The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S8E04 - Halloween 2016

Episode Date: October 30, 2016

It's episode 04 of Season 8 - our Halloween 2016 scream stream episode!"Marked"‡ written by S.H. Cooper and performed by Jesse Cornett & Nichole Goodnight & Kyle Akers & Alexis Bristowe. (Story starts around 00:04:30)"The Last Passenger" written by Henry Galley and performed by Mike DelGaudio & Addison Peacock & Peter Lewis & Alexis Bristowe. (Story starts around 00:24:40)"The Best Candy in Beverly Valley"† written by Rona Vaselaar and performed by Atticus Jackson & Erika Sanderson & Corinne Sanders & Kyle Akers. (Story starts around 00:43:00)"We Don’t Do Halloween"† written by J.P. Carver and performed by Dan Zappulla & Jessica McEvoy & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts around 01:04:40)"The Dancing Dead"† written by Dustin Chisam and performed by David Ault & Jessica McEvoy & Atticus Jackson & Matt Bradford & Dan Zappulla. (Story starts around 01:30:20)Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast Click here to learn more about the Sleepless Live 2017 Tour Click here for the new NoSleep Store Click here to learn more about S.H. Cooper Click here to learn more about Henry Galley Click here to learn more about Rona Vaselaar Click here to learn more about J.P. Carver Click here to learn more about Dustin Chisam Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon BooneAudio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ & David CummingsHalloween 2016 illustration courtesy of SabuAudio program ©2016 - Creative Reason Media Inc. - All Rights Reserved - No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This is a horror fiction podcast. We're here to frighten you and mess with your head because that's what you want. So give in to your fear because tonight there will be no sleep. It's the no sleep podcast. It's the no sleep podcast. I'm David Cummings. Thanks for joining us for our Halloween 2016 Scream Dream Scene Stream Show. We're glad you've joined us for our tribute to a side of Halloween you don't often hear about.

The scary side. This full-length episode is our treat for everyone, and season past eight members will have an exclusive Halloween bonus episode ready for them on Halloween itself. So watch your feeds on Monday before the trick-or-treaters come knocking. I'm proud to make two special announcements on our Halloween show. The first is that the long-neglected No Sleep Podcast store has been fully revamped and revitalized, and it's now open for business. It's all self-contained on our website at the nosleeppodcast.com slash shop. And there you'll find an ever-growing line of apparel, wall art, phone cases, and more.

We're going to expand both the designs we offer and the types of products you can put them on. With the gift-giving season soon upon us, we hope you'll consider giving the gift of no sleep to those on either your nice or naughty lists this year. And the second announcement is one I've been hinting at for quite a while now, and it's finally happening. The No Sleep podcast will be performing live shows next year as we launch our sleepless live 2017 tour, Running from mid-February to mid-March of next year, we'll be performing in 16 cities over 25 nights across most of America. Joining me live on stage will be an all-star cast of Jessica McAvoy, Nicole Doolin, David Alt, and brace yourself.

It's Peter Lewis. And joining us with his very own self-contained orchestra is the maestro himself, Brandon Boone, scoring the show live on stage with us. We'll be doing readings of original audio drama-style scripts written by the great Michael Whitehouse, and we may even do some old favorites along the way. We'll be doing meet and greets after the show. There will be exclusive tour merchandise,

and some of your favorite no-sleep cast members from the local area will stop by to say hi to the fans. To see the entire tour lineup, go to the no sleeppodcast.com slash tour for all the venues and links to get your tickets. We hope to meet many of our fans in a town near you. Believe me, it's worth the risk. I mean drive, it's worth the drive. And now that we've shared all our Halloween treats with you,

it's time for the tricks. Turn down the lights. settle in and embrace our Halloween show. In our first tale, we meet a man who actually isn't a fan of Halloween and would prefer it to just pass by him and his house. But as we learn from author S.H. Cooper, the man's efforts to ignore Halloween only serve to thrust him into the darkest depths of the night. Performing this tale are Jesse Cornett,

Nicole Goodnight, Kyle Acres, and Alexis Bristow. So enjoy yourself this Halloween. Just make sure you're not marked. I'd never liked Halloween. Not even when I was a kid. My parents didn't have much money and all of my costumes were handmade. By my well-meaning but creatively challenged mother. She tried so hard and would look so proud whenever I tried on her creations that I didn't have the heart

to tell her it looked like it had been cobbled together by a blind person who was learning to sew with their feet. After years of crooked-eyed ghosts made out of old bedsheets, attempts at various superheroes, using those same bedsheets as capes, clothes pinned at the neck, and all of the teasing that came with them. I officially retired from Halloween at the embittered age of 12. No amount of free candy was worth the cruelty of my classmates at the annual school parade. I wrote it off as ruined forever, and I could never shake the bad taste it left in the back of my throat. Even as I got older, my dislike for the holiday remained. I'd attend a party or two, when invited, although never in costume.

But I refused to put up decorations, made no attempts to spook friends or family, and I never took any part in trick-or-treating. I kept my outside lights off, my door closed, and any chocolate that happened to be in the house went straight into my belly. I was the Scrooge of All Hallows Eve. So, when my alarm went off on the 31st of October, and the first thing I heard was the radio host wishing me a happy Halloween over the opening notes of Thriller,

I groaned, loud, and long. The thought of my workplace being awashed with costumed coworkers encouraging me to get into the spirit was almost enough to make me call out. But I didn't have much vacation time saved up And spending what I did have to avoid a few rubber spiders and plastic cauldrons filled with candy corn seemed wasteful. I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on the same old suit and tie combo I'd wear any other day of the year. If anyone asked what I was supposed to be, I'd just tell them I was a corporate drone programmed to sell insurance.

That usually got a short chuckle and the questioner off my back for a while. And with a fresh-brewed travel mug of pumpkin spice coffee in hand, and one of the few good things to come out of the season, I grabbed my briefcase and trudged out the front door. As I started to back out of my driveway, I happened to catch a glance of my mailbox over my shoulder. I slapped my palm against the top of my steering wheel. I slammed on the brakes, put the car into part,

and got out to get a better look. Someone, probably a teen with a bit too much Halloween cheer, had painted a big inverted cross in red on both sides of my mailbox. I ran a finger across the paint. How freaking edgy! I ran a finger across the paint again. It was dry, and I figured it must have been done in the middle of the night. You shouldn't open the door tonight.

I jumped slightly, startled by the unexpected suggestion from across the road. A young girl, maybe 13 and already in costume, was standing on the curb. Her thumbs hooked in the straps of her backpack. She was dressed in a private school uniform, the shirt and skirt of which had been splashed with fake blood and ripped in places. Someone had spent a lot of time perfecting her makeup, giving her a convincing set of slash marks across one side of her face. Her torn cheek even seemed to glisten wetly. Childhood meme would have been so jealous. Wasn't planning on it.

Not for anyone. They can come out tonight. I sighed and climbed back. into my car. It was way too early for such shenanigans. I hoped scrubbing that paint off the mailbox wouldn't prove difficult. Would it scratch the mailbox itself if I used a hard bristled brush? I didn't want it to rust. As I pulled into the road, I noticed the girl was still standing there, watching me. She called after me as I drove off. They can come out tonight. It occurred to me during the commute that the girl had probably been the one who painted my mailbox.

She probably hoped to scare me, maybe even had a friend hiding in the bushes and filming my reaction. I hope you were disappointed, you little shit, I thought grumpily. Another reason to hate Halloween. My day didn't get much better once I got to work, but at least it didn't get any worse. I did my best to avoid being a complete stick in the mud and sat through the office lunch and eating the orange frosted cookies and feigning a polite interest in my co-worker's evening plans, all the while wondering how uncomfortable it had to be to spend the entire day dressed like a giant M&M. I shot off my corporate drone line a few times, accepted the small bag of candy for management

with a smile, and waited impatiently for the clock to hit five. I was only too happy to bolt out the door at the end of the day and looked forward to shutting myself a wall. away from the world until Halloween was over for another year. My neighborhood was already starting to crawl with small children trooping door to door, bags and buckets held eagerly outward, and I knew it wouldn't be long before the older kids joined in as well. As I turned onto my street, the first thing that caught my eye was my mailbox. The red paint stuck out sorely against the white metal,

and I debated whether I should take the time to clean it before settling in. Ultimately, I decided to leave it. Maybe it would act as a further deterrent. What kind of parent would let their kiddo knock on the door of an openly practicing Satanist? I snorted with amusement. And headed inside for a quiet evening of cheesy horror movies and homemade pizza. I managed to make it pretty far into the evening before my doorbell rang. I didn't even get up from the couch.

Leaving the porch light off was usually a good enough signal that this was a no-candy zone, but there were always one or two attempts that went unanswered. Typically, they'd go away after a minute or so. This kid proved a little more persistent. The bell rang again, and when it was still ignored, the knocking started. Slow and steady at first, but quickly becoming faster and louder until the person was pounding on my door. They started pressing the doorbell over and over as well, ringing and pounding until I could barely hear myself think. Beyond annoyed, I stormed to my front door ready to confront

whoever was on the other side. I had my hand on the knob and was about to pull it open when, over the noise, I heard what sounded like a teenage boy saying, you've been marked, you've been Mark. I hesitated. I'd heard those words that morning from the weird girl standing across the street. What the hell did they mean? I thought I remembered hearing something about people opening their doors and getting beaten and robbed by organized gangs of teens, praying on the unsuspecting.

But that could have been my imagination getting the best of me in the heat of the moment. Cautiously, quietly. I stepped back into my living room. and went to the window where I'd have a view of the porch. The bell was still shrieking. They continued to beat upon the door. I found myself wishing I had some kind of protection close at hand, a baseball bat or crowbar or anything that I could use to scare them off.

I pulled the edge of the curtain back as discreetly as I could and peeked outside. My front porch was dark. I drew back sharply, disbelief-wraking, cold. down my spine. Immediately the house went quiet. I stood very still, staring at the curtain until I convinced myself that I just hadn't seen whoever had been out there. They were probably in dark clothing. I hadn't looked very long. I just missed them. All plausible ideas, all reasonable. I released the breath I hadn't realized I was holding and laughed nervously at myself. Guess it's time to lay off the horror movies.

behind the curtain the window started to shake as if someone was slapping their palms against the glass we know you're in there you've been marked definitely a teenage boy's voice this time I didn't hesitate

I couldn't I had to see who was harassing me I yanked the curtain aside and found myself looking at my empty porch again I fell away from the window with a strangled cry and stumbled back onto my couch. Maybe he dug below the sill where I couldn't see him. I tried to tell myself, but my thoughts were interrupted by the glass rattling in its panes. The window started to slide upwards,

opening, before catching on its latch and slamming back into place. Again and again, it rose and fell until I left from the couch and scrambled down the hall into the kitchen. I grabbed at the phone and pressed the handset to my ear, frantically pressing 911 on the keypad. emergency. Someone's trying to break into my house. I looked over my shoulder as if I expected someone to be there. Please calm down, sir. You said someone's trying to break in? Yes, please send the police. I don't think that will be necessary, sir. Excuse me? No, sir. You should let them in. What? I must have heard it wrong. My fear was distorting things. Let them in. You've been Mark. I slammed down the phone at the same time the handle on my back door started to jiggle.

The high-pitched screech of nails across the glass filled my kitchen. The windows were black, casting only the reflection of the lit kitchen and my terrified face back at me. I couldn't see what was on the other side. I threw my hands over my ears and ran screaming to the steps. Come on, make it stop, make it stop! Shut up! Upstairs seemed safer somehow. More out of reach to whatever was outside. I made it halfway up before the power flickered and then went out. I lost my footing in the sudden darkness and tripped,

landing face down at the top of the steps. I could hear every door downstairs quaking in their frames. The knobs and handles shaking violently. I crawled on my hands and knees to my bedroom, where I slammed and locked the door behind me. I crossed to my nightstand where I kept a flashlight and a pocket knife. They felt tiny and fragile in my hands, but it was better than nothing. I clicked on the flashlight and shined it around my room, as if to reassure myself that it was still mine.

It occurred to me that aside from my own ragged breathing, the house had gone silent again. It was a heavy quiet, closed in, and claustrophobic, and... predatory. My skin prickled and I knew instinctively that I was being watched. I felt exposed in my own room and every shadow, every dark corner became home to some creature I couldn't see, watching and waiting to pounce. A soft noise came from the window. I jerked around the flashlight shaking and unsteady in my hand as I aimed it towards the sound. On the center pane, a thin line had appeared. A scratch, I realized with something akin to horror wrapped relief, not a crack. The sound again, nails against glass, and the scratch thickened, but by what I didn't know. I watched in equal

parts, terror, and fascination as an inverted cross was etched into the outer. outside of my bedroom window. The scratching stopped, and despite everything in me telling me not to, I stepped forward and dared to look outside. I didn't know why, but I was drawn to the window. I had to see. I had to know what was doing this. My lawn was cast with shadows long and deep and dark, but there was nothing to cast.

them. They writhed tortuously, flitting and pacing across the yard and disappearing from the side of the house. Their shapes were vaguely human-like, but too tall, stretched and too thin. Although featureless, I could feel them watching me in their desire, their hunger, vibrated down into my bones. Watching them made me feel violently ill and violated and wrong. Their very being was a sickness. The floor was uneven beneath my feet. My vision blurred, corrected and blurred again. My head swam. I can hear voices whispering indistinctly, urging me without words. And I wanted to listen. Oh, God, I wanted to listen. Something clicked. The window lock. My hand was on it. The latch was released. Why did I do that? I didn't have time to really register it. The window was

wrenched open with such force that the glass shattered and sprayed across the floor. I staggered back, blinking dumbly, and I felt more myself again, and the panic set in. I dropped my flashlight and knife, and I turned it, and I flew from my room. I looked back as I slid onto the stairwell, and my room had become encased in a darkness, utterly complete and cold and consuming. It was in my house, and I had let it in. I couldn't scream or cry I could barely breathe

My thoughts were white and blank With abject fear like I had Never known I had to get out that much I knew And it was pure survival instinct that had me Running for my keys The car was outside They were outside

But they were inside too And I had to try Barefoot and in my pajamas I threw myself out of the house And charged for my car I kept my eyes locked on it If I had looked around, I'd stumble, I'd fall. I'd be done.

I could feel them behind me. Something swiped at my shoulder, almost snagged me, but its claws dragged through my shirt and flesh without purchase. Another at my leg, tearing at my calf through my sweatpants. I dragged my leg away, and to my surprise, it let go. But it was angry. That fury burned just behind me, licking at my heels. And I was sure the next blow would be my last.

But it never came. I didn't know why. I could feel them attempting to surround me, but something was keeping them at bay, which only made them angrier, driving them to a frenzy of hunger and bloodlust that pounded in my skull, with enough force to almost knock me over. I was almost to my car. While I fumbled with my keys,

the car doors locked sprang up seemingly, on its own. I didn't think about it. I just opened it and dove in, yanking it shut behind me. The car swayed dangerously, rocking and squeaking and tilting slightly as if things were trying to push it on its side. I shoved the key into the ignition and without even a glance backwards peeled out of my driveway. I ran up onto my neighbor's lawn before spinning the wheel and taking off down the road away from my house. When I hit the end of my street, I glanced in my rearview mirror in time to see the girl from that morning, still in her torn private school uniform, standing in the middle of the road, waving me off wildly, urging me to go. All the while, she was smiling,

and in that bloodied expression, there was triumph. I never went back to the house after that night, and I never experienced anything like it again. I drove to the hospital where I told them I'd been a victim of a violent break-in and had my wounds treated. Long, ugly gashes that would leave lifelong scars. I repeated the story to anyone who asked, including the police, who had no reason to doubt me after seeing the state my home was in. Afterwards, I moved in with my parents while I got back on my feet. I didn't tell anyone about the shadows or the girl with a torn face. I barely believed it happened myself.

I did my best to put it behind me and forget about it, which I was able to for most part. Every day is a little better. Every day, that is, except for Halloween, when it all comes rushing back to me. And I'm left locked in my bathroom, curled up in my tub, away from all external windows and doors. Just in case, they decide to mark me again. Halloween isn't all about tricks and treats.

For some, Halloween is a busy night of work, especially if you're a driver for Uber. In this tale from author Henry Galley, we meet an Uber driver who is desperate to finish his duties on Halloween so he can relax. Performing this tale are Mike Delgado, Addison Peacock, Peter Lewis, and Alexis Bristow. So when the drunk couples and crazy costumes are all gone, watch out for the last passenger. You two okay back there? Yeah, yeah, we're okay. Get in, Charlie. I will if you move your ass. Scoot you over. Would you? What's the magic word?

Ah, screw you. Just move. All right, all right. Jeez. So, where are you heading? We're, um, we're... Headed to a Halloween party down in Cherry Creek. Yeah, just, you know, head in that general direction.

We'll tell you where to go from there. All righty. If you, uh, don't mind me saying, I'm guessing this isn't the first party you to have been to tonight. Huh. How did you... Excuse me. How did you...

Because you're drunk as hell, Julie. That's how. What? It could have been pre-drinks. Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to instigate an argument. Just trying to make some pleasant conversation.

So, are we going to be your last passengers of the night? God. I hope so. Sorry, no offense. It's, uh, it's been a long night. I need to get my hands on a beer my own or maybe some whiskey. Yeah, that'd be nice. You must have had some interesting passengers tonight.

Oh, yeah, sure. I had Dracula in here earlier, ranting about his ex-wife. The Wolfman and his boyfriend, Walter White, who couldn't decide on what color sofa would tie in with the drapes. Oh, don't even get me started on Leatherface's B.O. You get any, you know, sexy costumes? Charlie! What? Can't I ask the guy a question?

Well, sexy might be stretching it a little. Skimpy? Yeah, sure. But, uh, you know, some of these costumes are just plain weird. Try me. I've seen sexy Elmo, a sexy B, and, I, seriously, I kid you not, a sexy version of one of those damn minions. Ha ha ha, ha, oh shit.

That's amazing. I don't care what Uber pays you. You need a race. Mind if I ask you what you two are dressed as? Isn't it obvious? Hmm. Give me a clue, would you? Okay, okay.

Tell me if this reminds you of anything. Uh-huh. Would y'all be able to get me some brains up in here? I don't know. Some kind of undead greaser? Zombie Elvis, man. Zombie Elvis. Oh, what?

Right, right. And, uh, what about you, miss? I'm a vampirous, queen of the night. Did you happen to drain a few barflies in transit, your majesty? I like you. You're a lot better than the last one. So, you guys use Uber regularly? Of course. We're not exactly rolling in it. Taxi and bus fares all add up. What was the last guy like? Boring. He didn't say two words to us the entire drive. He just sort of sat there and looked miserable.

When was this? The 30th. Uh, yesterday, I mean. There's no way in hell that guy would be able to cope with taking passengers tonight. He'd have gone postal by now. Hey, considering the chicken feed they'd pay us, I wouldn't blame him. Then why would you do it? I like the company, I guess. I don't get a chance to talk to many people day to day. You know, gets me out of the house, keeps me busy. Whoa, what's that guy meant to be?

Where? Sidewalk on the left. Huh. Hmm. Pig mask, bloody apron, plastic cleaver. My guess is serial killer. Speaking of which... Oh, for God's sake.

Not this again. What? No, no, don't ask. We can't indulge her. She'll never fucking stop. Hey, if he's interested, I'm going to tell him. Besides, it's probably best, you know, for safety. Oh, Jesus Christ.

Go on then. Remember, you brought this shit on yourself, okay? So, what's all this, then? There's a serial killer on the loose. You seem, uh, disconcerningly unworthy about that. He's already claimed three victims. They haven't found the bodies, only parts. Yeesh. They reckon he cuts them up. Hides some parts, eats others. How would they know that?

Well, one of the severed arms they found. part of it was chewed to the bone with human teeth. How do you know that? Oh, I'm a lab tech at the coroner's office. They don't release details like this to the public. Everyone would go nuts. If you think this is bad, you should try living with her. Every day it's serial killer this and cannibalism that.

I wish, babe, that just once we could have a normal conversation. I don't complain when you're talking about your fantasy football team. Besides, I tell you, all this stuff for your own good. You wouldn't want your half-eaten arm appearing in a ditch somewhere next, would you? I'll drink to that. You're too morbid. You know that? It's Halloween, Charlie. If I can't be morbid now, when can I? All right, we're in Cherry Creek. Where to next? Oh, um, just head down that road. Yeah, yeah, that one there. Christ, I can hear the music from here. Then we must be close. Right. I guess we're here. I need a.

another drink. No, you don't. No, you're right. I need like five. Oh, unbelievable. Thanks for the ride, dude. You have a good night. Thanks. You kids stay safe. Sweet, sweet freedom. Finally. I've got a date with Jack Daniels. Wait, what? Oh, no, no. No. No. You gotta be fucking kidding me. You better have an important journey, buddy. Real fucking important. Come on in, friendo, you rent bastard. Hey, man.

Hey? Hello. You need any help, buddy? No, I'll be all right. Please. Start driving. Whatever you say, boss. You got a name?

Okay, it's all right. You don't have to tell me. It's Ralph. My name is Ralph. Right. Ralph. Well, Ralph, you can call me... Can we head to the outskirts of the city?

Anywhere in particular? No, just the outskirts. Fast, please. You're the boss. Uh, you okay back there, man? Yeah. Mm, yep. I'm just...

Just arranging my things. I take it you're heading to a... a Halloween party. Do you say that? You're kidding, right? The fake blood was a dead giveaway. Oh. Oh, right. Yeah, the, uh, fake blood, of course. What's in the bag? Some kind of accessory? I guess. You could say that, yeah. Severed head, bloody torso, probably a little of both. You're all right, Ralph. Halloween though, man. What a kooky time of year? What do you mean? It's the one time of year that average people can just act like utter lunatics,

trench themselves in blood and parade through the streets with plastic weapons, and it's considered totally normal. What's so funny? I think Halloween can mean different things to different people. Yeah, sure. You can interpret. Intellectualize it all you like. But when you get down to brass tacks, it's people putting on costumes, right? Not always.

No, for some people, it's about taking off costumes. You mean like a little bit of after-hours action, once all the trick-or-treaters have gone home. Ah, I think you and I probably have very different definitions for after-hours action. Besides, that's not what I mean. Then what did you mean? I mean that some people might feel more like themselves when they look like a monster. Okay.

Look, I'm a pretty liberal guy and all, but just out of curiosity, did you smoke anything before you got in? I'm a man of many vices, but pot isn't one of them. I know how you feel. I'm partial to the odd beer when I'm bored. Not when I'm driving, of course. I never drink on the job. Jobs.

Ugh. Such a drag, aren't they? Don't die. I know it. I quit mine yesterday. It wasn't interesting me anymore. Nice one, man. I have more time now for my passions.

I just need to get out of this town. Change of scenery. It's never a bad thing. Oh, sir. Certainly. If you don't mind me asking, what is it you did here exactly? Oh, I killed people. Lots of them.

And I worked in accounting. Hey! Nice driving, asshole! Sorry about that, buddy. What was that? I worked in accounting. Christ, I can see why you wanted to leave. No offense, but if I had to spend my nine to five months,

number crunching. I think I'd blow my brains out. The thought crossed my mind now and then. Thankfully, I had ways of taking out my frustration. Stress balls? Yeah, sometimes they were balls. I think you've got to do something just totally spontaneous to break yourself out of the funk. If not, you drive yourself crazy. Yeah, like taking a day off. Or giving your boss the finger? Yeah. Or cutting off his fingers. Wait.

What? Cutting off his fingers with a utility knife. And pounding his stupid shit-eating face in with a 14-pound hammer. Until you can see brains on the steel. You know. Spontaneous. You've got a pretty sick sense of humor there, Ralph. I've been told.

So, uh, what do you intend to do out of town? Wander from place to place, mostly. Meet new people. Try out new foods. I've developed an acquired taste recently. It's opened up a whole new field of possibilities. And I look forward. to sampling the bounty of pastures new.

You sound like a man with his life figured out. I've found that the best way to live is to figure out exactly what you want, how to get it, and disregard everything else. I'm tired of pretending living a stupid, fake charade of a life. Now you sound drunk. No, I'm serious. There used to be two versions of me. The one who society wanted me to be, and the one who actually exists.

Earlier today, I killed the first one. It's made me a lot happier. I think you're onto something there. Your fake self. Your family, your friends, they all weigh you down. Kill the lot of them, I say. They're a waste of space. Kill them all and let God sort them out.

Okay, you, uh, you lost me on that one. Other people are just dead weight. They trap you with all their expectations, and they judge you when you do what you really want. Bastards, if they all have. That one neck I'd strangle it. Shit. What's wrong?

Oh, nothing. Take that side road there, would you? But the route... Take the side road. Okay, okay. Cool it, would you? It's a close one. Hoo.

You're a weird fucking guy, Ralph. Real goddamn weird. You have no idea. What's your problem with the police anyway? They got a warrant out for you. Yeah. That's none of your concern. Oh, is that so? Because it's looking pretty fucking concerning from where I'm sitting. Don't pry so much. You'll regret it. You seem like a good person. I wouldn't want you to be involved.

I'm already involved. If you were involved, you wouldn't be driving this car. Right. Here we are. Excellent. Thanks for the ride. Hopefully, this won't be the last time we see each other. Sorry if I left any stains in the back. Don't worry about it. What a weird, weird dude. And he left his goddamn time.

Jesus, it fucking stinks. Good fucking riddance. Geez. At least I finally get to go home. Bit amusing. It's more like... Interrupt your scheduled listening with a special announcement. Police are on the hunt for the serial killer referred to by the media as the Red Light Ripper,

who, according to police spokespeople, fled his home earlier today, and is now on the loose in the Denver area. Our advice to members of the public are to stay indoors, remain in groups whenever possible, and report any suspicious activity to the police. More details will be released as we receive them. Thank you. Ooh.

Huh. Boy, I hope I don't run into that guy. Halloween is certainly renowned for the joys of gathering ample amounts of sweet treats. But in some towns, the holiday holds dark memories. As we hear from author Rona Vassilar, the tragic events of years past have left appall over one town celebration. And though children enjoy their candy gathering excursions, there is that one house that everyone is sure to avoid. Performing this tale are Atticus Jackson, Erica

Anderson, Corinne Sanders, and Kyle Akers. So stick to your chocolates and candy corn. It's best to steer clear of the house once known for the best candy in Beverly Valley. Every child in Beverly Valley knew that Mr. and Mrs. Hobson down on Maplewood Drive gave out the best candy. It wasn't even just candy. That was the best part. They gave out sticky pink popcorn balls and caramel apples, and one year they even gave out toy whistles.

That sure pissed off all our parents for a good few weeks. Each year, children flock to their house, eager to be the first to knock on that door and show off their costumes. The Hobsons had a serious appreciation for costumes. On that night, they could make every child feel like they'd actually become whatever it was they sought to impersonate, from dinosaurs to dragons to princesses to witches. Yes, Halloween in Beverly Valley was the most important night of the year. At least to us children, it was.

I'd like to think that the Hobsons felt the same. I suppose I'll never know for certain, though. They passed away when I was 12. Well, passed away is probably not the most accurate choice of words, though it is the most merciful. You see, one Halloween, a few neighborhood teenagers decided to break into the Hobson's home after all the trick-or-treating had ended. They were real delinquents. I remember one of them. His name was Matthew Torres.

But everyone called him Pigfucker because, I don't know, I guess he looked like he liked to fuck pigs. Anyway, Pigfucker and his gang broke into the house. The Hobsons, of course, were already asleep. Not that it mattered to them. I didn't know all the details of what those boys did, but when morning came, it was horrifying. The crime scene photos were never made public. All most people know is that the torture had gone on for hours,

and they had done unspeakable things to the both of them. It wasn't long before they were caught, of course, and sentenced to life in prison. But that hardly seemed like justice for what they'd done to perhaps the two nicest people in all of Beverly Valley. No justice could mend what had been broken in our little town that night. For a few years after that, Halloween just didn't happen in our neighborhood. It was too dangerous, everyone said.

But that was a lie, a cover-up. The truth was, we all felt that Halloween had died that night with the Hobsons. The time moves on quickly and people move on. Eventually, kids started trick-or-treating again. Only a few at first, but as the years passed by, the holiday festivities came back in full force. And we all tried to pretend that the Homsons had never existed. I was doing a pretty good job of it, too, until the year I turned 18 and my mom asked me to bring my little cousin Danny out trick-or-treating. That's a night I don't think I'll ever forget.

Make sure you bring her home by 10. My Aunt Priscilla was finishing adjusting Danny's hat. having used about a hundred bobby pins to keep it in place. She made a perfect little witch, with her broomstick and stuffed black cat. She was wearing an orange skirt with black spiderwebs stitched over it and a lacy top with long draping black sleeves. She had been practicing her witch's cackle all week. It was incredibly adorable.

So much so that I didn't even mind that I'd be sacrificing a night to take her out trick-or-treating. Besides, even at eight years of her, old, Danny was incredibly well-behaved and a joy to be around. She and I always had a good time together. Are you ready to go, your terribleness? I held out my hand. She accepted it and answered with that cackle she was so proud of. I grinned. I'll take that as a yes. Come on. We'd better get a move on or the best candy will be gone. I felt a small twinge at that, remembering what the word best used to mean to me on Halloween, but I pushed it away as we walked out the door together. See you later, and Priscilla.

Be good, you two. And with that, we were off. I could bore you with the details of what a great night we had together. All the houses we visited, the praise that Danny got for being the best little witch anyone had ever seen. I could dwell on that moment that Danny told me it had been her best Halloween ever, knowing that I was the one who had made that happen. But you aren't here for a happy story, are you?

Of course not. Given the choice, humans would rather watch a train wreck than a sunrise. Well, here comes the train. It was getting to be around 9.30 when I decided it was time to start heading back home. We were in familiar territory, and it wouldn't take long to get back. But I figured we'd have a few more stops along the way, so it was better safe. than sorry. This was back before I had a cell phone, and I didn't want Aunt Priscilla to worry. Just as we were leaving the Johnson House, a group of guys pulled up in a beat-up old Chevy.

I recognized them as some friends from school. Hey, Seamus, have you seen Willem around tonight? We can't find the idiot anywhere. Seems like he wandered off drunk again. That was when I made a mistake. I shifted my attention, just for a minute, to answer my friends and give my two cents on where Willem might have dragged his drunk ass this time. After all, Danny was always so good. I figured she would stay by me and wait until I was done talking to my buddies. I was wrong. Once the guys had driven off, I glanced down to my right and realized that Danny wasn't there like she was supposed to be.

I looked around the yard, my alarm growing at a steady rate as I realized I had lost track of her. Oh, God. My heart began to constrict in my chest and my throat closed up. Fuck, fuck! Okay, calm down. We're in our own neighborhood. We're close to home. She can't be far.

And that's when I saw something. Just a glimmer of orange down the street. The same shade as Danny's skirt. I thought it would bring me relief, but it didn't. Would you like to know why? Because I recognized that street she was walking down. Maplewood Drive, and I recognized that house she was walking towards the Hopsin Place. Danny, no, get away from there.

It was like she didn't even hear me. I started sprinting for her just as she reached the front porch steps. I told myself I was scared because the house attracted weirdos, and who knows what they would do if they got their hands on the little girl. I told myself I was running because the wood was rotted, and she could fall and hurt herself if I didn't stop. her. I told myself a lot of things as I watched her walk to the front step and ring the doorbell. They were all lies. In reality, I was afraid of something else. I just didn't know quite what it was

yet. As Danny stood there in front of the door waiting for someone who would never come, my heartbeat slowed down infinitesimally. Everything would be okay. I'd get up those stairs and grab her and take her home and everything would be just fine, as always. Except, that's not what happened. You see, just as I reached the edge of the yard, the door opened. I stumbled to a halt, half paralyzed with both fear and confusion. Nobody lived in that place anymore. Nobody would dare.

And as I stood there, about as useful as a goddamn stump, a hand. hand reached out. It was withered. Its leathery skin blackened with age and something else. Burn marks, maybe? It was dark and I couldn't see clearly enough to say for certain. As I wasted my time staring at it, the dark hand crooked a finger. It was beckoning Danny inside. Jesus Christ, Danny, no! She didn't even flinch. She stepped over the threat. She stepped over the threshold and the door creaked closed behind her. I followed behind just a little too late, always a little too late, even in my nightmares. Or are they memories?

It makes no difference to me. As gently as the door had opened before, it slammed against the wall in an equal show of violence as I barged my way into the house. Danny, Danny, where are you? I tried not to notice that. house and how much it had changed since the last time I'd seen it. The interior of the house, what I could see from the door each year anyway, was once warm, bright, and meticulously clean. It was a far cry from the destitute rotting wood and sagging floorboards that surrounded me

as I searched for my cousin. It was like a strange sort of parody of the Hobson House. And it's so disgusted me that I thought for one brief moment I was going to throw up all over the floor. But there wasn't time for that. Danny was inside with something, and I had to find her. Swallowing my gorge down, I rushed through the hallways, trying to find a clue, any clue, as to where she might have gone. It came to me in the form of an open door and a tinkling laugh. It belonged to Danny without a doubt. As I approached the door, I was dismayed to realize that it led to a basement. A cold, stark light cut through the darkness, emanating from somewhere deep inside the bowels of the house, taunting me even as it called to me.

Taking a deep breath and ignoring the stale taste of the air, I began my descent into that strange light. It seemed like a century later when I finally reached the bottom of the stairs. Each step down was a war against my own instincts that screamed at me to run. I had to remind myself continually of the little girl I was surely going to save, of my responsibility to her and my aunt and my whole family. It was painful, and it was slow, but I made progress. At last I reached the landing and stepped out into the basement proper.

I didn't see Danny right away. Remember what I said about train wrecks and sunrises? Don't think I was trying to exclude myself from that precious facet of human nature. Of course the first thing I saw wasn't what I'd been looking for, what I wanted to see. Instead, I saw carnage. There were bodies scattered all over the floor, torn apart into so many pieces that it was impossible to discern what belonged to whom. There was no way the victims could still be alive, and yet their wailing screams filled the air. It was a wonder that I hadn't heard it, really, as I watched.

down into the basement. If I had, I might have taken the cowards away out and run for my life. Among the quivering masses of flesh, flesh that begged for mercy and for death, moved two strange figures. The first was tall, with a frame so thin it looked as though it would collapse in on itself. I recognized the hand attached to it, the one that had beckoned Danny into the house. Its whole skin was charred black. It swayed in the middle of the floor, casting its eyes about as though looking for something. Those eyes were completely white, milky even, as though covered with cataracts. Eventually, it found what it was looking for.

A juicy piece of meat still attached to what must have been a leg bone. It bent down slowly, its joints creaking and its body swaying under the strain and pulled the meat from the bone with its long hooked fingers. Someone screamed in terrible pain as it lifted the flesh to its mouth, sucking the blood and chewing slowly, almost thoughtfully. It was a long few moments before I tore my attention away and took stock of its companion. This figure was shorter, its flesh only slightly burned. What wasn't burned was rotted,

hanging loose to give me a peek at its slimy bones. Barbed wire was wrapped around its body, which, horrifying as it was, seemed to be holding its flesh together. Its abdomen was cut open, and its intestines trailed out, leaving an oozing trail of blood in its wake. It, too, was searching for flesh,

trying to find something to appease its hunger. Its maw opened wide in a parody of a smile as it spotted a ripped open torso with a still beating heart on display. It knelt down and tore into the muscle with its sharp little teeth, crouched on the floor like a beast, making sickening slurping noises.

Shaking, I thought to myself. I was shaking and my body felt like it was shutting down. I wondered if I was going into shock. I wondered if I'd be alive long enough for that to matter. Then I saw her. Danny My, Danny, standing across the room She was holding a head in her hands

Its spinal cord still attached and dragging along the filthy floor It possessed an ugly, disgusting face that I'd know anywhere Pigfucker Look at what I found, Seamus She grinned and held the head out towards me It was screaming in agony I began to feel dizzy. Trick or treat!

The two carnivorous figures noticed me then. The tall, charred one gave me a thin smile. Its teeth bared. It rasped. Its voice decayed from disuse. The rotting figure laughed just then. A low, ugly, animal sound, and I couldn't bear to stay a moment longer. I abandoned Danny and ran up the stairs.

The witch's cackle. following me like a curse. I tore through the house and ran out the front door, hoping against hope that I would make it out in one piece, trying to tell myself that it would all prove to be a strange sort of dream if I could only get away from that goddamn place. As I reached the edge of the yard, just before I was able to cross over to the sidewalk, I thought I heard a voice, a low whisper in the wind that couldn't possibly be there. I never made it. to the road. I passed out right there at the edge of the yard. Just to be clear, Danny was never in the Hobson House. At least, that's what they told me when I woke up in the hospital,

screaming that somebody had to save her, even though she'd been bewitched by something sick and twisted festering in that basement. No, Danny was safely at the Johnson House the whole time I was conducting my frantic search. She had turned her back to me for a few moments. She had while I spoke with my friends, exchanging some candy with a few fellow trick-or-treaters. By the time she finished her trade, I was gone. Mrs. Johnson had called my aunt immediately, who was furious at first but eventually concerned

when nobody could find me. I was only in that house for 20 minutes at most. At least, that's what I thought. It turns out I was missing for more than four hours. They found me shivering on the ground in front of the Hobson Place, unresponsive and crying. They told me that, by the time I was brought to the hospital,

I was completely unconscious and just wouldn't wake up. They said that I had remained unconscious for a week. They wanted to know what happened. And when I told them, they started to talk about other things. Things like PTSD and hallucinations and psychosis and trauma. They didn't even pretend to believe me. But I knew what I saw. Nobody could convince me otherwise.

Even when the police came and told me they'd been through the house and found nothing, I knew the truth. I was rewarded with a brief stint and a mental ward for my stubbornness. Eventually, I learned to lie and to play the game. I pretended to be normal and healthy, and had fooled everyone. Given me, they'd let me out after a few months. and I went back to life as usual. I moved away to college,

and I let them believe I'd left the Hobson House in the past. They were fools, falling for that ruse. As soon as I was away from Beverly Valley, I did a little research. I needed answers, and I wasn't getting them from anyone in my hometown, especially not from those people

who knew about my incident. Google, however, proved to be very informative. Do you know what I'm not? I learned. I learned the sordid details about what happened to the Hobsons, about how Mr. Hobson was skinned alive, blinded, and burned to death. But how Mrs. Hobson was eviscerated, bound with barbed wire, and split open at the mouth with a pair of old scissors. They believe she died last, lying next to her husband as his body burned to near ash. But that's not all. I did a little research on Pigfucker, too, and his friends, at least those whose names

I remembered or could find. Dead. Every single one. They had all died within a few months after the murders. Pigfucker had been nived to death by another inmate. A few of the others had committed suicide out of guilt. One had a heart attack and was found dead and is caught the next morning. And I? Well, I know the truth. I don't talk about the Hobson House anymore. This is the only account that will ever exist of my experiences. Just like everyone else in Beverly Valley, I pretend that it doesn't exist. I try to forget Halloween's past. I shut away all the memories and nightmares as best as I can. But sometimes, when it's late at night and sleep is evading me. I think back to that awful sight of Mr. Hobson and Mrs. Hobson torturing their

murderers, feasting on their flesh. Terrible caricatures of themselves, damned to eternity and damning in return. And I can't help but agree with what Mr. Hobson said. It seems that they did get them in the end. When a father and teenage daughter make the bittersweet move to a new town, there's one thing they're looking forward to the most, celebrating Halloween in their new home. But as told by author J.P. Carver, they soon realize that their new town has a unique way of marking Halloween, and that's by ignoring it altogether.

Performing this tale are Dan Zapula, Jessica McAvoy, and Erica Sanderson. So if you're new to town, you'd better double-check the local traditions because some towns make it quite clear. We don't do Halloween. We don't celebrate Halloween. We don't open the door and we don't have candy. My entire town is like this

and you learn very quickly to do the same when you come here. I moved here at the tail end of summer just as all the back-to-school commercials started. I lived in a city all my life, so when a job opened up in a branch of my company near a town that I had my eye on, I jumped at the chance to get out of the noise and the grime. My daughter wasn't nearly as thrilled at the idea of picking up and moving across the state, and perhaps I should have listened to her complaints a bit more, but I had a reason beyond what I told her.

I found a nice two-story home on a street that was perhaps six blocks, from Main Street, where all the stores were. I could see the church, which sat atop a hill and overlooked the little town from my porch. And the more I looked around, the more it felt like a place trapped in a time warp, and even the internet was just about Stone Age. It took a week to move and a while longer for my daughter and I to settle in, and my new office was far smaller than my old place, but I was able to fit in well there, It seemed like everything would work out perfectly.

Then we came to the beginning of October, and things took a stranger turn. My daughter, Samantha, came down from her room one evening while I flipped through channels, and I happened on an old goosebumps episode and turned to her as she went to the kitchen. So you get plans for Halloween this year, Sam? With who? I'm the new girl, remember? No one wants to do anything with the new person. person. She came back into the room with a bowl of cereal.

This place is strange, Dad. She pointed toward the window with her spoon. Oh, come on, it's not so bad. She flopped down on the couch next to me. Look, it'll just take some time to adjust. I know you'll be the same popular girl in just a few months. She stared at me. You have a very warped view of what my life was like. I laughed. Maybe I do, but look, things will get better. Sure hope so.

But the kids here, it's like they don't know anything about Halloween. I asked about a dance, and they looked at me like I had a second head. Did you? No, Dad, I'm being serious. I haven't even seen a store with decorations up. That's like end of September stuff, isn't it? I shrugged. And honestly, I'd noticed the same, but I just figured small town stores were better than big box stores in not moving on to holidays four months beforehand.

Well, I wouldn't worry about it. It's a New England town. Halloween's like in the blood of the land. Not here. I was actually shushed today by a girl at the donut shop. Well, I told you to stop referring to them as bumpkins. I didn't. I just asked when they'll be doing their Halloween donuts. She shushed me and told me not to ask something like that again. Maybe the owners are super religious. Maybe. Sucks, though.

I like Halloween. I thought for a moment while she sat next to me watching the episode, and then an idea struck me. Well, why don't we get the town jump started? We can start decorating this weekend. How's that sound? She turned to look at the windows, and then shrug. I guess that could work. When the weekend came, we spent most of the morning hauling cardboard boxes up from the basement,

and I was just getting the last one out when I rounded the side of the house and saw a local police car parked at the curb. I heard Sam's voice and hurried out. What do you mean I have to take it down? What's wrong with it? It's obscene. We don't allow that kind of stuff here. You're insane. Miss, take it down, or I'll have to take you in and write you a ticket. When I came to the front yard, I found a deputy standing a few feet from the ladder that Samantha was on, and she'd been hanging up a witch in one of the front windows.

Can I help you, officer? I placed the box I carried down beside a bush. The deputy looked at me and glanced at Samantha once more before coming over, his hands resting on his belt. You the homeowner? I am, yes. She's my daughter. What's the problem? I got a call about obscene decorations going up on this property. He looked me over and cocked an eyebrow.

I haven't seen you around before. You just move in? A few months ago, yeah. I moved towards Samantha. Could you tell me what exactly is obscene about this? He motioned towards the witch and a few foam pumpkins that had tumbled out of a plastic bag. Those things aren't allowed here. I'm sorry, Halloween.

decorations aren't allowed? His face turned to anger and surprise, as if I had just insulted his mother. Do that again, and I'll haul you both in. Take down that garbage by nightfall, or you will be in big trouble. I stood stunned as he stalked out of the yard and got into his car slamming the door. His tires screeched as he took off down the little street. I watched him go and then turned to Sam who still stood on the ladder. She stared after the car, a disbelieving look on her face.

She came down. That did just happen, right? I don't know. Maybe I hit my head in the basement. Then I hit mine too. I told you this place was weird. I nodded. Yeah.

Look, let me call the station and see if that guy's even. in a deputy. I left her outside and went into the house and looked for the phone book. I found it and looked for the number. And to my surprise, I was told the same thing the deputy had said, only in a bit nicer tone. I went back out and told Samantha that we had to take it all down. So we spent the afternoon doing so. I had never run into a place that had such a distaste for Halloween. And it wasn't because the town was religious. The church was half empty come Sunday, but something had them all spooked. So I decided to play along and I tried my best to ignore the approaching holiday. And then the night came where anywhere else the streets would be flooded with

trick-or-treaters. Instead, the place was a ghost town. I was put Putting plates on the table as Samantha was perched on the chair by the window, staring out at the street. No one has their lights on. She said and turned to look at me. Mom would be so annoyed by this. I laughed. Yeah, she would probably drag us both out there, and we'd spend most of the night knocking on doors just so she could annoy these people. She'd bring Halloween into this town, kicking and screaming.

She hopped off the chair. Her face suddenly took on a serious look, and I felt my stomach drop. I had been avoiding the question she was about to ask, but she wasn't going to let me anymore. Her mother had the same look. Why do you move us here, Dad? I turned from the stove where I had dinner cooking. Because a position opened up. So it wasn't to be closer to Mom's Grave?

Sam asked and crossed her arms. I shrugged and didn't look up. My wife grew up in the town until she was 18 and went off to college. When a heart attack took her life, her parents insisted that she be buried in this town. And I didn't have the heart to tell them no, but it was hours away from where Sam and I lived. I told you I wanted to get out of the city.

I felt my voice shake. Sam came over and hugged me. I turned to her and hugged her back, holding her as tightly as I could. I miss her too, you know. Sam looked up to me. I know. I just wanted to be closer to her.

Sam pulled away and nodded. She wiped tears from her eyes with her sleeve. I'm sorry it's not working out. It's fine. I stopped by her grave yesterday. on the way home from school. I was surprised. Sam had a lot of anger at her mother over her death,

and so much so that she didn't stay for the entire funeral. And personally, I didn't blame her, and she was barely in her teens. I haven't gone yet. I flipped the grilled cheese sandwiches I had on the stove. The bottoms were black. Are her parents still leaving flowers? Sam shook her head. There was nothing on any of the graves.

It looked like someone had cleaned everything up. I frowned. Well, then we'll have to take some flowers tomorrow, together. I dumped the grilled cheese sandwiches in the trash, and Sam laughed at me as I turned back. How about we order some pizza? No complaints here. She went and got the phone.

All the places were closed, and I hung up on the last voicemail miss. and toss the phone onto the couch. Looks like we'll be fending for ourselves still. There's a burger place out on Main Street, open late. We could try there. Sam got the keys from the hook beside the door. I'll drive.

I cannot wait until you get your license, just so I can send you out to get stuff by yourself. I grabbed my coat and we headed out the door. The sky was mostly thick with clouds, but the moon shined rays through them and gave the world an eerie glow. I turned to look at the house as I reached the car and paused. There was orange light from one of the windows.

You put one of those pumpkins in your window? I looked at Sam over the car roof. Oh, yeah, huh. Must have missed that one. She said with a sly smile. And I laughed as she got in the car. I took the front seat, and off we went towards Main Street. And it was like the end of the world had occurred.

There were no cars on the street, and every single shop was dark. Every house was dark. Even the street and stoplights were off, which frankly had to be illegal, but other than the moon, there was no light. We made it to the burger place and pulled into the parking lot. Maybe there's a power outage? Sam stared through the windshield, and she glanced at the clock, and then at me. Or all our clocks are wrong? I checked my phone, and it was only a little after eight, and I looked around the area getting the first chills of something being very, very wrong.

Let's head home, Sam. We could try something out of town. Sam, I said we're going home. I swallowed dry, and frankly something had always felt off here. But right then, every nerve was tingling and my hair stood on the back of my neck. There was something that I was missing and I wanted to be somewhere other than a car when I realized what exactly that was.

I looked back to Sam who was staring straight at me, her expression a mix of confusion and fear. What's wrong? Home, Sam. now. She shifted the car into reverse and backed out onto the main street, and it took almost ten minutes to get home. We pulled into the driveway, and I noticed that the front door was opened.

Sam saw it too. He locked it. I thought for a moment and was 99% sure that I did. I undid my seatbelt and opened the car door. Stay here. Keep the doors. locked. If I'm not back in five minutes, go to the police station. Dad? I squeezed her hand. Do as I say. She nodded and I got out of the car and started up the walk.

I entered the front door and reached for the light beside the door, but I couldn't find it. I took out my cell phone and used the flashlight app and gasp. The entire living room was in shambles. lights were knocked over and the couch was turned over with the TV laying on top of it. I cursed and started into the room. In the small beam of light, I couldn't see anything missing, just damaged. Stopping in the middle of the room, I sighed and then froze in place. A sound of sobbing came from upstairs. A large part of me wanted to run back to the car and go to the place.

police, but I couldn't do that if somebody was hurt. So instead, I tried 911 and moved to the closet where Sam had her softball bat. Just a busy signal. God damn it. I took up the bat and started up the stairs. The sobbing was coming from the front of the house where Sam's room was. I slowly made my way down the hall and paused outside of her room. The door was open just a crack. I used the bat to push it farther. There was a silhouette of a woman on Sam's bed. She was bent over clutching something to her chest. I took a small step into the room and tried my best to stay quiet

until I knew what I was dealing with. She didn't notice. I took another and then froze when a loud bang came from downstairs. I stumbled back against the wall as the silhouette's head darted up to look at me. I couldn't make out much of her face other than the skin that looked almost like paper on her gaunt features. She bared her teeth and snarled as she let go of one of Sam's stuffed animals. Dad! I struggled to get out the door, the bat smacking across the door jam.

The woman scrambled across the bed, a raspy cough. escaping her. I tried to close the door, but she was at it before I could manage, so I moved to the side as she rushed out of the room. She slammed into the wall, buckling the drywall, and causing pictures to tumble to the floor. I rolled backwards and slid down the stairs as Sam stood against the front door. Windows shattered, and the laughing became louder from those outside. I topped the last few steps and turned to see the woman on the landing. She stomped down the steps slowly, with her black gown almost like ink in the darkness. Hands grabbed at me, and I looked back to see Sam kneeling beside me, her phone out with her flashlight on.

She shined it on the woman on the steps, and I felt my heart stop. She had only one eye, which looked like milk under glass. But it wasn't the eye that held my attention, or the missing patches of skin and strings of hair. It was her face, her clothes, the ring that glinted on her finger. Karen? I saw the slightest hint of recognition before it disappeared into a fit of love. rusty laughter. Who? That can't be.

Sam stood. She walked towards the woman. I struggled to my feet and grabbed her by the waist before she could make it more than a couple of steps. The woman that looked like my dead wife rushed after us. I felt her nails rake across my neck and down my back, and I tumbled over as Sam landed beside me. My dead wife was on me before I could move, the air coming from her mouth and nose, the stench of death.

I caught her wrists and felt the skin break under my grip and cover my hands in dust. Run! Run, Sam! Get the basement. Lock the door! Teeth snapped inches away from my face. But... Go! She took off toward the kitchen and more windows broke. Footsteps sounded from everywhere in the room, but I couldn't think about it too much. I was too focused on the dead woman in front of me who was trying to claw my eyes out.

Karen, stop! She growled at me and renewed her struggle to hurt me. How are you here? You're dead. You've been dead for years. Why are you trying to hurt us? Rusty laughter came again, but she relaxed a little. That recognition I saw before returned, and she canted her head at me.

She snarled and looked around at the room. She stood and staggered toward the kitchen, shoving aside the others who had entered through the windows. The basement door opened and Sam screamed. I rushed into the kitchen and shoved Karen back into the counter. I got into the basement and slammed the door behind me and held onto the knob. Karen screamed from the other side, and her hands thumped on the door. The light was on, and I turned to see Sam at the foot of the stairs. She held my gun on me, and then slowly lowered it.

What the hell is going on, Dad? That was Mom. Go get me a hammer and nails quickly. She ran off and I sat down on the stairs, holding the door and hoping it would hold against Karen's onslaught. She had started to sob by the time Sam brought me the hammer and nails. It was painful to listen to, but the hammering at least drowned it out for a time. Sam and I sat in the basement and listened as what sounded like hundreds of dead walked around above us. Sam somehow fell asleep in my arms, but I couldn't even close my eyes, not with my dead wife sobbing above me.

By the time the sun came through the small basement windows, all sound from above us had disappeared. I gently laid Sam down on the rug and went to the basement doors that led outside. The sun was bright and the air chilly as I stepped out. The yard was pitted with footprints. The back of the house looked like a bomb had gone off inside. All the windows were broken and wood siding laid on the ground in pieces. I walked to the front to find more of the same. I stood there, my heart in my throat, and not sure what to do.

You were warned. I turned around to see the deputy from the beginning of the month getting out of his car. I told you not to have that crap up. I stalked over. Warned of what? You didn't tell me anything like this would happen. Why the hell was 911 not working last night? Because we don't go out on Halloween.

We don't even turn on our lights for fear of calling them. It's not the town's fault that you wouldn't listen. You could have told us. He smiled. You wouldn't have believed. Me anyway, the warning should have been enough. I wanted to hit him, but somehow managed to restrain myself. My dead wife was here.

A solemn expression came over him. You had family buried here? He removed his hat. I'm sorry you had to see them like that. He looked back to the house and then took a few steps onto the lawn. Any inside? You heard any of them? No.

No, we never got the chance. We hid in the basement. He nodded. Lucky then. Last new people that didn't listen, we found dead in their beds. Tell me, just, what the hell happened last night? I don't know, the particulars. You'll have to talk to the librarians or some such.

But it's a time that spirits aren't bound no more. The dead can walk. Most places think that the decorations and masks are to keep the spirits at bay, not around here. They're drawn to anything relating to the holiday, which is why we don't have Halloween here. He went back to his car. He turned slowly once he reached it and looked at me. You need food or help cleaning up? Stop by the church.

You've at least learned your lesson, which means you're part of this town, and we take care of our own. He got in and sped off. I turned back to the house and could see Sam's little foam pumpkin still in the window, the grin on its face almost mocking. I went inside and tore it from the window and trashed it. It's almost time now for another Halloween, and I'll let this one go by just as I have all the others as just another fall day.

My memories of the holiday are no longer laughter or children having fun, but rather the decomposing face of my dead wife and her sobs. And that is why this town and I don't do Halloween. In our final tale, we conclude our Halloween night in a very fitting setting, the graveyard of an old church. As told by author Dustin Chisholm, a group of friends fancy themselves ghost hunters, and they're sure Halloween night in the graveyard will secure the proof they need. Performing this tale are David Alt, Jessica McAvoy, Atticus Jackson, Matthew Bradford, and Dan Zapula.

So bear in mind, Halloween isn't just our night. It's a night for the dancing. dead. It was a perfectly lovely church. As was the cemetery it overlooked. The wrought iron fence enclosing the property was a uniform black, not a bit of its sheen giving way to rust. The grass was perfectly cut, the trees trimmed and fallen branches quickly cleared away. It was pristine and serene. Cemetery were monuments. Consolation, reassurance that departed loved ones are never too far. So knowing this, it's easy to see the serene expanses of grass and stones as beauty.

Some might even go so far as to say that to think of them as frightening is to misunderstand. That to imagine them as they are in gothic horror movies, tilted markers overgrown with gnarling yellow weeds, with a fog rolling in through a rusty gate hanging off a hinge is missing the point. As fun as it may be to creep oneself out, cemeteries are a place of comfort. Amy certainly thought that one should respect this solemn perspective out of respect for fellow mourners. Too bad her three companions patronize the Boneyard for more ghoulish reasons. They say this is one of seven gateways to hell here on Earth.

and that on Halloween night, he visits the grave of a child he had with a witch buried here. Andy shuddered, his baggy shirt rippling over his tiny frame as he did so. Why'd you have to tell me that now? But while he was the most skittish of the group, the glee on his face was still obvious. Kelly was like another Freddy, round and solid, but half a head taller and a ruddy ginger, as opposed to Freddy's dark hair. So you haven't heard about the werewolf in the trees, I take it. Amy rolled her eyes.

They were Freddy's friends, and when she and Freddie had split for a few months, she hadn't kept up with them either. Now she stood at the gate of Spring Grove Cemetery on the night of all Hallows, one of her favorite holidays. As much as she would enjoy this any other night, now she was kicking herself for letting Freddy talk her into this. There were parties to go to, attractions to patron. But all this beautiful graveyard could make her think

was that she wished her aunt's Elsa and Millie could have been buried in half as nicer place. At least if it looked a little more Tim Burton-esque, she might be feeling it a little more. Freddie had exchanged favour after favour to get a set of keys to a cemetery that had more urban legends about it than the last three US presidencies.

all in the name of being able to go legend tripping on Halloween night and having it all to himself. Oh, did you see that, Fred? Amy rolled her eyes. What's the matter? Are you not a believer? Are we going to have to fight? Amy chose her words a little carefully.

She was sure she didn't imagine that particular joke of Kelly's seemed a little sincere this time. Sure, I believe. It's just that these stories are so crazy. that I'm willing to bet it's all made up. Oh, so you'd be more on board if there was just like one murder in its whole entire history? Maybe if they'd just put in a bunch of security cameras that have proved all the legends a long time ago. Anyway, their loss. We're the ones who'll be famous after tonight. Not them.

That wasn't the first time he had shown that strange certainty about how this expedition was going to unfold. A single click of the hefty padlock. padlock and a barely audible squeak of hinges, and they were in. Freddy closed it behind them, locking it, killing the promise of any cooler plans for the night of Sowin. So anyone who wants to pay respects to their family here tonight are S-O-L? Yep, too many looky-los who didn't want to go through official channels. All they needed to do is slip the weird-ass caretaker a hundred spot after plying him

with a few drinks. Freddie pulled off the chain, waiting for the rapid clatter of chains against bars to subside. Ghost hunting had long been one of their favorite hobbies. Freddy had a keen sense of sussing out what was needed for every location. Be it a public place, a private property, he knew what to do. He knew when to ask permission, negotiate the details with the owners, or just skipped trespassing. But getting the keys in being allowed to enter up. unsupervised, he had outdone himself this time. Spring Grove was almost perfectly designed,

if you were of the ghost-hunting mindset, a winding road that led up to a small two-story church at the top of the hill, surrounded by neatly polished, gleaming headstones. Amy was surprised at the number of statues and sculptures that she had only seen in more fanciful depictions of cemeteries, most of those completely fictional. She said as much. Yeah, there used to be a bunch of rich people who were usually from Chicago, who were buried here up to the 20s. The stock market crash brought that to a halt.

But services continued up there another 15 years. Freddie nodded up at the church. It was an old stone building. Amy was raised Catholic and was used to attending Mass in more cavernous habits. houses of worship. The first time she had ever attended a service in a tiny a Protestant church, it had come as something of a shock. But looking at Spring Grove's tiny ancient church, the antiquity seemed to add a sense of majesty to it equal to any of the giant Catholic churches she had attended. It seemed to be an almost natural formation of the earth with the barest of

modifications to make it a symbol of holy ground, all in a building barely bigger than the smallest of two-bedroom houses. Should I do it? Andy cut into her thoughts, pulling an empty beer bottle from his backpack and assuming a throwing stance. Yeah, just don't shit your pants when it doesn't break, or I am planting your ass in the trunk for the ride home. While Andy seemed to be trying to work up the courage to throw it against the wall of the church, Freddy leaned over to Amy. Supposedly, a glass bottle won't break no matter how hard you throw it against the wall. Finally, after a few more seconds of shifting his weight from foot to foot, Andy threw the bottle.

He was no major leaguer or even a little league rookie, and after spinning a dozen times, it clanked against the ancient stone and landed in the grass, whole and unmart. Andy looked at the others with an expression that was a strange melange of terror, and bleep. Movies used unfired or sugar glass when they break stuff. It is really fucking hard to break a bottle compared to in the movies. Well, I can try again later.

No, you can't. Despite his jovial tone, there was a hint of warning in it. If Andy caught it, he maintained a casual air. The keys jangled, sounding melodic as they sang a plea for entry. The largest key, one that looked fit. to lock a dungeon beneath an ancient key was slowly inserted into a lock that seemed just as antiquated. Whereas everything else about the cemetery seemed shiny and new, everything about the old church seemed to shout to the heavens its contrast. And true enough, the well-oiled gate was far more well-cared

for than the enormous wooden double doors of the church, as they didn't so much as creak as they roared. That is the mother of all creaking doors. We should record it and sell it to a movie studio. We could make it the new stock creaking door sound effect. And it still had more of that cacophonous groaning to do before one of those heavy double doors was open wide enough to admit them. Her senses told Amy immediately that the interior of the old church was not nearly as well cared for as the cemetery. A dull popery of offending odors wafted about. Mold, decay, stuffiness, dust, all tickled her nose, one of her least favorite parts of this hobby. The caretakers had evidently given up on the inside. There was graffiti on the floors and walls and trash on the floor.

Amy noticed that the trash was faded. Beer and soda cans, food wrappers, a lot of them had packaging designs she knew were several years old. Most of the graffiti was pop culture occultism, pentagrams, more than a few 666s, and beseeches to the Dark Lord himself. It was just the stuff moody teenagers who mistook angst for pathos wrote. Okay, a nice tranquil, well-cared-for cemetery is

good for the narrative. Now's the time to start taking pictures. Freddy pulled his digital camera out of the backpack. Amy still thought of what they did as legend tripping, not ghost hunting. The few pieces of equipment they had only paid lip service to the idea. All in all, this would simply have been an afternoon out that would end up shared in a new album on Freddy's Facebook, nothing more. Andy pulled out his own EVP recorder.

or rather his ordinary tape recorder endorsed by the most popular ghost-hunting reality star at the moment and embossed with his name. What is your name? How did you die? Do you have a message for us? The usual list of EVP cliches. Kelly actually owned a camera with a thermal setting. He almost looked like a serious researcher as he scanned the inside of the church, as he didn't break the silence with a litany of stupid questions. But it was Freddy whose actions were a hard right from their usual ghost-hunting routine.

He had pulled an ancient three-ring binder from his book bag, the yellowed plastic creaked and squeaked as he slowly opened it. Amy, curious, approached the altar. Freddy was standing on the other side of the pulpit from her, facing the ruin that once seated a small but devout congregation. And in Amy's eyes, what he did next was a defacement of that legacy. He pulled out a single piece of dark chalk, or what looked like chalk, because he seemed to be able to write as easily on the wax surface of the candle as he did the marble altar.

On he drew, covering the cross with arcane and occultish symbols, and when he reached the base, on he drew. The strange unidentifiable symbols seemed to, lead to and up the sides of the cross-like circuits. One single candle holder was the only other thing on the altar, and Freddy placed a single, small, wax candle from his bag into it. The last symbols he drew seemed to twist around the candle holder on the cold marble. Double-checking the symbols, he closed the binder and stuffed it back into his bag.

Okay, time to go. We have until the candle burns out. Freddie led the march to the back of the church. Andy and Kelly quickly fell in behind him. Amy knew he was withholding for a dramatic effect and knew it would be useless to ask for answers. So she followed, if not as eagerly as the two minions. The back door, which was in a room that the years had stripped

of all its former context and purpose, was just as heavy as the front. Amy looked at the spiral stairs to their left and longed to climb to the bell tower as crowded as it would be. But that wasn't what Freddy was interested in. They took a sharp right after descending a tiny, rickety porch and came across a cellar which looked like the ones you'd expect to find in Tornado Alley. Okay, the cellar, just like the maintenance guy said.

When Amy saw the alarmed looks that Andy and Kelly weren't clever enough to completely conceal, It was only when Freddy popped the hatch and went in first that the other two seemed to remember they were his de facto henchmen and followed. Amy sighed and did the same. She couldn't see anything except the steps. They seemed to be carved out of the earth and a stone wall was all that they could see on all sides. And instantly they fell into darkness as the heavy doors slammed shut. Okay, nobody used any lights. Don't turn around. It's already too late.

The only way is forward now. We're going to link hands and I'll guide us out. Got it? Freddy seemed to know what to do. And in the silence that followed, Amy knew that Andy and Kelly were hesitating at their dear leader's orders for the first time in their lives. Why can't we use any lights?

And who shut the door? It's way too heavy for... What? You'd think I'd bring you here if I wasn't hoping to see some? something? Link hands. We've got until that candle burns out. How big can a cellar be that we have to do this? Amy reluctantly took hold of Kelly's poor in the blackness. The cellar? Eh, pretty big.

Freddy's casualness was, well, at this point, Amy was tired of analyzing and sussing out every hidden meaning of her now ex-boyfriend's ever more cryptic statements. They turn seven times, left, left, right, left, right, and left. This had to be a cellar as large as a school auditorium given the length of time between turns. Amy had been into a haunted house once as a child where she and her friend had been wandering around a section that was a pitch-black maze for over ten minutes. Some trick that she couldn't recall was used to allow others to escape without those behind them seeing, but they couldn't find it. And got to where a performer from the part just outside had to come in and break character and explain they were in a room no bigger than a large living room before he guided them out. The idea of an enormous basement under a small church wasn't that unsettling until Amy reminded herself that this was a cemetery.

would she rub her free hand against bone jutting from the walls. But on that last left, she heard climbing footsteps. Again, sneakers on stone. And after listening to the 26 steps, she heard another set of cellar doors swing open. But when she followed Freddy, Andy and Kelly out and looked around, she realized it had been the same steps, the same cellar door, in theory. If they had succeeded in their little adventure, Amy had imagined a situation where they all saw a single figure

floating among the gravestones that they would mistake for another legend tripper, only for this newcomer to slowly fade away, hopefully on film. But what was revealed when they stepped out into the open was so instant and undeniable that it destroyed any of Amy's notions of what was in the other side and how close it truly was to the world of the living. Freddy slowly led the three back into the church. There were no questions as they walked to the front door and looked out into the cemetery, as Freddy pointed at them to crouch and keep their heads down when they looked out.

The cemetery had changed. It was every menacing graveyard depicted in films and then some. It was as though a sincere memorial had been slowly corrupted by those buried beneath, their mouldering bodies releasing a poison that altered earth and plant. The trees seemed more pointed, jagged and sharp. The statues less naturalistic in the low light and more exaggerated, and the gravestones larger and more angular. The corruption and festering of the dead became the corruption

and the festering of the earth, plants and markers above. As far as Amy could see, there was only blackness beyond the cemetery. gates, and above it all loomed a night sky that glowed a dull red, a featureless shimmering orb in place of the moon. This is what the apocalypse looks like, Amy thought numbly. A dead world, not destroyed, but a world for the dead to trample around like they were alive again. You did it? I think we should... Andy was shaking so bad he could barely get the world. Andy was shaking so bad he could barely get the words out. You know we can't just turn back around. Get to the windows and keep your heads and your voices low. They all went to what had been large stained glass windows in the world that they

belonged in. Now only black tracing the formerly ornate patterns and artwork remained, offering an unencumbered view. The men took the right one. Seeing this, Amy decided she'd have the left one to herself. You don't want any lights from your cameras alerting anyone. Andy and Kelly started to point their cameras down at the cemetery below. Sheepishly, they pocketed both of their devices. Amy's heart was pounding with anticipation. Ghost hunting had been their shared interest,

and she was willing to forgive every lie, every shitty thing Freddy had ever done simply for making this moment possible. But she knew this was too easy, knew there was a catch. There would be hundreds of videos like this on YouTube if it was this easy to get proof like this. I'm going to trust you all not to scream. Farmer's Almanac says the sun should have just gone down in the real world.

The real world. This went well beyond a mere surprise for a night out. This was the kind of thing that merely destroyed the worldview of the unprepared if they were lucky and their sanity if they weren't. They ascended, many clawing their way out of their graves, but a few rose as if they were lighter than air and the dirt was nothing. The earth easily parted for them as the water parted for a dolphin leaping from the oceanic depths. Decay brought about a conformity to the masses, erasing the line between young and old, the thin and the fat, the rich and the poor. In death, they were almost as one.

From this distance they were as large as the distance between the tips of the thumb and index finger of an outstretched hand held at arm's length. Amy imagined that she saw a few details that differentiated them from the church, but realized their anonymity was key. Amy's imagination had run wild through it all, and she who imagined innumerable worlds for herself that she would rather walk in than the one she called home readily took this all in. in the red glow of this new cemetery. The large mausoleum in the center of the graveyard was opening, and more of the dead emerged, filing out in different directions, already knowing their assigned spots. The last to emerge was taller than the rest,

and moved with a languid grace that somehow marked it as whatever passed for a leader here. But instead of a crown, it wore a ragged top hat. But despite this obvious mark of masculine dress, Amy couldn't bring herself to think of the leader as him. It was all this white could ever be to her. It was a phonograph, the horn seeming to be larger in comparison to the machine that most she had seen pictures of. With a jerk, four legs popped out and embedded themselves in the earth, leaving the phonograph four feet off the ground. And Top Hat did its work. cranked. It seemed to turn the handle for several minutes before finally stepping away.

All at once, the dead cast off their flowing burial shrouds that trailed behind them as an eerie music emanated from the horn. It was not wholly unpleasant, but there was a promise, a hidden meaning beneath it that was not meant for the living. It might make one's fillings tingle. It would cause birth defects when played to the unborn. It would tell an ill person on the edge that he should take his AR-15 to work on Monday morning. It was wrong because they, Amy and her companions, did not belong here. Their shuffling gates gave way to a more fluid movement as they finally cast off the seeming facade of Rigamortis, for it was more than blood and muscle that animated them. That unfamiliar tune put a jaunt in their step and dance in their dead hearts.

You remember reading Gota in college, Amy? This is just like one of his poems, Totentans, with a dance of death. Maybe Mr. Gota learned a few of the same tricks I did and survived to write about it. It was beautiful. Their emotions were not perfectly in sync, but their style was. Over the next 10 minutes, their motions could be described as ballet, swing, Celtic, and styles whose names and cultures she couldn't begin to guess at. Every change in style was instant and shared among the entire group. And whatever they had been in life, in death, their grace and skill kept their heads pointed to the sky only some of the time, so effortless were their flips. You know, with all of the different calendars and feasts, how is it that we chose October 31st as the day this sort of thing could happen and be 100% right?

Humans gave the day the significance just because they believed. She really wanted to ask him how he knew all this, but knew there wasn't going to be any time, not now and not later. One shroud blew in the wind. It was obvious that they could all wrap themselves up again before returning. to the grave. In this wind, that could actually be the breath of gods or spirits, as in the myths of old, it would never go beyond the reach of its owner. Slowly it tumbled and danced toward the church. It was so perfect. The angle was perfect, so entranced were her fellow churchgoers that she easily shot her arm out the window and grabbed it, and they never even realized what had

just happened. Stuffing the shroud in her own. to her jacket pocket. She was feeling immensely proud of herself in that instant. Out of here. The music was still as strange as it ever was, the dead as graceful and energetic as they ever were. The three men were so still as they peered out that Amy wondered if they had been hypnotized. It was only after a few seconds that Andy was able to divert an infinitesimal amount of his attention to her. While they're distracted. Be quiet.

The chattering teeth of their merry band was entranced just like his buddies. No, we have to get out of here right now. We can sneak back down, out back, and go back into that magic cellar. I thought you said we had a timetable with that candle. A timetable and a condition. The living just can't walk in the other side and walk back out like nothing. The other two tensed at this and looked at each other, as if this was a signal they had been waiting for.

and all three crawled under the window and stood when they were past it. Freddy slowly advanced on Amy, pulling a large rambo knife from his pocket. She knew it was a rambo knife because he had saved up his allowance for months when he was 10 to buy it from an ad in the back of Soldier of Fortune magazine. He hadn't been actually allowed to hold it until he was much older, but it was one of his most treasured possessions. Amy knew this was it and let him advance. I've probably told you how much I don't like being dumped.

Kind of an understatement. I sure as hell hate being dumped by the same bitch twice. Yeah, I know what you were thinking. Caretaker told me the story about this place. He believed it too. That's why I had to get him drunk. Says someone has to stay behind so the others can come back to the real world. Guess who that's going to be?

They were louder now. Like they knew they were. protected if they were hurt. And Freddy was less than six inches away, looking for some fear in Amy's eyes to give him a little satisfaction. But he could see none. And before he could say something, the other two jumped in. You always called me a chicken shit.

I think going along with this little plan was pretty damn brave, don't you think? I certainly do. And you know what? This is what you get for bashing on HP Lovecraft all those times. Freddy and Andy gave him a brief look of incredulity. What? I don't need that bigger reason to go along. It was your idea. So, do me a favor, babe. I just want to see if you're going to cry, since you always brag about never, ever crying.

You know what's great about living in a small town? Freddy seemed taken aback by the question and the total lack of fear. Everyone you meet is probably a mutual friend. Like the cemetery groundskeeper who babysat me when I was little and warned me after you got the secret of this cemetery from him after you lifted his keys. When you said, I know just the person to him and thought he'd sleep it off and forget. Instantly he was dancing as the stun gun she had slipped down. out of her pocket was pressed into his ample gut, and his beloved Rambo knife clattered to the church

floor. Instantly, he stumbled down on one knee. Kelly and Andy stood behind him their mouths agate. They hadn't expected this turn, and they hadn't expected her to run for the back door. Freddy's trembling fingers grazed the back of her boots as he weakly tried to grab her ankle. Andy was the fastest, but he took a split second to assess the situation, and there was no way Kelly could catch her even on her worst day. So with all of this, she had a full second after she closed the door to the back room, slamming it shut on the shroud as she left it with each half in each room. No way they'd be pulling it out. The deadbolt was there. It was there because she needed it to be. She was making the better deal to the dead. They didn't even know

the trespassers were there, but they knew Amy would make the better deal. So the other side favored her. she would give three where Freddy, Andy and Kelly would only give one. It saw fit to help her because of her generosity. They want the shroud, you guys. She quickly climbed up the bell tower steps and risked one last look at the dance macabre below. But it was no longer a dance. As unified as all of their movements were in their rides, gathering and dance, so too were they unified in their march up the hill. But one was different. All had their shrouds back on, save one.

And there was an animal aggression in his gate none of the dead had shown so far. Top Hat, however, stopped halfway up. It alone looked up at the bell tower at Amy. She saw a silver glint flashing from its empty sockets. She had a moment where she thought she had made a horrible mistake in hesitating and needing to see when it offered her a single bow, done with the same flourish of all of the

revenant's movements, and it joined the others back into the march. Amy took her time going back down the stairs, no sense in panicking and tearing ass out. Three for one was a fantastic deal. She didn't save her there, please, on the other side of the door as they furiously tried to break it down. Three pairs of fists hammered away Until there came the same sound of loud creaking The doors of this parallel church were just as uncared for as those in their words The soft rustling voice that called out in the moment where Amy knew her

Friends were frozen in fear could only be top hats But there came another And Amy had a pretty good deal guess who it was. I want my shroud. And he seemed to cover the distance from the entrance to the church

through the back door by mid-sentence, so that shroud came from right outside the door. The screams began, and the bangs, and the tearing and the trickle of blood that welled under the door. The shroud was pulled from the door as if it were a tablecloth yanked without disturbing the tableware on top of it,

and the screams faded as they were pulled from the church at what had to be a speed as great as the shroud's owner had crossed the church. Amy took one last look at the blood seeping under that door before heading out. Down that same porch, a left turn again, and down the cellar steps she went. This time she closed the doors herself. Down those 26 steps, left, right, right, left, right, left, and left one last time before coming to 26 more steps and out the cellar. back into a night with a pock-marked moon, innumerable stars in the sky, and a faint blue tinge.

Back into it was a place of comfort and remembrance, into a night alive with the sounds of the living alone in all its forms. Insects, owls, and no haunting otherworldly compositions. Back into the church for one last bit of unfinished business. The candle was almost burnt out now. As she passed, she blew it out and ran her hand over the symbols Freddie had drawn, smearing them. Now there was no cellar and no cellar door Amy knew. She exited through those double doors with their deafening creek, and she took the care to lock behind her before marching out back to the cemetery.

At the gate was her old friend, the caretaker, looking at her in disbelief. You did it! Amy nodded in reply. She pulled out the keys she had snatched from Freddy's jacket pocket in the split second before he had fallen from the stun gun shop. Think you might want these. I know you have your spares, but I'm sure you don't want to leave this hanging so your bosses would find out they got lifted when you were passed out at the bar. The groundskeeper looked at Amy in disbelief, catching the keys as she tossed them back to her old friend. We'll tell them me and Freddie got in a fight, and I ran into you here, so you gave me a ride home.

The caretaker nodded as they went through the gate. Amy took one last look at the church and thought she heard a few faint, familiar notes before she continued to the garage across the street where the caretaker parked his truck and where Freddie had parked his car. I can't believe you actually went. I mean, after I warned you... Amy held up her hand, duplicate him. You know someone else would be their sacrificial lamb if I didn't step up.

And you know the only one who's more eager to see ghosts than Freddy is me. I'd say this is about the best Halloween ever. Your time in our netherworld, you release you back into your own reality. If you would like to find out how you can hear the full-length versions of our audio program, please visit the no-sleeppodcast.com to learn about our season pass program. 25 episodes, each over two hours long, and three exclusive bonus episodes, all for only 1999. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for listening.

Join us again next week when our unseen hands will be. drag you down into our dark storyland. This audio production is copyright, 2016, 2017 by Creative Reason Media, Inc. All rights reserved. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. The name The No Sleep Podcast is a trademark of Creative Reason Media, Inc. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc.