by Jerry eBooks
My beam reflected off of a side door, most likely leading to a basement. I found the door slightly ajar, with a set of steps going down. This one I left open behind me, and I saw that the steps were clear. I radioed Kelly again, telling him I needed assistance. Fast.
Down I crept, pistol waving.
There was a small landing at the bottom, with a large beam at the edge which I flattened against. A pale light dangled overhead, casting sinister shadows. I heard a shuffling sound in the lower room, and was shocked as a voice reached my ears.
“Help me . . .”
It was pathetic; someone whimpering in the darkness.
“Police, come out with your hands up!”
“He won’t let me.”
He? Were there two of them? Or maybe a nasty little trick to get me off guard. I wasn’t falling for it.
“If I do, he’ll kill me.”
“Who’s down there with you?” I was tense, sweating with fear and excitement.
“My brother.”
It was a dangerous situation. Domestic involvements were always the worst. Two possible suspects here, with at least one guilty of murder most likely.
“I know what you want.” The voice spoke.
“The murders?”
“Yes.”
Was he confessing to the crimes, or turning in his brother? What was going on here?
“Come out now. This place will be swarming with cops any second, so there’s no place to go.” I tried to shine my light on him as I peered around the beam, but didn’t see anything.
“I can’t. He’s sleeping now. He always does afterwards. If he wakes up . . .”
His sentence drifted off. Something was odd here, and I fervently wished my support would arrive soon.
“Oh no, he’s waking.”
I had never heard such dread in anyone’s voice. I can tell you, it chilled me to the bone.
“Come out in the light. Both of you,” I said.
A whisper came from the darkness. “I didn’t tell anyone, I swear it. You know I could never do that to you.” I cautiously moved into the room—it sounded as if something was about to happen.
“Please, don’t be angry.”
Now I saw finally him . . .
He had his back to me, facing the concrete wall of the basement. A large, oversize trench coat covered his hunched frame, but his brother was nowhere in sight.
“My gun is pointed right at you, turn around. Where’s your brother?”
He ignored my order, and started sobbing. I thought he was insane. Maybe he had split personalities. That could certainly make him dangerous, and unpredictable.
“Officer, it’s my fault. Don’t blame him, please. I did it. No, no! I didn’t tell anyone. He followed me . . . Stop!”
A grotesque, bubbling noise erupted from the man’s throat, and I watched in amazement as he hurled himself forward, ramming a shoulder into the wall. I stepped closer to the bizarre scene, at a loss, but held my weapon ready to fire. He turned about, facing me square on. I pointed my pistol at his quivering form.
“I won’t let him take you, I promise.”
The man was staring down at the floor, and a small revolver appeared in his hand, pointing inwards. He was going to shoot himself.
“Stop! Put the gun down now!” I shouted at him.
He instantly dropped the weapon, the metal echoing dully off the floorboards. To my surprise, he plunged head first into the cellar wall, like a rag doll being battered by a madman holding unseen strings. The impact was hard, and I heard a sickening crack. He crumpled down.
I slowly walked towards him, as he appeared seriously injured. Leaning over the man, I nudged him with my shoe to see if he was conscious. The reward for my foolishness was a swift crack in the mouth that knocked me to the ground. In an instant the suspect was on me, his body reeking like a decayed carcass.
I was in deep trouble . . .
His face was ghastly, pale and gaunt in the dim light. He had the look of a haunted man, devoured mentally and physically, and I watched in surprise and fear as the trench coat burst open on its own. What I now saw left me stunned and horrified, revealing an image that was to be forever graven into my blackest dreams, and I knew then that all the stories I had been told about Halloween were real . . .
Resting against his chest was a small head, with an even smaller pair of arms.
The creature was hairless, with lumpy skin of palest white. Long, sharp nails waited at the end of three, lean, crimson stained fingers. Impossibly, it was somehow attached to the man’s abdomen. The creature’s mouth opened wide, showing rows of tiny, razor-sharp teeth, the breath so horrible I nearly retched again. Saliva oozed from a snake-like tongue, and the horrendous creature snapped its jaws at my jugular.
Looking into the vacant, colorless eyes, I saw hunger and madness, uncontrollable cravings embedded inside this twisted creature’s mind. Fighting back in desperation, I shoved the claws away that raked against my face. I was battling two sets of limbs, however, and received another blow from one of the normal arms.
My head felt like a punching bag, and the room swam before my blurry vision, as blood trickled down my face and across my lips. I was pounded into the floor, and the man’s two arms pinned me, holding me helpless. A cruel knee poked my abdomen, and I gasped for air. Trapped, I saw the creature’s face, inches away from my own, slavering greedily at me. Everything was nightmarish as I now realized how all the victims had suffered at the hands of this loathsome thing, and I was about to be added to the list. Two sets of eyes bored into my aching skull, and suddenly the normal pair widened, the face contorting horribly.
“No! I can’t let you! It has to end!” He pushed off from me, the creature’s limbs thrashing wildly.
I was too weak to stop him as he quickly picked up the revolver. He pulled the trigger, shooting himself in the abdomen while I watched in amazement. A blood-curdling scream pierced the room, the man slumping back against the wall.
“He made me do it.” Blood trickled from a corner of his mouth.
I shuddered as comprehension poured through my mind.
His brother . . .
“He always had a craving for flesh, ever since he was young.” The man’s body was wracked by waves of pain.
“I controlled him, for years. But, his hunger, it turned to human flesh . . .”
Pushing myself up, I bent down to him, feeling a wash of nausea. I had never felt such incredible terror, and pity, for anyone or anything before. I couldn’t have imagined a more ghastly scene.
The man was quickly losing consciousness.
“He grew stronger, overpowering my mind. I fought, but then I started to feel his hunger too. I found victims . . .”
Footsteps came down the stairs. I screamed silently, not wanting to hear any more of the horrible tale. Make it stop, I told myself. Please.
“Forgive me, but he was my brother. I loved him, in spite of what he became.”
There was a pause and his breathing grew heavier, the movement animating the misshapen form of the creature like a hideous mannequin.
“And, what I became, too. A monster . . .” His eyelids closed.
Several officers bounded into the cellar, surrounding the both of us. I felt light-headed, and wobbled about on unsteady feet, my eyes unable to leave the grisly sight before me. I had to get the hell out of there.
They helped me stumble out of that dungeon of horror or I might still be there yet, staring in shock at something nature should have discarded in the womb of an unfortunate mother. My memory about the rest of the night was cloudy, and I remember little. It was a long time until I returned to duty on the force—a real long time. But the nightmares? They’ll be with me always. Late at night, I can still see that small, deformed body of the twin fused into the trunk of his brother. That hideous pair of brothers cursed in both mind and body.
And I can tell you something else . . .
The stories they tell children about Halloween and t
he evil that walks our world under cover of shadow and darkness?
They’re all true.
The End
October 15
Ellen Weston was dreaming of a Caribbean cruise, full of laughter, exotic drinks, and Davey doting on her, as he always did. Mostly, though, she was just enjoying sitting on the deck of the ship with the sun beaming down on her. The feeling of having free time was heavenly.
It all evaporated when the bell’s ringing turned out not to be from the cruise ship but rather the doorbell in her home.
“Damn.”
She glanced at her watch. 9:35. Who the hell is here this late?
Maybe if she just ignored it, the person would go away. But, maybe it was important.
Shit.
Ellen got up from the couch and blinked her eyes to clear her vision. She couldn’t see anyone at the door, but it was dark out. Dark, rainy, dreary.
I hate October.
The wind was blowing hard outside, accompanied by freakish whistling and howling.
Once again she wished for the comfort of her home in California. Autumn in Minnesota wasn’t nice.
She walked to the door, yawning and stretching her arms. She cupped her hands to the narrow window beside the door, but she could only see her own ghostly reflection staring back. Her short blonde hair hung lifeless, just like she felt.
Her eight-year-old daughter, Julie, was sleeping upstairs and Ellen wanted nothing more than to be able to go join her. The damned alarm would be going off at 5:00, calling her to another day at work. Even though she was only 36, Ellen felt like she was 60. Davey’s death still weighed on her like a pair of anchors crowded on her shoulders.
She still didn’t see anybody out the window.
Fuck it.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open. The wind pushed harder, causing the door to almost swing open and crash to the side wall. Ellen caught it just before it hit.
Nobody there.
Figures. Stupid kids.
She was about to close the door when she saw the bag hanging on the doorknob. It was a black sack, made of some kind of light material, almost feathery to the touch. A few drops of rain beaded up and rolled down the fabric as it would off a bird. There was a jack-o’-lantern picture in the middle of the bag, bright orange, and almost lifelike. It creeped her out, but she couldn’t help touching it. The image was silky and caused her fingers to tingle.
“Hello?” she called. “Is anybody here?”
She was shivering from the frigid wind, so she grabbed the weird bag and closed the door, being sure to lock it again.
“Mommy?”
Ellen stared at Julie as the little girl came down the stairs to the living room. It took forever to get her to go to bed each night, and now another hour of her own sleep would be lost.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Just somebody leaving some Halloween stuff for us.”
“Really? Who? Can I see it?”
Ellen knew it was pointless to resist, so they went to the kitchen.
“It’s pretty!”
Ellen had to agree. She’d never felt material like this before, and the laughing eyes of the jack-o’-lantern seemed to warm the room up.
“Open it, Mommy!”
Ellen dumped the bag onto the table. There were a few candies, some chocolate bars, and a small toy that seemed to be a puzzle of some kind.
Julie grabbed a Mars bar and looked up at Ellen. She lifted her eyebrows and used those puppy-dog eyes that Ellen could rarely resist.
“Not tonight. I don’t need you filled with sugar before bed. What’s the toy?”
Julie picked it up, watching it glow with some type of internal lighting system. The toy was about four inches square and had a grid of numbers all mixed up on a screen. Julie seemed to instinctively know to use her finger to move the numbers around.
“I think I have to put them in order, Mommy.”
“Okay.”
“Who gave us this stuff?”
Good question.
Ellen looked back in the bag and saw a piece of paper still inside. She unfolded it and read:
* * * *
Greetings! We are the Halloween Phantoms, and you have just been BOO’d!!!
You now have until Halloween to fill three bags with candy, small toys, stickers . . . whatever you like, and distribute them in secret to three neighborhood homes. You’ll ring the doorbell and run away so they only have the bag and a copy of this note. If you don’t do this, you’ll suffer the wrath of the Phantom Curse!
Now that you’ve received your bag from the Halloween Phantoms, you must affix a note to your front door saying, “We’ve been BOO’d!!!” This way, nobody else can BOO you again.
Hurry with your bags! As time goes on, it’ll be harder and harder to find homes that haven’t already been BOO’d!
Be sure to leave a copy of this note with each bag you deliver.
Happy Halloween from the Halloween Phantoms!
* * * *
Ellen just stared at the note and realized it meant more work for her. Figure out some stuff to buy, head to the dollar store or wherever to pick them up, find some bags (and where would she find something as nice as this one?), pack them all up, deliver the stuff to some random neighbors that she barely knew . . .
It was the kind of thing Davey was so good with but she sucked at. He was outgoing and friendly and knew all the neighbors. Some of them came to his funeral, but she didn’t really even know more than a few of their names.
Now she was supposed to be a part of some neighborhood game or something.
Davey, I miss you.
It’d been six months since his death, but it seemed like six years. He’d had no life insurance, so to make ends meet, Ellen had to work a second job. The only other choice was to sell the house. Julie’s home. The girl had gone through too much for that.
“Bedtime, sweetie.”
“Awww . . .”
“Now.”
As usual, “now” turned into forty minutes before Julie was actually in her bed. Sleep didn’t come easily and when Ellen woke the next morning, she felt like shit.
* * * *
April 9 (Six Months Earlier)
Ellen was watching a game show but barely paying attention. It was something where you had to guess the price of things, but she was never very good at it and her mind was wandering.
There was a storm outside that rattled her nerves every time thunder shook the small home she, Davey, and Julie shared. Every shake of the thin walls made her miss California anew.
She hated Minnesota. Sometimes she hated Davey for bringing them there. She hardly knew anybody, and for that matter, neither did he. He seemed to want to move just to recapture some childhood fantasy. Men and lost youths seemed to be a common problem with her friends, but none of them had been dragged a thousand miles to live out their husbands’ fantasies.
The phone rang and shocked her from her thoughts. Probably Davey saying he’d be late. She thought he was out working in the field, but maybe he’d decided to get out of the storm.
Who wouldn’t?
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Weston?”
She didn’t recognize the voice, and a new blast of thunder gave her an earful of static.
“. . . to the hospital.”
Hospital?
“What did you say? Who is this?”
She looked over her shoulder at the staircase, but of course Julie was at school, not in her room. Wasn’t she?
“Please hurry. He may not last long.”
He? Davey?
“What happened?”
Static filled her ear again, and then she had a dial tone.
“Davey?”
She hit speed dial.
* * * *
1 to call Davey’s cell phone. It rang a few times before clicking over to his voice mail.
Two minutes later she was in her ten-year-old Toyota Camry racing to the hospital.
* * * *
�
��He was hit by lightning.”
“Are you serious?”
The doctor was a woman, about forty, and the expression on her face seemed to say, “Don’t fuck with me.” Even so, it was too hard to imagine somebody actually being hit by lightning.
“More than 400 people are killed by lightning every year in the U.S., Mrs. Weston. We usually get a few people admitted at this very hospital due to lightning strikes.”
“He’s going to be okay, right?”
She hesitated. “We’re doing our best.”
* * * *
An hour later, at 3:28 p.m., the same doctor told her that her husband was dead. Ellen never had a chance to talk to him, to tell him she loved him, to say good-bye. All of a sudden, her complaints about the move to Minnesota seemed incredibly petty.
* * * *
October 25
Ellen was tired. Dead tired. Her legs left like jelly. Today was her 37th birthday and she could feel forty looming ahead of her. She’d woken up with a new determination to get back into shape and had just finished jogging around the neighborhood. It was a little after seven-thirty and she’d left Julie to read at home, figuring she’d only be gone a half hour.
Ellen had only lasted fifteen minutes before she had to stop and walk home. She felt sweaty and greasy from the run and just wanted to head back for a nice hot shower.
“Ellen!”
The clutch of women were a bit hard to see, since they were standing in the shadows. She squinted and saw three of them: the ABC Club. Annie, Bonnie, and Charlie were three girls who always hung out together. They rarely spoke to Ellen.
“Hi,” she called. She wanted to fit in to the neighborhood, she truly did (she told herself), but somehow time and life seemed to intrude. None of the three had gone to Davey’s funeral.
Ellen walked over and saw that they were all holding wine glasses, mostly empty.
“Did you get boo’d yet?” asked Bonnie.
“Boo’d?”
“Yes, you get a Halloween package and you pay it forward. Kind of a tradition around here.” The way she said it, Ellen heard, If you don’t do it, you’ll always be an outsider.
