13 Days of Halloween

by Jerry eBooks

  He lay in silence now. His body was immobile, but inside he writhed with epileptic frenzy. He wanted to roll his head but couldn’t. He couldn’t thrash about, couldn’t bring his hands to his face. Matches ignited inside him again, as his heart raced, then skipped and stopped and flopped. He quaked inside, but his body didn’t tremble. His vocal cords strained but made only the slightest sound. He tried and tried to move his body but simply remained motionless, flat on his back, one repetitive thought running through his mind: This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening . . .

  He’d tried to kill his wife and failed. And now, here he was, on the kitchen floor, unable to move, likely to remain right here for hours, if not forever. Not two minutes ago he was able to walk, to raise his hands, to turn his head. Then, in the blink of an eye, all of that was gone. The basic functions he took for granted, wiped out with a clumsy spill. Was it payback for his attempt, or payback for his failure?

  Above on the counter, the plastic bag crinkled. Just a little bit, but just enough to tell him that it wasn’t finished moving. His heart beat faster, harder. The skeleton costume, the generic costume in the plastic bag was directly over his head. It moved a tiny bit more. If it toppled over the edge it would hit him in the face, and if it hit him in the face, it might stay there. And if it stayed there, weighted by the fabric skeleton inside, the bag was large enough to cover his mouth and nose. Large enough to smother him.

  Jesus Christ, he thought, talk about irony. But there was nothing funny about it. Nothing funny whatsoever, and time seemed to work in a mysterious way. On one hand it didn’t seem to pass at all, as he waited and hoped and prayed for Delilah’s return. On the other hand it ticked off like rapid gunfire, as he watched the bag and saw it move a bit more.

  Insanity, he thought, this is utter insanity! This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening, except it is happening. This is really your life; this isn’t a dream. Oh God, how great it would be if it were! But this is real. I can still taste the Drambuie on my tongue. And the sensation of falling is still with me, like I’m still falling because when I landed there was no feeling at all. So I’m still falling, falling, just like the bag above me. Goddammit, that stupid bag, that stupid costume! What was I thinking? The whole plot, the whole reasoning, all of it ridiculous!

  No more than half an inch, the bag moved again. Drops of liqueur dripped from the counter, landing near his head.

  It’s the liqueur that’s keeping it moving. Were it bourbon or vodka this wouldn’t be happening. The liqueur is thicker, slimier. It’s why I slipped in the first place and why the bag is still moving.

  Whether a long time or short, it didn’t really matter. Ian stared up at the bag. A plastic bag. Warning: to avoid suffocation keep plastic bags away from children. Children and idiots. Idiots like Ian Cain.

  This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening . . .

  He couldn’t feel it, but he heard his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. He was certain his hand was beside his pocket, but there was nothing he could do to answer it. As the phone stopped vibrating the bag moved again. He saw the foggy image of a skeletal hand, and could make out the receipt, a corner of it peeking from the bag’s opening. $29.99 plus tax, paid on his credit card, roughly the same amount as a bottle of Drambuie. The biggest fuck up of his life added up to sixty bucks.

  Let someone stop by. A friend, an enemy, some fucking trick-or-treaters. Please let someone stop and be curious enough to open the door. Please. For all I know there’s still a chance. If someone finds me soon and can get me to a hospital, maybe they can still fix whatever I’ve broken. Maybe, for the love of God, they’d move the plastic bag away from the edge of the counter. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done, but please, please don’t keep me this way. I’ll do anything if I can just be allowed to move again. Anything, I swear, I promise.

  Then a new fear stuck him. The landline telephone was on the kitchen counter. It was a loud phone and the thing vibrated when it rang. Only a minute ago someone had tried to call his cell phone. If it was someone who knew him and really wanted to get a hold of him . . .

  It was as though his thought materialized the reality. The telephone on the kitchen counter rang. It was loud and shrill and the bag above him quivered, skipped, teetered and dropped.

  The bag covered his face, and remained pinned there by the horrible, awful skeleton suit. Breathing instantly became difficult, and the harder he worked at getting air, the less it worked. Though he couldn’t move, body zaps and jolts, intense internal tremors fluttered. His flesh burned and sweat popped from his pores, and his breathing grew fast and forced and labored, and he knew that soon he would stop breathing all together.

  This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening . . .

  The answering machine picked up. Fighting for breath, not sure if he would die from suffocation or from his heart bursting with fright, he heard the beep, then Delilah’s voice.

  “Hi, hon, just checking in to see where you are. Got your message and glad you’re coming. You are still coming, right? Weirdest thing happened as I slept this afternoon, like I died and woke up and my sickness was gone. Anyway, I’ll tell you about it later. I had Jenny pick me up because I’d like to have some drinks. Hope you’re still coming so I can just get a ride home with you. And I hope you’ve seen and like the headstone. I just thought that would be cute. Meant to put it in the front yard but forgot. Would you mind putting it out before you leave? Okay, love you and I’ll see you soon.”

  The machine clicked off as lack of oxygen and the accumulation of carbon dioxide did what they were supposed to. And as his breaths grew shorter and his lungs blazed, something twittered inside him and he couldn’t stop it. Everything that had happened, all of it together, and now dying this way, he couldn’t hush the hysterical laughter shrieking inside him.

  I looked at my wristwatch. Ten thirty . . .

  Had to add another fifteen to that, the thing was slow. Somehow I always forgot to grab a new battery when out shopping, probably just too lazy to open up the compartment and replace it. It was cool, and the streets were strangely quiet. A little unusual for the Saturday night before Halloween, but this part of town wasn’t exactly thirsting for excitement.

  Things happened though, all right. Maybe not your witches and ghosts, but things which were a bit seedier, and a lot more real.

  Drug deals, hookers hitting up on Johns, robberies. Nothing out of the ordinary. Until a few weeks ago, at least.

  A figure appeared from around a corner . . . My hand instinctively went to the revolver hidden inside my jacket. I relaxed, it was just a wino. Brown paper bag, shuffling sideways like a puppet missing half its strings. The guy should have hit the ’burbs tonight. Could have probably made a killing in candy.

  Ah well, boring stuff all in all. This whole assignment had been a real sleeper so far. My job was to go undercover and investigate a series of murders that were occurring with frequency in the lower east part of town. Several others were on the case along with me, but not enough to shake a stick at, despite the gruesome details of the killings. The victims had been horribly mutilated. Torn apart, eaten away. It was inhuman. I’d seen one body and that had been quite enough, thank you, coughing up the remains of the cheap lunch I’d just wolfed down.

  I shuddered in recollection.

  The crimes had failed to make the front page, and I figured it was due to a couple of things. The department wanted to downplay the murders to prevent panic, and loose talk. Right. But I knew the real reason, and it was a cruel one at that—the victims were all homeless people. Unfortunately, most of the city’s population didn’t really give a damn.

  Lots of compassion these days. Bucketfuls.

  Yawning, I debated on whether to light up another smoke, or munch on the last cheese cracker left in my pocket. The smoke won. I puffed away—another nail in the coffin. Well, Halloween was in the air, so morbid thoughts were nearby. Not that I was a stran
ger to cynicism.

  Someone shouted, and I turned around from the wall which had done a great job of propping me up for the last half hour. Two figures were running toward me, both of them with stockings over their mugs. I was smart enough to know they weren’t out trick or treating, so I got ready for action. As they came closer, I saw one of them holding a purse, and an elderly lady screamed from somewhere behind them. My heart raced, and I knew this could be trouble.

  I knew they’d seen me by now, and still were a few yards away. I also realized that they hadn’t decided if I was a threat or not.

  I made up their minds for them . . .

  Jumping out directly in their path, I kept a hand on my gun, beneath my jacket.

  “Police,” I said. They stopped, looking nervously at me. There are moments when you hover on the edge, and a black, treacherous path lies before you. Things can work smoothly, or the shadows can overwhelm you. I looked in their masked faces, and I knew they were thinking the same thought. One of them wore a black vest, and he made a move with his right hand. I pulled my gun out quicker than he could breathe.

  “I’ll give you two creeps one last chance—drop the purse and come quietly. Don’t make it any worse than it already is.”

  They hesitated, then lifted their arms. The purse fell to the pavement. Heart pounding, I exhaled, breathing in a deep sigh of relief. Fortune had been on my side, at least this time.

  “Very good. Against the wall, slowly, hands up. I have a feeling you know this routine. I’m afraid you’ll be missing the costume party tonight.”

  Guess I was either lucky or sounded like a mean bastard, so they listened. I radioed my backup, and they arrived within two minutes, taking over from there. I tried to calm the lady down, but she was a mess. Ended up walking her back to the small apartment she called home, a block away. When we got there, she seemed better.

  “Streets are too dangerous at night. Ma’am, you really should stay in.”

  “I know, officer, but I needed milk for Trixie.”

  That was her pet cat, who was sitting on the window ledge when we reached her place. Appropriately enough, the animal was black as night, and the fat tomcat looked as if he could have gone a few weeks without milk. Or food.

  “Wow, that’s a big one there,” I said. “Must be some giant rats around here.”

  “It’s terrible. One of these days they’re going to take over the city,” she replied.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I’ve lived here all my life. But it’s getting worse all the time.”

  “I know, believe me. And who knows what mischief these kids are up to with Halloween almost here. Now promise that you’ll stay in at night from now on. I might not be around to help next time. ”

  “Oh, I will, officer. Especially since those horrible murders. Everyone on the block is afraid to go anywhere. The poor kids hardly go out on Halloween. It’s too dangerous.”

  Well, the crime rate obviously had failed to scare her enough to keep from going out late, I thought. Nodding, and waiting until she was inside, I was ready to leave, but then she said something which caught my attention.

  “And that strange man, looking through windows.”

  “Whoa. What was that?” My curiosity kicked into high gear.

  “There’s some talk about a man in a trench coat, staring inside of homes.”

  “Oh really?” I said.

  “Yes, officer. And do you know what I think?”

  I stared at her.

  “He’s a pervert. Who would want to look at us? There isn’t a single person on this street under sixty,” she laughed.

  “The older the violin, the sweeter the music,” I replied.

  “I thought it was the younger the violin.”

  “Each pervert to his own tune, I guess.” I answered back with my customary scowl, but a tiny bell rang in my head. It did seem a bit odd to me. Peeping Toms weren’t unheard of, but this might be the lead I was after.

  “What does he look like? Did you see him?”

  “Me? No, I keep my curtains closed. I won’t even look out anymore. A couple of neighbors saw him though. He was wearing a bulky, brown trench coat, about middle aged, I think they said.”

  Sounded like a pervert all right, I thought. They always had to throw in that damn trench coat for good measure . . .

  “And officer, they all mentioned the oddest thing. The man made the most horrible sound, a gurgling, or something. After being seen he shuffled away, as if in some sort of pain. Maybe he’s one of those drug addicts. I always find needles on the sidewalk. Disgusting business . . .”

  “I’ll make a note of it, and if you hear anything else, call me at the station.” I handed her my card, and she held onto it like it was the million dollar lottery winner.

  “Good night, officer. And Happy Halloween.”

  “Same to you,” I replied, although the only part of the season I actually enjoyed was the pumpkin flavored coffee and the Halloween donut sales . . .

  Waiting until she was inside, I was about to leave, but then I hesitated. I turned the doorknob on a hunch, checking the entrance. Uh-huh. She’d forgotten to lock it. Mumbling under my breath, I shook my head and secured the door for her. There were too many nasty people out there walking the streets looking for just such an advantage.

  My shift was over at midnight, and nothing else happened leading up to the hour itself. I went back to my earlier post, and right on time my escort arrived to pick me up; an unmarked, tan police cruiser.

  “Officer Kelly,” I greeted him. “Is that a box of donuts I see on the passenger seat?”

  “Must have been left from Riley earlier,” he answered.

  “Right, just what I was thinking. Orange and black, too. My favorite colors.”

  Eager to snatch a few, I was ready to open the door when a figure scurried out from a side alley, pausing briefly in the dim light under the street lamp.

  He was wearing a trench coat . . .

  “You gotta’ be kidding me,” I said. “We might have something here after all.”

  Officer Kelly stared at me, his hulking form making him look like a big dog in a small kennel as he sat inside the cruiser.

  “I just had a complaint on someone fitting his description.” We looked in the man’s direction, and he must have noticed our attention. He immediately ran down the alley.

  “Our friend has a guilty conscience,” said Kelly.

  “Don’t we all,” I said, moving away. “I’ll post you—cruise around the block, call for backup. Chow.”

  Slamming the door I chased after the man, grimacing at the prospect of following him down the dark alley. Backup or not, I had to be careful. Lighting the way with my flashlight, I moved past a huge jack-o-lantern which had been smashed to pieces, the chunks scattered about. I cautiously rounded the corner and searched for my guilty friend. A figure was running down the middle of the alley, almost limping, it seemed. He was hunched over as he hurried off.

  “Police, stop! I have some questions.”

  I started after the man, knowing somehow that he wouldn’t come willingly. I just had that feeling . . . Trash cans littered the ground, and the place looked like a cesspool. The smell was hideous. It’s sad, how some people are apathetic to where they live, and as bad as the alley was, I’d seen homes that were a lot worse.

  He made a shuffling sound as he ran, and my own sneakers slapped against the stones with a dull echo, vibrating along the brick walls. The man was now past the middle, but I knew he didn’t have a chance at outrunning me. He was about fifty yards away when I saw a crumpled figure leaning against some spilled trash cans.

  A stray dog was in front of the person, attacking savagely, and whoever it was couldn’t even put up a fight. I didn’t want to lose my suspect, but I needed to chase off the dog. It looked like a pit bull mix, and growled at me. The thing was huge. I like animals, but not to the point of offering my neck to a wild mongrel, s
o I cocked my gun, just in case. Fortunately, the dog ran off, but not before carrying a chunk of the person with him.

  A shudder went through my body, and I felt the cheese crackers move somewhere deep inside. Looking down at the still form, I realized now why the dog had met no resistance. It was a man, or what was left of one. He was ripped to shreds, a gaping bloody hole where his chest cavity should be.

  The cheese crackers tasted better going down . . .

  I barked into my radio after gagging, and started after the suspect again, who I was pretty sure was also the murderer.

  “Kelly, there’s a corpse here. Another victim. Suspect heading down this alley, to, uh, Green Street, I think. We need more backup, quick. It’s our man.”

  My heart pounded in fear. What kind of a person could do this to someone? The man in the trench coat was a monster. Halloween might have all its tales and history of goblins and spooks, but out on the streets we dealt with the real thing, and sometimes . . . you came face-to-face with them.

  He was nearing the end of the alley and I ran faster, pistol in hand. The wind picked up a bit but the air felt refreshing, putting behind me the foul stench of death. When I reached the end of the lane, I continued left where the man had turned. He disappeared down another alley, this one dark and narrow. As I gained the entrance I saw Kelly in the police cruiser, and I gestured for him to go around, hoping to trap the man. He made a U-turn and sped off. I peered into the confines of the corridor, knowing what lay inside.

  The man was partially through and he opened a door, vanishing inside. I hurried, not wanting to let him escape. I spoke into my radio to inform Kelly so he would patrol the front of the structure. The door was unlocked, and I slowly opened the rusted metal, my flashlight illuminating a warehouse filled with wooden crates, bulky cartons, and piles of cardboard boxes. It was an old storage building for garments and hats, but it looked abandoned.

  There was no sign of the man, and there were a thousand places to hide . . .

  It was a dangerous situation, and the smartest thing to do would have been to wait for help. That would also give him an opportunity to escape, and he obviously was familiar with the building. I stood there, indecisive. A creaking sound broke the silence, of something being opened. I shut the door behind me and followed the noise.