My hand grazed the doorframe, sliding over the smooth stubble of the painted wall as I reached for the light switch, finding it and flipping it on, but only darkness greeted me. Had someone cut the power to the house?
I stepped into the room.
Moonlight filtered through the curtains over the kitchen sink, glinting over the dishes piled like a spoiled child’s toy box. Shame washed over me, but I didn’t dwell on the feeling. Instead, I stumbled towards the drawers opposite the sink and rummaged for my electric match lighter. I found it and passed into the dining room, pausing to let my eyes adjust to the dark.
Even though I hadn’t baked anything earlier, the room reeked of strange spices, like mugwort and incense. The rusty smell of blood floated below my nostrils. Sweat lingered in the stillness, and I sniffed my armpits. Someone had been here moments before, leaving an olfactory trail of something human or inhuman. Were they still in the house?
My stocking feet dusted the wood floor as I approached the dining table, dipping my hand deep into a bowl of jagged candy. I plucked a morsel and set my lighter on the table to unwrap it, plopping it onto my tongue and chewing aggressively like a ball player waiting for the mat. Laughter erupted from the living room, quieting to unholy giggles and whispers. Then silence.
I grabbed the lighter again, swallowed, and entered the next room. There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife. The hand lifted high above its shadowy frame, then dropped with lightning speed. I heard a tearing squelch as the knife repeatedly hit its target, over and over, before being pulled clean. The steel blade glistened in the light beaming through the side window, glowing from the neighbor’s porch. They had electricity, while my house sat in obscurity.
I lurched forward and raised my lighter as if it were a weapon. Several figures watched in the darkness, and I knew they were hungry. But for what?
I moved around the room with a swiftness that surprised me and lit the candles arranged in all corners like a witch's boudoir.
Beth set her flashlight aside and dropped to her knees, grabbing a knife. “That’s better. Thank goodness we can see what we’re doing. Do you know how long the power will be off?” she asked.
I shrugged.
Mary plucked the top off her pumpkin and reached inside to pull a trail of seeds and pulp, plopping the guts onto a newspaper lining the coffee table. “I brought chocolate chip pumpkin bars with cream cheese frosting. Oh, and a pumpkin-spiced cabernet. Do you want a glass? I left it on the dining room table.”
“Sure,” I said.
Beth grabbed a small pumpkin and stabbed.
Rachel snuggled deeper into the sofa and took a sip from her goblet. “It’s really good, and I usually don’t like red wine,” she said, picking a pumpkin seed from her pants.
I was about to return to the dining room to pour myself a glass of red when the doorbell rang. I grabbed Beth’s flashlight before moving to the front door. The beam shone over three diminutive faces that smiled at me in the moonlight.
“Trick or Treat!” they all yelled with glee.
“Where there is no imagination, there is no horror.” ~ Arthur Conan Doyle
You can read my book for free on NetGalley this month.
Happy Halloween!
