#halloween

At the outset, I should tell you I’m a thief. Not a classless “smash and grab” guy or a lowly pickpocket. Those require no planning or strategy beyond “move quickly and be ready to run.” I’m a fourth-generation cat burglar. I’m very good at my job. If everything goes right, you don’t notice I’ve been there for weeks. If ever.

We all knew Spirit Halloween, a store that is filled to the brim with the most messed up animatronics out there, ranging from screaming clowns, decayed zombies, demonically possessed children, and other stuff. Every year, they always push the limits with the level of gore and blood. But what if I told you that there was an animatronic that never made it to the shelves? Well, you’re in for a treat, so keep on reading.

I tended to hate Halloween. Don’t get me wrong; the candy was always something I would look forward to. Hershey bars were especially my favorite. No, what I disliked about Halloween was dressing up. I’m certain you would find it odd as to why that is. My family had been through some hard times and as such, we often recycled cloths to create Halloween costumes. I was always made fun of because of my raggedy costumes. One time I went as a ghost and the costume was a mix match of fabrics that were…

The light of the waning gibbous showered down through the veil of clouds onto the wheat fields below. There was a scar amongst them, where there lay the charred skeleton of a farmhouse. A cold wind blew through the autumn air. The front door stirred, which bore a strange sigil upon it, scratched into the woodwork. Ashes blew solemnly into the night. Beyond, many such sites could be seen littered amongst the fields, all reduced to teeth and cinders. Down the road for miles and miles the wheat…

Tommy Morgan did not have the best life. Coming from a broken home, the young 11-year-old only experienced the worst: his father would return home drunken like a skunk, and he would get into heated arguments with his wife over money and how since he was the bread maker, he could do with his earnings what he saw fit. Tommy’s mother would do chores around the house, her eyes red from sobbing.

“Dude, SHUT UP!” “What?” “Yeah, he’s right so please shut up. You’ve been telling the same exact setup, it is always something like someone just hunting a guy down and then everybody dying. Be original for once.” My friend, let’s call her Lucy, said to Jake. I threw my head back and laughed as I put the melted marshmallow inside the s'mores, broke chocolate bars, and slid them inside of the graham crackers.

This is the culmination of the first series of stories, and the one that ties them together. It mostly stands on its own, but it was written for people who've read the rest. If you've only time for a few first, read 9 West, Stock and The Roll, which it leans on hardest. The full order is: The Road Over Crockanroe, The Hearthstone, Red Jenny, The Keeper's Bowl, The Brandy Pad, 9 West, Caldragh, Stock, Each Uisce, Hungry Grass, The Roll, The Fetch, The Narrows.

It's funny how tales like this cling to you, worming their way into your mind, gnawing away, festering like a wound. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the stories we pass down—the ones we whisper in shadowy corners or over drinks at seedy bars—are more chilling and grotesque than any proven fact. This is one of those tales. A fable, sure, but one that sits far too close to reality. Told by those who find comfort in the macabre, and believed by those who understand that the…

The widow, Laura, walked into the garden. Cracked Stone walls surrounded her, their green vines slithering toward bushes plump with blood-red berries. At the center of the garden stood a rectangular stone basin shaped like an angel. It knelt before the pool as if to deliver water from its mouth. Yet what flowed was bleak black water, filled with sticks and the smal bodies of dying insects. When she was younger, she remembered tossing coins and watching them sink into the water's darkness.…

The last Heather spoke to her mother was on Halloween of 2015 when she was twelve years old. Now, it is Halloween of 2024, and she is reminded of the lore that ruined every Halloween for her.

As a kid growing up in my neighborhood everyone knew about Farmer Fred’s, partly because it was an abandoned farm in the middle of the Pittsburgh suburbs, but largely due to the fact that it was haunted. A farm in my neighborhood was probably commonplace at the turn of the 19th century, but by the time I was a kid we were surrounded by strip malls, fast food restaurants and housing developments. That being said, there was and is still a good deal of green space, and at least one farm, albeit no…

Keira sits on her bed and stares vacantly at the opposing wall. She’s tired and she’d sell her soul to get a few winks in, if only for bad dreams. It’s Halloween night, but she’s not done much to mark the occasion. Just a drink and a chat with her mates. Non-costumed. Somewhere unbusy. Mature. Just a drink and a chat.

Mr. Zimmer didn’t want his last Halloween to end like this, alone in a dark cold room, an invalid while children and parents alike roamed the streets outside asking for candy and dressed in costumes. He remembered when he was young and fit, and when he hadn’t shattered his spine by falling off a roof setting up spooky decorations. At his old age, and with what little money his family possessed, it was easier for everyone to toss him into a nursing home. Easier for everyone except Mr. Zimmer…

October 29th The announcement hit the internet like a bomb.

I’ve learned throughout my life that there are specific things that you should never do in your dreams. I’ve learned how to control my surroundings in a dream state, how to remember dreams, but the thing I will never forget was how I created a demon. It was simple to do, and completely accidental, but for those of you wondering how to do it, it is quite simple. All you have to do is break the three rules. Rule number 1: NEVER tell anyone in a dream that they are in your dream.

Ah! Halloween! My favorite time of year! People rushing to the stores to stock up on candy, children dressing up as monsters to scare people, the many horror films shown on TV and in cinemas... In short! A dream come true! I can't think of a more effervescent festival than this one! That was the case a year ago, but not anymore. This year, nobody celebrates Halloween anymore. The streets are completely deserted, and the city's stores are all closed on this day.

The year was 1976

She touched her, but pulled her hand away and glared at the woman with angry green eyes. She began speaking in a low voice that only the reflection could hear. The confusion and frustration was simmering white-hot now. Was the ornate mirror talking back? "I hate you. Leave me alone. You make me sick." Someone called her name and she snapped to attention. "It's not my fault. She's the one who started it. Can't you see that?"

I have to remind myself. I don’t want to forget. I can’t forget again. For a while now I don’t even remember my own name from time to time, and I forget who my mom was. And my brother. I have to write down everything that happened before I go back there. Back to The Chimes. My name is Sam. My older brother was named Marcus.

A wooden totem looms in the corner, its faces twisted and hungry in the lantern light. Every year, Father carves a new one—works of pride that terrify me, though I’d never say so. “Elam,” he calls, eyes on his work, “pass me the chisel.” It’s heavier than I expect, but light in his hands. He carves with masterful ease. “Want to try?”