His body went rigid. Twenty or so broomsticks were arranged in a pentagram. Mary peered through the entrance and shrieked. “We’re doomed. He is going to get us.”
“Mary, he cannot get us in here. It’s the general monster rule. You have to invite them in or something,” Devon said, trying to reassure her.
“Kids, I am ready,” their Mom chirped. Looking at her children, she was surprised at the fear in their eyes. “Do I really look that scary?”
Devon regained his composure. “Yeah, Mom, you did a great job. That green nose and big, ugly mole did the trick.”
“Thanks, Devon. It’s been a long time since I wore a costume,” she said with a large smile. “Okay, let’s go.” She opened the door and walked down the steps.
Surprised their mother hadn’t mentioned the broomsticks, the siblings turned back toward the entrance. A welcome mat and a funny jack-o-lantern lay on the porch; the brooms had vanished.
* * *
“Wow, I can’t believe they gave you candy, Mom,” Mary said.
“Hey, I made a great witch,” Mrs. Davenport replied.
“Yeah, I guess that is more candy for us,” Devon laughed.
“That’s right. You get all my candy. Do you know why?”
“Why?” Mary asked.
“Because I am so proud of you two. You two are the sweetest most loving children that I know. Now, it’s nine o’clock. It’s time for bed,” their mother said, turning to put the candy in a giant Tupperware bowl.
Devon’s smiled faded. Mary looked at her brother. “Do you think he will get us?”
“Mary, I don’t think he can. I told you he couldn’t get us with Mom. Remember, it’s a monster rule that he cannot enter unless he is invited,” Devon spoke confidently.
“I don’t think that is right.”
“Mary, seriously. Haven’t I been right so far? We had a good time with Mom. We got extra candy and tomorrow Old Man Jones won’t be able to bother us. Now, go to bed,” Devon snipped.
Mrs. Davenport entered the bedroom. “Are you ready for bed?”
“Mommy, can I ask you a question?” Mary inquired.
“Sure, honey. Ask away.”
“Is it true that monsters cannot come into your house unless you invite them?” Mary asked. Her eyes were opened wide.
“You are close, honey. Actually most monsters can enter your house without permission, although vampires have to ask permission. Don’t worry, because there is no such thing as monsters or vampires.” Mrs. Davenport kissed both her children, flicked off the light, closed the bedroom door and walked toward the kitchen.
“I knew it. He can get us,” Mary whispered to her brother.
“Mary, be quiet. He can’t get us. Mom is wrong. Just trust me.”
After some minor arguing, the twins fell fast asleep. Devon dreamed of eating Snickers bars and a big bowl of chocolate ice cream. Mary dreamed of munching on Skittles and Kit Kat bars. Their dreams were pleasant and relaxing.
The large grandfather clock chimed, echoing like the inside of a drum. Bong. . . bong. . .bong…On the twelfth consecutive ring, Devon woke up. He kicked the top bunk, waking his sister.
“Mary, did you hear that?” he asked.
“Hear what?” She spoke in a groggy tone.
“It sounds like the grandfather clock is in our room. The bongs kept getting louder and louder.” Devon glanced at his digital watch; the face read 12:00 a.m.It's tomorrow; we are safe. He thought.
“Devon, did you say something?” Mary asked, still half asleep.
“Never mind, it's okay. Go back to sleep,” Devon replied. He grabbed his pillow and held it tight, pulling his covers up around his neck.
The room fell silent. Then the purring started. First, it sounded like one cat. Then ten. Twenty. A hundred. Devon jumped up screaming.
Mary sprung up from her bed, screeching in fear. She yelled for her mother and father, scrambling down the bed’s ladder and running to the door. The door wouldn’t open and her parents didn’t respond.
Devon grabbed his flashlight and pointed it toward his window. Asea of cats filled his room and a giant pumpkin peered into the room. The cats began to screech and hiss, swatting at the two children.
Mary saw the pumpkin and screamed with all her might. Her face turned crimson and her hair stood on end. Devon remained frozen as the object glided through the window, transforming into Old Man Jones. “I told you that I would come for you,” an eerie voice spoke.
“You’re too late. It's past midnight,” Devon said in a shaky voice.
The tall skinny ghost laughed with a deep and frightening cackle. “My dear boy, you are wrong. Wrong, like so many decisions you have made.”
Mary tried to scream again, but nothing came out. Her heart beat like a jackhammer. Devon stood dumbfounded.
“I have come to give you a chance to save yourselves,” the ghost howled.
“What must we do? Anything! We will do anything,” Devon cried.
“Indeed!” The ghost seemed to get larger and larger filling up the room. His laughter became louder and louder, terrorizing the children more and more.
“What do you want?” Mary squeaked.
“You two cruel and nasty children must change your ways. You must do one kind deed a month for a new person and repent of your evil pranks. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Mary quickly replied, tears streaming down her face. Devon, however, said nothing.
“Do you understand, boy?” Old Man Jones’s ghost scolded, standing right next to Devon.
“Ye—Yes,” he answered, goose bumps lining his arms and legs.
“Very well children. I shall spare you tonight; however, if you conduct another nasty prank on any person, I shall come that day and take you with me,” his image grew large and menacing again.
“We’ll behave,” Devon screamed.
“Yes, we’ll be good,” Mary begged.
“Then I will take you at your word,” the ghost responded, growing smaller and smaller until he vanished. A giant wind blew around the room, pushing the children into Devon’s bed. The force was so strong it knocked them both out.
* * *
“Did that happen last night, Devon? Did we see Old Man Jones?” Mary asked, waking up beside her twin.
“I think we dreamt it,” Devon said.
“It sure seemed real,” Mary continued.
Devon rose from the bed, looking at his dresser. A paintbrush stood upright on its bristles, pointing to an envelope on the dresser. Devon grabbed the note. “Look, Mary, there is a note under this paintbrush.”
Mary froze as she stared at the brush. “Devon that is the brush we used on Old Man Jones’s house. The one we used to paint over his protection symbols. Remember, we left it under a bush by his front door.”
Devon studied the brush hard. His sister walked over and grabbed the note from his hand. Opening the note, she read it aloud: “Children, no more pranks or I will come back. Use this brush for some good. Start by painting Ms. Jenkins’s garage. Do good deeds and you will never see me again. Fail to heed my words and doom will fall on you. Yours forever, OMJ.” After she read the letter, it disappeared into thin air.
Mary and Devon looked intently at each other and promised never to pull another prank. They grabbed the brush and headed out to Ms. Jenkins’s house.
Ten years later, they founded a charity organization with the help of Old Man Jones’ssister and their parents. They named itPick and Treat.The idea was simple. They recruited young volunteers topicka person in need andtreathim or her with a special service such as cutting the lawn, washing a car, or painting a house.
True to his word, Old Man Jones never returned. And true to their word, Mary and Devon provided many people with good deeds and never returned to their cruel and nasty ways.
THE END
Thank you for reading my scary short stories.
General Comments
Butterflies Collide:
The drunk
driver’s hat appears in several different places. It is on the ground after the crash with Dillon, on the drunk driver’s head in the bar, and in the hotel room where his body was found. I can see it still being on his head as a “ghost,” but where is ends up physically (at the crash or in the hotel) needs to be resolved.
In the newspaper article about finding Amber’s body, I thought that you might want to replace “Red Haired” with “Local” because would her hair have survived the years underwater? That was the thought I had reading the headline, and it took me out of the moment of the story.
I would love to see more instances of people “interacting” with the drunk driver in the bar. I liked how Dillon “looked over his shoulder.” I think it would make the ending more powerful if the patrons of the bar appear to interact with the drunk driver more, making it more surprising that he’s a ghost. Maybe someone spills a drink on him, but doesn’t apologize, etc.
I think that you need to use contractions more in your dialogue. Most people use them when speaking, especially when upset or angry. It would loosen up your characters and add a little more personality and emotion. Also, some of the words used in the dialogue are a little formal or unwieldy, which also makes the conversations a little stiff.
I also think that maybe Dillon should recognize Amber a little faster, since she was the love of his life.
Spine Chillers: Paranormal Stories Page 5
