View Full Version : Teenlit Halloween Contest Entries
I will post all entries for the Teenlit Halloween Contest here. Please do not comment on this thread (I have no way to lock it or sticky it, but I will ask Katiemac to do so when she has time). Comments can be made in the original thread here: http://www.absolutewrite.com/forums/showthread.php?t=154840
In order to vote, please PM me with your top three choices before 11:59 p.m. EST on Friday, October 30. Your first choice will be awarded 3 points, your second choice, 2 points, and your third choice, 1 point. On Halloween, I will total the points and give you the top three entries.
1st place will receive a $25 gift certificate for Amazon (donated by alleycat).
2nd place will receive a $10 gift certificate for Amazon.
3rd place will receive a $5 gift certificate for Amazon.
Have fun!
Entrants, if you see a major formatting mistake in your entry that I missed, please let me know and I will fix it.
ETA: Entries are up! You may begin voting.
And, yes, you can vote for your own.
The sane part of my brain told me not to hunt tonight, but my thirst was too strong and my will to weak.
I fought through the crowds of men dressed in lone ranger masks and women dressed in lewd polyester costumes. It always amused me that for some reason it was acceptable tonight. Any other time of year, you’d have to visit grubby backstreets and darkened basements to get a show equivalent to the one now parading down Sixth Avenue.
Eventually, I made it to my favorite hunting ground, Boarders bookshop. Fangirls wandered the young adult section, fawning over sparkly vampires and muscled werewolves. Easy prey for an attractive smooth talking guy dressed in a leather coat.
I spotted my target, stood by the Twilight stand, running her fingers over a photo of Robert Pattinson. Already tall, she accentuated this by wearing four-inch heels. She looked uncomfortable, tugging at her short skirt and chewing on her lip. Teens dressing as adults, you had to be confident to pull it off. I could, but despite still being ID’d to buy cigarettes, I hadn’t been a teen in a long time.
I picked up the movie cover book. “Excuse me. Would you recommend this?”
The girl looked up. “Yes – it’s an amazing book.”
Great. I just love a good vampire romance story.” I sidled closer to her. “You know, you look just like the girl on the cover?”
I heard the blood rush to her cheeks.
“Really? Wow - thanks.”
“I’m Brandon.” I stuck out my gloved hand.
“Millie.”
“Do you wanna grab a coffee upstairs? You can tell me more about the book.”
“Well - I was waiting….” She looked at her watch and then at the door.
Result. She’d been stood up.
“Come on. I won’t bite.”
Stage one complete.
We talked about books and about life. I draped my comments in compliments and used all my honed flirting techniques. Millie giggled a lot and at one point even reached out to touch my leg. Eventually, the lights dimmed. It was getting late. Stage two complete.
“I think we better go. Let me walk you to the subway. There’s all sorts of weirdo’s out tonight.”
I held out my hand and she grasped it, keenly following me to a patch of darkness near the exit.
“I had a great time tonight, Millie.” I rang my hand down her cheek.
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine. I responded, pushing her further into the dark. Time to take what I came here for.
I pulled away and showed my fangs. Millie’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to scream. My stomach growled and I pounced, knocking her to the floor. I tore off her black sequined pumps. Size nine. Perfect fit. I held them to my face and inhaled, savoring the overpowering aroma.
Stage three complete.
I ran into the crowds, occasionally taking a sniff of my prize. My hunger sated. For now.
Jack looked into the pillowcase. A sugar high yelled back. The lady in the doorway smiled. You’re too old. Jack looked at his friends. No they weren’t.
‘Thanks.’
He stumbled to the street. He opened the sack again. Everything was twitching. The Twizzlers had a hole in it. Something was growling.
The pillowcase started swinging. It whapped Jack in the leg. He already lagged behind. No one could see his candy spazzing.
The pillowcase wigged out more. The snarling got louder. Jack cringed thinking of hugging it to his body. He couldn’t let his friends see.
Little candy bars jerked and twitched against his stomach. Each poke made his guts flop. Jack shivered. The wet on his neck made the cold worse.
Jack looked behind him. Then in front. The streets were darker. Porch lights were shut off. There were fewer houses to turn to. Jack’s friends still laughed and shoved. Jack shivered.
Pain dug across Jack’s stomach. He sucked in cold air getting colder. It hurt his teeth. He looked down and moved the pillowcase. There was a spot of blood on the sack. The one on his t-shirt oozed bigger.
Home was a green sign on the corner. It flashed at Jack. He beelined down the street. The pillowcase still squirmed. His friends didn’t notice.
Every house was dark. It wrapped around him as he zipped by. It slowed him down. His porch light was on. Ugly orange mums were out. His gut churned.
The curb grabbed his toe. The shadows pulled the sack out of his arms. The dewy grass yanked his knees down. The wet soaked through his jeans. The cold got colder.
A gust blew. Snickers skin slapped his face. The pillowcase was in front of Jack. The shadows gnawed half of it. It bled Milky Ways on the grass. It was still.
Jack’s heart knocked at his ribcage. It pulled at his throat. It beat in his ears.
The blood spot on the sack glared back. Jack touched his finger to his stomach. He cringed. He looked down. He pulled the t-shirt up. The gouge stared back. It was polluted with t-shirt fuzz.
The pillowcase was still.
Jack’s street was stagnant. The shadows stole the noise.
Something poked his calf. Jack swat. He looked at his leg. It was nothing.
Something poked his back. Jack hit. The sting echoed. His hand was heavy. He looked. It was nothing.
Nothing pricked up his arm. He couldn’t look. The back of his neck tore. Pain played dancing stars in his eyes. Skin popped. Little daggers ripped. Nothing was out of breath. Nothing snarled in Jack’s ear.
Nothing stopped Jack’s scream. Jack’s face hit the ground. Babe Ruth crinkled. She caught his fall. Ugly orange mums were out. Jack’s porch light was on.
Jack’s porch light went off.
We get older. We grow up. We lose things.
Halloween’s a state of mind, and I was losing mine. At fifteen, with facial hair growing in, I was too old for Trick-or-Treating. This year I’d sit on the front porch and hand out candy instead.
A solitary gust whispered up the street, rattling dead leaves in its path, bringing with it that somber, lonely feeling. Even the shouts of the neighborhood Trick-or-Treaters sounded sad and faded as if they were coming from somewhere long ago, reminding me fall had arrived and dark days waited ahead.
I breathed in the sweet spicy mix of the candy bowl—mint, cinnamon, peanut butter, chocolate—the essence of Halloween. I scooped a handful, letting the assortment sift through my fingers, fun-sized, colorful, just like childhood with Santa and the Easter Bunny. If only I could take one piece of that time and keep it. I took a Milky Way instead and ate it. When I swallowed, something hard slid down my throat.
My tongue went to the place where my last stubborn baby tooth had rooted itself. I found only a stringy socket and the iron tang of blood. Crap! I’d swallowed my tooth.
When the evening ended, I crawled into bed wearing only my boxers and a feeling of disappointment. I dreamed of my first lost tooth, of the ethereal lady who’d leaned over me, white and glowing, smelling of spring-flower laundry detergent. She took the incisor from beneath my pillow, ran a silvery string through it, and creating a necklace, looped it around her flawless throat. Whenever I lost a tooth, she returned, adding it like a bead and leaving a one-dollar coin in its place until all but one of my baby teeth were gone.
I woke to a stench of rot and decay and snapped my eyes open. The thing hovering over me had grown older, now little more than bone and gray skin. Wispy hair clung like webs to her balding head. A coin sack at her waist drew down her baggy dress, revealing more of her shriveled breasts than I wanted to see. Around her creased neck lay the silvery string of my baby teeth.
She pulled her hand from beneath my pillow. “Where is it?” she hissed, the smell of her breath putrid. Tracing a claw down my bare chest, she stopped at my quivering stomach. “I will have it,” she whispered. She raised her scythe talon, about to slice through me and spill out my pinkish-purple intestines. I grasped her cold brittle throat, patches of gray skin crumbling beneath my fingers. She was little more than a husk; I easily dragged her across the room. Having already killed one childhood tradition this evening, what was one more? I opened the window. But before pushing her to the ground two stories below where I knew she would shatter like ice, I ripped my baby teeth necklace from her throat. “This is one piece of me I’m keeping.”
Amber used to be my best friend ‘til she stole Andrew away from me. So on Halloween, I decided to mess with both of them. I overheard they planned to screw around at midnight at a certain cemetery, so I got there ahead of time and hid behind a tall headstone. Sure enough, they showed up and started going at it. All I could do was sit there and listen. After their moaning and groaning was over, they started talking.
“Andrew! Feels like you gave me a friggin’ hickey.”
“I thought you liked hickeys.”
“My mom’s gonna freak. I’m already grounded, ya know.”
“Yeah, you’re grounded all right. I grounded ya pretty good.”
“Shut up, jerk. I’m serious. How am I gonna explain this?”
“Just say a vampire came into your room tonight.”
“Oh, you’re so funny. I ought to throw dirt in your face.”
“Try it and see what you get.”
And they just kept on fighting like that ‘til I decided to scare the pants off them. Well, actually they already had the pants off of them, but you know what I mean. I decided to make some owl hooting noises.
“Whoa, quiet Andrew! Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That noise.”
“What noise?”
“Are you totally deaf?” A pause. “That noise.”
“It’s just a friggin’ owl. You’re scared of that?”
Before she could answer I decided to do some ghost noises. You know, weird laughs and such.
“Holy shit! Did you hear that? I’m getting out of here, Andrew.”
“Now that is creepy, man. But kinda cool, too.”
“Are you totally insane? We’re in a cemetery. And we were screwing around. Maybe we woke up somebody’s dead relative.”
“Yeah, maybe. If I wasn’t so wasted I might actually be worried.”
I decided to get a little more personal now.
“Ammmmmmmmmmber…..kill Ammmber.”
She screamed. “Andrew! Let’s go. Now!”
Andrew finally started freaking here. “Shit! What IS that?”
“It’s a ghost, idiot! Let’s go!”
“Don’t call me an idiot.”
“You are an idiot. I don’t know why I ever listened to you.” She started pulling on her clothes.
“Yeah, well you’re not even that hot anyway. Your mom’s pretty hot though.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Your mom’s hot. Hotter than you are.”
“You are a big fat jerk.”
“Skank!”
“Creep!”
“Wuss!”
“Ass!”
“You’re gonna be sorry.”
“YOU’RE gonna be sorry.”
They were chasing each other around, getting closer to where I sat, so I crawled off as fast as I could and hid behind some bushes. Since they were pulling each other’s hair at this point, they really didn’t notice.
“Stop pulling my hair.”
“Stop pulling MY hair.”
“You’d look better bald.”
“So would you.”
Suddenly they were right at the edge of a big hole recently dug.
“Get away from me!” Amber pushed him away and the naked Andrew fell right over into that hole.
Amber burst into laughter.
“Get me outta here!” Andrew shouted.
She kept on laughing as she walked away. “See ya later, Andrew.”
I’m too old to go trick-or-treating, but it’s the only night I can go out.
I follow along behind a group of sugar-hyped small ones. I’m a head taller than them, but nobody notices me. They move like puppies, pushing against each other, peeking into each others’ loot bags, yapping. The loudest one in the long sleeve red and blue shirt pushes up his face mask and pops a sucker in his mouth.
“Mom said to wait,” a voice muffled behind a plastic mask protests.
“What’re you afraid of?” the boy exhales a sweet, cherry-flavored breath. “Poisoned Skittles and razor-bladed apples?” he leans in close. “What about the souls of the long dead? Free for the one night of the year to roam the dark streets, and reach their misty hands into your chest and around your heart. And squeeze.”
I stare at the spider emblem on the boy’s shirt. Imagine the heart beating behind it. I’ve seen bigger spiders than that one. In nightmares, or memories. Deep underground.
“It’s cold,” one of them complains. I don’t feel anything.
“Yeah, my candy bag’s not getting any heavier just by standing here,” the pirate-looking child calls out before racing to the next house. I stare after them as they scramble to the doorstep, watch the flame dance like an orange tongue out a pumpkin’s crudely carved mouth. What am I doing out here?
A group of kids my age pass by, laughing like they have something to hide. I hope they don’t see me. But I guess I don’t really have to worry about that. They won’t. It’s just an old emotion. The fear of that laughter.
“It’s not scary,” a girl says, disinterested as a tombstone.
“You are scared,” the tall boy whispers, creeping his arm around her waist.
“Get off,” she laughs, pushing him away.
“He just might,” the boy’s friend jokes, and the girls groan like the oldest trees who have heard it all before.
I’m disappointed to see them enter the graveyard. It doesn’t seem fair to waste this night. Even though I don’t want to, I follow along.
They light candles in the deepest shadows, set up an Ouija board, and pass a drink around.
“Are we really going to do this?” one of the girls says, sipping fitfully from the bottle.
They all gently place their fingertips on the planchette. I move closer to the board, reach between the two girls and place my hand on the heart-shaped piece of wood, too.
“This is creeping me out. Look, I’ve got the chills.”
I stare at her bare arm, at her skin raised in gooseflesh, holding tight to the fine hairs, not wanting to let go. Bodies are so strange.
“Quiet,” the guy orders. “It’s time.”
The girls on either side of me squeal. They sound like insects. Excited crickets.
“Is there a ghost here tonight?”
The planchette dances toward the corner.
YES
I’ll admit it. It was me.
I moved it.
Though it was close to midnight, I could clearly see her standing under the glow of the full moon. Her white gown was being whipped by the October wind, but she held still. The contrast of her dress against the deep sky had an effect that was salivating. My body shook with the anticipation of reaching my prey.
I sucked in my breath as I inched closer to her, while staying hidden by the trees. This was no easy feat with the moon as bright as it was, but luck seemed to be on my side.
I continued my stealth crawl, making slow, but steady progress toward the edge of the forest. I was almost to my destination when I heard something large move beside me. Shit, spoke to soon.
A doe and her fawn walked out of the brush, snapping twigs with every step they took. The mother lifted her head as she caught my scent and stared directly into my eyes. I could read the fear in them as she registered what I was.
I know, I thought, I’m scared of me, too. They both leapt into the meadow and away from me as quickly as their legs would allow.
I sat frozen for what seemed like an eternity. Thankfully, the girl didn’t flinch at the deer’s sudden appearance. Her face remained resolute as she continued her gaze into the heavens.
Once I was sure she wouldn’t turn in my direction, I moved closer. I got near enough to smell her perfume mixed in with the scents of fall. That smell sent a shock of recognition through me that hit with an unbelievable force.
My Aubrey.
No, she wasn’t mine. Not anymore, anyway.
I tilted my head to the side as I examined her, trying to read the expression on her face. The moonlight caught a tear that trickled down her cheek.
That single tear nearly ripped my soul in two.
I almost called her name, but I was quickly reminded why I made the decision to join the darkness. I was dangerous and evil – the complete opposite of Aubrey. I shuttered as I looked down at my paws, taking in the gray fur and the claws that could rip a throat out in mere seconds.
It was ironic that sitting in the moonlight with her was one of my favorite pastimes. Then, I only saw beauty in the night. Now, I despised it and myself.
Aubrey lowered her head and sunk to the ground. Despite the sound of the wind, I could heard her whisper my name, “Beau…”
As my name disappeared into the night, I looked up at the moon that cursed me.
I felt it brewing in the depths of my chest, but could do nothing to stop it. I knew she would realize I was close, but I didn’t care. I howled a gut-wrenching goodbye.
“Put out the light, and then put out the light…”
“I thought a hearse would be appropriate.” Kayla slaps the handmade invitation down on my desk and peers into her compact, adding another layer of black eyeliner. “You’d better come.”
“You’d better pass.” I pick at my nail polish. Kayla’s birthday is on Halloween, and tonight will be the first year that one of us can drive. If she doesn’t screw it up.
“You’d better bring the Ouija board.”
I look at the little hearse. Perfect. “Séance in the grocery getter?” I say. Kayla’s driving her mom’s old station wagon.
She laughs. “Drew is going to piss her pants.” It’s true, but Drew’s like that. She’ll dress up in a princess costume so she doesn’t scare the crap out of herself.
“Be ready at eight,” Kayla says. “Plath’s Lookout.”
Last winter a car full of kids skidded off the edge of a hairpin curve driving down from the Lookout. Six dead. We’re hoping they’ll talk.
“You’d better be driving,” I say.
###
Drew squeezes closer to me, and the sharp point of her glittery pink wing stabs me in the neck. “God, Drew. I’ll be bleeding for real. Relax. It’s a toy. Look.” I hold up the little piece of triangular plastic.
“Cassandra, stop!” Drew snatches the planchette out of my hand and slaps it back on the ouija board. “We didn’t say goodbye. The spirit could escape!”
Kayla and I exchange a glance, but we touch our fingers back to the planchette and slide it across the word “Goodbye”. Halfway through, the little triangle jerks away, and my fingers almost slip off. “Kayla, stop it. You’re freaking Drew out.”
“I’m not doing it.”
I look at her face to be sure, but I can tell by her voice she’s not kidding. The planchette swings in erratic circles around the board, and then it settles on a rapid succession of three letters.
D-I-E! D-I-E! D-I-E!
Drew whimpers. The air in the back of the wagon grows colder; the two candles are flickering. My eyes are drawn to the little paper hearse Kayla taped to the window. “Live it up,” says the invitation.
When I’m scared I get reckless. “You’re not real,” I say. “You can’t kill us. You can’t even blow out our candles.”
D-I-E! The triangle flies across the board.
“Blow out the candles, if you’re so powerful! Put out the light! You can’t even do that!”
“Cassandra!” Drew screams and grabs my arm. “GOODBYE!”
We wrestle the planchette across the word, and it falls silent and dead. We stare at it.
“It’s just a toy,” I say.
“Let’s get out of here,” says Kayla. She climbs up to the driver’s seat and starts the engine, spinning the tires in her haste.
“Be careful,” Drew gasps, reaching for her seatbelt. “The curve--”
We’re going too fast. The corner ahead, the abyss beyond--nothingness lit up by our headlights.
“DIE!” screams Drew.
The headlights go out.
The door was bright red with yellow caution tape across it, and was the most tempting thing Morgan had ever seen in her whole life, even with her scrawny companion struggling to unlock it.
“Can’t you open it any faster?”
“I’m working on it,” Blaze said. He knelt in the dim hallway, still in a stupid vampire cape. Like she’d wanted him to wear a costume. The idiot.
“I wanted to see it at midnight, on Halloween, like in the story.” She stood, allowing him room to work.
“We still have two minutes.” Blaze said, tugging at the lock. It popped open, finally
“Two minutes isn’t enough time.” Morgan watched as Blaze attempted the door handle.
“This was your idea,” he reminded her, waving for her to enter first.
“So? You wanted to come.” She slipped past him, looking around the room. The expansive empty space opening up around her was exactly like the rooms in the floors above and below her, save one rather significant difference.
“It’s empty?” Blaze was more surprised than Morgan.
Morgan stopped in the middle of the room and turned to look at the door. “Come on in.” She held out a hand. A breeze swept past, as if on cue, and her hair swirled about, blowing in front of her eyes.
“Morgan!”
She heard the distinct click of a door shutting, and then the wind blew again, moving her hair out of her face.
Blaze whirled towards the door, and tugged at the door. “Damn it, Morgan.”
“Shut up,” she said. “We’re not supposed to be here.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Blaze demanded, pounding on the door again. “It’s almost midnight!”
Morgan moved towards the windows on the far side of the room, the windows through which she had first seen the occupant of the thirteenth floor. “Do you think it’ll show?”
“I don’t want to see the stupid ghost.”
“Shh,” she said again, turning around to look at him. “I’m more worried about your mom catching us than any ghosts.”
“Are you insane?”
“You broke in here,” she reminded him. “You wanted to see it, too.”
“Like hell I did.”
“Blaze,” Morgan said, “take responsibility for once. You wanted to see, or you wouldn’t have come along. You wouldn’t have opened the door for me if you didn’t want to see.”
“You wanted to come,” Blaze said. “I just came because--”
“You were curious, too,” Morgan cut in, walking to the door. She tugged on the handle and it swung open. “Quit being such a baby.”
“Morgan?” The air in the room was thickening visibly, and Morgan glanced at her watch. Midnight.
One look back as the thick air condensed around Blaze and Morgan stepped outside the door, shutting it softly behind her. Next year, she'd stick with watching through the window.
I didn’t really notice it at first. The drip, drip, drip blended inaudibly with the drizzling rain outside the window. It wasn’t until Moira turned on the flashlight that I noticed the wet puddle that had formed next to my bare foot.
“Turn it off!” I hissed at her, pulling her back by the trailing ribbons on her nightgown. She jerked back toward me but didn’t turn off the flashlight. I grabbed it from her and fumbled around, trying to figure out which direction to move the switch.
Suddenly, Moira’s fingers clenched so tightly around my wrist that my hand started to go numb. She pointed down at the puddle.
I gasped and jumped backward.
“Is it blood?” she whispered in a strangled voice.
I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself. You’re older, you’re the brother, my mother’s words echoed in my head.
I took a step back toward the puddle and stuck my finger into it. It felt sticky, a little gritty, almost as though it was drying into a scab. I lifted my finger to my nose and sniffed it.
“Yeah, I think it is,” I said in as calm a voice as I could muster, a decibel louder than a whisper.
“Where’s it coming from?” Moira asked me, looking uneasily up at the ceiling. The ceiling that led up to the attic. The attic from which no fewer than 19 ghost sightings had been reported in the last five years, as the home inspector had taken pains to tell us the week before.
I swallowed twice and licked my lips. Why hadn’t our mother listened? It’s not like there weren’t twenty other foreclosed houses in the neighborhood. What was her hang-up with the stupid garden, anyway?
“You don’t think—you don’t think mom . . .” her voice trailed off, but I knew what she was asking. Surely our mother hadn’t risked going up to the attic? Not in the middle of the night?
I struggled to open my eyes wider, sure that if I could only get them open wide enough, I would find myself in my bed, waking from a dream.
Just then, Moira seemed to find her own brand of courage. Her hand, still clenched around my wrist, was pulling me toward the rickety ladder at the end of the hallway.
I couldn’t feel myself walking, only gliding, as Moira pulled me after her. There was a clank above us, and for a second I pulled back. But Moira didn’t stop. She punched the trapdoor open with her free hand.
Suddenly, eye-shockingly bright light flooded over us. I blinked against it.
Moira let go of my hand and disappeared.
“Moira! MOIRA! Get back here!” I yelled.
My stomach turned as I stepped up to the next rung, and the next, after her.
“Moira! Alex! You’re spoiling my surprise!” My mother’s voice rang out from the corner, where she stood, clad in painter’s overalls, with a fat paintbrush, dripping red paint.
You stood behind the ancient tombs of the history section, shoving your manuscript into your bag. The smoke drifted closer. Your ears filled with screams and the crackling of burning books. Fighting your way through the maze of shelves you were not surprised that it was the Young Adult fiction section which is burning brightest, the books and shelves twisted together with the grotesque Halloween decorations. The sense of death had seeped from the “holiday” into the industry that used to fight for free speech. Anti-fiction campaigners had been threatening to have those books destroyed for months. The emotional maturity, imagination and ideas those books fuelled were now feared, even by the government.
Only weeks ago a well known man had stood on a platform, jurors looking smug as the cheers from the viewing mob all but drowned out the judge's voice. For crimes against the government, for attempting to brainwash millions, for earning money from unlawful deeds; this man was sentence to imprisonment. As he was dragged away, his tearful face scanned the jeering crowd, his eyes locked onto yours. Through them you could sense his fear, his defeat. He tried to speak but the sound of the crowd drowned out his voice just as the flames burned down the talent of so many like him.
Outside, the mob had dispersed to celebrate the sentencing of another member of 'that crowd'; authors who aspired to inspire. As the sharp autumn wind pulled at your hair, you turned from the court house. Heading away from the center of town you followed the familiar streets that led home. You passed the ruins of this library, then a symbol of freedom, now a charcoal shell.
The memories are still fresh in your mind as you rush from the burning building, clutching your hand and your manuscript. You arrived home and headed straight to his study, to his safe. Inside you found, as you knew you would, first edition copies of the sentenced man's six published books, the unfinished manuscript for the seventh. You will take them with you when you leave this place that was supposed to be free.
Years later you stand on the edge of your porch watching the neighborhood children going from door to door and think back to a time when imagination was cherished. Every costume seems the same, a bedsheet ghost, a fake-fanged vampire, no longer is there any imagination to Halloween; children simply wear what they wore last year and the year before. Without the inspiration of fiction they have never been able to come up with anything better, and those that dare to think outside the box are bullied, picked on for being strange. Slowly, you shake your head and turn to go inside. Tomorrow you will visit your Father and you want to finish editing the new short story you wrote for him.
Seventeen is too old to trick-or-treat. At eight, though, my sister can’t wait to beg for cavities.
“It parodies true magic.”
“But you dress up and get piles of candy! Did you finish my princess gown yet?”
I freeze. Samantha waggles her fingers. “You pinky-promised.” Oops.
I fumble for an excuse. “Well…I--” Samantha's imaginary kingdom is vital to her happiness. I only know of one of her rules—every Halloween, she goes into her ‘realm’ to overthrow Prince Elliot, an evil elephant with ulterior motives.
Or so she believes.
She bites her lip. Samantha will never say she’s mad at me, but the guilt trip is almost worse than her squeaky screech. It’s two hours until d-time—doorbell-ringing-disaster time. There’s no way I can make the dress by then.
“You can wear my tiara. People know you’re a princess on the inside.”
At home, Mom tries consoling Samantha, shooting me dirty looks all the while. I mouth apologies and bolt for the van. Princesses are not Halloween to me—I need to be somewhere that is.
I enter the Belmont Mansion’s driveway. It’s the perfect haunted house—with grand, looming pillars and a wrought-iron fence, the architecture practically screams “STAY AWAY!”
The smashed basement window hits a ratty rug. I’m inside.
A gigantic plush elephant faces me. It’s twelve feet tall, with shiny tusks. A silver tinfoil crown perched atop its head twinkles in the dim light. Stacked around the elephant are boxes upon boxes, sealed with duct tape,
“Hi, Princess Em.”
I spin around fast, like a dog chasing its tail. The voice is coming from every corner of the room, and yet I know that’s impossible.
The elephant stares me down with a glint in its eyes. “Have you come here to take back your sister’s realm?”
I gulp.
The stitches around the elephant’s mouth shift into a wide grin. “You have to become a stitch witch. Finish the gown.”
“And what if I don’t make this gown?”
“I might just…unravel. And with me gone, Queen Samantha's mind will unravel too. She may overthrow me, but I’m always there lurking. One false move, and I will rule the kingdom.”
“Where are you going to rule? The toy store?”
“Kingdom is the basis for this town. If you fail to complete the gown in thirty minutes, the town will crumble because she cannot battle me.” Elliot stands on all four legs and lumbers around the basement, knocking over several boxes. A sewing machine and yards of shimmering fabric tumble out.
Elliot bumps his rear into a huge clock, and the minute hands whirr away. “Go!”
I sew like I have never sewn before. Cut, pin, stitch, quick! I have nicks on my fingers from snipping and working the machine. The clock dings as I complete the last stitch.
“You have done true magic today.” Elliot vanishes.
I don’t know what I’m going to do with this dress now. It’s teenager-sized.
Seventeen isn’t too old to trick-or-treat, right?
Maybe this wasn’t the brightest idea, but damn it was fun. Not the biggest rush we’ve ever had—especially since we got caught but Mom won’t be too pissed. It’s not like we were burning someone’s house down or anything. All we did was walk into an all-ages show in plaid and a goalie mask. I was the one who let the chainsaw rip loose. It didn’t even have a chain!
It was Paul’s idea. “It’s simple. Radio Adelaide has an all-ages show tonight, so the Pickle will be filled with kids who are ‘too cool’ for trick-or-treating. Let’s go have some fun with them.”
“What exactly are you thinking, Paul?” Sarah asked.
“We’ll go in, in the middle of the set and watch people scramble when Bronson walks in behind us and fires up a chainsaw,” he said. Paul always had me play lead. Mostly because I can keep a straight face, but also because I won’t say no. Ever.
“No chain though,we’re already going to get in serious shit for this.” I insisted.
“Don’t be a wimp, Bronson. Once they realise it’s a prank, it’ll be fine. People will calm down, get a laugh out of it maybe.”
“No, he’s right.” Sarah said looking over at me briefly before going back to Paul. “We’ll do it, but someone’s going to call the cops. I’ll try and hold the door open so we can slip out. There’s a garbage can a few feet away.”
So that was the plan. Go in, middle of the set and scare the crowd. Went perfectly, until the point when Sarah got shoved out the door in panic and we got stuck. Inside. We got busted.
The arresting cop didn’t have the best sense of humour. “This is a very serious matter. You could have seriously hurt someone.” The one who called me when my mom came to pick me up had a different opinion. “Nice going, kid. Wish I had the guts to do that at your age.”
Mom just shook her head at me. “It could be worse, Brons. It could be worse.”
It certainly could.
I bit my nails while Joey circled the dark parking lot of the school waiting for Robert to show up.
“Sydney, stop that,” he said, shoving my hand away. “You’re making me nervous.”
“I’m making you nervous? Right. Why don’t you park? That’s making me nervous.”
Joey ignored me, circling once more. Finally, he said, “I may need to take off quickly. I can’t do that if I’m parked.”
My head slammed back on the head rest. “Just great. Happy Halloween, huh?”
“You didn’t have to come.”
Neither of us spoke the next few minutes. We both knew that wasn’t true. He may need me against Robert, as much as he’d hate to admit it. I’d never let my best friend down, no matter how dangerous this could get.
The houses in the distance were shadowed and still. The trick-or-treaters had long since gone to bed. My witch costume had made Joey laugh, but I’d stayed in it because it was black. What better color choice when sneaking out of a two story window?
I was waiting to hear a car approaching, when multiple headlights blinded me. Joey slammed on the brakes and shoved me down towards the floorboard.
My face was planted under the dash, as I tried to speak. He shook his head before staring out the windshield.
His voice was nearly inaudible. “He brought the whole coven.”
Joey heard my gasp, his eyes sliding to mine for a second, but he didn’t say anything else. I tried to sit up, but Joey pushed back with a force that demanded for me to stay put.
I whispered, “I’m going with you, dammit.”
Joey tensed and looked back to me. He reached down and brushed the hair from out of my eyes. “You know I love you, right? I mean... really love you.”
No, I hadn’t known. I’d hoped, but I hadn’t known. I should’ve been happy, ecstatic even, but I hated that he was saying it at this moment.
He didn’t think we could survive against more than just Robert.
I started to use him for leverage to climb back in the seat, but he shook me off. He started to murmur under his breath.
“Joey, no! You promised --”
Too late.
He’d already placed the spell. I sat in the floorboard, frozen. I felt like a shot of Novocaine had been jammed straight into my heart, running through every inch of me. I was left immobile and pissed. Only my eyes could move, taking in the tortured expression on his face.
“I know I did, but I can’t keep that promise, Syd. At least I can lead them away from you.”
The car started to rock, the wind becoming fierce. Joey said, “It’s starting.” He leaned down and kissed me. I felt nothing. Damn him.
Straining against the unnatural wind gusts, Joey pried open the door and climbed out of the car. The door slammed shut and I was alone.
But I had a plan.
“Go away!” I growl and pull my lips into a menacing snarl. The face usually succeeds in scaring kids, but Jasmine takes no notice. She elbows her way to the front of the line full of pint-size M&Ms and Princesses.
“This—” She snatches the spider web candy bowl out of my hands and grips it in-between orange painted claws, “Is pathetic! How can you stay home on Halloween?” Jasmine’s wearing a waist-length black wig with a lopsided wizard’s hat perched on top. Her lips are smeared purple with lipstick, but it just looks like she’s been drinking grape juice. “Annie, I told you we’re going trick-or-treating!” The orange lights flash over her, making her look so eerie that I could believe she really is a witch.
“I’m supposed to be handing out candy…” Bad excuse, I know. But I’ve outgrown Halloween. And since Jasmine and I haven’t been invited to any of the parties this year…
A little pumpkin trips over Jasmine’s feet. “Why aren’t you handing out candy?”
“See? “I can’t go! Look at all these poor kids!”
“Right,” Jasmine says. Before I can stop her, she tilts the remnants of the candy into her pillowcase, the chocolates cascading down like a silver waterfall. She waves the empty bowl at the line of kids. “The candy’s all gone. Time to clear out!”
“Aww. C’mon!” says a little vampire with bloodied fangs.
“Don’t worry,” I shout. “I’ve got more candy. Let me just—”
“Annie!”
“I don’t want to go!”
“Is it because you don’t have a costume? Because I brought an extra!” From nowhere, Jasmine pulls out a hideously pink tutu and thrusts it at me. “You can be a fairy.” She shoves green wings at me.
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No!” The wings flutter to the floor. I can’t help but notice how the silver threads wind across the wings, gleaming brighter than stars. Or the pure green of the wings, deeper than emerald. I kneel down and touch them. The wings are soft and alive.
“Where did you get these?” I feel them tremble.
“It was my costume two years ago, don’t you remember?”
But I’m already sliding my arms through the straps, and the wings unfold behind my back gloriously. They’re definitely trembling, and I feel them beat the air behind me.
Jasmine’s eyes widen. “Did that—?”
I feel more alive than I ever have before. My feet rise from the ground, and the wings outstretch behind me, like those of a gauzy butterfly. I’m floating on air, literally, and the flowers and the vines around me burst into bloom. And when I glance over at Jasmine, she’s astride her broomstick, ten feet off the ground.
A loud howl cuts through the air, and I hear screams and the whisper of wings above me. White glows in the distance, and silver fangs flash to my right.
Jasmine cackles, and I feel the magic in my fingertips. My wings lift me up higher, into the black night.
I think I’m going out after all.
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