"Spying on her again Jax?" A foreboding voice startled him.
"Slag, what are you doing here?"
Slag had been sent to Wormwood as punishment. He was accused of killing a group of trick-or-treaters. A purple, jagged scar marked his ashen face to distinguish him from white ghosts.
Jax knew Slag was trolling for young girls. How was he going to protect Megan from the monster that lived inside Slag?
"Just looking, just looking," he smirked.
"Like hell you are!" This girl is off limits and you know it Slag."
Slag let out a sinister laugh. "We'll see about that Jax."
He was gone before Jax could warn him again to stay away from Megan.
*
Megan slung her back-pack over her shoulder and headed home from school. It was Halloween and tonight her girlfriends would come over. She had everything planned for a night of frightening fun. Megan planned to summon the ghost in the mirror.
Ding dong. Megan ran downstairs to answer the door. Her girlfriends entered.
"Hi ya Megan," they chimed. "Got everything ready," they giggled.
"Yep, upstairs."
Her room was dark, except for a few black lit candles. The mood was eerie.
"Cool," one girl said.
Megan filled orange plastic cups with tomato juice.
"Here," she handed each girl a cup. "Drink this blood and we shall begin the séance.”
The girls giggled as they drank the liquid concoction.
Four girls stood in front of the mirror and joined hands. Their reflections were shadowed by the glow of the candle light. The girls chanted in unison, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary bring forth something scary.”
The mirror shook, they jumped back.
“See, I told you we shouldn't play around like that,” Regina said. “I'm going home. See ya tomorrow Megan.
“Regina, wait. It's only a game silly.”
“My mom said...”
“Whatever, go on home then. The rest of you want to leave too?”
The other girls shook their head and followed Regina's lead.
“Be a bunch of wussies then. See if I care!”
Megan slammed her bedroom door, blew out the candles and crawled into bed. She didn't notice the miniscule crack in the mirror.
*
Jax watched and listened as the girls summoned evil. He knew what would happen next if Slag got through the portal. Jax scanned the mirror for cracks, but didn't see anything visible. He breathed a sigh of relief and waved his hand to release the mirror's powers. Megan was safe for now.
*
Slag had been waiting for his chance to enter Megan's world. The tiny crack in the mirror provided the perfect opportunity. She and her friends had summoned him. He waved his hand and the mirror illuminated. Slag still had power, but only when someone conjured evil. He slipped through the portal and into Megan's bedroom. The girl was asleep, her breathing soft, at least for the moment.
Slag hovered over her, ready to attack. He weaved his evil spirit into her dream. Megan's breathing labored, her body broke out in a sweat. Excellent. Slag savored this moment. Her body began to writhe. She would soon be his. Innocent Megan would soon become an evil spirit.
*
Megan had the breath knocked out of her by something heavy. She tried to scream, but her voice was muted. Help me.... She panicked. Evil was in her room. How? It was only a joke. Then she remembered how the mirror shook. Oh my God! Somehow I summoned something scary.
Her body twisted and her arms flailed. Help me!
*
Jax heard a frightened voice that sounded familiar. Megan! Where was Slag? Jax hurried to the mirror, waved his hand, and saw the tiny crack in the portal. Slag was with Megan....
He had never been through the portal unless summoned. He knew the proper protocol, but there wasn't time, Megan's life was in danger. Jax entered the portal. Slag was hovering over Megan.
"Slag, get away from her now!"
A maniacal laughter escaped Slag's throat. "Never! She summoned me, not a white ghost."
Jax lunged toward Slag and pushed him into the mirror. Slag reached for Megan, but Jax threw himself on top of her.
“My handsome bridegroom?"
"Yes, I'm Jax.” He kissed her lips and took his human form.
"You're beautiful," she stammered.
Jax chuckled," so are you my beautiful Megan."
Jax reached for the mirrored portal and shattered it into a million shards.
"From this day forward I'll never leave you Megan, I promise."
“And,” she placed her arms around his neck, "from this moment Jax, there won't be any more Ouija Boards or séances, only us.”
*
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Chapter 29
“Give Me Something Good To Eat”
Pamela K. Kinney
Chesterfield, Virginia, USA
“Trick or treat! Smell my feet! Give me something good to eat!”
Halloween again, when all those damn kids rang his doorbell and asked, no, demanded, candy, money, and other assorted treats. But he’d be double-damned if he’d break down and give the little hellions anything. In his opinion, these days the only thing the brats deserved was nothing. Nothing at all.
The noise escalated, changing to a persistent pounding at his door instead. Jonas Perkins flung open the door and found two small children, maybe five or six, standing on his porch. One was dressed as a witch, the other a Power Ranger. Their loud, obnoxious father, Pete Quarters from next door, stood next to them like the glowering Neanderthal he resembled. Jonas felt pretty sure it had been him and not the kids that had been doing the knocking. The man inched closer so that Jonas and he stood practically nose to nose. Bile threatened to rise in Jonas’ throat as the odor of cheap beer lacing the other man’s breath slammed into his nostrils.
“Hey, Perkins!” said Quarters. “Didn’t you hear Jenny and Parker ringing your doorbell? It’s Halloween, you know.”
Jonas snorted and glared at Quarters. “Yeah, I heard. But I decided not to give out candy to any kids this year. I thought the Dental Association would have one less idiot handing out sugar products and causing cavities. Felt it was my civic duty.”
Quarters’ piggish eyes narrowed. “Are you going highbrow on me, Perkins? It’s Halloween and I’m sure that my kids’ dentist won’t mind them having some candy. I should know, as he gave them a few Snickers bars when we stopped at his place, so why should he care if you give them anything?”
“Well, I didn’t get any candy so I am not giving them, or any other little monster, anything tonight. And that’s that. So no one better play a trick on me either, or I’ll call the cops. Now get off my porch!”
Jonas slammed the door shut on Quarters and his kids, locking it.
“Stupid idiots and their brats,” he muttered, as he stalked into the living room and thumped down in his favorite chair in front of his television. Picking up the remote, he surfed through endless channel after channel, but only found monster movies, how to make Halloween treats on the Cooking Channel, and the history of Halloween on the History Channel. With a click, he turned off the TV and tossed the remote onto the coffee table with disgust. Nothing but Halloween crap.
And nothing but more Halloween crap to his thinking as the door bell sounded again and he answered it. Kids dressed in costumes of all types, from vampires and werewolves to ghosts, super heroes, and simpering princesses stood with their bags held up, the light spilling onto their masked or made up faces. Their parents waited just outside the reach of the porch light, hidden in the shadows of the night. He screamed at the little monsters, making them run and their mothers and fat
hers curse him, but he slam the door on them all, switching off the porch light. After a while he sat in the darkened living room, ignoring the persistent bell. Finally, he got up and went to disconnect the doorbell to get some peace. Snatching a book from a nearby bookshelf, he relaxed in his chair under the light from the floor lamp as the laughter and screams from the children faded to silence around nine o’clock. After a while he began to nod off, so he laid the book on his lap and let sleep overtake him.
The blare of the doorbell woke him. He leaped from his chair, the book falling to the floor and almost knocking over the lamp. Blinking the slumber from his eyes, a glance at the clock on the wall revealed it was midnight.
Hadn’t he disconnected the doorbell earlier? Maybe he hadn’t done the job right as he’d thought.
And what fool trick-or-treater would be out this late anyway? He gritted his teeth. Must be teenagers running around while their asinine parents were getting drunk at some Halloween party.
At first he wasn’t going to answer the door, but when he spied something on a table near him he flashed a grin. He picked up a horn that he kept to bugle at birds in the spring when they tried to get the grass seed that he sowed his front lawn with. With his fingers curled around it he crossed over to the door.
“I’ll give you a treat!” he yelled as he flung open the door.
A trick-or-treater about his height stood silent in the night-filled porch. Jonas had been right—some dumb-assed teen. His fingers pressed the button on the horn and a loud high-pitched sound screamed out of it. With another press of the button, he cut off the blast. The figure didn’t move or appeared fazed.
Dumbfounded at first, the heat of anger replaced that feeling. “Aren’t you a little old to be trick-or-treating, you stupid nitwit?”
The costumed figure didn’t answer. Jonas took in the costume. Tall and gaunt, threadbare iron gray pants hung loosely from the hips and the person also wore a shirt rotted away in places, leaving dirt crusted holes. Dust covered most of the clothing and the large shoes on the feet looked like those that a clown would wear.
The skin gleam the same pale, chalky color as the crescent moon that hung in the night sky above. Long hands ended in long black nails, sharp like claws, and they grasped an extra large bag, like the kind that held grain or seed in the hardware stores. But it was the make-up job that impressed him the most. The flesh masked over the skull like a second skin. Not a speck of bright color touched its lips or cheeks, just dull gray.
And the eyes! They dominated the features, like large black holes, no consciousness peeping out of them.
Must be FX contact lenses, thought Jonas.
The lips parted in a dark smile, revealing a mouthful of cannibal-sharp fangs.
Jonas shivered, but not from the cool autumn breeze that drifted into his house. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to shut this door now. No tricks either, because you’re not getting any damn treats from me.”
He shut the door on the its face.
When he turned around, he found himself eye to eye with the strange trick-or-treater. It stood there, blocking Jonas from the living room and access to his phone.
“What the hell?” Jonas backed into the door. “How did you get inside?”
The figure silently held up its bag.
Suddenly angry, Jonas snarled. “You want a treat, do you? Well, I’ll give you a treat. A treat like a smack from this horn.”
He raised the horn up and brought it down. With no warning, the trick-or-treater grabbed the arm holding the horn and with a twist, broke it. Jonas yelled from the pain as the being let go. The horn dropped to the floor, making a loud clatter. The trick-or-treater kicked it to the side.
Fear twisted Jonas’ guts as he cradled his useless arm with the good one. “Oh, God. What do you want?”
“You.”
It snatched at him quickly, not giving him time to escape, and after snapping several more bones to bend the body easier, it shoved a dying Jonas into the bag.
*
The ghoul cackled as it flung open the door, stepping out into the night air. The pungent odors from burnt jack-o-lanterns on door steps and lawns, along with half-eaten candies grounded into the pavement from the feet of countless children wafted to its nostrils. But it didn’t think of those things, only of the meal it would enjoy tonight in its home in the mausoleum. Nowadays, Halloween made it so easy to hunt humans. They just thought of it as another costumed trick-or-treater. No one believed that real monsters stalked among the fake ones.
It skipped down the street to the town cemetery as it sang, swinging the heavily loaded bag at its side.
“Trick or treat, smell my feet, and give me something good to eat!”
*
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Chapter 30
“Imaginary Friends”
Kay D. Ziegler
Bedford, Indiana, USA
Tom Wooden drove down the road with the truck windows down and music blaring. "Make your own kind of music," he yowled along with radio.
Autumn air surrounded him. Dried leaves, wood smoke, and musty foliage were the fragrances of the day. There was something quaint and old fashioned about the smells. They contrasted sharply with the day-glow purple, green, or orange and black blow up spiders that had popped up all this week. A modern invention that should never have been created, Tom thought. We sure as hell didn't have those things growing up and we did just fine. What's wrong with plain ole' jack-o-lanterns?
The ex-hippie, with his graying ponytail, flannel shirt, and paint-splattered jeans hit the break peddle when he saw something in the middle of the road. "What the..." Tom muttered as he turned the truck off and pocketed the keys.
Sliding from the rat-trap truck, Tom lumbered around the vehicle with the grace of a seasoned cowboy. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw what was in the middle of the road.
"Hey, kiddo, whatcha doing?" he asked as he crouched in front of the child.
She was no more than five-years-old with strawberry blonde hair and big, round eyes. Her freckled face was scrunched up in a giggle and her knees were drawn up under her floral nightgown.
"Now, Percy, you know mummy and daddy wouldn't let me try that," she said after the giggles had subsided.
"Hey, kiddo, who you talking to?" Tom asked.
This seemed to get her attention. She looked right at the concerned man instead of through him, as she had been doing previously. "Percy," the girl replied.
"What does this, uh, Percy, want you to do," asked Tom.
"To climb up that tree and jump," she said, pointing to the dead oak tree in the cemetery.
Tom shivered; jumping from that tree could kill her. "You're right, your mom and dad wouldn't want you to try that," he said.
"Percy said he'd protect me."
"Uh-huh...so kiddo, what's your name and where do you live?"
"Ruthie Jamison. I live in the red house."
"OK, Ruthie, let's get you home. It's kinda cold and I bet your parents are worried sick," Tom said, offering the girl his hand.
When she took it, he led her to the red house. Looking down at her, he noticed that she was covered in scratches and bruises. One spelled “liveD”.
"Hey, where did you get those?" he asked, pointing to her hand and neck.
When asked, Ruthie shrugged. "Don't know. They just showed up," she replied, climbing the steps with Tom.
Tom knocked on the door and a minute a later a bleach-blonde woman wearing jeans two sizes to small and a midriff revealing shirt. "Yeah? What do you want?" she snapped, her eyes rimmed red.
"Are you Ruthie's mother? I, uh
, found her in the street?" Tom asked, feeling awkward and apprehensive. He wasn't so sure about this woman.
"God, no! Do I look like her mother?" she said. "What do you mean found her in the street? You're an insensitive jerk."
"What did I do?" he asked. Tom honestly didn't know what he did wrong. He was just trying to bring a little girl home, for crying out loud!
"Like, you didn't know. My sister jumps from a tree, breaking her neck, and you come here saying you found her in the street?" she exclaimed.
"She's dead?"
"No, she's fine and dandy! What do you think? Get off my property before I call the police," she shouted, closing the door in his face.
What had just happened? He found himself feeling a little baffled and unnerved. As he walked back to his truck, Tom tried to figure out why he had hallucinated a dead girl?
"Sleep deprivation," he concluded due to the fact he only slept a couple hours a night and worked two jobs.
A week passed, and as Tom Wooden lived his life, he forgot all about Ruthie. But, as he jogged through the same area of town where he found the girl, the ex-hippie got a sense of deja vu as he saw a boy, around twelve, standing by a pond in front of a house.
"I can't swim, Randall!" shouted the brunette-haired boy. His dark brows were furrowed over his chocolate eyes as h crossed his arms over his sweat shirt.
"Who's Randall?"
"My friend. He wants me to learn to swim."
"Why don't you tell Randall you'll learn later? Maybe when it's warmer?" Tom suggested, deliberately ignoring the fact there was no one there but this brown-haired boy, who had been yelling at air. "It's kinda cold. I wouldn't want you to get sick."
"Okay, mister!" said the boy as Tom jogged the rest of the way home.
When he got there, Tom picked up the paper from the stoop. His eyes widened when he saw the headline. "BOY DROWNS IN POND" Tom reads.