Welcome to WU! Witching Hour Collection Part One!
These stories are a mix of Drabbles, Flash Fiction prompts, and Writers Unite!‘s weekly What’s Next? exercise and the monthly Write the Story! project. In addition, many of our authors have submitted original works that are not from the October 2022 prompts or spooky stories from past years.
Comes the Night (Five Words)
Cheryl Ann Guido
A seance lit by candlelight To summon spirits in the night The group to speak with lovely bones Departed from their earthly homes A haunted house, a restless ghost Who serves only a fiery host His pitchfork flames with burning tips A wicked grin upon his lips He knows they're his when word is said In moments time they'll all be dead And join him in his flaming hell Forevermore they all will dwell Somewhere outside a barn owl hoots As he readies to reap his fruits He steps inside and gathers all Off to his kingdom 'neath the hall So be forewarned, let dead things sleep Else he claims your soul to keep
THE WITCHES BALL
Elaine Marie Carnegie-Padgett
Ten-year-old Meredith bounced in through the door and slammed it behind her, plopped onto the divan with her arms crossed firmly over her chest. “Ma will not let me attend the Witches Ball, again. It is a holiday! Our greatest celebration, the festival of Samhain, the hallowed evening when we dress in costume and gather to give thanks while the mortal children go door to door, trick-or-treating. Ma won’t let me do anything… Nothing at all! Not even trick-or-treating with my friends.”
“Your Ma has her reasons, I’m sure,” Agatha said, although she knew why her sister would not allow Meredith out tonight.
“She said I can’t go until I am older,” Meredith scoffed. “I am planning to ask for redress. Perhaps a year away from the Coven and her magic will allow her to remember she has a daughter!”
“You don’t mean it, Meredith. You can’t ask for redress because you are mad at your Ma. She has her reasons.”
“If she does not relent… or at least explain… I will make my redress tonight on All Hallows Eve at the gathering of the Covens… at the Witches Ball... even though she has forbidden it.”
Agatha levitated a cup of warm chocolate to Meredith with just a wee scant of magic to calm her nerves.
“Thank you, Auntie.” Meredith took a sip. “Ma probably doesn’t even remember I like warm chocolate.” She sat back, feeling sorry for herself. “I don’t understand what happened. We used to be so close and now she has entirely shut me out. I’m sure it would be different if my Da were here.”
“Have you asked her about it?”
“I have. She told me I was talking nonsense. Let’s go for a ride, Auntie.” Meredith smiled at Agatha. “Ma won’t mind if I am with you. She snapped her fingers and they were at the family tree. “Let’s go,” she called and zoomed out of sight.
Agatha joined her, surprised. She is quite accomplished. She’s been riding when her mother strictly forbade it. I wonder what else Meredith has been up to. Agatha watched her laughing and shouting and racing with her friends above the clouds. Yes… it is as I feared. At Meredith’s age, we were into all kinds of magic mischief… but we did not have a curse looming over us.
“I am chilled to the bone, dear Meredith. Let’s pop home for some warmed chocolate and cookies.”
Meredith grinned at her and snapped her fingers. Agatha found herself in the Coven House watching while Meredith conjured a blazing fire. She went to the kitchen for chocolate and cookies to hide her amazement. The pair lounged on the rugs before the fireplace to ward off the cold.
“Did you show me your prowess today in defiance of your mother for a reason, Meredith?”
“No, I am tired of hiding and skulking. I have a friend who advised me to speak to her first. I won’t pretend anymore, and she won’t notice anyway, Aunt Aggie… she’s never here.”
“Notice what?” Adelheid said in a shocked voice.
“Me…”
“I don’t understand why you are so angry all the time.”
“You won’t tell me what’s wrong. I know something is wrong, Ma. Maybe, if you were home more often…” Meredith levitated the snacks to the kitchen. She stood and snapped her fingers, dressed for riding, she announced, “I’m going out.”
Adelheid stood, mouth gaping and stared at her daughter. “You are not going anywhere, young lady, except to your room!” she said, waved her hand and Meredith disappeared.
Adelheid looked at Agatha. “What is going on?”
“That won’t hold her… Meredith has been honing her magic and hiding her skill. It is time for you to tell her the truth, at least you would be close to her if she needs you.”
“Absolutely not!” Adelheid scoffed. “I might put her in danger too. I can’t.”
“Better the devil you know…” Agatha insisted and left her to it. Agatha found peace in the forest. She walked in the shaded canopy of the far-off wood listening to the voices of the trees.
“Agatha,” Adelheid cried, jolting her from the peaceful meandering. “Agatha, come quickly.”
Adelheid was in a furor, pacing back and forth. “She’s gone.”
“Did you call her?”
“Of course, I called… I tried to go to her with no result, and then I cried for her. It’s All Hallows Eve… she is especially vulnerable tonight.”
“She’s worked up a personal protection spell,” Agatha chuckled.
“When did she learn that?” Adelheid shouted in frustration. “You know what I have to do… There is the greatest chance I will find him this year as they turned ten…”
“What good will it do to find one and lose the other?” Agatha said. “Why won’t you share with her? Tell her she has a brother who is missing and let her help.”
“I can’t do that, she is in danger too,” Adelheid sneered at her. “I’m calling the Seven.”
“Do what you must, but this may not end well.”
***
Meredith landed in the far-off wood near the Coven Circle and the ancient ritual stones. “Chevrón, are you here? Chevrón,” she shouted as he appeared before her.
“What’s going on? What happened?”
“It’s my mother. We’ve had a row. If we don’t go back now… we won’t be able to. I can’t hide from her forever.”
Chevrón sat on the nearest stone. “You must be certain you are not doing this for personal gain.”
“What? You getting cold feet?”
“You know better than that. It’s difficult for a mature witch to go backward in time and come home. We’re more powerful when we’re together… especially for children… But that is why I ask… Are you certain this trip is not for personal gain? That would make it harder for us to come home again.”
“Something is wrong with Ma. If I find out what it is… then maybe I can help. Maybe it can be like it used to be…” Meredith explained as tears welled in her eyes.
“Well, let’s get to it then,” Chevrón said.
They stood at the ritual stone, shoulder to shoulder. Chevrón nicked his thumb and let his blood drop upon the stone…
“Now… me,” Meredith nicked her thumb and squeezed until her blood dropped on top of his.
He grasped Meredith’s hand and whispered, All Hallows Eve, this most powerful night. All Hallows Eve join the power of Samhain,” he whispered and bowed his head. Then they chanted,
“Blood of blood… Bone of bone…”
“Look…” Chevrón turned his wrist and a crescent moon with three stars shone, the bright yellow light tumbling within as if it were burning inside the flesh.
“Mine too,” Meredith showed her wrist.
“I… don’t think this is supposed…” Chevron began.
The children disappeared and found themselves in the center of the Coven House surrounded by the Seven. The Seven High Priestesses of the Seven Covens. The children were silent knowing this was a powerful and solemn occasion when the Seven Covens gathered.
Adelheid stared at Chevrón. Who are you?” her voice quivered.
He was trembling. “M… Meredith and I are friends.”
“Leave him be, Ma,” Meredith cried.
Adelheid ignored her and circled the children inside the circle of Seven.
“Of my blood and of my sight… Show me now… my children’s light.”
The Coven began to chant and circle the children. “Ouch. Meredith. It’s happening again.” Chevrón turned his wrist and the crescent moon, and three stars glowed brightly, but this time the tumbling, burning light was blue. Meredith’s also shone blue.
Adelheid pulled her collar aside and a smaller version of that same mark burned there on her shoulder. “It is the mark of our family. Your father and I devised it and you were both born under it. What is your name?” Adelheid whispered.
“Chevrón.”
She wept, “You are my son. We have called my child, and two have come. My son, Chevrón, was born and stolen from my arms by magic’s curse,” she was overcome.
“I’m so sorry, Ma. I didn’t know,” Meredith cried and held onto her mother.
“When you came of age, I was obsessed. I looked for you everywhere. I knew I would find you when your magic matured…”
“No,” Chevrón interrupted Adelheid. “My mother died when I was three. You can ask the Maiden Doula at the group home.”
“It is a lie,” she spat. “The Doula attending your birth took you from my arms,” she whispered. “The Doula are nurses. Some light and some dark, but they are many.”
“No, it’s not true… No,” Chevrón looked at Meredith in a panic.
“It must be so Chevrón. Look at our wrists? We were both drawn to Mother’s call. You are my brother and my best friend.”
“No.” He grabbed Meredith’s hand, and they disappeared.
“Call them back,” Adelheid shouted. “They don’t know the danger. Call them back.”
The Seven called and called in vain. They couldn’t trace the children.
“It is the curse,” Adelheid said. “This is the night.”
She was a High Priestess, as was Agatha. Seven High Priestesses of Seven Covens called… The wizards and warlocks and witches of all ilks gathered against the curse. Each with their own children to protect.
“It is a summons to battle the curse with the power of the gathered Covens. We will meet at the Circle, near the ritual stones.” When all were present, they departed for the far-off wood. They arrived in time to see the children’s trace. They lit the sacred fire and gathered their magic to call the children back and battle the curse of darkness.
***
“Look, it’s Ma,” Meredith whispered. The Doula looked around and Chevrón put a finger to his lips. They watched as Chevrón was born and the Doula took him from his mother, said…
“This is the curse of the witching line… Now, your son will believe he’s mine.
Later I’ll take your daughter too, and there is nothing at all… that you can do.”
She laughed wildly.
Chevrón knew it was true. “Stop,” he shouted, and the Doula looked at them and a cruel smile played about her lips. She opened her mouth in a grotesque façade. All cavernous mouth with razor sharpened teeth, black gums, and tongue flapping wildly as she laughed. Her darkness spewed from that chasm and surrounded the children through time. In the time before, the Doula disappeared to Adelheid’s screams.
The children watched spellbound by the darkness as Agatha and the warlock ran into the birthing room. They saw Agatha help deliver Meredith while the warlock comforted Adelheid… for a witch is powerless while giving birth. They heard him promise to find their son.
“He is our father?” Chevrón asked.
“He never returned…” Meredith whispered. “I can’t move,” she spoke slowly.
Chevrón squirmed and reached for her. He saw her head loll and sway back and forth and shook her.
“Stop it,” she shouted at him. “Where are we?”
“Don’t forget,” he said, his voice soft in the gathering gloom.
She stared straight ahead, her body levitated, “Don’t forget,” she whispered. Chevrón fought the darkness, but he too succumbed and the children floated… concealed in the Doula’s darkness. Their mother called, they heard the chanting, but could not answer. They watched silently, horrified as particles of their bodies were consumed by the darkness…
“No. Fight it, Meredith… you have to fight,” Chevrón cried. He struggled to kick his legs and reached for his sister’s hand. She stared at him and he could see her spirit, her consciousness fighting to survive. Together they fell to the floor, the Doula’s magic challenged.
“Don’t let it take you Meredith… fight it with your mind and your magic.” Chevrón waved his hand in a protective spell around them. It sparkled momentarily and fell in ash as the Doula increased her attack.
“Together,” Chevrón whispered. “We are stronger together.” They lifted their hands and the protection sparkled around them and the gloom receded. It was easier to breathe but they did not lose concentration for each felt the power of the Doula increasing.
The warlock, Declan, trapped in the curse since he found the Doula ten years ago, stirred from the stupor he inflicted upon himself. The curse bound his magic and to save his essence, he lay dormant in a static state. She could not sense him, but neither could he escape her. He felt the strength of the darkness weakening. Declan transported to the Coven Circle near the ancient ritual stones in the far-off forest intending to enlist the aid of the Covens and found them already there.
“Declan?” Adelheid whispered… then shouted and ran to him. He was thin and considerably weakened, but there was no mistaking it was he.
“We must call the Doula to the Coven Circle among our gathered power,” he said. “She is many bound by black magic, ancient and strong, I could not overcome it alone. We must invoke the strength of the Ancients to ban and forever disperse her magic. If we are not successful, she will continue to take our children…”
The Covens took their places quickly around the wide circle and the High Priestess’ spoke the spell…
“In the gathered strength of the ancient runes, the Covens call beneath the moon. In the Mother’s bosom the children rest, the Doula has cursed that which is blessed. We call her now by this ancient rite to answer for this harm tonight…”
The covens chanted together, and a brilliant light rose around them as the ancients attended and lent their power. The Doula appeared… with her in the circle were Meredith and Chevrón who ran to their mother. In the circle appeared a spirit. None recognized her surrounded by the brilliant light.
An eerie voice lent itself to the Circle… “Doula, you have chosen a path of anger and hate and brought yourself unto this fate. None are to blame, no curse remains, disperse dark magic from whence it came.”
The Doula shattered into a million tiny particles in a cloud that exploded through the trees.
The spirit left and the light receded as the Covens gathered round Declan, happy for his return. While the adults rejoiced, Chevrón stole away, and Meredith followed.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know what to do, Meredith. I have never been someone’s son… or brother.”
“Without your courage, the curse could not have been broken. You were brave…”
“No. I was terrified…” he interrupted his sister.
“What will I do now? I don’t know where I…”
“You are our son, as you have always been…” his father interrupted him.
“I am afraid,” Chevron wept, and Meredith held him, weeping too.
“You will come home,” Declan whispered kneeling next to his children and taking them into his arms.
“Are you ready?” Adelheid asked while she stroked her weeping children.
He looked up at his parents and then at his sister. “Yes,” he whispered, and Declan took them home.
Raymond G. Taylor (Drabble: Creepy)
I sat bolt upright as the thing floated there, right before my very eyes.
“What is it?”
“Ah… ah… ah…” I could not form the words. I could feel my blood run cold, hairs erect, my breath taking rapid short gasps. The question was repeated. “It’s a spider!” I eventually blurted out as I tried to push myself back against the pillow behind me. The spider, unconcerned, began to tiptoe up the bedspread.
“Phooeee! it’s not that scary.”
“No,” I agreed, as I continued to tremble.
With that, the boney jaw stilled… as the skull drifted back behind the curtain.
The Halloween Dance (Five Words)
Laura DePace
The haunted house awaits the night, Its windows curtained with webs of white. Its doors gape empty, dark with gloom. No touch of light within the rooms. “Hoot-hoot!” the owl loudly cries, Peers from the trees with wide-awake eyes. “Hoot-hoot!” he calls out once again Waiting for the party to begin. The bones from the graveyard begin to stir Shaking off dirt as they’ve done before. Ready to start the Halloween dance As the shades begin the night’s seance. Eerie music fills the air. Ghosts in ball-gowns float down the stairs. A spirited orchestra plays a tune, Spotlit by the silvery moon. Dancers nod, and bow, and weave Making the most of this Halloween eve. “Living it up” on Halloween night Unmoved by the thought of the villagers’ fright. “Grab your pitchfork!” the villagers yell. “Grab your flaming torch as well! It’s Halloween! The spirits rise To bemoan their ill-spent lives.” “It’s Halloween! And we must race To put each spirit in its place. Back you go! Into the earth Until next Halloween’s rebirth.” One by one, the villagers come. Two by two, the ghosts go home Back to their crypts, back to their sleep Back to the darkness, soft and deep. The haunted house fades into night, Its windows curtained with webs of white. The Halloween dance has come and gone It heaves a sigh and bows to the dawn.
Calliope Njo (What’s Next)
Something sinister happened here. Nothing but cobwebs and dust balls, however, the bloodstained bed told me something did. It didn’t take much to scan the room because nothing else was in it. The big windows looked out, but between the broken glass and the dirty ones that still existed, it was hard to tell what they might have been looking at.
Footsteps echoed, and shadows lingered. Sometimes wisps of perfume would come up that shouldn’t have been. Doorways still existed even though doors no longer did. Big metal sinks with large metal beds in the rooms. Chutes in the walls of some of the rooms. I almost betted that they were used to transport bodies.
How much I wished the building would speak. Most of them did if one was willing to listen. This one, though, had nothing to say. Maybe it tried over and over again until it gave up. If no one was going to listen, then why try?
The bed still stood in the middle of the room. That giant bloodstain in the middle had a story to tell. If only there was a way to get that information. Maybe it was a surgery gone wrong. One patient killed another. No one would ever know.
Outside of the building, the crying windows and the downcast doorways might have been there for a long while. Maybe too long for anyone to notice.
The dead trees that still stood in their place were about all that was still outside. Anything else was either dead or shriveled up. Not even a bird lingered outside.
One last look at the basement. The door hung at an odd angle such that one had to jump in order to clear it.
Once inside, large bins sat under the same door that was up top. Bloodstains told the story of their use. Collect the bodies in the bins to be processed at a later date. How many were left to be processed? No bodies were seen, but even still, they had to be somewhere. The state demanded an immediate shutdown after all.
Once outside, there should’ve been a feeling of relief, a sort of long breath out to let the tension escape. There should’ve been, but nothing like that happened.
Any living body would tighten and shutter from a cold that didn’t exist. In the mind and the heart where nothing could warm them.
The only relief would be to leave this building. Maybe one day, someone brave enough would find out its story and tell the world. The story about that bed might also be told as well.
Stephanie Angelea
Eerie, A word used to describe the murder scene this morning in the alley of Katie’s Food Mart.
The deceased was a nurse who had been seen in the parking garage of the hospital last night but she was alive and well.
She had no enemies so the question linguiring was “Why!”
Ex-boyfriend, ex-husband, ex-lover, perhaps?
The solo plane ticket to the Bahamas was
as good a place to start as any to see who she was meeting up with or if it was simply a vacation for herself.
Maybe the palm tree tattooed on her chest held the answer.
The Dead Of Night
Lisa Criss Griffin
I was uncertain if the bone-deep chill coursing through my body was from the frigid air or fear. Waking up to find myself in the middle of the old cemetery in the dead of night was highly disturbing. The fog-shrouded graveyard was eerily silent.
I used to come here with my friends during October until Halloween, just for kicks. We took turns scaring each other, and any other brave soul unfortunate enough to venture through the cemetery while we were there.
It was great fun until Joey Marceloni stepped on old Mr. Peterson’s grave and immediately sank into the dirt up to his knees. His screams almost sounded genuine as he slowly sank into the mist covered ground, the tombstones glowing like mad in the moonlight. He was chest deep before we realized he wasn’t pranking us!
We tried our best to pull him out, but he continued to sink into the soil. His bulging eyes rolled in panic as dirt closed around his neck. We lost our grip on his arms. The ground closed over his head, his arms waving frantically before they too, were no longer visible. Joey’s final shriek of horror, suddenly cut off, still haunts me to this day.
I could never bring myself to return to the cemetery after that experience. I was confused as to why I was here now. I shivered as I turned to look around. I was not alone. Translucent wraiths of the departed stood silently by the moonlit tombstones. I reluctantly glanced over towards old Mr. Peterson’s tombstone. It was a moment before I saw him. I gasped, screaming out loud! Joey made his way to where I was standing and spoke, his voice unnaturally raspy.
“Screaming won’t change things as you well know, my old friend. Death happens. Welcome to our world.”
Copyright © 2020 Lisa Criss Griffin
All rights reserved
Michele Sayre (What’s Next?)
Something sinister happened here.
That was Victoria’s first thought as she looked at the pattern of broken glass in the windows and the scattered bits of dirt on the floors.
“What was this place?” Her young apprentice, Katie, came up beside her as they stood in the middle of the large room.
“A place where princes, dukes, Kings, and Queens gathered in splendor. And where good and evil powers walked among them, powers not of this world.”
Very few buildings had survived the nuclear fire of the last Great War, a war that had driven the survivors underground or far away from the cities that had been destroyed. Now, almost a century later, when it was safe enough to return, Victoria and her apprentice had a new task, one which few people knew about.
As they further into the deserted dwelling, she began to hear voices and music. She looked over at young Katie and saw the look of delight on her face as she heard them, too. Then they walked into a room that suddenly burst into light from the broken chandeliers above them. Victoria put her hand across Katie’s chest to stop her from going any further into the room.
“What?” Katie asked. “It’s so beautiful… I can see them.”
“Yes. And they’re nothing but memories to draw you in.” Victoria saw the mirror at the end of the ballroom, a mirror they could only reach by walking through the ghostly dancers and revelers from many time periods.
She saw the pull of the past in Katie’s face in the light of her eyes. Victoria always hated taking on new apprentices because they were so young, and it took every ounce of command she could muster in her voice to keep them focused on the task at hand. Yet for just one moment, she stared into the crowd looking for him…
“Is this a portal?” Katie asked as they reached the mirror.
“Just into the illusion. The portal to the Underworld is more deeply hidden. But this must be destroyed.” Victoria shifted the rifle from her back to her hands as Katie did the same. Then she led Katie back into the ballroom and to the left-side wall. She crouched down beside Katie as she loaded her gun. “Since this is your first time doing this, remember it’s all an illusion, and the force will only last a few seconds. Hold that thought once you pull the trigger.”
Victoria went to the opposite wall and aimed her gun dead-center at the mirror. “Three, two, one!”
Both bullets shot hard into the mirror, shattering it into a storm of broken glass. Both women ducked down as the illusionary glass shot through the air above them like a monster storm. Then it was over, and Victoria looked over at Katie. “You alright?”
Katie nodded. “So, is this how we close the real portal?”
“No. We won’t know how to do that until we find it.”
Roger A. Legg
Everyone in Pumpkintown nervously awaited his arrival on the fifth day of the harvest. This year was no exception, as the Farmers on the East side of town started setting up their displace weeks before the harvest was ready. The Others farmers, not on the east road, had to build booths in town and the competition for space was steep. Fights have been known to breakout when farmers and merchants haggle over price and length of time the both will remain. But on the East side, each farmer lines up their best pumpkins along the road.
Some even set up elaborate stages with ribbons and banners. Mrs. Johnsome places her large orbs on black tables. The Forn Family usually sets out both perfect orbs and elongated ones. How they grow them like this way is a family secret. No matter which type it is, the From Family places each pumpkin with its most perfect face looking at the road. And then there’s Mr. Kromp, who waits until the last minute and then puts all of his pumpkins in piles with the deformed ones on the bottom. The list of farmers and their manner of displaying their wares goes on and on. Each believes that their efforts will allow them some pleasantries they could not normally afford.
The atmosphere is almost carnival like. Each year our guest selects pumpkins of various sizes and shapes. No one really knows what he will chose as some years he picks some perfect and some deformed. Other years he wants only round ones, then other years he selects odd shaped one. It’s a mystery. The only things that they know for sure is that he always pays in cash and he never haggles on the price. No one knows his real name. They just refer to him as Knife.
Lynn Miclea (Five Words)
I walked across the huge brown field To see what my long search would yield I shook and thought this field was weird But still I sought the soul I feared I tried to hide from what I sought I knew the danger if he were caught But when I heard a hooting owl I quickly turned and then did scowl This was not what I truly wanted And now I knew this place was haunted I slowly stepped past rocks and stones Until I saw a pile of bones. And then I saw beside a tree A pitchfork that was meant for me. A tremor filled me; I’d show him. But even I knew this was grim. I picked it up and soon felt ready As I breathed in, calm and steady The ghost I searched for was not here I realized now as it grew clear The only way to find this ghost Was with a séance where I’d be host I went back home but felt unstable As I prepared the séance table I soon got ready, then held my breath The ghost I sought was known as Death
Dumb-assed Kid
Enzo Stephens
Billy Bob could drag his fingers over rusty razors and not feel a single slice of his flesh.
How cool is that?
Well, actually, not very cool at all because while his pain threshold was seemingly off the charts, well, he couldn’t feel the supple skin of a woman’s leg or the sensual softness of an ermine.
Billy Bob’s pappy took him to see doctor after doctor, and they pretty much all said the same thing; “It’s the damnest thing, dontchaknow. The nerves are there, and they’re firing, but the signals never reach Billy Bob’s brain.
His pappy immediately concluded that Billy Bob was daft. A doofus. A ‘tard. A dumb-ass. And Billy Bob grew into an adult carrying that stigma from his pappy.
But they kept in touch; Billy Bob spending Tuesday afternoons with his grizzled and oft-angry pappy, sitting on a bench, throwing saltines at pigeons. Pappy’s life consisted of bitching about ‘the damned Gub-nent and how they’re all crooks; Medicare and how they’re all a buncha crooks; kids today and how they’re all a buncha crooks. And Billy Bob would sit there and stare and nod with his perpetually numb, senseless fingers.
But one Tuesday, with the breath of winter hovering over the city, Billy Bob did not take his pappy to the park to sit on a bench, nor did he have any Saltines.
Instead, he drove his pappy over to a section of town where old factories stood rusting and collapsing under the weight of time and neglect. Billy Bob had himself a secret lair; it was secret because that’s where he discovered that, yes, indeedy, Billy Bob’s senseless fingers most definitely do work.
They work very well around the hilt of a linoleum knife as it plunged over and over again into the gnarled body of his pappy as he paws the frosted glass on the double doors to Billy Bob’s secret lair.
D. A. Ratliff (Drabble: Word Creepy)
“Mom, I don’t wanna go to that house. It’s creepy.”
His Spiderman mask muffled my eight-year-old son’s voice, but the whining was unmistakable. “Cameron, why don’t you want to Trick or Treat here?”
“Danny said last year that a ghost was handing out candy.”
My son needed to face imaginary fears. “Cam, there are no ghosts. Let’s go.”
The house was dilapidated, the yard overgrown, and the paint peeling. Cam rang the doorbell, and the door creaked open, revealing a nebulous apparition of a man. He held a basket of candy.
I grabbed my son’s hand and ran. Creepy indeed!
Larry Trasciatti
It was only minutes before midnight. The gypsy woman opened her Grimoire. My heartbeat, as expected, started to get so out of control. To what horrific commitment should I now be required to concede? Having promised my unconditional obedience to whatever she decided, I could no longer now back down. Legend says that there is a certain room in her quarters in which she keeps the remains of all the people who have agreed, in times past, to her terms. Immediately adjacent to it is her wine cellar. Once she gets someone to drink of her wine, she owns him.
Those Among Us
Paula Shablo
Some days are harder than others, but the general rule is, they’re all hard enough.
What matters is, I have to work. I have bills to pay and kids to feed, and so I get up each morning and shower, and dress. After I gather my things, I take a deep breath and leave my apartment.
Stella, my oldest, is very responsible at 14, and gets the younger kids up and ready for school, since I have to leave so early. Thank goodness the bus stops for them so close to our place! I have a lot to worry about, and that is a blessing. They barely have to walk half a block.
I walk three blocks to the underground and take the subway. Until Jim died, I enjoyed the walk, and I enjoyed the subway ride. I would settle into a seat and read until my stop was called.
I can no longer relax enough to read, although I still open a book and hold it in front of my face. Behind the barrier of pages, my eyes dart around the car, trying to discern the living commuters from those among us who should have moved on, but haven’t.
Until Jim died, I was unaware of those among us. Now I see them everywhere. The city is full of them.
They make me nervous.
The first I saw was Jim, of course, but he quickly moved on. It seemed he was only there to say goodbye, and that’s fine with me. He was killed by a drunk driver, but it was never in him to hold a grudge, and so moving on must have been an easy thing for him. I’m grateful he took the time to wave and blow me a kiss before fading away.
But, as grateful as I am for that, it seems to have been a gateway for me to see all the others who haven’t been able to leave, for whatever reason. I dearly loved my husband, but I really wish he hadn’t opened that door, because those among us are disconcerting at best and downright frightening at worst.
Most of them make their ways down crowded sidewalks, walking purposefully along, just like the living, as if they have a destination and tasks to perform. Like most city dwellers, they look straight ahead and acknowledge no one. Unlike the living, though, they don’t have to make that sudden dodging weave to avoid bumps and the occasional dance with the passerby who wants to weave in the same direction you do. They just walk right through!
Those are the disconcerting ones. Sensitive living beings react to being walked through. Humans often stop momentarily, causing those bump and tussle chain reactions you see so often. Dogs bark, or growl at thin air (as far as anyone can tell). Cats completely flip out.
I’ve gotten to where I’m okay with those who have simply kept on keeping on, so to speak. They’re just continuing with what they always did, and except for some minor disruptions, they have no ill intent.
But there are others.
This morning, I got off the subway at my stop and made my way up and out to the street.
He was there. Again. The worst of the worst.
I don’t want anything to do with this crazy piece of work, but he insists on interaction, and he gets me to engage by doing the most outrageous things.
The first time I saw him, he noticed me seeing him, and made a “watch this” gesture before snagging a dog’s leash out of it’s owners hand and dragging the poor thing into a café. A waiter chased the scared animal out onto the sidewalk, where the owner reclaimed him, insisting that he hadn’t let go of the leash, it was yanked away.
No one believed him. It was a two-pound Yorkie, after all–how hard could he yank?
Over time, I have helped an old woman pick up her scattered groceries, helped a student gather her books after her backpack strap slipped loose, and helped a man disentangle himself from the raincoat that flipped up and over his head.
Mischief, at first. But it has escalated. Two days ago he shoved a kid into the gutter. Yesterday he pushed a little girl into the traffic light pole.
I kept an eye on him, shaking with anticipation. I knew he’d do something, but I almost missed it, just the same.
I was with a group waiting to cross at the light. I’d never made it that far without him doing something. I could feel myself bouncing nervously on the balls of my feet, my heart pounding with dread. I was surrounded, and kept losing sight of him.
The light changed, and we all started to cross. I could see a taxi coming toward us, and that was when the baby carriage pushed by the woman just ahead of me lurched into the path of oncoming traffic.
I didn’t see him push it, but I saw him clapping his hands as I rushed to grab the carriage and push it back at the screaming mother just behind me.
The taxi hit me.
I never felt a thing. The mother snatched the carriage away, and the baby is safe. That was all I could focus on.
It sure hurts now. I’m hooked up to machines. I’m broken and battered.
Worst of all, I can’t move. And he’s right here. Standing in a corner of the room, just behind my children, he’s watching and grinning at me.
Whatever he decides to do next, I can’t stop him.
Cheryl Ann Guido (What’s Next)
An ominous feeling swept through me as I gazed at the aging hotel. I had wanted to be here for ages. Each time I visited, I wasn’t able to get near it. Finally, today was the day. I entered the lobby through the glass doors. The room seemed frozen in time. The check-in desk had an old fashioned register and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the case containing the skeleton keys that opened the rooms. As I wandered about, I saw a table set for tea with the finest china. Off to one side, a chess board awaited opponents. The patterned fabric covered couches were old but comfortable.
I exited the lobby and walked toward the massive elevator at the end of the hall. Once inside, I strapped in and the door closed. We traveled through several surreal rooms then suddenly, the door opened, and we were exposed to the outdoors. It was terrifying. Just as suddenly, the door closed. There was an eerie silence, then we plunged down, down, down. I screamed along with all the other occupants. We hit a bump; we bounced, then began to shoot even further upward than before.
Once again, we stopped. Once again, the floor disappeared beneath us and we dropped until we experienced another abrupt stop. The elevator groaned and we began another ascent, up, up, up past the last two drop points. By now, I knew what would happen next. Silence, then the free fall down, down, down all the way to the lobby floor. It was unnerving.
The elevator door opened, and we filed out. I was shaken. As I passed a bellman, I heard him exclaim:
“Thank you for staying with us. Hope to see you again soon.”
Then, his somber expression twisted into a maniacal grin. I could still hear his laughter as I exited the hotel. It certainly was a Tower of Terror. I really think I need a Mickey Ice Cream Bar now.
The Invitation
D. A. Ratliff
Candice Webb forced herself to take a deep breath.
What was she thinking? She had just driven three hours from the city to her hometown based on the cryptic words written in a letter from a woman she had never met. Since the day after she graduated high school, she had not set foot in Martinsville and had no expectations or desire to return. Then the letter appeared in her mailbox bearing no postmark, only her name scrawled in precise cursive writing with a fountain pen across the ivory envelope.
Twilight was falling as she arrived at the house, and in the dim light of the car’s overhead dome, she reread the letter. She needed all the courage she could muster to exit the car.
Miss Webb:
We have never met, but you have been to my home. I am Glenda Addison, and I reside at the Addison Estate in Martinsville.
I will be leaving my home soon and while preparing to leave, I noticed a locket wedged in the floorboards on the second floor. I did a bit of investigative work, and I discovered it might be yours.
I would like to return the locket to you. Would you please join me for tea tomorrow evening at seven o’clock? You know the way.
Glenda Addison
Her heart caught at the word locket, her grandmother’s locket. She was ten when her grandmother died, and her grandfather had pressed the locket into her hand and told her to wear it always. She had lost it only a week after he died, and her mother had cried for days. She never told her mother where she lost the locket. But she knew. She had lost it in the house at the end of the stone-paved walkway. And Glenda Addison had found it.
Her fingers trembling, she opened the car door. Leaving her purse under the seat, she locked the car and slipped her key fob into her skirt pocket. Time to face her past.
Her leather-soled boots echoed on the old stone pavers as she headed for the house. Fog clung to the tops of the tall pines, and she shivered in the chilly late October air. Should have worn a heavier sweater. Her heart raced as memories of the last time she walked along this path flooded her thoughts. She was twelve and was with Jimmy Liston and Randy Parks. They had cajoled her into coming with them to check out the abandoned Addison house. A night she would just as soon forget.
A soft glow shone through the windows of the ground floor, but the bright light coming from a second-floor window illuminating the path caught her attention. A moment of sheer panic rushed through her as her heart pounded like a bass drum. That was the room. That was the room where… no, she put it out of her head. She was here to get her locket. That was all.
As she approached the house, her amazement grew. When she, Randy, and Jimmy had come to explore, the grounds were overgrown, the paint on the front door and window sills peeling, and the shutters falling off.
Now, even in the growing darkness, she could tell that the grounds were immaculate. As she reached for the doorbell pull, she noticed the paint looked fresh. What a difference fifteen years could make. She held her breath until the door opened. A pair of ice-blue eyes met hers.
“Miss Webb. You came.”
Standing before her was a slender woman in her forties, Candice guessed. Her raven black hair was pulled into a severe bun with an ornate pearl and emerald hairpin sticking through it.
“I did. Thank you, Ms. Addison, I am grateful that you found my locket.”
“Come in, dear. We will discuss what you have lost.”
The interior, in shambles when she was fifteen, was well furnished. Elegant lamps and polished wood filled the room where broken lamps and layers of dust had existed fifteen years ago. As she followed Glenda into the parlor, she attempted to tamp down her growing unease. The only sounds she heard were the rustling of Glenda’s silk dress, the ticking of the Grandfather clock, and the beating of her heart.
“My dear, please have a seat.” Glenda gestured to a beautifully upholstered settee while she sat across in a small armchair, tucking her black silk skirt around her legs. On the table between them sat a china teapot and two delicate bone china cups.
“May I pour you tea?”
Candice cleared her throat, worried she could not talk, but she managed a thank you. She waited as the woman poured the tea. Taking her cup, she took a sip of the hot liquid before she spoke.
“You have done a remarkable job remodeling this house.”
Glenda’s eyes bored into hers, a slight smile curling the corners of her mouth. “You would certainly know about the condition this house was once in. How many years ago was it now since you were here?’
“Uh… I — I was twelve, so, fifteen years.”
“Yes, the house was certainly a disaster then. No one had lived here for many years.”
“Was it your parents who lived here?”
She smiled at Candice. “In a manner of speaking…” She sipped her tea. “This house has been in the family for many years. My parents were among the many that lived here.”
“I am surprised that you found the locket after all of these years.”
“Ah, the locket. It was a surprise for me as well. I only found it a short time ago.”
“In your letter, you said you were leaving here. It seems a shame after making this house so beautiful.”
Gazing around the room, Glenda’s eyes fell on a portrait of a man that hung over the fireplace mantle. “My time here is at an end. Just this one small task left to do.” She sat back in the chair. “My dear, why don’t you tell me about that night that you came to explore.”
Candice’s palms were clammy, and she was trembling. She did not want to recount that night but had known since she got the letter that she would have to tell what had happened. She inhaled such a deep breath her chest heaved. “It was a dare. We were twelve. I had a crush on Randy, and he and Jimmy wanted to come here. The house was rumored to be haunted. Of course, it wasn’t, but I came with them to show Randy I wasn’t scared.”
“Were you scared?” Glenda’s voice was taunting, and Candice’s chest tightened. Coming here was a bad idea.
“I will admit to being apprehensive, but I didn’t believe in ghosts. I was afraid some homeless guy might be living here.”
“But there wasn’t a homeless person, was there?”
“Uh… no, there wasn’t.” Candice stared at her host. Why had she not noticed how gray Glenda’s skin was.
“Tell me exactly what you did here.” This time her voice was different, weaker, sharper.
“We came in the front door, which was barely hanging on its hinges. We walked through the first floor. Jimmy got the idea that there could be something of value left. So, we started looking through drawers and closets. Randy and I didn’t want to, but we were scared of how crazed Jimmy was becoming. We didn’t find anything, and we wanted to leave, but Jimmy wanted to go upstairs.”
“Yes, upstairs, where you lost your locket.”
“Yes, but we didn’t find anything up there.” Candice realized her voice was shaking and higher pitched than normal. She took a breath and tried to keep her voice even. “I really need to start back home, Ms. Addison. Could I have my locket?”
Glenda rose. “But of course, my dear. It is upstairs. Follow me.”
Upstairs? Candice did not want to go upstairs, but she wanted her locket. She had no choice other than to comply. As they climbed the stairs, she thought how effortlessly Glenda navigated the stairs.
Her heart pounded furiously as she followed Glenda. They turned at the top of the stairs and headed to the room. The room. The room where the light that shone so brightly on the path was located. Glenda entered and turned toward her.
“Come in, my dear.”
She took a step into the room and felt relieved. Glenda had redecorated the room as well. What she had feared was not there. Glancing about the room, she spotted the locket lying on top of a low chest. As she started to walk toward it, she panicked. She could not move. In vain, she struggled to move her legs, paralyzed with fear.
“Not what you were expecting, is it?
“Wha…. What is happening?”
“I only want to hear the truth of that night.”
“Truth? I told you, we came here on a lark. Then Jimmy got all crazed and wanted to find something to take.”
Glenda moved closer to her. “Oh, my dear, you saw him, didn’t you?”
“Y—yes, we did.”
Walking to the area of the now highly polished floor, Glenda pointed to a spot. “He was right there, fell where I stabbed him. He wanted the family money, the only reason he married me.” She raised her head and turned toward Candice. “He poisoned me, but I discovered what he had done. It was too late then, but I wasn’t going to die alone. He came up here to find my jewelry box, but I hid it. I walked in as he was tearing the room apart looking for it.”
Candice could barely take a breath, but when she did, her breath was visible as the room turned frigid. As she watched, Glenda’s skin was grayer, her face thinner as if she was wasting away. She managed to eke out a question. “You—you killed him?”
An evil grin stretched across her mottled skin, and the older woman laughed. “Yes. Yes, I did. I thrust the sterling dagger my father gave me for protection into his chest and watched him die. Then a few hours later, I died.”
A small scream escaped Candice. Her voice trembled, but she managed to speak. “Why are you here? What do you want?”
Her face more skeleton than flesh, Glenda balled her bony fingers into fists. “His soul was able to leave this plane. But not mine, his family forced me to stay here because I’d killed him. His family was powerful, and that power extended into the astral plane. I cannot cross into the otherworld. I am cursed to remain here or enter the netherworld.”
She spun around, the silk dress now loose and swirling around her diminishing frame. “That night, I welcomed having guests, even if they were three bratty children. I was lurking in the house, but you couldn’t see me. I watched as you touched my things as if they had no meaning. I grew tired of you and the greed. Just like him. Looking for something of value, something that was mine. I followed you upstairs and almost cackled with glee when you spotted his body. Only a skeleton then, the flesh long gone, his clothes dusty and tattered from age.”
She paused, closing her bulging eyes for a moment. “I decided to scare you. I moaned. You were so startled that you fell, and that other boy grabbed you, yelling that you needed to get out of here.” She pointed to the dresser. “The necklace caught on a raised nail in the floorboard and ripped from your neck as the boy pulled you up. The three of you ran. I followed you as far as the front door.”
“Jimmy…. What happened to Jimmy? He left us at the end of the path. Randy made me come with him. We never knew what happened to him.”
“He was a foolish boy and was going to steal from me. He came back. He had spotted the sterling-handled dagger, his prize. I was not going to allow him to take it. I flew out of the shadows. He was so scared that he fled. But he tripped and fell down the stairs, dead before he reached the foyer. I didn’t mean for him to die, but I didn’t want him to steal from me.”
“Why are you doing this?” Candice tried to move, filled with horror as Glenda’s skull was beginning to show under disappearing flesh.
“I am not an unkind person. You did nothing to me, and the locket is of value to you. I could sense that. I accepted my fate. The netherworld awaits me. But…” She paused. “I felt a need to return what was of value to you. I had my belongings taken from me. It was the least I could do.”
Glenda was now only a skeleton. “I created this illusion so that you would feel at ease. I cannot maintain it much longer. Take your locket and go. Now..”
As the control Glenda had over her released, Candice nearly fell to her knees. Struggling, she made her way to the dresser and grabbed the locket. It was icy cold. Turning, she was looking into Glenda’s rotting eyes. Those eyes looked toward the floor where the man’s skeleton, the dagger visible, was now lying. She screamed and ran from the room as the beautiful house began to turn into the ruin she had visited fifteen years before.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she tripped over ripped carpeting. Grabbing the banister, she descended as quickly as she dared, only to stumble over an object at the foot of the stairs. She tumbled onto the Oriental rug, dust flying from the impact. She turned over and screamed again. It was a skeleton, and it was wearing the shirt Jimmy was wearing that night. As she scrambled up, Glenda’s voice echoed from the second floor …flee now.
Candice ran through the overgrown yard and across the crumbling stones of the path to her car. Shaking, she tried the car door. Locked. Key? What did she do with the key? Pocket, in her pocket. She managed to get the door unlocked and sighed with relief as the car started. She drove away.
~~~~
Two days later, she remained in her darkened apartment in the city, drapes drawn to keep out the sunlight. The heat turned up because she could not seem to get warm. Why had she gone? She remained shaken by what she had witnessed. She thought about contacting Randy, but he was now an accountant in their hometown and married. She decided telling him would not change anything.
She didn’t believe in ghosts. It was a hallucination. The only explanation that made sense. Her eyes drifted toward the coat closet. No, no hallucination. When she arrived home, she had placed the locket in a box and tucked it away on the closet shelf. It had happened.
Deciding she needed a distraction, she turned on the TV. The local noon news was on, but she barely listened until a word caught her attention. Addison. She raised the TV volume to hear a reporter standing on the path in front of the Addison house.
“That’s right, David. This is a bizarre story. This house has stood empty for over sixty years. Sheriff Pratt said that no one, not even kids came out here. However, this is where it gets bizarre. Two nights ago, a man who had taken a wrong turn drove down this little-used road and spotted a light coming from an upstairs window and a car here. He mentioned it to the owner of the town’s only restaurant, who told the sheriff. Sheriff Pratt held a press conference a few minutes ago. Let’s listen.” The TV switched to an image of the sheriff.
“The man told us it was too dark to tell what kind of car, but I sent a deputy out to check on it the next morning. He found the remains of three people, Marcus and Glenda Addison and a twelve-year-old boy, Jimmy Liston. Rumors were that the Addisons abandoned the house after his family suffered a huge financial loss about sixty years ago. Jimmy Liston’s parents reported him as a chronic runaway about fifteen years ago but never found. We believe he may have been seeking shelter and, at some point, fell down the stairs and broke his neck.”
Shivers raced from her core to her extremities. It was real. She had been there, and Glenda was a ghost.
She rose from the couch and retrieved the box. She needed to make certain the locket was real. Opening the lid, the soft rose gold of the antique locket glinted in the glow from the TV. She touched the oval locket with a fingertip and drew her hand back rapidly.
The locket was icy cold.
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