1) Dracula by Bram Stoker
2) Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving 3) Frankenstein by Mary Shelley 4) The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson 5) Interview With The Vampire by Anne Rice 6) The Shining by Stephen King 7) The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson 8) The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe 9) The Woman in Black by Susan Hill 10) Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson If you are looking for something awesome to read this Halloween then consider the list above. These books are classics and well worth the read. Kiss Me at Midnight By Scarlett Kol “I’m cold.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered as the autumn breeze whistled through the maple trees. He draped his varsity sweater over her shoulders and sidled closer, wrapping his arm around her. “Better?” She nodded and pulled her arms into the sleeves, nestling against him as they disappeared underneath the canopy of trees. The radiant moon filtered through the awning of half-naked branches creating an ethereal haze, the occasional fractured shards of light leading their way. Cinnamon and crimson leaves crunched beneath their feet, every step familiar and yet somehow new as her fingers laced around his bicep, his skin pebbling at her touch. He rested his chin on the top of her head, drawing her into him, the need to be nearer to her growing stronger as the minutes faded. A piece of himself at risk of floating away and leaving him unfinished forever. “Are you okay?” She mumbled against his chest, the words vibrating through him and shaking at his core. “Of course.” She slipped her hand in his, hearing the lie and wanting to believe it. Wanting to be okay too. Knowing it would never be. They stopped on the old wooden bridge over the winding creek, the water an inky-black canvas, a shimmering picture of the moon and sky painted upon it in shades of blue starlight. She rested her elbows on the railing, staring out into the dark unknown, as a fathomless sigh escaped her lips and swept away with the wind. “Do you ever wonder if maybe this is all just a dream?” He placed his hands on her hips and spun her around, her skirt puffing out between them. Her eyes darted over his face, every feature, every pore, committing them to memory like beautiful words from her favorite book. A story of him to recall in those dark times when she needed the inspiration. He slid his nose against her cheek, the cold, chill melting against her flushed skin, and whispered. “It can’t be. I could never dream up someone as wonderful as you.” He breathed a kiss upon her neck, and she giggled in his arms. The lilt of her laughter echoed through the trees, the sound, sweet and rich like caramel. He held her tighter as the wind twisted around them, the night shifting. Later. Darker. One small tiptoe nearer to dawn. Her hair danced in the updraft, and he smoothed the strands behind her ear as the spark in her gaze dimmed, the lateness beginning to weigh upon her shoulders. "Walk me home?" He nodded. If only the night could stretch on forever, just once. To let them walk on until their feet blistered and they collapsed in each other’s arms, able to watch the sun rise over the horizon. Together. He took her hand, drawing circles around her knuckles with his thumb as they strolled slowly, their pace inching closer to stopping the further they walked. Finally, he creaked open the ornamental cast iron gate and they slid inside, taking the well-worn walkway through the yard. About halfway, they deserted the path and stepped into the pristinely kept grass between the rows of statues and the stones. A particularly sad stone stood out among the rest. Plain marble etched in grief, and years of dirt and moss. No flowers. No footsteps. Undisturbed and forgotten as the years had passed. Rebecca Rhodes August 3, 1940 - October 31, 1957 Her eyes blurred as she stepped closer to the inscription, the pain of all she'd lost pulsing through her, pounding like tidal waves on a forgotten shore. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of his sweater and curled her fingers into the cuffs. "I'll miss you," she said. "I always do." “This never gets any easier, does it?” He placed his hand upon her cheek, his thumb catching a stray tear that squeezed past her matted lashes. "But you know I'll always come back for you. I'll always wait." He pressed his lips against hers, her salty tears mixed with a longing both of them knew would never be fulfilled. She held him close, her arms wrapped tight around his ribs as her fingers gripped at his shoulder blades, hoping he wouldn’t slip away like the quickly passing time. In the distance, the church bells chimed. One, two, three…twelve. Twelve times. Midnight. She placed her hand over his at the side of her face, a bittersweet smile breaking through her sadness. "I'll always love you." "I know." He placed his forehead against hers, drawing in the scent of her. Blooming roses and a hint of delicate vanilla. A breath of summer day in the middle of the cool autumn evening. “I love you too.” The moonlight filtered through the trees across her skin, her form fading into mist until his skin lay cold and empty, except for the night breeze. He hung his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets, then continued down the small rows of stones. He read each inscription as he passed, wondering who these people were and if anyone out there still cared. If someone still missed them too. Three rows away he stopped and stared into the dark sky. The stars peeked from behind the clouds, calling out with their twinkling light. Time to go home. He closed his eyes, the white light of the moon bright behind his eyelids. Maybe one day there might be an end to this star-crossed existence, and although he knew there likely never would be, he smiled for the collection of moments and memories it had allowed him so far, dreaming of what another night like this in another year might bring. He steadied himself against the cold stone slab in front of him, as the weight of his limbs eased away from his joints, his body unravelling, dissolving into the ether of the night. The autumn wind swirled, waving its last goodbye, a subtle applause as the leaves rustled against the stone marker. Benjamin McIntosh February 12, 1939 – October 31, 1957 Scarlett Kol is the USA Today bestselling author of dystopian, paranormal and fantasy novels for young adults. Born and raised in Northern Manitoba, she grew up reading books and writing stories about creatures that make you want to sleep with the lights on. As an adult, she's still a little afraid of the dark.
1) Tell us about the stories you write/the story you have written for the event.
Violet: It’s about me, of course. Me: As you’ll notice, my characters literally leap off the page so you can hear them loud and clear. Violet: I was living in a town that worshipped Halloween like there was no other feast. I hated all that meaningless dressing up. I mean, come on! Vampires in capes? Glowing skeletons? Where are we? The Middle Ages? Me: It’s real, Violet! Violet: Halloween, no. The supernatural creatures, yes. I got to find out how dangerous they really are and if they darkness didn’t try to conquer the world, I wouldn’t have to save it! Of course, one time wasn’t enough—” “Shh! You aren’t going to tell them the entire storyline!” “Right. I got carried away. Anyhow, enjoy the ride! I’ve got to catch a rabbit now…” 2) What do you plan on writing next? Me: Ah, characters. Always busy, huh? Let’s move along. My next stop will be a banshee story. There are so few banshee stories, but contrary to the mythology of the creature, mine will be different. Forget the screaming old ladies that break glasses and make you bleed. My girl will set things right. Set in a supernatural world where shifters and healers reign, she’s expected to receive her gift and become a healer. Only she becomes a banshee. Oups! The world’s fate is in her hands, but if she doesn’t accept her fate, the world will drown. Sounds exciting, yes? Wait until you read it! 3) Do you believe in ghosts? Me: Not really. Spirits, yes and lost souls, but actual transparent ghosts, no. Violet: I didn’t believe until I saw my grandmother’s spirit. She came to guide me and advise me when I was just starting. It’s not my fault she cast a spell and I forgot everything about the supernatural world! 4) What is your favorite thing about Halloween? Me: It might sound silly, but I love the decorations of each house I see and the spooky atmosphere. Pumpkins staring at you, bats and brooms around the house and this somber atmosphere of the half-lit house representing the spirits. If you close your eyes, you can imagine the veil to the spirit world calling to you. Violet: Nothing! It’s just an overrated feast where everything is spooky. Even the food! It stares at you, waiting for you to make the wrong move. I don’t trust it. 5) How do you spend your Halloween? Me: I live in Greece so we don’t have Halloween, but we have another celebration in February that’s similar but in a lighter atmosphere. We dress up, go to parties and eat to our heart’s desires. Violet, on the other hand… Violet: I prefer to avoid it, but if I have no choice, my sister drags me to the celebration of our town. After I met my best friend who’s a fairy and my boyfriend who’s a rabbit shifter, we spend the day together in the supernatural town with no Halloween atmosphere. Just a day where we enjoy each other’s company. They don’t believe in that celebration, anyway. It’s practically a joke! 1) Tell us about the stories you write/the story you have written for the event.
I write in several different genres, mostly dystopian and fantasy. However, I always love to blow up the whole world and keep everyone in danger as much as possible. It's so much more fun that way. 2) What do you plan on writing next? My next series is a 5 part fantasy epic about a girl seeking vengeance against those who killed her family and stole her throne... with lots of magic and swords. 3) Do you believe in ghosts? The logical part of my brain doesn't want me to, but I say I'm more hopeful that they exist. I don't think they'd be all bad or scary. And wouldn't it be nice to speak to your loved ones one more time? 4) What is your favorite thing about Halloween? The ambiance. I love spooky noises and cobwebs and boiling cauldrons. It probably helps that my birthday is near Halloween, so it's always a special time for me. It seems you get away with naughtier things in October. Back home, before we moved, we always participated in a haunted trail the weekend before Halloween. The kids loved it and when they got older, a couple of them were even allowed to help. It's become a family tradition. Every year we'd spend weeks helping build the haunt stations and gathering prizes for the games. It was a great bonding experience. Makes me want to build one in the woods behind my house now. 5) How do you spend your Halloween? Now that the kids are older, I don't get to Trick or Treat as much. But I always dress up in something scary. I go more for the creepy vibe than gross horror, probably out of sheer laziness. And I know I'm the one who'd have to clean up the blood. I dress up in my costume as soon as I wake up and stay in character all day. I love a good jump scare so my family knows to be wary all day as well. Character Confession:
DC: Hey Sam. Thanks for having me. When the guys found out that I was coming on, I had a hard time trying to convince them they all couldn’t join. They’re a protective bunch. It was decided I needed at least one of them to come along just as a safety precaution. I’m not sure if you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my good friend Tyler, the Horsemen of Pestilence. Tyler: I was happy to do it. I had to persuade the guys that my gift would be the best if something unseemly happened. Cam’s rage and brute strength might make a bad situation worse and Derek has to wait until someone is close enough to touch. I can take out an entire room before they even get close to you. DC: Well of course I appreciate your guys’ protectiveness, but I doubt it’s necessary for a guest blog. The fact that you get to state your grievances with me had nothing to do with it though, right? Tyler: Well, keeping you safe is a bit self-serving. Without you none of us would exist. The confession is just a bonus because I’m a bit upset. DC: Uh oh. Tyler: Uh oh is right. Now I’m not saying I wanted to be a love interest cause really there was enough play for Evie, but I wasn’t even considered. How could you do that to me? I thought we were better friends than that. DC: Well sweetheart. You’re the nice guy. The one that’s friend zoned, at least where Evie’s concerned and we are friends, but I can’t let that rule my decisions. You know I’m just the mouthpiece. You all do what you want. Tyler: Don’t sweetheart me. I’ve heard Cam call Evie it enough to know that it’s not meant as sweet as it sounds. You’re not going to placate me here. Cam’s a tool. Derek’s selfish. And Asher… Really? Asher was chosen over me. DC: Ty, trust me when I say it was in everyone’s best interest that you stayed our of that snake’s nest. You’re the calm in the world of chaos. The other’s listen to you, not just because your oldest because let’s face it, Cam wouldn’t even care in the slightest, but because you had no interest in our girl, Evie. You and I know whom she’s meant to be with. Tyler: (Sighs) You’re right, of course. They deserve each other. They both need happiness. Wait. You just made me say that, didn’t you? You’re the author so you control my thoughts and even my words. You don’t want me to want her. DC: Well, no and neither do you. I don’t force you to say anything you don’t want. Even though I created you, you’re still your own person. Tyler: Any chance I can convince you to give me a love interest? DC: Hmm… Well I don’t want you to be lonely, Ty. We’ll have to see. The next two books are still going to be all about Evie. Maybe in book three I can see what I can do. Tyler: That’s all I ask. I’m not saying I’m superficial, whoever it is, guy or girl, make them panty-dropping sexy. What are you calling the next two books anyways? DC: Book two is Obsidian and book three is Black Phoenix. I haven’t set a release date for book three just yet, but it will be very soon. I’ll do my best for the panty-dropping effect. Tyler: Those are some interesting titles. Any particular reason for those names? DC: Yes. Tyler:–– DC: You’ll have to wait and find out just like everyone else. Now let’s get you back to the other horsemen before Cam and Derek kill each other. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was written in 1820 by Washington Irving and has since had many adaptations made based on the original material, including a TV show and several movies.
The original tale is considered one of the first ghost stories and features a headless horseman. Ichabod Crane is the main protagonist although he is not exactly a hero. He is interested in the lovely Katrina Van Tassel and wishes to marry her. He faces a rival in Brom Van Brunt and the two go head to head for her hand. On a ride home after a party, Ichabod faces a horrifying spectre, a headless horseman, said to be a fallen soldier. He is chased by the horseman and it throws its severed head at Ichabod, knocking him from his horse. The story is left open ended in that we do not know exactly if Ichabod survives. Later adaptions tell a different story, making Ichabod more of a hero. In the 1999 movie starring Johnny Depp, Ichabod becomes a detective rather than a schoolteacher and while he is hardly heroic, he does end up with Katrina and survives his encounter with the horseman. A TV adaption took the idea further, taking Ichabod from the past and having him wake up in the future. While the horseman was one of the main antagonists, there were other demons for Ichabod to fight. The idea of a terrifying ghost, stalking the night, minus its head, is a chilling tale indeed. There are many tales over the years of ghosts appearing at night and while many can probably be discounted or disproven, not all of the can. ‘Twas a midsummer day in England, 2012. My friends and I were wandering through Stratford-upon-Avon, Shakespeare’s birth place. Same as every year, we had taken a trip with our university’s classmates to see The Bard’s plays in London before coming to rest in the gorgeous countryside town that had seen him grow. Same as every year, we had visited the witchcraft and wizardry shop that used to be up Henley Street, taken an ice-cold ginger beer on the terrace of the Dirty Duck, talked to the actors after their performance at the RSC theatre and read poetry at tea time in the Shakespeare Hostelrie conference room. Same as every year, we’d passed in front of the old house on Sheep Street that attracted and frightened us at the same time. It advertised as The Falstaff’s Experience, the most haunted house in town. Now, my friends and I were all about vampires, werewolves, witchcraft and haunted things – in theory. But we had to admit to ourselves, every time we walked past that house, that we weren’t quite sure we wanted to take our theories into practice. That year, however, we screwed our courage to the sticking place and made an appointment. We went in with gut-wrenching apprehension, because we could sense this was the real deal. The mansion was in a back alley, so its facade had not been kept as neatly as the typical 17th century timbering house showing off on the street. The walls were crumbling, the casement windows were dirty and covered in cobwebs. We realized soon enough we couldn’t hear the street noises anymore. In fact, we couldn’t hear anything apart from our increasingly fast breathing. We tried to rationalize everything. After all, they sold an experience, so there was bound to be man-made tricks and effects. Besides, the people working there were still alive and sane enough, so the house couldn’t be that haunted, or they’d have fled long ago. However, I couldn’t explain how they could make the floor give way under my feet as I passed the threshold into this low-ceilinged, wood-creaking, foul-smelling place. I almost fell over before I realized the floor had not disappeared, but merely moved. “Oh, you felt that I see,” said the tour guide with a grin. “It’s the first event that sets the tone for the rest of the journey. Not everyone gets to experience it, and two persons won’t feel it the same way.” He stared at me with intent. “You’re going to have fun here, lady, I’ll say!” I gave out a nervous laugh and followed him, holding both my friends by the hand. They had perceived it too, like a tremor they said. But I had felt the floor open underneath me, as though it wanted to swallow me whole. We moved up the old, musty stairs, into dim-lit rooms after dim-lit rooms, the low ceilings oppressing us, various earthy and unearthly odors harassing our nostrils, whispers and far-off wails tickling our eardrums, wax statues scaring us with their manners frozen in time and space. I rationalized once more, to keep my heart from beating out of my chest: the 21st century held many clever devices to create such an atmosphere, right? Then we stopped at a threshold between two parts of the building that had been built in different periods. As the guide talked about English architecture, I let my guard down for a second. That’s when someone took my hand. I turned around to see that my acolytes both had their arms crossed, and the spot next to me was empty. Still, a tiny palm was pressing against my own and nimble fingers played with the rings on my fingers. The guide sensed my turmoil. “Oh, I think one of our resident ghosts has found a new friend!” Everyone turned to me in awe, and the guide resumed. “Do you have rings on your fingers, miss?” “Yes, I do. And it’s playing with them.” “See, there’s a mischievous lad coming and going, who likes shiny things. Be careful now, he’s a great pick-pocket!” I looked to my right, to the empty spot, and replied. “I don’t think it’s a man though. It feels like a little girl. The hand is too small and she seems to search for reassurance.” My friends were speechless. They knew of my abilities to sense weird stuff, but they’d never seen me at work. The other people on the tour with us swayed between awe and disbelief, while the guide’s face went from surprise to dread, and settled on keen interest. “My, that’s impressive, that is.” He dared not move, but glanced towards my hand and its vicinities. “Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have been graced by the presence of dearest Lucy. She’s our town’s most beloved ghost, a little girl departed much too young, who would not leave her parents alone in grief, so she remained among us. She doesn’t usually come here, because she doesn’t like the other ghosts, although she’s friend with our thieving lad. Ans she seems to like you a lot, miss!” I turned to the empty spot. To say that I saw her there and then would be a lie. But she sent me an image, of a lovely little blonde girl smiling at life in her 19th century Victorian white dress. I smiled and squeezed her little ghost hand as my eyes welled up with tears. We finished the tour and stepped back into the light of present day and onto Sheep Street and its lot of cars, bikes and lively people. All the while, Lucy held my hand and nudged at my hips from time to time. As we set to cross the road however, gentle Lucy pulled once to make me look “at” her and signified me that our paths were to separate here. I thanked her a blew her a kiss, and she disappeared in the light. That night, livened up by our encounters with ghosts, my friends and I felt adventurous enough to roam the streets of Old Town in the search for Holy Trinity Church and its old graves. We ventured on the ground with our smartphones for only light, when suddenly I stopped. Something in the back of my head pulled my attention to the ground and the path we were on. Huge stones paved the way through the churchyard, big enough to look like gravestones, and sure enough, some were engraved with the names of the diseased who hadn’t had enough money to get a proper burial. As I looked closer at the one on which I was standing, the light of my phone playing tricks with the wet surface of the rock, I read the name. There were no dates, no epitaphs, just a name: Lucy Hurdes. The little girl popped right in front of me in a giggle, blew me a kiss, and disappeared again. I made some research later, and the only Lucy I could find in the local legends was this 14-year-old thief who got murdered by her uncle in room 203 at the Shakespeare Hostelerie. My Lucy was about 8, and the tour guide insisted she was not the thief he’d first talked about. So, whether stories got mixed up, or whether it was all in my head, we will never know. But that was my encounter with one of the ghosts of Stratford-upon-Avon, a lovely little girl whose memory still makes the palm of my hand tingle. International author born in Switzerland of a Dutch mother and a Romanian father, Jude Cocaigne finds her calling after binge reading all of Terry Pratchett's work. Fantasy is her realm, with dashes of romance and a bit of horror at times. Her first published piece, the short story The Girl with the Red Hood, is a retelling of a retelling of the Red Riding Hood by Angela Carter. Drawing on Carter's original idea, but adding gruesome details and an even deeper twist, Jude Cocaigne unleashed her talents and her voice. Her next published piece, a novella called The Elf Girl and the Prince (in the limited edition boxed set Once Upon Another World, out on October 6, 2020), is a dab at romance and fairy tales of another kind, and introduces Ze World, a planet in which many more adventures will take place in the near future, as a Fantasy series is already in the making.
Follow Jude Cocaigne on Facebook: "You're all too old to go trick or treating," Mum had told us. "Leave it this year; let the little kids get the sweets. It's not as if Tommy needs to eat any more junk!" She was right about everything, of course. We were too old and Tommy was already heading for a heart attack at the age of fifteen, his diet consisting largely of sausage rolls and fizzy drinks. "We're still children," I replied, with a smile. "One last time, I promise. Anyway, it's all arranged and I'm meeting some people." I gave mum the innocent look that she could rarely refuse. "What people?" she asked, studying my face to see if I was about to lie to her. "Just Chloe and Phoebe. Tommy is walking over with them." "Like a double-date?" she asked, not looking as though she approved. She was strict, and was convinced that any time I would spend time with a girl would end up with her becoming a grandmother. "Just friends," I told her, and that was the truth, much to my disappointment. I liked both the girls, and so did Tommy. The difference between us was that Tommy didn't stand a chance with either of them, which made things a bit awkward. After muttering something about being safe and not getting up to any mischief, she finally relented and gave her reluctant blessing. Before she could finish laying down the rules, I was already on my way upstairs to get into my costume; a Grim Reaper outfit, complete with a mask and plastic scythe. As a test run I decided to creep up behind my eight-year-old sister, who cried, so I guess it was sufficiently scary for the evening. I picked up my pumpkin-shaped plastic bucket which we had used for years to collect the treats in and told Mum that I was about to leave. "Have you got your phone?" she asked. "Nowhere to put it," I explained, running my hands down the sides of the costume to confirm the lack of pockets. "They are meeting me at the end of the road in a few minutes." "And what if you need to call me?" "I'm sure they will have phones with them, but we'll be fine." Mum looked worried. She always looked worried. "OK, back at eight-thirty. That's late enough to be knocking on stranger's doors." "Nine?" I asked, cheekily. "Eight forty-five, and not a minute after." I lifted my mask to give her a peck on the cheek and ran out of the house, my black costume flapping behind me. Tommy and the girls all lived on the same road, about a ten-minute walk from me. Without wanting to sound snobbish, it is a fact that my house is on the nicer side of town. This is why we planned to knock on doors near mine; apparently, some of the houses over their way weren't very friendly. This also made things easier with my Mum, knowing that I would be close by. I stood at the corner of the road feeling a little foolish in my costume, waiting for the others who were late as always. The thinness of the material provided little barrier against the cold wind, and I shivered, beginning to get impatient. I tried to construct a logical route in my head that would reap the most reward, but my thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of giggling coming from behind me. Tommy was wearing his usual clothes; blue jeans and a football shirt which did not completely cover his belly. The extent of his Halloween efforts consisted of some white face paint with a couple of red lines, which I presumed to represent blood. The girls, on the other hand, had put in a lot of effort, and I was thankful that mum had not seen them. They wore matching, white nurses' uniforms. Their faces were painted green and looked zombie-like; I guess girls are good at the face paint and make-up side of things. Far better than Tommy, anyway. The uniforms were short, almost up to their buttocks, and red, fishnet stockings did little to cover the exposed flesh. I tried not to stare, but it wasn't easy. "Where do you want to start?" I asked. "I thought we'd do my road and then the houses up towards the church; they're usually pretty good." The others laughed, looking at each other as if they had a secret. "What?" I asked, not understanding what was funny. "The girls want to check out the Monroe house," Tommy stated, a mischievous grin on his face. He knew how I'd respond. "Are you serious?" I asked, looking at the girls. "Don't be a baby," Phoebe replied, taking my hand. As much as it felt like a terrible idea, peer-pressure and a pretty girl made my mind up for me. The Monroe house was isolated, being situated on the edge of a large, green, public space, out of sight of any other houses. Dog walkers were pretty much the only people to ever pass the house, and rarely after dark. At this time of the year, the Monroe house went all-out for Halloween, with elaborate decorations adorning the front garden and exterior of the house. None of us had met anyone who had actually seen someone living at the house, and this had sparked a range of playground rumours. Of course, the house was haunted, no-one dared to refute that out loud (although I doubted that it was the case). Only Max, a boy from school who was in the year above us, claims to have been there last Halloween. "You don't actually believe Max's nonsense about knocking there before, do you?" I said, as we made our way past rows of terraced houses with pumpkins in the windows. "It's probably bullshit," Tommy said, starting to feel a little nervous as we approached the darkness of the dirt track. "Yeah, maybe. In which case there's no harm having a look," Phoebe said, squeezing my hand. "And what if he was telling the truth?" Max's version, which is highly debatable, was that he had knocked on the door of the Monroe house, bravely by himself, calling out trick or treat. Although he didn't see anyone, Max told everyone around the school that some wrinkly fingers with long nails had pushed a fifty-pound note out of the letter box. He had stood staring at it in disbelief when the three full-sized skeletons that were decorating the garden turned to face him. He insists that they chased him away, and as much as everyone laughed at him, no-one dared to go there and find out for themselves. Hence, the legend began. Part of me hoped the house would not have been decorated, that the lights would be off, that we would decide not to knock. I'm sure we all gasped a little as we turned the corner from the track and gazed upon the Monroe house. Three plastic skeletons were erected in the garden, positioned with shovels around a hole in the ground. A hole which looked to be the right size to bury a body. There were tacky decorations in all the front-facing windows; strings of lights with ghosts and pumpkins, decals of witches on the glass, and a light-up sign attached to the front door which read 'enter if you dare!'. "It looks pretty cool," Chloe said. "Guess so," I muttered, my eyes fixed on the skeletons, just in case they moved. Which they didn't, of course. "Give the door a knock then," Tommy ordered, from his position about six feet behind the rest of us. "Let's get this fifty quid, and we'll go somewhere else." I looked at him as if he were an idiot. We were gathered by the small gate which opened on to the property, no-one wanting the take the lead. After a series of awkward glances had been exchanged, Chloe huffed and walked through the gate. "If no-one else comes to the door, then the money is all mine," she stated, turning to face us. Again, Phoebe gripped my hand tighter and followed her friend toward the door, dragging me with her. Chloe banged on the door, three loud knocks echoed throughout the house. We were greeted by silence. "No-one home," I declared with relief, turning to leave. Chloe knocked again. This time we heard footsteps, accompanied by a kind of dragging sound; the first image to come to mind was a heavy-set person dragging a body. We all took a step back and waited, suddenly hopeful that some money would be pushed through the letterbox after all. However, it wasn't; the only sound was that of numerous locks being undone. I wanted to leave at this point, but I was also frightened to run away after we had disturbed whoever lived there. When the last locked clicked, there was a pause. I wondered if the resident was elderly and had changed their mind about opening the door. Then, with a creak, it began to swing open. "Trick or treat," Chloe announced, trying to sound friendly. There was no-one there, just a dark hallway barely illuminated by a string of fairy lights of either side. "Hello?" she called into the house. "Probably a good time to leave," I said, no longer caring if my friends thought I was a wimp. There was no-one there and walking in would be trespassing. "Hello?" Chloe called again, this time placing one foot across the threshold. "You can come in!" came a voice, startling us all. It sounded as though it belonged to an old woman. "Sorry if we disturbed you," I called in response, whispering to the others once again that we should leave. "It's no bother," the voice replied. "I've got some Halloween treats here, if that is what you were after? Just in the hallway, help yourself. Sorry I can't bring them out; I'm a bit frail these days." "See! It's fine," Chloe said, not sounding entirely convinced. "Seriously?" Tommy said, a little more loudly than he had intended. "She could make it to the door to open it, so why didn't she bring the treats then?" He had a point. The temptation of money, or even some other decent reward got the better of us and each holding on to one another, we crept into the hallway. "Leave the door open," I told Tommy, who looked at me as if to say that was the most obvious thing in the world. "I've set up a Halloween game in the hallway if you want to play?" asked the voice. "Do a trick, get a treat. I hope you enjoy it." It was creepy, and I was beyond having second thoughts. I decided that we should see the Monroe woman, at least show our faces, so I walked into the dark room that the voice came from. "Hello?" No reply. I fumbled for a light switch. It didn't work. "The power must be off," Tommy suggested. "The fairy lights are working," I said, pointing to the plug sockets that they were attached to. "Bulb must have gone, then," he said. "Hello?" I called again, moving further into the room. Nothing. My eyes adjusted to the dark a little and there was no doubt that the room was empty. I felt colder. Something was wrong. "I'm going," I told them, turning back towards the door. Before anyone could answer me, the door slammed shut, the bolts' locking of their own accord. Chloe screamed. Phoebe began to cry. "What the fuck?" Tommy declared. He ran to the door, attempting to pull back the bolts but found them to be red hot; the tips of two fingers and his thumb now blistered. "Fucking hell!" "I don't like this," Phoebe said, between sobs. "Call someone," I suggested. "I left my phone at home." The three of them all pulled their phones out of bags and pockets. No signal on any of them; not phone signal or Internet coverage. The only option for us was to look for another way out. From the outside, we saw two large windows on the ground floor, with the hallway being central to the house. The living room that we had investigated was on our left; there should have been a door to the right but the wall was solid. There were three, front-facing windows on the first floor, but we could not see any stairs as we approached the end of the hallway. It was dark, but I could sense the dread that the others were feeling, hear the sobs that Phoebe tried to stifle. "We'll have to smash the living room window and climb out," Tommy suggested, his voice rising in panic. Unable to think of anything else, we walked back along the corridor only to discover that there was now no door on either side. We returned to the entrance, to find the locks still white-hot. We were trapped, completely walled in. Chloe flicked on the flashlight app on her phone. The only items in the hallway were two boxes, each about two feet cubed. One was labelled tricks'; the other was labelled treats'. Tommy opened the treats' box as Chloe shone her light into it. It was empty. Cautiously, the pair opened the tricks' box. There were five black envelopes in the box, each numbered, beginning at one. Tommy picked up the first and opened it, pulling the card from inside. As he read it, he couldn't help smiling and, for a brief moment, I thought everything was going to be OK. "What's it say?" I asked. "It says," Tommy began, "that when we complete the trick card, we will get a treat card." "But the box was empty." "Yeah, well the bloody living room was there a moment ago." "And what is the trick?" "It says we have to kiss each other." Tommy was smirking. "Oh, piss off!" Phoebe said. "You're making that up. It's hardly the time for joking about." Tommy showed us the card, and he was right; 'Kiss the other members of your group'. It sounded simple enough. We all looked at each other, a little uneasily. Then Phoebe kissed me, full on the mouth. My teenage brain kicked in, and I kissed her back, not wanting to waste the opportunity. When she eventually pulled away, we looked at Tommy and Chloe. He wore a huge grin, but she looked as though she would vomit. "It'll be fine," Phoebe told her, as if trying to prepare her for an unpleasant ordeal. They kissed, awkwardly and quickly, before opening the treats' box once again. Empty. "I read the card, so maybe I have to kiss both of you," Tommy said, winking at Phoebe in the dark. She didn't hesitate, and having nothing better to suggest, kissed him on the mouth. Still no treat, unless you count the pleasure Tommy was getting from it all. "Or maybe you have to kiss everyone," Chloe suggested, looking a little pleased with herself. It took me a moment to realize what she meant. "Nope!" I said, without hesitation. "It's no more gross than us having to kiss him," Chloe told me. "Thanks!" Tommy replied. "Come here, big boy!" he said to me, trying to make light of the situation. "OK, but no tongues," I warned him. He didn't listen, finding the whole thing funny as he slipped his tongue into my mouth. I leapt back in disgust. Chloe was right. He had needed to kiss us all, and there was now a treat envelope to open. "Ten pounds," Tommy announced as he pulled it from the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket. "To split," Chloe said. "It was my card!" he retorted. "You were the only one enjoying it; we should be paid for having to kiss you!" "Like a prostitute?" Tommy replied, smugly. Chloe stopped talking after that. "We can worry about that if we get out of here. Who is going to open the second trick?" "I'll do another," Tommy offered. "Maybe I'll get a hand-job this time." "I'd rather die," Chloe said. "I'll do it." Handing the phone to Tommy to hold, she read the second card aloud. "Slap the other members of your group." With an idea of the rules, and no restraint, Chloe smacked Tommy across the face, hard. He yelped and looked angry but kept his mouth shut. She proceeded to slap me, not with much force, and then Phoebe, muttering an apology as she did it. Quickly, she turned to the treats' box and pulled out the new envelope, stuffing the twenty-pound note into the top of her stockings. "Now you really look like a whore," Tommy told her. She ignored him. "Who's next?" He looked at Phoebe and I. I let her choose and, with the assumption that the tricks would become more severe, she asked to go next. After I had nodded, she opened the box, taking out the third envelope and reading it in her head. Her eyes widened a little, and she looked at us nervously. "I'm not doing that," she said, holding the card to her chest. "Let's check the door again, maybe we can touch the locks with something over our hands?" "Like what?" Tommy asked. "You two are pretty much naked and that Grim Reaper outfit looks like it'd burst into flames." Phoebe headed to the door regardless, and we heard a clink as she slid one of the bolts aside. I ran over to her in excitement. "Have they cooled down?" "Only the bottom two. You can feel the heat from the other four." "Two cards, two locks," I muttered as our eyes met. "We're going to have to do all of them." "But there are five cards and six locks," she pointed out. "Maybe the last treat is the final bolt?" I said, hopefully. "What did your card say?" She passed it to me and looked at the floor. 'Take blood from the other members of your group'. Attached to the card with some tape was a razor blade. "It's fine," I told her, putting my hands on her shoulders. "I'm sure just a drop will be enough; it won't hurt." I unstuck the blade and handed it to her, extending my fingers in front of her. "Just prick the end." It stung like a paper cut, quickly turning crimson as a few drops fell from the end of my forefinger. Tommy and Chloe were still bickering and hadn't heard what we needed to do. Perhaps the strangeness of the situation had gotten to them, but they did not try to refuse. After all, what else could we have done. Phoebe went to the door to check our theory out and found three bolts were now cool enough to handle. In the treat box was an envelope containing a fifty-pound note. "I guess I'm up next," I said, moving towards the box. "Shit, sorry," Tommy mumbled, holding card number four in his hands. "I've just read it." He didn't look happy. I snatched it from him; 'Choose one member of the group to leave behind'. "Well I don't see what you're meant to do, it's not as if we can get out yet," I told him. "And we aren't leaving anyone behind!" Chloe said, panicking that Tommy would choose her. I opened the treat box but found nothing. We were puzzled, not understanding what was required of us. "Just pick someone and say the words," Phoebe suggested. "As long as we all understand that we don't really leave anyone here." We all nodded. "I choose Chloe to leave behind," Tommy announced, loudly. Chloe slapped him for a second time, muttering 'prick' under her breath. "Easy money," Tommy said, tearing at the fourth envelope. "This is becoming quite profitable," he said, holding up eighty pounds with a greedy grin. He added the money to his earlier 'prize', and then it happened. Perhaps it was a delay from him saying the words, maybe it needed him to actually pocket the cash, but that was confirmation enough. A swirling pattern began to appear on the wall behind Chloe. Before we could warn her, six arms reached out as far as the elbow, wrapping around our friend. She let out a muffled scream, but it was too late; they pulled her into the wall, and she was gone. Too quickly for us to react, too suddenly for us to even process what was happening. Phoebe launched herself at Tommy, pounding his huge gut with punches. He felt responsible, that much was obvious, but she was gone and there was no obvious way to get her back. "One more card," I said. "Let's get this done and get out. We can find help once we escape this house." I picked up the final card, ignoring my apprehension. I just wanted this to be over with. Inside the envelope was a small rubber stamp and ink; the sort of thing you find in gift shops at tourist attractions. I opened it to see a skull design. 'Choose one member of the group to play with the skeletons.' "That doesn't sound like something any of us want to do," Phoebe said. "Remember Max said those things in the garden chased him." "If that's the case, then I should choose myself; I'm most likely to be able to outrun them." "What if you can't? Or if that isn't what it means?" We both looked at Tommy. "Do whatever," he said, not seeming to care. "If those bony fuckers try anything then I'll sit on them." He was trying to sound brave, but his voice quivered as he spoke. It was selfish of me, but he had done that to Chloe so it felt fair. If I had to choose between Tommy and Phoebe then there was no choice at all. I walked over and stamped a red skull on Tommy's forehead. "That was the last card," I pointed out, opening the treats' box. There was a larger envelope; thick and padded. From inside I pulled out a card with a grinning clown, and a thick glove. I stared at it for a moment. Heatproof, I told myself, slipping it on. We ran to the door, pulling across the last of the bolts and yanking it open. Outside was dark, but nothing like what we had been enclosed within. As we stepped into the fresh air, our path was blocked by the grave-digging skeletons, heads cocked to one side as they surveyed us. We froze, just for a moment. Then something registered with them as they seemed to notice the stamp on Tommy's head. It happened in the briefest of moments; he was surrounded and all three, simultaneously, extended their bony hands. They jabbed at Tommy's belly with such speed that they became a blur, the white bones turning red in the spray. Tommy's eyes were wide, his mouth gurgling blood as he dropped to the ground. We didn't try to help him, it was too late, so we ran. Phoebe and I, together, leaving our friend to be dragged into the freshly dug earth. The house was deserted when we came back with help. There were no decorations, no old lady, just dust and empty rooms. The doors were where they should have been, as were the stairs. It was as if nothing had happened, and it was just us playing a Halloween prank. Of course, Chloe and Tommy were never found, and we were under scrutiny regarding their disappearances but no-one could prove anything. The only person that believed us was Max, who had actually had company when he visited the Monroe house last year, but had been too afraid to mention the disappearance of his older brother. A year later and Max's parents still think their oldest child is travelling the world. P.J. Blakey-Novis is a British writer living on the south coast of England. As well as being the co-founder of Red Cape Publishing, he is the author of five collections of short horror stories, two horror novellas, two psychological thriller novels, and a children’s book. P.J. has also had stories included in more than twenty anthologies.
I was born on Halloween which I have always loved. A day dedicated to everything spooky, what's not to love?
I would like to share a local ghost story that I heard growing up. It turns out it actually is quite a common story which seems to happen all over the world. A man was driving home one night when he saw a woman standing by the side of the road. She appeared to be carrying a baby in her arms. As he drove past, she threw herself in front of the car. The man immediately slammed on the brakes and got out to look, but there was no one there. Other reports on the same road have people picking the woman up and she would disappear from the back seat. Creepy or what? Defintely a good reason to never pick up hitchhikers. I don't believe I have ever seen a ghost, but I do believe they exist. I do think that animals can see them, especially cats, which I love. I have written about a ghost in my upcoming release which will feature witches and vampires too. Check out the link below. Welcome to our Halloween Blog event! All month long we will be featuring spooky stories and guest posts from authors. On October 31st, we will be hosting a Halloween book fair on Facebook which will include Free and 99c books. Check out the link below to find out more. Halloween originated in Ireland with the ancient Celtic festival known as Samhain. It is said to be the night when the veil between worlds is thinnest and it is possible to communicate with the dead.
In order to protect from any evil spirits, people would carve faces into turnips and place a candle inside. Later, this was changed to pumpkins. Nowadays, it is a day to dress up in a costume, trick or treat for candy and have parties. How do you spend Halloween? |
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About the Author:S. K. Gregory is an author, editor and blogger. She currently resides in Northern Ireland. “Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.” Archives
April 2024
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