Page 7 of Ghosts of Halloween

Outside, the biting cold makes me shiver. I didn’t bring a jacket, not as an oversight, but because I’d rather be cold now. It makes the pain manageable. I open and close my fist, and the prosthetic responds with minimal delay, as it always does.

I feel the phantom pain release just a little and sigh with relief. Time to get going.

It’s after ten pm, and the streets are noticeably emptier. Most kids are back home, and the parties for adults take place on the other side of town. Where I’m going, there is only eerie silence.

Which is ironic. Before the tragedy, the house at 12 Sycamore Street was a popular hangout spot and a place of teenage Halloween dares. It’s a dark, stooping structure with black walls, a caved in steep roof, and a decorative gable.

The chimneys are half-collapsed, their jagged edges cutting into the light-polluted sky.

It looks like a haunted house, and not just at night. When I was a kid, we used to cross to the other side of the street whenever we passed number twelve, even at noon on high summer days. Scared something would reach out through the rusty iron fence and drag us inside.

I smile bitterly, thinking how innocent I used to be. Nowadays, I know what to be afraid of. I will take ghosts and boogeymen over the fears I carry now.

Any time.

I stop in front of the wrought iron gate and just look at the house. It’s dark and dead, oozing a cold, menacing aura. I know the aura is only in my head because of what happened here, but I shiver anyway. I’ve seen the photos, and the images are etched into my brain.

The black body bags rolled out through this gate. The blood stains on the dusty hardwood floors inside.

I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. My palm sweats while the other pulses with a horrible, bone-crushing pain as I step closer.

The gate hangs lopsided, one wing off its hinge, creating a crack just wide enough for me to step through. I clench my fists, harden my jaw, and go.

The path leading up to the house is steep and neglected, trash and debris strewn over the lot. I weave my way among the obstacles, finally coming tothe porch steps. I climb them, my heart hammering harder and harder the closer I get to the door. The steps creak ominously under my feet.

Surprisingly, the door looks solid enough, but it’s not locked. It stands invitingly ajar, and I see some shriveled leaves the wind must have blown inside.

Last chance to back out.

I walk over the creaking porch, my black sneakers thudding lightly over the wood, and push the door open. It creaks so loudly, I look over my shoulder, suddenly afraid someone might hear. But the house is far from the street, and besides, will the neighbors really come to check if they suspect someone is here on Halloween?

Of course not. I’m safe.

With my left hand pressed to my chest to contain the wild beating of my heart, I walk inside, stopping right after I cross the threshold. I wait for my eyes to adjust to the musty darkness of the abandoned house.

No, not darkness.Fuck.

I notice a glow of a candle coming from an open door to my right. When I turn to leave, knowing I can’t stay if someone else is here, the door slams shut in my face.

And when I turn back with a whimper, the glow of the candle is gone.

I’m trapped in the pitch black darkness, my stomach roiling with nausea, my body petrified.

Someone whispers in the dark.

“She’s here.”

3

Jack

I hover in front of her face, taking her in with greedy eyes. She’s changed in those two years since I last saw her, and I like the change. It tells me she’s suffered as much as we have.

That doesn’t mean I forgive her, but it soothes the hate I feel and turns it into something less cold.

I drink in the sharpness of her cheekbones, more prominent now. She always copes by running, and she’s clearly not eating enough. It’s like she’s halfway to the other side already, all the excess carved away so only the essence of her remains.

But her lips are still plump and soft. She licks them nervously, turning her head this way and that, trying to see. I cock my head to the side and watch without blinking, her terror like a soft blanket over my agonizing wrath.

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