Tag Archive: Halloween


A moment alone

It was the kind of day where the sun would only shine as it set, casting a pall over the riot of color in the trees. Even the chill which had crept in over night, bringing an anxious demeanor to the squirrels zigzagging over the lawn, could not breathe life into the day. It was as if the day had died. The fields filled with broken corn stalks and dried soy beans only added to the somber tone. Summer was long gone and even the bright patches of Fall could not hide that fact anymore.

She sat quietly with the gray light of the dead day and let her mind turn to horror movies, it was the season was it not. Would she feel more alive if a child walked out of the corn with bright blue eyes or a red ballon drifted by? She doubted it, but a part of her still waited for the goosebump shivers and startled scream as if it were a lifeline.

She was sure people thought her odd, not many walked in graveyards just because or stared at shadows till they took shape, but that wasn’t hers to deal with. That was the concern of others. She just wanted to enjoy the numbing void for awhile before they ruined it all.

Her fingers itched, all sticky and tacky, but it was the sirens that bothered her the most.

She had just wanted a moment alone.

It was already over

Fall rolled in like a thunder storm, dark and ominous. In New England the changing season was more than a damp heaviness in the air, it was an assault to the senses, and it sent the many inhabitants of Concord into frenzy. It seemed to Abigail that the riot of color came with a warning call only the busybody could hear. In her limited experience, it seemed, people’s minds got smaller when the nights grew longer. As if the dark could shrink a person’s world view.

She had seen the hold fear could have during the last smallpox outbreak, which had taken her mother and Daniel two winters back. It still woke Abigail in the night, the way hatred had filled eyes and soured words when she had begged for help that never came. Her Father had preached forgiveness and fortitude of spirit, and she had done as she was bade, but now he too was gone. His last breaths rolling out as the fall thunder rolled in.

It was hard for her to define the venom in every word cast in her direction, but after he was buried Abigail could sense it. While the ire of the town chafed at Abigail it did not stop her. She tended the geese and family plot earning coin with her own hands.

Abigail might have felt put out if not for the pleasure of providing for herself. All the while thinking that the dreadful future Reverend Burroughs had spelled out for her after the funeral was disappearing. With each successful endeavor Abigail became more certain that independence suited her and that she did not need to take a husband. She was not just surviving hand to mouth she was thriving, with no time for mournful thoughts.

Abigail had dismissed the town’s importance.

And the town was infuriated.

It happened in an instant. One second, she was harvesting the last of her wheat by the light of a full moon. The next, she was in the commons surrounded by the light glinting off their unyielding stares. It was in their bright eyes that Abigail finally discovered the emotion’s name. Paranoia. But it was too late.

If she was honest she would have admitted it was over long before the end. When they force-fed her the tooth they plucked from her jaw, it was already over. When her joints snapped as she tried so hard to avoid the touch of their hot irons, she was beyond salvation. It wasn’t until they tied her to the sugar maple, and piled the branches filled with flame red leaves around her that finally, wordlessly, she called to me.

But I offered something other than salvation.

Halloween was over and they were looking Thanksgiving square in the eye.  It was crunch time, the danger zone, 11th hour.  He took a deep breath as his hand ran through his hair knocking his hat askew.

“Logistics!”

His barked command was met with a scuttling of feet and a shuffling of paper before, “Printed, ah, in duplicate, and out for round one.”

He looked up with furrowed brow “You’re sure?”

“Positive sir, absolutely.”

“Good.  Transportation!”

“Aah!  Hemhem.  Uh, good sir.  All in fine running condition.”

This time the look in his eyes was almost quizzical.  “Everything’s fine?”

The question within the question hung in the air as Transportation read back over the slightly crumpled report in her hand.  “No it is sir.  Lights are a go, speed checked out, it’s … It’s all good?”

He sat back in his chair swiveling back and forth thinking.  “Utilities?” the question was quiet this time almost unsure.

“Well, we’re well within the range.  I mean not full capacity but … You know solid.  I mean If tonight was a go we’d make it.”

His hand shook slightly as he pulled the crooked hat from his head.  “Production what do you have for me?”

“Sir I’m proud to say that we are ahead of schedule.  We haven’t missed a quota since July one.”

“So what your telling me is that Christmas is only 45 days away and you cannot find a single problem.  No issues.  None whatsoever?  Not with the naughty/nice list, the sled, the reindeer, Christmas’s spirit, or the gifts!”

“Number One, sir, isn’t that a good thing?” The elf from production asked.

“Well Production let’s see.  Records!  What happened the last time nothing threatened Christmas?”

“Sir?” the tiny elf holding a giant leather bound book squeaked.

“You heard me Records.”

“It’s just …” he poured over pages of script, “It’s just …”

“It’s never happened Production.  You get it yet?  No problems, no Christmas miracle, no …”

“Jing..gle…bells!”

“Yah not on my watch Production.  Now talk to me people how are we going to ruin this Christmas?  We have millions of children depending on us.”

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All rights to owner

Becoming Jack Skelington

So this post will be way off my norm but bear with me
******************************************************

There’s this thing called a costume,
The whole thing starts with a mask.

A mask? Is it from a store? Did it cost 50 bucks?
Is it plastic and sucks?
How delightful, 50 bucks and still sucks!

If you please!
Just a mask made out of plaster,
And the whole thing begins with a pumpkin.

A pumpkin? But why?
How ugly!
Why make it? Why make it?

That’s the point, don’t you know, I had to try.

If it’s homemade will it bend?
Will it break?
What if it looks like a head that was found in a lake?

Listen now, and don’t be mean
That’s not the point of Halloween.

Now, pay attention.
We pick up an over-sized bag
and fill it like this with creepy goodies.

Let me see, let me look.
Are they rotted or covered with gook?

Uh, let me explain.
There’s no gook, but there’s candy!
Or sometimes it’s filled with small toys.

Small toys? Do they bite? Do they snap?
Or explode in the sack?
Perhaps they just spring out and scare girls and boys.

What a splendid idea
This Halloween sounds fun
I fully endorse it
Let’s try it at once!

Everyone, please! Now, not so fast.
There’s something here that you don’t quite grasp.
(Well, I may as well give them what they want…)
And the best, I must confess
I have saved for the last.
For the ruler of this Halloween land
Is a fearsome king with a deep might voice
Least that’s what I’ve come to understand.
And I’ve also hear it told that he’s something to behold
Like a scarecrow, tall and thin.
And on a dark, cold night, under the full moonlight
He creeps like a wisp of fog in the sky.
And they call him Pumpkin Jack!
(evil laugh)

*******************************************************
Well if you haven’t guessed, from my poorly imitated Nightmare Before Christmas song lyrics, I’m going as Jack Skellington for Halloween this year 😀 Yay!  And this is how I made my mask, which I am way to proud of.

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Happy Halloween!

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Hope you all had a great Halloween I had a blast 😀

666

Shadowy gusts rattle lonely brittle leaves.

Creeping darkness presses in upon me.

Rigid Jack-o-lantern stares fill my sight.

Each echoed footstep intensifies my fear.

As his breath moistened my neck.

My knees buckle and I finally…

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All rights to owner

*******
I recently saw a six word story challenge on Leigh’s Wordsmithery. It involved telling a Halloween story scary, funny, or other in only six words. Building upon this already difficult challenge of sixes I set out to tell a Halloween story in 6-6-6 format.
6 sentences
6 words per sentence
6 sentences must spell out the final 6 letter word of the tale, using the first letter of each sentence.

It took me just over 24 hours but here you go…I hope you enjoy it 🙂

Becoming Jack Skelington

So this post will be way off my norm but bear with me
******************************************************

There’s this thing called a costume,
The whole thing starts with a mask.

A mask? Is it from a store? Did it cost 50 bucks?
Is it plastic and sucks?

How delightful, 50 bucks and still sucks!

If you please!
Just a mask made out of plaster,
And the whole thing begins with a pumpkin.

A pumpkin? But why?
How ugly!
Why make it? Why make it?

That’s the point, don’t you know, I had to try.

If it’s homemade will it bend?
Will it break?
What if it looks like a head that was found in a lake?

Listen now, and don’t be mean
That’s not the point of Halloween.

Now, pay attention.
We pick up an over-sized bag
and fill it like this with creepy goodies.

Let me see, let me look.
Are they rotted or covered with gook?

Uh, let me explain.
There’s no gook, but there’s candy!
Or sometimes it’s filled with small toys.

Small toys? Do they bite? Do they snap?
Or explode in the sack?
Perhaps they just spring out and scare girls and boys.

What a splendid idea
This Halloween sounds fun
I fully endorse it
Let’s try it at once!

Everyone, please! Now, not so fast.
There’s something here that you don’t quite grasp.
(Well, I may as well give them what they want…)
And the best, I must confess
I have saved for the last.
For the ruler of this Halloween land
Is a fearsome king with a deep might voice
Least that’s what I’ve come to understand.
And I’ve also hear it told that he’s something to behold
Like a scarecrow, tall and thin.
And on a dark, cold night, under the full moonlight
He creeps like a wisp of fog in the sky.
And they call him Pumpkin Jack!
(evil laugh)

*******************************************************
Well if you haven’t guessed, from my poorly imitated Nightmare Before Christmas song lyrics, I’m going as Jack Skellington for Halloween this year 😀 Yay!  And this is how I made my mask, which I am way to proud of.

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Happy Halloween!

The only night

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Diana Spelton lives at 1331 Blackburnian Way.  She is a newspaper enthusiast who receives the Journal and the Times in addition to her local edition.  She reads the local rag first over her morning coffee which she most commonly enjoys in her east facing rocking chair.  Then after a brief, 10 to 15 minute, shower Diana savors the Times along with her obligatory toast and jam.  The Journal she saves till last.  Tucked neatly between her elbow and slender waist it makes the 192 steps to her bus stop only to be read and recycled before she switches on the desktop in her cubical.  She eats her lunch beneath a small tree which flowers in the spring and turns orange in the fall.  For dinner Diana keeps the TV company till her seemingly mandatory 10:30pm bedtime.  Then 1331 Blackburnian Way goes dark till Diana opens the green front door to slide her white terry clothed arm out for her papers.  The only variation to this routine is Halloween night.

My name is Dwight Menders.  Diana moved into the neighborhood three years ago, and since that moment I have been drawn to her.  Too shy at first to walk up and start a conversation I positioned myself so we could ‘bump’ into each other multiple times per day.  I hoped that we could start a conversation organically rather than the scripted typical interactions I had with people.  But that never happened, she never even noticed me.  No polite smile, how’s the weather, nothing.  I didn’t exist.  She couldn’t see me, but I saw her.

It’s me who places her papers neatly upon her door step.  Me who jogs ahead pressing the cross walk signals so she never has to wait.  Me who brushes her tiny bench beneath the tree free of trash, debris, and loiterers.  Me who shares her laughter at the nightly scripted comedies.  Me who keeps vigilant watch over her as she sleeps.  And it is me who beneath the Halloween mask buys her drink after drink as she sits in her sexy costume on the bar stool. 

The only night she allows herself to drink too much.  The only night she sees me.  The only night I get to do more than just watch Diana through the invisible glass that separates my world from hers.  The only night she never remembers.

*******Happy Halloween!*******

This is my attempt at a scary story, hope it had at least a little bit of a creep factor 😉  I wanted to write something that if told in the dark around a campfire might make you look over your shoulder, and nothing gives me the heebie-jeebies like a watcher you never know is there ! 

So I ask you what’s your favorite camp fire story or creeps you the heck out?

The task

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An illustration of an undertaker from Mark Twain's Roughing It

“There is only the task, one single directive, sepelio.  And so I do that which I was born to do, I create order. Nameless and unloved, I am the storm crow. The necessity you refuse to acknowledge. Thankless I continue on, taking only that which is mine and only at the appointed time. Not that that ever stops any of you from raging when you find yourself in my presence. Which let me assure you leaves me unaffected, no human furry could ever dissuade me.”

“Now, Mr…,” the good Dr. Lavine says as he stops his rapt staring and consults his notes, “Diggery. When did you first come to believe that you are ‘the’ Grim Reaper?” His sarcastic air quotes are an audible thing.

“I never said I was a Reaper.”

The mater of fact tone in the man’s voice causes the doctor to pause slightly before explaining himself. “Mr. Diggery, sir, have you not just used the phrase to take only what is yours and described your life goal as sepelio or to bury if my Latin is still up to snuff? What else am I to think?”

“Not that, never that! I am something else all together. I’m a Diggery.”

“Yes, Mr. A. Diggery, I have that here in my notes, but let’s focus shall we,” Lavine says as he rubs his eyes beneath his spectacles. “If we have not been discussing your, how shall I put this…your mistaken identity what on earth have we been talking about?”

Opposing looks of anger and disappointment flit through the man’s eyes before he lets his shoulder’s sag and gently rests his head in his large calloused hands. “I knew this was a long shot, but when I saw your name on the list I had to try.”

Dr. Lavine cocks his head to the side as if trying to determine if he heard the man correctly, “List?”

“I mean if I’m ever going to be able to enjoy my work again I have to get past this right? I have to let go of this anger.”

“Excuse me, but what list?”

“So no one knows who I am. Or what I do. Or that without me it would all fall apart. So what,” the man exclaims as his head snaps forward, “I know!” “That’s it isn’t it Doc? I know and that has to be enough.”

“Now, Mr. Diggery I really must insist that you explain yourself immediately,” Lavine says nearly jumping from his chair he put so much force into his words.

The man glances at the door for a second then nods his head. “Yeah, I guess I better since we’re almost out of time. I’ll keep it real simple Doc. Reapers and Diggerys work in this unbalanced partnership. We do all the leg work, logistics really, prepare, sort, and deliver, but they collect. So they get the glory. That’s where I was getting tripped up. All the work, time, and energy I put into this, every time, and you don’t even know my name or why I’m here. Well, I’m good at what I do, I know it, and he couldn’t do his job without me,” he said proudly motioning over the good doctor’s left shoulder.

The shadowy figure was cloaked, its face hidden in the dark recesses of an oversized hood, and stood with hunched shoulders as if the room were to small. Slowly it raised an arm and inclined its head suggesting that Dr. Lavine should join him, but all he did was pale.

“What list Mr. Diggery, what list am I on,” Lavine asked panic rising in his voice.

“The only one that matters Doc, I’ll be in touch. Thanks for listening.”

The Howling

Andi’s heart was beating out of her chest, her bare feet ragged and torn, and she was nearly choking on the hot liquid copper tang of blood.  She had been racing through the woods since the moon rose luminous and full in the clear night sky, and the night was almost spent. 

In the early pre dawn silence the only sound was her heavy uneven breathing.  Hearing the unsteady sound Andi tried to stifle the ruckus hoping to not draw unwelcome notice to herself.  Not when she was this close.  The road couldn’t be more than a hundred feet away she thought quickly scanning her surroundings for headlights or people.

The hair raising sound of a lone howl rent the night.  Her hand shot to her mouth and her body froze in place, back to the road, something dark and akin to fear coursing through her.  As the adrenaline surged and Andi’s body screamed for her to flee or fight she used the back of her hand to wipe away the worst of the gore, threw back her head, and returned the call. 

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As seen on Artflakes

*****

So, I am a major Florence + The Machine fan and after hearing their song Howl this October I couldn’t help myself.  I hope you enjoyed my werewolf  interpretation, they may not be as hot as vampires right now but they deserve some Halloween play time too!   Δ Δ
                    ^^^^^
                                                                                                                                      

The Battle for October

          Deep in the forest past the point that the dark swallows the light was a clearing that was surrounded by large old growth trees, giant sentinels in this a very sacred place.  It had been quite a long time since the clearing had last seen any visitors but still the round table stood as it always had, expansive and clean of ornament.  It was ringed by stout chairs two placed together at regular intervals with each setting backed by one of the sentinel trees bearing the crest of chairs inhabitants.  Many of the seats were already filled while others sat empty, ignored, the same went for the coat of arms behind the seats few gleamed new and fresh while others were faded or battle scared.  Pulling the attention of most of the table’s guests were the pair seated before a great orange and black crest, it was crowned with a black bat and the body was that of a large sinister pumpkin with crossed bones at the foot separating the words trick and treat, the woman was Hecate Queen of the Witches and with her sat Jack the Pumpkin King.  The anger emanating from them was palpable and seemed to cause black night to seep out of the woman in thin tendrils. 
          To their direct left was seated an elderly Puritan and his wife who cautiously eyed everyone more often then not looking at their neatly fold hands.  Next to them sat two empty seats before a crest of crimson with a pine tree dead center with the phrase “You Better Watch Out” written in gold around the edges.  With the sudden sound of sleigh bells everyone seemed to quiet, then from beyond the ring of trees emerged the Kringles.  Everything about him was broad and heavy both his beard and hair fell past his shoulders, which brought to mind those of blacksmith’s not a delivery boy’s, the way he walked and sat suggested that he did not suffer fools or disagreements well.  Sitting together they looked every inch the warlord and shield maiden.
          Though the table was round the fact that to his left the chairs of Imbolc sat empty and to his right sat only the diminished presence of faded Thanksgiving it gave the appearance that he and his wife were at the head of the table, a position which gave him a dangerous advantage.  The silence felt heavy in the early dawn air.

“Why…why have we be called here,” the one of the leprechauns asked in a shaky voice.

“The Kringles have once again over stepped their boundaries,” was the Pumpkin Kings response.  No emotion could be seen on his cared face but the fire inside danced high and with a malevolent glow.  “What have you to say for your self?”

          The man in red may have smiled but none could see it as most all expressions were masked by his beard.  In answer his wife laid a battle weary musket on the table.  An audible gasp escaped the Puritan’s wife as they both pulled back from the table and studied the ground. 

“We well not be forced,” Hecate said through clinched teeth pulsing night, “we are still desired and relevant.”  Without meaning to she glanced at the empty seats directly opposite her where the dancing bone fire on a field of midnight blue stood neglected. 

          She was pulled from her revere by the sound of Kringle’s voice, “No my lady you are mistaken, we are desired,” he said gesturing to his wife, “and we shall have what we want.”

“Not without consequence,” Jack said his eyes never leaving the faded Puritans.

          As his massive fist slammed to the table the Kringle sprung from his chair “To the field then,” he said with a sneer.

          As the flags and pinions snapped in the late afternoon air the clearing’s guests stood among the trees waiting and watching as ghouls, goblins, and other assorted monsters filed in to the right and elves, Yeti, and polar bears to the left.  The break in tension as the two side charged together was almost a physical sensation.

“…Jessica…Jessica Margaret, have you heard a word I’ve said?”

          The girl stood blinking and shaking her head facing the store isles which sadly held only close out priced plastic pumpkins and boasted more Christmas filled ornamentation than anyone could stand. 

“What in the world are you thinking about, Jess?”

“Mom was there ever a time when Christmas was only in December,” Jessica asked, but as she turned she could have sworn she saw a gleam in the toy Santa’s eye.

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