprinting toward the gazebo.

  He threw himself to the snow and dug into the accumulation until he exposed the skirt under the deck, which was made of a wooden lattice through which flowering vines crawled in the summer. He pried back a section, squeezed underneath, and scuttled into the darkness. His heart was beating so fast and loud that he couldn’t hear anything else and prayed no one had raised the alarm. After several minutes in the cramped darkness, he risked looking out through the lattice and found the park deserted. The wind had already begun erasing his tracks.

  There was barely enough room to remove his costume, which he draped over his chest and legs. Having looked down through the slats in the floor only last night, he was certain that he would be indistinguishable from above, where frozen droplets of the goat’s blood still clung to the undersides of the boards.

  He tightened his grip on the rifle and settled in for what he had no doubt would be the longest night of his life, knowing full well that it also just might be his last.

  —

  The alternating red and blue glare of the light bar on the chief�
�s Cherokee momentarily illuminated the park at about the same time Thom heard the last of the children run past. He knew exactly who was in the car and where they were going.

  In a matter of minutes, they would have his daughter.

  He bit his lip to stifle the cry of anguish he could feel rising from his chest.

  —

  The streetlights surrounding the park abruptly shut off, stranding him in complete darkness with the wind whistling through the gazebo.

  It was only a matter of time now.

  —

  The headlights materialized from the darkness near his covered feet. He watched them brighten through the gaps between the stairs until they were close enough that he could hear the crunching of tires on packed snow and ice. The engine idled momentarily before falling silent and allowing him to hear for the first time his daughter’s muffled cries. His vision went red and his hands shook with more anger than he’d felt in his entire life. He was going to kill Stanton and Wallace. If it took him the rest of his life, he was going to track them down and he was going to kill them.

  The doors opened and Jessie’s screams spilled out into the night. He imagined her thrashing against her captors as they dragged her by her wrists into the snow. His heart broke at the realization that she thought her daddy had abandoned her to save himself.

  Crack.

  Jessie’s protests abruptly ceased.

  “You shouldn’t have hit her so hard,” Wallace said.

  “She’s still breathing, isn’t she?” Stanton said.

  “It’s not her fault her old man ran.”

  “We need to find him and make an example of him before anyone else gets the same idea.”

  “That’s a problem for tomorrow. Let’s just get tonight over with, okay?”

  Thom watched their boots hit the wooden steps, followed by his daughter’s inert form as they dragged her onto the floor above him. He could have killed them both right then and there—just shoot straight up through the boards—but others would come and, as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t take on the entire town.

  They dropped her body onto the planks with a thud. He could see them, through the cracks, working to secure her to the same ring they’d used for the goat. Her ankles were zip-tied and easily secured to the rusted metal eyelet.

  When they were done, Stanton and Wallace descended the steps and crossed the park without another word. The engine rumbled to life and the lights diffused into the storm. Thom listened to the chief’s Jeep turn around and drive out of sight while his daughter’s blood dribbled from between the planks and dripped onto his chest.

  Soon he would make his move.

  Once he knew everyone was too scared to come out from their homes. Once he knew they were cowering in the darkness like he and his wife had been a mere twenty-four hours earlier.

  Then they would learn the consequences of their inaction.

  —

  Jessie stirred on the floor of the gazebo above him. Moaned. Tried to sit up. Failed. Tugged at her bindings and screamed.

  “Shh,” Thom whispered, but she couldn’t hear him.

  Her screams grew panicked as the reality of her situation set in.

  He couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

  Thom cast aside the robe and kicked the skirt of the gazebo until it snapped. Crawled out and rushed around to the stairs. Climbed up and knelt beside her. Prayed no one saw him.

  “Daddy! Daddy, please!”

  “You have to be quiet, honey. You have to trust me now.”

  She screamed when he pulled the knife from his jacket and opened the blade.

  “Listen to me, Jessie. You have to—”

  A howling sound.

  This time it wasn’t the wind.

  Thom slid the blade between her ankles and sliced through the zip tie. Followed with her wrists and helped her to her feet. Blood dribbled into her right eye from the wound on her forehead.

  “If we get separated, find your way to the parking lot behind the roadhouse and pray your mom and brother are waiting with the engine running. Now, go!”

  Thom shoved her down the steps and nearly sent her sprawling into the snow, but she caught her balance and staggered toward the road. He swept his rifle across the park to make sure no one was following before taking off after her.

  Another howl. Closer this time. A cross between a bear’s roar and a gorilla’s bellow.

  A smell reached him on the wind, one with which he’d become intimately familiar inside that awful cave.

  “Run!” he shouted.

  Jessie hit the street and ran for the edge of town. The blow to her head caused her to weave like she was drunk.

  Thom caught up with her, grabbed her around the waist, and urged her to move faster.

  Lights appeared behind closed curtains to either side of the road. Someone was undoubtedly already calling the chief, and it was only a matter of minutes before he was speeding their way in his Cherokee.

  The roadhouse materialized from the storm, dark and ugly. Thom waved the rifle over his head and hoped to Christ his wife was there to see him. If she hadn’t found his note or—God forbid—decided to side with the rest of the town—

  Headlights burst from behind the building.

  A deep-throated howl rent the night. Thom glanced over his shoulder to see a shadowed form streaking through the park.

  Tammy hit the gas and the Explorer’s wheels fired gravel against the siding of the bar before catching and rocketing out into the street.

  Curtains parted and slivers of light stretched across snow-covered lawns. Someone shouted for them to stop.

  The SUV slid sideways and nearly hit them. Thom opened the door and shoved his daughter inside. Swung around to face the park and squeezed off a shot at the massive form bounding toward them in a blur of long white hair, propelling itself faster and faster with its fists like a silverback.

  “Go!” Thom shouted and dove into the car.

  Tammy hit the gas and the tires spun.

  “Hurry!” Danny screamed.

  Thom slammed the door behind him and watched helplessly as the devil barreled toward them. Its features were an amalgam of human and simian. Its jaws bulged with the teeth of an ape, but its eyes were a brilliant shade of turquoise and unmistakably those of a man.

  It hit the door squarely with its shoulder. The tires gained traction and launched them diagonally toward the curb before Tammy righted the Explorer and they sped out of town.

  Thom sighted the beast down the barrel of the rifle through the back window as it faded into the rooster tail of snow rising behind them. For a moment, it almost looked like several more of them materialized from the storm, their long hair flagging on the gusting wind, but it could just as easily have been nothing more than the blowing snow.

  NOVEMBER 5

  Tammy had expected her father to call her that first night. When he failed to do so, she thought it must have been because he was waiting for his anger to ebb before making his case for her to return with Jessie so they could perform their civic duty. When the third day passed without her cellphone once ringing, she tried to call him. And like every other number she dialed that afternoon, it just rang and rang until voicemail picked up.

  Thom initially thought people were deliberately screening her calls, until those he placed to the pizza place, tack store, and finally even the police department went unanswered.

  On the fourth day, he returned to find the barricade on the highway intact, the roads unplowed, and the town deserted. The doors of houses stood wide open, admitting drifts of snow and detritus. Shards of glass glittered beneath broken windows and the shattered windshields of cars abandoned in the streets He listened to the phones of his neighbors ring from inside their homes as he drove past in his Explorer before finally summoning enough courage to get out and investigate.

  He parked in front of his in-laws’ house and left the engine running. The front door had been wrenched from its hinges and stood at an angle
from the accumulation in the yard. The foyer was covered in ice and the living room floor was soaked with melted snow. The kitchen floor was covered with blood, as was the concrete in the garage, near the locked gun case. The trails where their bodies had been dragged through the side door faded from pink to white under the recent snow.

  It was the same thing at the houses near the park, where he didn’t even have to get out of his car to see the entryways and living rooms decorated with arterial spurts of blood or the discolored snow marking their posthumous migration into the hills.

  He thought of all of the costumed children he’d seen that night and felt the warmth of tears on his cheeks. He prayed their deaths had been swift and merciful and that none of the girls had found their way into that horrible cave above the timberline.

  —

  Thom found the window of the automotive store broken and crawled inside to collect as many gas canisters as his car could hold. He painstakingly filled each of them and, one by one, emptied them into the houses of men and women he’d once considered part of his extended family. It was dark by the time he drove to the edge of town and hiked up into the hills, where he sat on the same rocky knoll he had mere days ago, when he’d wished more than anything that he’d live long enough to see the town burn, and watched it do just that.

  A Thousand Rooms of Darkness

  Taylor Grant

  The bare branches of the tree stood out against the greenery like a jumble of broken bones. Anne noticed it first. Neither she nor Evan had spoken a word for the last half-mile, content to enjoy the quietude and primeval beauty of the remote mountain trail without conferring on the matter.

  A frayed noose swayed gently from the highest limb of the dead tree.

  “Look!” Anne said, clutching Evan’s shoulder.

  He turned, his eyes wide. “What is it?”

  She pointed to the noose. “There.”