S23 Ep17: NoSleep Podcast S23E17 Halloween 2025

WNSP

Happy Halloween

Welcome back to the fourth hour of the Darkness of the Night Halloween Special

WNSP's sinful celebration of the spooky season

I'm your host diabolical creature but you can call me DC

We've been talking all show about how Halloween in Cryptid Valley is a very special night.

About how the cryptids who exist in this area somehow seem to know what Halloween is, what the spirit of the night is all about,

and how on this night, when the veil between life and death is at its thinnest, it's their time to be even more...

cryptic.

During the break, I was standing outside.

The fog is now even thicker.

The Halloween partiers are all home in bed.

And the silence out there is deafening. I feel like I'm trapped in a miasma of utter lifelessness.

That's why I'm glad to be back in the studio, alone, but with you.

And don't worry, I haven't forgotten about my promise. I'll be playing that special episode of the No Sleep podcast for you.
It's their big Halloween episode. Perfect for our special night at WNSP.

And I also haven't forgotten to address some of the emails I've gotten lately. People are telling me that some of our recent broadcasts have been having technical issues.

Our signal is dropping out or being cut into.

Some people claim they hear another voice on our station's frequency. Now, I'm not hearing anything like that here in the studio.
I've asked our engineers about it, and they can't explain it.

There aren't really any radio stations in the area that could cover our signal.

So, either it's a bunch of the cryptids setting up their own station in the woods, or it's just some sort of atmospheric anomaly.

Signals skipping off the uh

the atmosphere and uh messing with

with uh our um

uh speaking of anomalies,

I keep hearing a noise outside the studio.

It sounds like uh

what

Welcome to the No Sleep Podcast and our special Halloween 2025 episode. I'm the rotten old pumpkin known as David Cummings.

We are delighted you have ding-donged our doorbell to satisfy your sweet tooth for our horrifying treats. We have a full-sized episode for you as we make this the most hallowed of all Hallows Eve.

For those of you who are listening to this in the style of, I only listen to horror around Halloween, we welcome you to our show.

We have lots of horror in our archives for you, so you're welcome to listen to horror stories in the other months of the year as well.

And for you steadfast regular listeners who are knee-deep into season two of Goat Valley Campgrounds, we're doing something a little different this week.

Rather than trying to shoehorn Chapter 6 into the Halloween episode, you'll find it as a separate episode in your No Sleep podcast free feed. So don't forget to stay up to date with Kate and the gang.

We didn't want to drive you mad by having Halloween interrupt the series. Or, to put it another way, don't go insane because of Sam Hain.

Yes, I know it's pronounced Sowin. Don't at me.

All right, enough of my blathering. We have lots and lots of stories for you.
So hold up your pillowcases or candy buckets and get ready for our tricky treats.

Because it's time for you to tune in, turn on, and brace yourself for our Halloween tales.

In our first tale, we meet a family with young kids who are excitedly getting ready for Halloween. That is, until their house floods and they have to find a temporary place to live.

But in this tale, shared with us by author Justin Alcala, A rental cabin in the nearby woods sounds like the perfect spot for a spooky Halloween detour. Maybe a little too perfect.

Performing this tale with me are Kristen DiMakurio, Danielle McRae, Erica Sanderson, Sarah Thomas, and Aaron Lillis.

So remember to heed the local legends. Some don't last long, but some legends are undying.

The ghost of Halloween flooded our house, then flattened our tire for good measure. By the time we reached our rental cabin, car grease stained my hands, and anxiety sullied the rest of me.

Elizabeth took the kids to Walkbow and Astrid while I unpacked the SUV.

It wasn't my proudest moment renting a gimmicky cottage, but until insurance sent a check, it was all that we could afford.

Bramble Village was a cheap cabin village 15 minutes away from the Renaissance Festival.

In the summer, it teemed with cosplayers and reenactors who'd run through its dingy woods pretending to be nobles. But in October, the place lay deserted.

It was early evening, but autumn let the sun take a half-day. I wheeled our luggage next to the front door's plastic jack-o'-lantern, then searched the porch lamp for our key.

A dozen moths flew out of the fake flame, batting into my face as I removed the keycards left by the rental manager. The historically inaccurate lock beeped as I waved the card over it.

I pushed inside, welcomed by a tavern dining area complete with a barrel-shaped table, orbited by four stools.

A fake stone hearth with LED flames gleamed next to a welcome package with cookies for the kids, pamphlets, and a welcome letter written in Old English font.

I parked the luggage and read it. Beneath the Wi-Fi password was a handwritten note.

Welcome, weary traveler. Me lady and I will be in Wilmington this weekend.
Call should ye have any troubles. Your keycard will get ye inside the shower cabin.

Where vending machines filled with sustenance await thy famished bellies. Also, apologies about the moths.
The woods are ancient and infested with them. Thank ye, management.

Yeah.

Stapled to the letter, an advertisement for the Renaissance Fair highlighted its summer attractions. One picture, amongst jousting knights, mermaid tanks, and axe-throwing, drew my attention.

Standing next to a fortune-telling booth was the ugliest crone I've ever seen, covered in a shawl engulfed by gray butterflies.

Whoever hired her did an excellent job, as her hideous face and the scar across her neck didn't appear to be makeup.

Outstanding. Who needs baths?

I know, Dad. Isn't it great?

I jumped at the unexpected voice of my daughter.

Aster not only wielded the unwavering positivity that only an eight-year-old girl could afford, but she possessed an uncanny ability to sneak up on me even if she were wearing tap shoes.

I spun around to find her doing cartwheels while her five-year-old brother, Eden, tried prying a sword from the wall.

Elizabeth unclipped Bao and Astrid's leashes, our littlest, Adair, clinging to her back.

Released from their restraints, the dogs took to their canine responsibility, sniffing every piece of furniture in the building. Lots of moths.

Elizabeth waving the winged creatures from out the open door.

Ye management says the woods have an infestation. The other cabins are neat.
There's a Gryffindor room. How the heck is that Renaissance? It's super cool, Dad.

We peeked inside, but it's only one room and it's not cleaned yet. Well, according to the website, ours has two.

You kids will get the little prince and princess suite upstairs, and mom and I sleep in the king and queen's chambers down here.

Think any trick-or-treaters will come tomorrow?

Eden took the sword and then gestured with it towards our two-year-old. I disarmed him.

But

no one is coming. But we'll find a town to get candy.
Think that'll deliver pizza here, Dad? Eden and Adair's ears perked up.

Oh, sure, it feels secluded, but we're only five minutes off the highway. Why don't I unpack while you order? Sure, but while I do, I'm going to check out the shower situation.

I navigated to the shower room, my eyes half-glued to my phone as I searched for pizza. The fall leaves surrounding Bramble Village assaulted the hamlet with their dead.

Gold, blood, and pumpkin-colored leaves rained down. adding to the tapestry of browns I crushed beneath me.

The air grew cooler, but by the time I reached the shower cabin, I had ordered bargain pizza and it was en route. I used the keycard and entered, beat down by the interesting odor of bleach and socks.

The interior looked like a gym bathroom accented with faux stone walls.

Four shower stalls draped by royal purple were tucked along the western wall, and a set of vending machines loomed near the emergency exit.

My eyes drew to muddy footprints coming out from a shower, and a handprint with strange moon and circle symbols smeared on the vending machine glass.

Hmm, yee management needs a housekeeper.

No one laughed.

I looked inside the muddy shower stall. Another moth hit my face.
I swatted it away, taking in the muck-covered plastic walls that looked as if someone had washed a farm pig inside.

Dirt-laden handprints with long nail marks spread over the complimentary shampoo dispenser, as if Swamp Thing pumped it several dozen times. I checked the stall next to it.
Ah, it was clean.

I shrugged, then proceeded to the clean booth, turning on the water and scrubbing the tire grease from my hands.

It took longer than I thought to get the black out of my fingernails, but as I finished, my stomach rumbled. With no towel in sight, I wriggled my hands to shake them dry.

Starved, I looked to the vending machine's temptations, but the smudge marks made the chocolate bars and fruit candies less appetizing. Besides, we'd be rich in Halloween candy come tomorrow.

The timer on the automatic lights flickered. I returned before being abandoned in darkness.

Luckily, I did because the pizza delivery woman pulled up as I reached my front door.

Sorry.

Through her rolled-down window, a pair of pumpkin-balbed antennas wobbled on her head. I didn't know you could rent these when it wasn't festival season.
Yeah, neither did I. Let me go get my wallet.

I hurried inside to where I dropped off my wallet and car keys. The ceiling above sounded as if the kids were trying to bring it down via bed bouncing.
Pizza's here!

A chorus of cheers echoed from overhead. I returned to the front door to find the pizza lady fighting for her life as hand-sized moths circling the porchlight flew into her.

I noticed she'd drawn a moon with an X across it in the porch dust along her feet.

Wow, wee! Lots of moths!

Her wide eyes and peppy voice gave off toddler show host energy. Yeah, the woods infested.

I reviewed the receipt, then withdrew ample cash to tip.

Oh, I know. The old gallows used to be in these woods.
They'd hang people far away from town so their spirits wouldn't return home. People say the moths are the lost souls.
Oh, that's an uh

interesting history lesson.

I said, not creeped out at all. When I was a kid, lights and weird sounds convinced everyone that around this time, these woods were haunted by the last person the town tried hanging.

They called her the quiet witch, and she refused to die after hours of dangling. Tony Consano said he saw her up here one time while breaking bottles with his friends.

But how could that be when they strung her up a hundred years ago?

Now that's the silliest Halloween story if I've ever heard one.

Yeah,

the funny thing is that cops chased away an old lady when they broke ground for Bramble Village a few years back. Interesting.
Well, thanks for the pizza. You just made three kids very happy.

Of course, good sir.

She bowed like a knight, her pumpkin antennas falling. Happy Halloween!

Yeah,

good night.

I waited for the unique pizza lady to return to her car before closing the door with my hips. The children poured down the stairs as I brought their feast to the barrel table.

For the next half hour, we treated ourselves to Caesar salad, jalapeno poppers, and one large mitza pizza.

I tried to ignore the quiet witch while cleaning up the paper plates, but I remained unsettled. Luckily, dinner, a long day, and Halloween's prospect helped the kids get to bed without a fight.

Elizabeth took pity on me, and after we teamed up to brush teeth, she volunteered to tuck the kids in.

I made it to the king and queen's chamber, kicking off my hiking boots and stripping down to my briefs before flopping into the canopy bed.

The rich fabrics of our red duvet, which matched the window blinds hugging our bedsides, comforted me as I checked my phone. A list of insurance emails I lacked the energy to read awaited.

Instead, I put the phone down on my nightstand next to the dragon-shaped lamp and wormed up into my frilled pillow, flipping on the television.

Blare Witch, Hocus Pocus, and other seasonal movies littered the screen. I flipped the television back off and closed my eyes.

A tapping on the glass caught my ear as moths tried to get through the window to my dragon lamp.

Oh, I'm never going to get any sleep.

The moths must have agreed because they clittered louder. Contrary to my claim, my eyes grew heavy, and I faded into a light stage of sleep.

My mind no longer considered anything, but I could hear the cottage's door beep, my wife collect the car keys, and the start of our SUV.

Then an odd sound shook me from my slumber. A whisky, rough, campfire-dry voice whispered from the walls, Hey,

it's my turn to be here.

Be gone.

My eyes flipped open as a creaking from the stairwell approached. They didn't make it 10 minutes.
Elizabeth entered the room. Are you sleeping with the lights on? Did you say something?

I thought I heard someone talking. No, but I played the kids' stories on my phone.
You probably caught Old Mother Goose. The children didn't find the new space creepy?

So long as Bal and Astrid slept on them. Why do you ask?

I think this place is weird. We could find someplace else.
Are you kidding me? This place was cheaper than the pizza. Everything else is going to be expensive.
Then weird is what we'll be.

Maybe we can rent a house once we get an insurance check.

I don't even want to talk about it. Pizza was good.

Yeah.

The pizza lady said a witch lived here.

Kind of creepy. You need sleep.
All these problems are making you come up with fresh problems.

You know me. Mind if I read a bit before you turn off the light? I put a pillow over my head.
Knock yourself out. What's that clicking? Moths.

I brought myself back to sleep, reaching that prologue of dreams where thoughts took shape, but with no plot. I lingered there for a moment before my wife tapped me on the shoulder.

Okay.

Hold on.

You can turn the light off. I did as instructed, fumbling with the switch.
The room went dark, and I tried getting back to my marked page of rest.

But my reason caught up to me as the clicking of moths on the window continued along my side of the bed. As if she read my mind, my wife spoke.
I thought you said that was moths. I did.

Why are they still tapping? Truth be told, I'd never checked to confirm. I sat up, looking at the drawn drapes.
I stood and, assuming the mundane, pulled the curtains open.

My finding defied expectation.

An ancient crone's nose pressed against the glass, inches from me. A scattering of teeth filled her mouth as her eyes, devoid of expression, stared right through me.

She wore a Gryffindor blanket like a cloak, roofed in moths, and her long neck kept purple scars from what appeared to be rope burn.

She used her long, broken fingernails to click on the glass, speaking in a low, grinding voice.

It's my season.

You're not supposed to be here.

Holy.

I fell backwards. My wife leapt out of bed.
What? What?

There's someone out there. Get the freaking kids.

Without hesitation, Elizabeth hurried upstairs. I watched the hag, unsure how to proceed.
She continued to ramble, but I couldn't make out the grinded words.

The dogs ran down the stairs first, stopping at our bedroom doorway before barking at the woman as she continued her ceaseless tapping.

The woman gave a guttural growl before backing up into the darkness. Now I was terrified.
I hurried to the kitchen to get my keys, but they were gone.

Elizabeth came down with Astor and Eden groggy at her sides and Adair in her arms. Where's the keys? How should I know? You drove.
You went into the car to get your book. No, I didn't.

I had my book in my luggage. I rushed to the front of the house, looking out the dining room window.

The SUV stood in wait, lights turned on and spun around, as if someone had entered it and turned it around.

The symbols drawn on the porch dirt had multiplied, covering the entirety of the cement. I retrieved the wall sword, then approached the door.
The dogs scratched at the entrance, growling.

When I say go, we run. Got it? Dad, what's going on? Just listen to Dad.

Go!

I opened the door, and the bite of night took my breath away. Bao and Astrid ran out, barking into the darkness while we hurried to the car.
I checked inside.

The vehicle was empty, the dash's blue lights coloring the interior. With the replica sword readied, I opened the door.

Elizabeth hurried the children into the back seat, clicking Adair into his child seat. I hurried to the back, opened the lift gate, then called the dogs inside.

Bao and Astrid did as commanded, hackles high.

After securing them, I sped to the driver's seat and leapt inside. Our hood hosted an army of moths, wings fluttering as if ready for flight.

A symbol like the one on our porch was drawn into the windshield film. I put the car in drive and the SUV bucked forward.
We drove out of the Renaissance village, reaching the gate with impetus.

Posted at the gate's pillar stood the old hag. Her lips moved as she mumbled, the moths from our hood flying off and returning to her.

I didn't look back as we rushed to the highway. When the lights of the expressway illuminated our car, a feeling of safety washed over me.
Who was that, Dad?

The quiet witch.

We reported the issue to management, then the police for good measure. Much to my chagrin, both parties wrote it off as a drifter playing a Halloween trick.

We spent the night at Elizabeth's sister's house, and the ecstasy of Halloween at Aunt Ashley's neighborhood helped the kids move on. Each time we retold the story, the eeriness dripped off.

We received a refund for our cabin costs, and an insurance check arrived soon after.

For the next few months, we lived in an ordinary rental, free of nightmares until our house's completion.

Everyone we told wrote that evening off as a spooky story that was more circumstances than facts.

But not me.

I knew who visited us that night. As if she never wanted me to forget, a moth awaited me on my car's windshield each morning on my way to work.

And I never felt alone.

But no one believes me.

My voice is now as frail as hers.

I think the quiet witch likes it that way.

Much as her soul, the hag's lesson, is everlasting. She wants me to remember that some places are best left alone over the Halloween season,

and ignoring such forewarnings means relentless reprisal.

WNSP will return after a word from our sponsors. You want longer episodes, no ads, and lots of bonus content? Find out more at sleepless.thenosleeppodcast.com.

October is a spooky month but did you know it's also a month we focus on mental health October 10th is designated mental health day and this year we're saying thank you therapists better help therapists have helped over five million people worldwide on their mental health journeys that's millions of stories millions of journeys and behind every one is a therapist who showed up listened and helped someone take a step forward and i can attest to how the right therapist can change everything.

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Thanks, BetterHelp, for supporting what we do.

Now, back to WNSP's presentation of the No Sleep Podcast.

Has this ever happened to you? You buy something online, wait for it to be delivered, get the notification that it arrived, and when you open your door, the package is gone.

Stolen right off your porch. That's a year-round trick with neri a treat to be had.

But in this tale, shared with us by author Tracy Fallenwolf, a pair of these package purloiners realize that Halloween is the perfect season for their thievery until they realize that some people have their own way of celebrating the season of horror.

Performing this tale are Mike Delgadio, Atticus Jackson, Nicole Doolin, and Aaron Lillis.

So be mindful of your deliveries if you live near the Demon Porch Pirates of Crestwood Heights.

I flicked my switchblade and sliced open the belly of the box.

Well,

shit.

More adult diapers.

My roommate, Tyler Borger, pointed at me.

Drink up, douchebag.

Tyler kept his hair high and tight, even though he'd been washed out of basic six months ago.

He was already shit-faced, because he'd opened three boxes of maxi pads and one box of generic boner pills, and

he was a lightweight.

I'd let my hair grow out. It was blonde and frizzy and long enough now that I had to pull it into a ponytail to to keep it out of my mouth, but I didn't care.

I never wanted to hear anyone call me Private Connolly again, or be reminded of my failed military service every time I looked in the mirror.

I threw the adult diapers onto the flea market pile and took my shot. I'd had three more shots than Tyler, and I didn't even feel a buzz yet.

Okay,

my turn.

Tyler picked a box and shook it. He read the return address label:

Retribution Designs Inc.

Never heard of them.

He squinted.

But their logo is a killer's skull and crossbones, so it's gotta be something good.

Wave of something unsettling roiled my stomach. Might have been the tequila, but I never heard of tequila going bad.
Plus, I didn't feel sick exactly. It was more like I had a bad feeling.

Real bad feeling.

Like something terrible was about to happen.

Tyler ripped open the package and three fingers fell out.

Cool.

He picked one up and squeezed it.

Ah, lifelike too.

He collected the fingers and arranged them on the shelf above the kitchen sink.

I'm keeping these for us. Spruce up the humble abode.

We already had purple LED lights, fuzzy bats suspended from strings, and a rubber demon mask in the window. Didn't get much more Halloween than that.

While he was up, Tyler nuked a bowl of mac and cheese.

Hey, you want some?

Nah.

I was sick of mac and cheese.

Wish we had steak. Two boxes left.

Tyler stood at the microwave and motioned toward the hall with his four.

Pick one. Maybe you'll get lucky.

I picked the larger of the two remaining boxes. I delivered it in a swanky neighborhood, but sometimes swanky neighborhoods, well, it could be deceiving.

Sometimes they got good stuff like electronics, but a lot of time it was just fancy rich people stuff like decorative pillows and personalized dog beds.

Those things didn't even do well at our spot in the flea market. They usually ended up in the dumpster.
Unless it was my grandmother's birthday, because Graham liked decorative pillows.

Once, Tyler had scaled the wall behind a house in a gated community to snatch a box I had delivered to the head of an internet security company. The whole thing was filled with Pringles.

I guess that rich dude didn't want his neighbors to see him buying junk food at the grocery store.

We ate those Pringles. They were good, but they weren't steak.

I sliced through the paper packaging tape. The box contained five vinyl jazz records in a note saying they were all in mint condition and that the autograph on one of them had been authenticated.

Big deal.

Sorry, man.

Better luck next time.

Tyler wolfed down the rest of his mac and cheese and set his empty bowl in the sink.

I gotta get to work.

Watch out for assholes.

The week of Halloween was hell on delivery drivers. All kinds of delinquents were out throwing eggs and smashing pumpkins.
Shit, I almost hit a kid last week.

But when I got out of the van to yell at the little hellraiser, I saw the kid had a sack of dried corn and was practicing the lost art of tic-tacing. So I let him off the hook.

Will do.

Tyler grabbed his hat, emblazoned with the village Pizza logo, gave a quick two-finger salute, and left.

Alone, I poked through the cabinet we kept our food in. We had umpteen boxes of mac and cheese and a bag of stale pretzels.
The fridge was barren, except for beer and a jar of olives.

I ate a couple of the olives and had a beer.

Last month, we scored a turntable, which I now use to play one of the jazz records.

I listened for a few moments before I started thumbing through my phone. While watching a chef on one of those cooking shows make a steak, I kept thinking I heard screaming.

Who knew a trumpet could make a noise like that?

Jazz was weird.

The chef said to add red wine to the pan and let it reduce while the steak rested.

It sounded so good.

Next thing I knew, Tyler was shaking me awake.

Bryce?

Bryce!

What?

You told me, man! You were crying in your sleep or something. Sounded like you were screaming.

I looked over at the record player. The needle was at the end of the record and kept skipping.

Anyway, here.

Tyler handed me a foil-wrapped sub.

Got you that steak you wanted.

It was still war.

Thanks.

Tyler shrugged. I know it's not the kind of steak you were talking about, but it'll have to do.

It would do just fine. But I had that feeling in my gut again.
That feeling that something wasn't right. Maybe it was just hunger.
That or rancid tequila?

What do I owe you?

Nothing.

Tyler grabbed a beer for himself.

It uh fell out of the bag of my last delivery.

He mobbed air quotes as he said it.

In the morning, I dressed in my uniform, chartreuse, reflective, vest, and all, and slapped the magnetic signs on the side of my van. Package delivery service.

I'd been on three routes and ended up with the one that included a neighborhood of cul-de-sacs.

That made it harder for me and Tyler to do our thing, but if we managed to pull it off, we might score big. People in cul-de-sacs bought a lot of shit.

I loaded up at the hub and headed out. By noon, I'd delivered three 65-inch televisions.
I used my burner phone to text Tyler the addresses of where I'd delivered the stuff that looks promising.

We got new burners every week just in case. At first I worried that if too many packages were stolen on my route, the company would figure out I had something to do with it.

It turned out, packages got stolen on every route, every day.

Lots of them. Nobody cared.

On my way out of the last cul-de-sac, I passed Tyler on his way in. Now that was cutting it a little close.

I usually like to be out of sight before Tyler started pinching so we didn't get caught together on one of those damn doorbell cameras.

I looked in my rearview mirror and I saw Tyler get out of the car and pull something over his head. What the hell was he doing? He was supposed to blend in or bug out.
Instead,

he looked like he was about to rob a bank. I had three more stops to make along a lonely old road behind the development.
When I was a kid, we called it the road to hell.

The other kids used to say that some people who drove on on it got snatched by an old witch and never returned.

Judging by the number of burnouts and donut marks on the asphalt, plenty of people drove the road, and apparently none were police.

It was getting dark, which made it harder to find driveways and house numbers, especially if people didn't have outside lights.

Cornfields rose up on either side of the road, and since the stalks were dry, they made an eerie scraping noise when they rustled in the breeze. A black cat ran out in front of the van.

I sped up, but the cat moved its ass out of the way.

The GPS lady spoke up.

Your destination is on the left.

I didn't see a house. I slowed and kept my eyes peeled, but still, nothing.

Man, I must have passed the address. I turned around and backtracked for half a mile, but the only thing I saw was an old mailbox on the other side of the road.
There were no other cars around.

In fact, you know, I hadn't seen one the whole time I've been traveling the road to hell.

That didn't bother me. You know what? Actually, it helped.

I dumped the package at the base of the mailbox, shot a picture of it with my phone, then marked it delivered and carried it right back to the van.

As I drove off, that weird feeling I had last night, well, followed me. I felt dizzy for a minute.
Maybe I was getting sick.

Heck, maybe I'd swallowed the worm from that tequila and I was hallucinating or something.

I didn't bother texting Tyler with my last two deliveries. And when I got home, he was already there waiting.

He had so many boxes crammed in our tiny apartment, which was really just a big room above a two-car garage.

And it looked like Christmas morning.

Tyler, man, this is too many. We're going to get caught.

Now, relax, douchebag. They're not all from your route.

Where are they from?

That cul-de-sac development was a gold mine.

Yeah, well, most of them have cameras too, you know.

My stomach rolled.

Did you keep your eye out for them?

That's the beauty of Halloween.

Tyler stood up and pulled something out of his back pocket. It was the rubber demon mask.
He pulled it over his head.

All of those houses were decorated for Halloween. I blended right in.

My bad feeling grew.

Come on.

Tyler flicked open his pocket knife and held it out to me. You can go first.
I'll get the tequila.

I picked up a small square box since I've been burned by the larger ones lately. Good things came in small packages, right?

I slit the tape and opened the box. There was a hand inside.

Yo, cool.

Tyler grabbed the hand.

Oh, it's squishy, like the fingers.

I looked at the box and saw that skull and crossbones on the return address.

It's from the same place.

I pushed the hair out of my eyes and frowned at the company's address. It was somewhere along the road where I'd made my last few deliveries today.

I didn't remember seeing any businesses there.

Tyler put the hand in the window with the other Halloween decorations.

Okay, give me one.

Yeah, you can open them all.

I handed Tyler the knife.

I think I need to go to bed. What are you, seven? It's 8:30.

I just couldn't shake that odd, unsettled feeling I'd had since yesterday. In fact, it was getting worse.

I had the overwhelming feeling that something terrible was about to happen, but couldn't figure out what it was.

In the morning, Tyler ripped away the curtain to separate my air mattress from the rest of the apartment.

Dude, we made the news.

He held his phone out for me to see. Demon Porch Pirate haunts Crestwood Heights.
The local news had posted the pithy headline with a fuzzy picture from a security camera of Tyler in the rubber mask.

Shit.

I sat up and raked the hair out of my eyes.

Shit, what? Read the article. They don't know who it is.
I'm the demon porch pirate. I'm like an urban legend or something.

I checked my phone. I was late, forbidden, and the only routes still available were in Center City, where Parkin was a bitch.

Fuck.

What's wrong now?

I don't want to work today.

Something smelled. I stuck my nose down the neck of my t-shirt to make sure it wasn't me.

Saddam.

Tyler motioned to the middle of the room. I opened everything last night, and look.

He retrieved a disgusting mask.

It's from that place with the cool decorations.

The mask looked both rubbery and leathery. It had scars and lifelike zits.
The holes for the eyes were jagged, and the neck was baggy and frayed looking. What are you gonna do with it? It's yours.

He tossed it to me. Put it on.

What for?

I held the mask out and looked at it. It felt exactly like it looked.
The scalp had hair that looked real, too.

Must have been expensive.

You and me, the demon porch pirates.

Oh no.

Look.

Tyler called up another article on his phone.

That cul-de-sac is all decorated for Halloween, right? Like there's stuff on every house.

I leaned closer and took a whiff. The smell wasn't Tyler either.

So?

So, they're having a decorating contest. And tonight, they're having a block party.
People are going to go from house to house to pick a winner.

Do you know how much stuff will probably get delivered today?

Yeah, but it'll be decorations.

You don't know that. Who orders one crummy thing? You know, people hate to pay for shipping.

That was true.

And block parties have food, right?

Maybe somebody will get a box of those steaks from Nebraska.

My stomach growled. The cheesesteak Tyler brought home the other night was good, but wasn't exactly the T-bone I'd been craving.

Come on, let's put on these masks and go pillage and blunder. After, we'll hawk some stuff and go out for a nice steak dinner.
The kind where you get a baked potato to go with it.

My stomach growled louder. It was like the more I thought about it, the more I craved sinking my teeth into a nice, juicy piece of meat.

Plus, anything was better than making deliveries in Center City.

Fine,

yes.

Tyler pumped his fist.

Try it on before we go.

I put the mask on and looked in the mirror. It was horrifying.
I didn't even recognize my own eyes looking back at me.

The uneasy feeling I'd been struggling with for the past few days crept up and grabbed me by the throat. I heard a terrible ringing in my ears.
It sounded like a thousand screams or

that weird jazz. Maybe it was because I decided to skip work.

I didn't do that a lot since I was such a hard worker, but they could do without me for a day, right?

My stomach gurgled. Man, I really wanted that steak.

Good?

You ready?

I guess. But you gotta clean that mac and cheese bowl you left in the sink.
I think it's starting to smell.

We dressed in black and took my van minus the magnetic signs. Tyler was right.
We passed delivery trucks from three different outfits on the main road through the development.

Apparently, every family in the cul-de-sac was trying to outdo their neighbors and win the big decorating contest. But to maintain houses like these, you needed two incomes.

So during the day, everyone was at work.

There may have been a few nannies or housekeepers around, but they were all busy nannying and keeping house.

I knew I was complicit in our scheme, but I wasn't the one who snatched packages on the daily. I'd always been too afraid of getting caught.

But you know what that mask? It made me feel invincible. When I wore it, the uneasy feeling I'd been battling raced through me like rocket fuel, giving me speed and power.

The screams I'd been hearing sounded like encouragement.

We canvassed that neighborhood and took everything we could carry. Once, I even looked directly into one of the doorbell cameras.
I wanted my picture on the news too.

I liked the idea of being an urban legend. It was like being a superhero, but cooler.

On the way back to the van, my arms full of boxes, a black cat stood in my path.

Shit.

What?

Kyler clomped along beside me.

Yeah, it's a cat. Kick it or something.

It's not that.

What then?

I think I know that cat.

It was your basic black cat, but for some reason I couldn't put my finger on.

I thought it was the same cat I saw run out of the cornfield on the road to hell yesterday.

He has green eyes.

A lot of cats have green eyes.

Tyler kicked a rock at the cat and it ran off.

The van was filling up.

I rolled the door shut.

You think anyone called the cops yet?

The cops don't do shit about porch pirates. They tell people to file a claim with the carrier and they get their money back.
They don't have time for victimless crimes.

That was comforting.

Our one now.

I was thinking about my stake again.

Are we done?

It's early, and we still have room in the van. Let's head one more cul-de-sac.

We decided on the cul-de-sac at the top of the hill, which was the most secluded. There were fewer houses there and lots of big old trees.

Every house in that particular cul-de-sac went all out with decorations. There were orange and purple spotlights, fog machines, and motion-activated werewolves that howled when you approached.

But the best decorations were on a big old white house that looked like it was a Halloween house, even without the decorations. It had a square turret and those attic windows in the shape of eyebrows.

The whole place was surrounded by a black metal fence. The gate squeaked when Tyler pushed it open.
Jack-o'-lanterns lined the walkway leading to the front porch.

On the porch itself, two rocking chairs flanked the front door. One chair rocked very slowly.
In it sat a cloaked figure that looked like the grim reaper holding a scythe.

That rocking made it feel like the figure was a real person.

Sheet, I guess we know which house is gonna win the prize for decorating.

Tyler gawked.

If not, they're gonna win the prize for getting the most stuff delivered.

There were at least six boxes on the front porch. Three were boxes that showed what was inside.

An expensive mountain bike, the latest gaming system, and a set of cookware that television chef who was making the steak endorsed. Jackpot.
We slipped through the gate and headed up the walk.

That black cat from before slunk out from behind the mountain bike and sat in the middle of the porch. I stopped dead in my tracks.

Come on, douchebag.

Tyler gave me a shot to the back of the shoulder.

Let's get this shit and go.

The cat simply sat there among the packages and watched. A scream started in the back of my mind, and I tried to push it away.
I started sweating under the mask. It caused a stench that made me gag.

An uneasy feeling morphed, and I could finally identify it as sheer, unadulterated terror. I began trembling uncontrollably.
I was not cut out for pinching boxes.

Just grab it

As I reached for the cookware, the Grim Reaper stood.

And then everything went black.

When I woke up, I was lying in the bed of a moving pickup truck, looking up at the night sky. The black cat sat on my chest, its green eyes boring into mine.
Tyler lay next to me.

I tried to speak, but no words came out. I tried to sit up, but I couldn't move.
There were no streetlights where we were, no traffic. I concentrated on what I could hear.

Besides a truck, I heard a loud rustling. I managed to raise my head just enough to catch a glimpse on the horizon.
Coleman.

Once I saw it, the rustling noise made sense. Suddenly, I knew exactly where we were.

On the road to hell.

The next time I came to, Tyler and I were lying side by side on metal tables. A bright light shone in my eyes, and a strong-smelling antiseptic assaulted my nostrils.

My stomach wasn't churning anymore. It was hollowed out.
I was scared shitless.

Fryce!

Frice, can you hear me?

I made a noise. At least, I thought I did.

Where are we, man?

I tried to sit up. This time I had control over my muscles, but my arms and legs were chained to the metal table.
As I fought against my shackles, the metal-on-metal sound echoed in the empty room.

It was big, like a warehouse.

Welcome.

Tuzak!

Who's there?

The woman stood over us. She was dressed in a hooded black cloak, the grim reaper from the house with the cookware.
I tried to look at her, but her face was a gaping hole, a yawning abyss.

She stepped on something that made a clicking noise, and the table began to raise me into a sitting position. She raised Tyler up next.

We faced a white wall emblazoned with a familiar skull and crossbones logo.

Retribution Designs Inc.

Baby,

hey, this is the place that makes the good decorations.

The black cat wove around the woman, whose face I still hadn't seen clearly. That uneasy feeling? It's part of my being now.
The screams, the jazz record that played on repeat in my head.

The woman picked up a long knife and raked it against a sharpening steel. I looked at the wall to my left.
At first glance, it looked like an inventory of Halloween decorations.

Things became clearer with every rasp of the knife. I saw two fully intact skeletons.
A shelf full of hands of all different colors and sizes, bowls of fingers, and coils of intestines.

Another shelf was lined with masks, like the ones we wore to steal packages in the cul-de-sac.

Each was different, with different hair and different scars and imperfections. The masks had been stretched over featureless foam heads made of white styrofoam.

Graham had one just like it at her house. She kept her wig on it.

What's going on?

Are you gonna let us go or what?

You took something that didn't belong to you.

And now it's time for retribution.

No, man, we'll give it back. Just tell us what was in your package.

Fuck it. We'll give them all back.

The woman brought the knife down and severed Tyler's finger. Tyler screamed and passed out.
I watched her drop Tyler's finger into a bowl of some foul liquid, swish it around, and dry it off.

Every time Tyler came to, she chopped off another finger. When she had four all cleaned and dried, she dumped them in a box and sealed it up.

She honed her knife and turned to me.

And you, Mr. Delivery Driver,

you're a two-faced thing, aren't you?

Leaving packages, only to arrange for them to be stolen.

Byes cut to the table where the box of Tyler's fingers sat. The woman had four more boxes prepared and two styrofoam heads.
She pricked the skin on my neck with the tip of her knife.

It burned like a hot poker.

The black cat jumped up on the table for a closer look and licked its lips.

That's right, she got.

She slid the knife under my chin, the fire spreading as she separated the skin from the flesh.

You'll have steak tonight.

I opened my mouth and realized the blood-curdling screams I'd heard all week

had been my own.

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It's hard to to believe, but some people don't like Halloween. Some people feel it's important to warn children about the dangers of trick-or-treating, witches, and pumpkins.

And believe it or not, some even made a cautionary cartoon about it.

And in this tale, shared with us by author Lissell Jones, we meet Eric, who finds himself stuck in a small town with a theater showing a cartoon he remembers from his youth: a cartoon with a a very real warning about all Hallows Eve.

Performing this tale are David Alt, Ash Millman, Erica Sanderson, and Jake Benson.

So perhaps this tale will make you think twice about Halloween, just like the cartoon called Treats for Sinners.

Being stuck in Olsham over Halloween felt like a bad joke.

I'd grown up in a village a few miles away, and we'd always been warned that the larger town was a bad, scary place, so I mostly stayed away in my youth.

After I'd seen more of the world, though, I realized what an exaggeration that was. Olsham was hardly Sin City.

Having said that, it hadn't exactly improved over the years, years, and its intimidating reputation must have been ingrained as I'd felt uneasy since I'd arrived.

To be honest, it added a bit of spice to my dull job. I work for a company that surveys older concrete buildings and travel all over.

Alsham's arts center was a typical modernist slab at risk of deterioration, and layers of quick fixes had turned what should have been a one-day job into two.

My manager actually congratulated me on the extra work as if I'd created it myself, commenting I was finally showing some promise.

When I rang my girlfriend to give her the news, she made her usual joke about behaving myself whilst I was away, which just made the upcoming night of lonely boredom even more gloomy.

I'd lost touch with everyone in the area, so there was zero chance of misbehavior that drizzly October evening, even if I was that way inclined.

Reluctant to return to the budget hotel, I decided to check whether anything interesting was on at the center's cinema. I'd guessed there'd be some horrors for Halloween.

Not really my thing, but better than spending an evening avoiding troublemakers around town or picking at a supermarket salad on my hotel bed.

My heart sank as I eyed the listing. In typical Art Center style, they weren't playing anything mainstream.

No wonder the place was empty. Their program was called Lost and Found Halloween Media.
Most of the titles meant nothing to me. Cry Baby Lane, The Faces of Halloween, The Vampira Show.

But one did kindle a tingle of nostalgia. Treats for sinners.

A smile broke out on my face. Wasn't that that weird cartoon we'd been shown at school?

It was intended as a warning against trick-or-treating, which locals were worried was becoming increasingly antisocial. I recalled it starred a couple of anthropomorphic animals.

Lapsi, a naive lamb, and Kid, a teenage goat sporting a leather jacket and an earring.

The height of rebellion.

They wandered the streets on Halloween, Kid goading Lapsi into trouble, and they eventually encountered the devil or something.

The film's anti-Halloween message predictably had the opposite effect, and its dated semi-religious vibe just encouraged my classmates to be more mischievous.

Plenty of seats left for treats for sinners. Starts in five minutes.
I turned to the desk. A pretty young woman with curly hair stood behind it.

It's really not my thing. We're throwing in a free candy bucket with every ticket tonight, if that helps.

She gestured at a pyramid of plastic containers filled with assorted confectionery. I try to avoid refined sugar.

She shook her head with a hint of pity.

I'll be honest with you. The center's struggling, and the sale would really help.

She smiled, and I relented, dug out my bank card. When she turned to process the payment, I had to stop my gaze trailing down her back.
She was almost young enough to be my daughter.

Well, obviously, not my daughter, but the daughter of someone around my age. Hell,

she could well be the offspring of someone I went to school with. Having thought about it, her curly chestnut hair did remind me of

Megan Calshaw.

Here's your ticket. Her words snapped me out of my reverie.

Thanks.

For a moment, I considered asking her if she was related to my old girlfriend, but decided that'd be creepy and just pocketed the ticket.

Oh, don't forget your candy bucket.

I hesitated.

Oh, treat yourself. It's Halloween.

I shrugged, took one, and entered the darkened auditorium. The vast room had been revamped since I'd visited decades ago, now a tiered amphitheater instead of rows of folding chairs.

There was only one other person, an older guy, sitting up front. I shuffled to the middle, sat and took a chew from the bucket whilst I waited.

The lights dimmed, and I started as the screen lit up. It was much larger than I expected.
It stretched up to the dizzying ceiling and was also curved, like it it was embracing the audience.

I jolted again as an out-of-tune fanfare blared and a huge jack-o'-lantern filled the screen, a literal inferno blazing behind its jagged eye holes and mouth. Words materialized.

Treats for sinners, a Halloween cautionary tale.

The title remained on screen much longer than it should have.

The last note of the tune kept ringing uncomfortably and it felt like the jack-o'-lantern was staring back at me, my face flushing as if the flames were real.

A notice at the bottom read, All Rights Reserved, that's R-I-T-E-S,

Research Institute for Morality and Development, followed by a string of characters that looked like Roman numerals at first glance, but included letters like W and J and mystical symbols.

Before I could finish reading, it transitioned into the first scene.

Lapsey and Kidd were skipping down a street of classic haunted-looking houses accompanied by off-key cartoon music.

The film was mainly that 1930s Disney slash cuphead type animation, but some parts had a different style giving it an unsettling quality.

The sky was computer-generated, filled with drifting tawny clouds and a rotating yin-yang moon. What looked like cut-out photos of real people occasionally popped up in houses' windows.

Kidd winked at Lapsey and produced a basket of eggs. He grabbed a handful and drew back his hoof to throw them at a house.
Lapsey looked terrified.

It came back to me. We jokingly repeated that catchphrase after we originally saw the movie.
I couldn't help but laugh out loud. Kid stuck out his tongue and flung the eggs.

They smashed into a window with a cut-out old man behind it. He shook his fist at the absconding pair and I laughed again.

You think that's funny?

The guy in the front row stood up and turned to me.

What?

He reached for the back of his head, peeled off something yellow, white and sticky, then dropped it to the floor, which was strewn with candies.

I didn't. You're acting like a child.
I'm gonna fetch management and have you thrown out.

He stomped towards the exit.

I stared after him. Had his angry face resembled the one in the cartoon window? Then I looked in my candy bucket.
It was half empty, even though I was sure I'd only eat one.

Normally, I'd have chased after the guy to apologize or simply left from embarrassment, but I was strangely enjoying the film, so I sat back and delved into the bucket.

Wow, I didn't think they made those anymore. A fake candy cigarette.

Or was it?

I rumpled my nose. It smelled and felt like a real cigarette.
I'd given up smoking years ago, but gotta admit, I missed it at times.

I dug around the bucket again. What the...

There were real matches in there amongst the chewy worms and skull-shaped gumballs. Ridiculously, I was briefly tempted to light up, but forced my attention back to the screen instead.

Kid was leading Lapsi into a dark alleyway. A banner with Halloween dance printed on it hung at the far end, and a door underneath bulged rhythmically to EDM.

The film must have been decades old, but the music sounded current. Was this the same version I'd seen?

I didn't make sense, but I was too engrossed to think clearly.

Lapsey shook his head nervously, but before he could bleat, that's bad, Kid butted him through the door.

Inside was a buzzing nightclub illuminated by red laser lights and filled with masked dancers gyrating in a sea of jack-o-lantern patterned balloons.

Kid bucked Lapsey to the middle of the dance floor, then coolly leant back against a wall. He lit a cigarette and grinned as a cartoon girl sachet over to Lapsey.

I couldn't believe she'd have been in the original film.

A cross between Betty Boop and some kind of adult anime character, exaggerated curves barely concealed by a skimpy cowskin costume complete with horns and swishing tail.

She span around and began grinding against a shocked Lapsi.

The bucket in my lap suddenly felt heavier and warmer. It started to throb against me in time with Cowgirl's moves.
On-screen sweat sprayed out of Lapsi's face as he fought his urges.

I wasn't sure if the words had come from Lapsey or me as I switched back to the auditorium.

I was horrified to find myself slumped in the seat, cigarette between my lips, hands gripping the armrests as the bucket pulsated on my groin. I slapped it off and spat out the sig.

As I stamped it out, I swore I saw a tail and a pair of humps flatten into the container's base.

As I readied myself to get up, I sensed someone nearby.

I'm afraid we've had a complaint.

The woman from the ticket desk stood stood at the end of my aisle.

Yeah, sorry. I'm not sure what came over me.
I'd better leave. She stepped over and sat next to me.

That's not necessary.

Her eyes glinted in the dark.

This film's been known to

have an effect. I've watched it a few times myself.

I glanced at the screen. Lapsy was running down a never-ending stairway in the club's basement, pursued by Kidd and and the cowgirl.

I turned back to the woman.

I saw it when I was at school.

It must have made quite an impression. I guess so.

It seems to especially stare at people who saw it originally. I've been curious to see how it go down on Halloween.

Sorry you don't have a full house. Huh.
That's not unusual. But I'd hoped the movie would spark more interest given it was only of a screen to locally.

I didn't know that. Yeah, the so-called research institute that made it was apparently based in Orsham.
They were hit with some controversy, and the film got censored.

Subversive, subliminal imagery was the official reason, but we decided it was time to let people make up their own minds again. What do you think?

I looked at the screen. As Lapsey breathlessly reached the bottom of the steps, the shot zoomed out, revealing a massive cavern beneath the club, lit by CGI lightning and flames.

The stairs ended at the entrance to a a dark hedge maze.

On the other side, there was a scruffy garden signposted Satan's backyard strung with happy Halloween flags where vintage-style black cats and skeletons cavorted around a blackened thorny tree.

A red-pink pixelated shape squirmed in its branches. It looked more like censored live action than animation.

Something about the image sickened me to the core.

I jerked my head away, rubbed my my lips as if I'd tasted something disgusting.

It's darker than I remember. Like it's rotted over time.

She smiled.

That can happen.

I think there was a creepy garden in this scene, but nothing like that.

Interesting. My colleague found patterns of gaps in the frames and audio.
Believe they were designed to let each viewer's subconscious fill the blanks.

Sounds too clever for a cartoon made in Ulshan. Quite possibly.
Do you remember how it ends? I scrunched my eyelids, trying to recall, but it was like my brain had blocked it out.

I believe Lapsi gets tempted to sign away his soul to the devil or something.

And does he?

I think he resisted.

An on-screen lightning flash illuminated her smile.

You do have a choice, Eric. You can look away.
You could even leave the theater.

Or you can stay and watch to the end with me

she placed her hand on my thigh

why don't you stop denoying yourself

I glanced down then back at her face and gasped in the half-light she looked even more like Megan Calshaw

I struggled, I fought, feeling like I was tearing myself in two. I almost reached for her.
Almost.

I'd better leave.

She pulled back, scorn pouring from her face.

The same kind of disappointment I'd sensed from Megan all those years ago, when I tried to be the nice guy and not pushy like the other boys I thought she'd complained about.

If you're leaving now, then you should go that way.

She scowled at a door under a red light by the screen.

At the time, I didn't question why she'd directed me there or how she knew my name. I was just relieved I'd decided to leave.
As I stood, I caught a glimpse of the movie.

Lapsy was slipping into the maze as Kid and the cowgirl nearly caught him.

Deliberately not looking back at the woman, I hastened towards the exit, averting my gaze from the movie as panic, bleats, and gasps started to stream from it.

I pushed through the door, let it slam behind me, muffling the disturbing sounds.

The space was pitch black, except when flickers of light spilled around the doorway. What the...

A thorny hedge towered in front front of me, blackened and burnt. It stretched endlessly in both directions.

I backed away and fumbled for a door handle. I couldn't find one and turned around.
I desperately poured the surface, but it felt completely flat and looked unreal as if it had been drawn.

Red lights flashed around the door, and the movie's soundtrack got louder, terrified, tortured cries.

Something began to beat the other side, accompanied by animalistic laughter.

The door swelled like it was about to burst open.

I span around, looked at the hedge again. I decided to run in the direction past the screen towards the back of the building.

As I sprinted away, I heard the door tear like a sheet of paper, followed by clattering hooves and grunts.

It was almost impossible to navigate the maze. It alternated between total blackness and ever dimmer flashes of light as I distanced from the door.

My face and palms were ripped by thorns at every turn. The cartoon's sounds echoed everywhere, screams and flashing noises that shot vile images through my mind.

The clopping hooves kept chasing and I occasionally glimpsed furious, bloodshot eyes peering through gaps in the singed thorns.

The pursuit felt ceaseless. I almost gave up but saw a sliver of light ahead and raced towards it.
The cartoon's sickening soundtrack got louder as I approached and I slowed down.

Shit, no!

The light pulsed from a tall, thin gap and revealed that I'd reached a dead end.

Under the booming audio, I heard the footsteps get closer. I plunged my fist into the thorns to push them aside, but didn't have any effect.

I lost all feeling in my hand as if it had vanished into some kind of boundary.

I withdrew my arm and looked back. Horned, elongated shadows approached.

The gap with the light seemed too narrow for me and the sound coming from it was deafening, but out of desperation, I thrust in my shoulder.

Turned out the surface to my front was some kind of flexible sheet and I was able to squeeze myself into the space.

As I shuffled sideways past metal struts, the illuminated sheet clung to my fingers, got sucked into my mouth as I breathed.

The vibrating surface behind me pummeled my back with every burst of distorted soundtrack, and bright flashes stung my eyes.

I realized I must have somehow ended up back in the cinema, between the back of the screen and the speakers.

I pushed the screen, scratched it with my fingernails and managed to tear a slit.

Light burst through.

As my eyes adjusted, I could see into the theater.

I screamed.

I saw myself sitting in the auditorium with the woman. We were laughing and joking.

She pulled a marker from her jacket and used it to scribble a devilish beard on her chin and horns on her forehead.

Then she held up a piece of paper with contract written on it in comically large letters before offering the pen to the other me.

I found myself quivering and shaking my head. Stop!

That's bad!

Other me glanced in my direction with a snide grin before accepting the pen. I clawed the screen again as he gleefully drew horns and facial hair on himself.

I pushed the screen, stretched it towards the seat, digging my fingers into the hole I'd made. Other me reached for the contract.

Stop! That's bad!

As Other Me's fingers moved closer to the document, his head swiveled repeatedly between it and me in an exaggerated, wide-eyed manner. Was he going to tear it up? Or sign it? Tear it Or sign it?

I finally punched through the screen. As it ripped, the projector switched off, hurling the room into near blackness and silence.
I dragged myself through the tear and fell into the auditorium.

It looked empty.

I scrambled to the seat where I'd sat and dug through the candies littering the ground. I found a piece of paper and held it to the dim floor lights.

It was the contract, signed, but torn in half. As I pondered what that meant, the projector flickered back to life and I turned to look.

The cartoon cats and skeletons pranced in a circle, chugging from pumpkin-shaped goblets.

The tree and its occupant were positioned on the torn section of the screen, but I caught glimpses of something through the hole. It was struggling.

I picked up a cigarette and a match as I watched. The cats and skeletons exploded gorily, transforming into a horde of imps that belonged to a hellish medieval painting.

They swarmed and disappeared into the hole.

Lapsy bleated in terror over squelching, peeling sounds.

I lit up, then tossed the match at the screen.

Flames bloomed, revealing what hung behind the gap.

A skinned body, the legs twitched uselessly, human toes crammed between its cloven hooves.

Drops of yellow grease or piss trickled down the limbs, hitting the fire with a sizzle.

Goodbye, fucking weed.

Above the mess, half of Lapsi's skinless face screamed on a sagging clap.

Next to it, the screen clung over another half-face that mouthed in quiet agony.

I doubted this was the original ending, but I preferred it. I tucked the contract into my pocket and exited the auditorium.
The reception area was empty. Pity.

I would have liked to have seen more of that girl. Still, the night was young.
Who knows what might happen?

I checked my reflection in a window. The horns, the goatee,

the look really suited me.

Grinning, I opened the door and looked out at All Shem in all its glory on All Hallows Eve. The rundown square teemed with gangs of masked youths looking for trouble.

Couples in fancy dress tumbled out of bars and takeouts, drunkenly fighting or fondling each other.

I didn't know what people had against this place. It was my kind of town.

With a spring in my step and a blaze in my soul, I bounded onto the street.

Whether it's how you decorate, the costumes you wear, or the tricks you play on others, we all have our own familiar traditions around Halloween. Do you only hand out a certain kind of candy?

Do you trick-or-treat on that one special street? So many great ways for Halloween fun.

But in this tale, shared with us by author Nicholas O. Thomas, we meet two boys with their own Halloween routine, one that gets horrifyingly interrupted.

Performing this tale are Jeff Clement, Ellie Hirschman, Reagan Tacker, and Danielle McRae.

So we hope your spooky routines are fun and festive because they're important, those Halloween traditions.

I bet you half a bag of candy I can do it again this year.

Levi is my best friend. We've been best friends since our first year in elementary school and we're in sixth grade now.

Since the third grade, it's been our tradition to go out together for trick-or-treating on Halloween. No parents, no other friends, just the two of us.

And Levi always finds a way to surprise me each year. I'll take that bet.
There's no way you'll do it three years in a row. It's just not possible.
You're so on.

Levi shot me a mischievous grin, then pulled his mask down over his face. This would also be the third year in a row in which we wore the ghost face mask from the Scream movies.

I'm a little jealous of him about those movies because my mom says I'm still not old enough to watch them, though Levi's parents let him watch anything.

However, I have seen some of the second Scream while at Levi's house, getting ready to go out trick-or-treating.

I grinned back at him as I put on my own mask.

I chose to go out tonight as a cliched bank robber, complete with black pants, boots, and a black and white striped shirt topped with a black beanie and a face mask that goes over my eyes.

You always choose the lamest costumes. Oh yeah? At least I find a different costume every year.
Ghostface is getting old, dude. Whatever.

I was certain he was still grinning under that mask. He abruptly turned and moved to the front door.
Before I knew it, his empty black pillowcase of a candy bag followed behind him and out of sight.

I picked up my white pillowcase, on which I had crudely painted a large green dollar sign, and chased after him. Levi, wait up!

I yelled, slamming the door in excitement as I left.

We didn't take long to get halfway up the neighborhood. With how much ground the two of us cover trick-or-treating, one could consider it an Olympic sport.

Most of these houses' owners have gotten to know us pretty well by now. They'd say something like, Here's Ghost Vase, Mike and Levi, huh? How's the hall?

If Levi ever decides to change his costume, I don't think the townsfolk would know what to do with themselves. After about an hour, we came to a part of town we weren't as familiar with.

We moved up the walkway of a lazily decorated house, neon green lights circling the front door with a single plastic skull hanging from the door handle.

This one's it, I bet.

Someone stood on the doormat, their back toward us. I couldn't tell if it was a really really tall kid, a teenager maybe, or an adult who couldn't seem to let go of their childhood.

As you got closer to the tall figure, I saw they were dressed like Ronald McDonald. Amen.

They turned to me with their large red smile and winked at us. The front door of the house opened, the plastic skull clinking against the door frame.

Trick-or-treat!

Oh, look at these costumes.

The elderly homeowner looked up at Ronald McDonald. Aren't you a little old to be trick-or-treating? Age is just a concept, ma'am.
Amen to that.

With a cheek-splitting grin, the woman took three big handfuls of candy from her bucket, dropping a handful in each of our candy bags.

You kids be safe out there.

We each said thank you as she closed the door and started to walk back down the pavement. Hey, you guys mind if I tag along with you?

I looked at Levi and shrugged. He shrugged back.
Sure, man, if you can keep up anyway.

Ronald laughed.

It was a weirdly shrill and high-pitched laugh, which sent a cold shiver up my spine, and I became instantly discomforted by the guy. Levi just laughed back.

Race you guys to the next house.

He took off in a sprint, and the clown followed after. Seeing how unfazed Levi was by the clown's laugh, I shrugged it off and followed.

After another successful hour of trick-or-treating, our bags were nearly full to the brim and had become difficult to carry. Hey, we should start heading back.

Levi paused for a moment, seemingly in thought.

Me and my mom's probably going to expect me home soon anyway. Where do you guys live? I could walk back with you for a bit.

I looked at Levi and shook my head in short but quick turns. Either he didn't see it, or he chose to ignore me.
We live on Melody Drive. What about you? Awesome.
I'll live around there.

We can all go back together.

I slumped my shoulders and as we started to head back, I kept tossing suspicious glances at the clown.

He didn't seem to notice though, as he and Levi were locked in conversation about their favorite anime shows.

About halfway through our hike, we came to the tree line of the small patch of woods in our town.

Instead of turning to walk around it like Levi and I did, Ronald started to walk straight into the trees. Hey, where are you going?

Ronald turned to look at us. It's a shortcut.
I thought you guys didn't want to get in trouble with your parents for being out so late. Nah, screw that, man.
We wouldn't see a thing in there.

Ronald held up a finger at him and then fished into his candy bag. His hand came out holding up a flashlight.
See, it's fine.

Levi scratched his head. You just happen to have a flashlight on you?

Ronald McDonald laughed that weird, shrill laugh again.

Yeah, I go through here all the time, and I knew I'd be out after dark anyway. Just come on.

I still had my doubts, but I started to trust the clown guy a bit more throughout the night. Besides, it really was getting late.

Whatever, I'm not afraid of the woods anyway. I walked toward the clown in the trees.
With how empty the streets had been, he'd had plenty of opportunities to try something with us earlier.

You coming, Levi? Nah, man, you're crazy. I'll see you back at my place.
Maybe. You're lost.
Come on, Ron.

It had only now occurred to me that I never got the clown's actual name, but at this point, I figured just calling him by his character was good enough.

Levi shook his head, muttering something under his breath, and continued down the pavement. I took the lead as Ronald MacDonald walked behind me, pointing the flashlight over my head in front of us.

How far does this go on anyway?

Not far. Veer left a little.
We'll beat your friend home by like 20 minutes. I brushed a stray branch out of my way.
Awesome.

I'd already started to regret this decision just on how much I was getting scraped up by these twigs.

It was beginning to get cold. I tried to warm myself by wrapping my arms around me without dropping my candy bag, asking again how long this was going to take.

But this time Ronald didn't say anything. I began to feel uneasy about his silence.

The clouds parted in the sky which flooded the woods with bright moonlight, though being more able to see around me did little to quell my rising unease.

I pushed another swath of branches out of my way and saw that we had come to a small clearing.

At first, I felt some relief standing in this small circle clear of the poking and prodding sticks and brush.

But my heart sank as soon as I noticed the large shovel sticking out of the ground in front of me.

All right, Mike. I'm gonna need you to start digging.
I jumped away from him and spun to face him. At some point, he had pulled something else from his candy bag.
A knife.

The knife glinted like silver in the pale moonlight, and it was so long that a part of me wondered if it would be classified more as a short sword than a knife. What?

What?

I couldn't think of anything to say. Ronald's eyes grew wide and bulged in their sockets.
Dig, Mike! Dig, or I'll fucking cut your goddamn face off!

Then he kicked me with one red, heavy boot. I fell against the upright shovel, bruising my back as the tool and I fell to the dirt.
Get up. Get the fuck up, you little bitch.

Every part of my body was quivering, and I worried my feet weren't going to listen to me. After what felt like several minutes, I finally rose to my feet, the shovel clenched in my hands.

I thought about charging at the clown with the shovel, but it was pretty certain I'd still lose that fight.

He was so much bigger than me, and I assumed faster than me, and before I knew it, I would have that giant knife stabbing into my head.

Tears began to run down my cheeks as I pressed the shovel into the ground. Are you fucking crying? Seriously?

I didn't say anything. He looked at my tears glinting in the moonlight, and he released another freakish, high-pitched laugh.

What a fucking baby. How are you this much of a bitch?

I still said nothing, and aside from the occasional, hurry up, bitch, from the clown, he didn't say much either.

I don't know how much time had passed, but eventually I was in a hole that reached almost up to the top of my head. I could barely see Ronald McDonald's face as he grinned down at me.

I kicked the shovel into the moist soil at my feet, and as I did so, I heard a gross, squelching sound. It reminded me of last Halloween when Levi had stomped hard on a pumpkin.

I looked up from my hole and saw the once grinning and bug-eyed face of Ronald McDonald had gone dull, unresponsive, and numb.

A string of bloody drool oozed out of his mouth as his eyes lulled upward.

He fell forward. Standing in his place was Levi, holding a large and jagged rock that glistened crimson-red under the fading moon.
I started to scramble out of the hole I had dug myself into.

As I emerged, I saw Levi climb on the clown's back. He raised the rock up and brought it down again.
Once, twice,

three more times he did so, the gut-wrenching squishing sounds becoming less and less solid with each blow. What the hell took you so long?

Levi stood up, took off his mask, and flashed a toothy grin at me.

Sorry, bro.

He shrugged. I didn't want him to hear me coming, so I hung back a bit.
You were hard to find in here. But hey, I found you, and I did it again this year.
I think you owe me half your bag of candy.

I shook my head in disbelief.

Three years in a row, man.

one of these days you're gonna get caught yeah maybe but you can't deny this one at least deserved it but i'm at least not getting caught this time thanks for digging that hole man

i burst into laughter fresh tears running down my cheeks

you man

seriously bro mind giving me a hand We rolled the man dressed as Ronald McDonald into the freshly dug hole and buried him in this secluded clearing in the woods.

We made our way back to Levi's place and sorted through our haul for this year's Halloween. I admitted to Levi I felt a little used this time for our Halloween tradition.

And Levi agreed it was a bit much, so he said to forget about giving him half my candy. We stayed up late, gorging ourselves on candy and watching scream.

It was a perfect evening, and I honestly couldn't wait to see what Levi came up with for next year's Halloween night.

It seems these days Halloween is an expensive holiday.

With those pricey, inflatable yard decorations, the pressure to give out full-sized candy bars, or those expensive, detailed costumes, you gotta pay big to play big.

But in this tale, shared with us by author Andrew Cosma, we meet a family who are struggling financially. The kids in their makeshift costumes hope for the best.

Perhaps the lady in that decrepit old house can help them out.

Performing this tale are Tanya Milosevic, Alante Baraket, Dan Zapula, and Marie Westbrook.

So remember the spirits or spirits of the season. It's not about money, it's about being spooky.
And the perfect place for that is the last house on the cul-de-sac.

Miss Kenzo's house was the last one on the block, the very middle of the cul-de-sac, with uninhabited houses to either side.

The house on the right had burned down months ago at the end of the summer, and the house on the left sported a for-sale sign stuck out front for so long the lettering had sun-faded.

In the days before Halloween, my brothers and I had gone through the burned-out house looking for anything we could use to make costumes.

Our family too poor this year to buy new ones.

I'd taken a plastic cup full of ashes and a few bits of plastic and metal my mom said were cooking utensils, which is why I had ashes coating my hair and smeared over my face and arms, and bits of burnt junk safety pinned to my ash-streaked white shirt.

My black skirt and shoes were supposed to be invisible, so I'd be a ghost floating through the air. My brothers weren't any better.

Bull, the younger one, doused his shoes and ashes and re-upped every so often, so a trail of his footsteps was left everywhere we went. He was a guilty arsonist.

My older brother Nim put a cross on his forehead and wouldn't stop insisting it was Ash Wednesday. He was going as an unwitting time traveler.

For whatever reason, the adults in the neighborhood took pity on us and filled our bags with candy regardless.

Bull groaned right as we stopped in front of Miss Kenzo's house. I'm sick of trick-or-treating.

You're only nine. You've got at least five years of candy left inside you.
I don't want candy left inside me.

Nim nudged him in the back.

Don't worry. I'll cut it out of you while you're sleeping.
Ms. Kenzo's house didn't have any cool animatronics or blow-up dragons that breathed fire-colored fabric and flapped their wings.

No giant skeletons as tall as the house itself. Instead, there were cheap dollar store decorations scattered amongst the styrofoam gravestones with funny messages like, Wish you were here

and RIP Studi LIVR.

I honestly couldn't remember if Ms. Kenzo ever took the decorations down or if they were always up month after month and we just pretended like we couldn't see them.
Nim leapt out onto the lawn.

Is that one of those singing fish?

Sure enough, the fake stuffed fish started singing, but so slowly and out of tune, it sounded more like dying.

I don't like it.

I put a hand on Bull's shoulder to comfort him, but he jerked away and walked over to Nim

and the moaning fish.

It made me sad, him wanting to grow up so fast. I didn't want to grow up at all.
I think I was the only one of us who realized how miserable our parents were.

I was the one who found the eviction notice on the floor. And I was the one who asked mom what it meant.
And I was the one who made mom cry.

I hadn't told my brothers and I didn't think I ever would.

Come on,

I said, forcing cheer into my voice. You know Miss Kenzo gives the best treats.

In the pit of my stomach, I felt like this was it for me me and Halloween. This was it for me and all holidays.
But especially Halloween, where we are all supposed to pretend to be scared and love it.

In real life, I was actually scared and trying to ignore it.

I walked up to knock on the door of Ms. Kenzo's house.
Bull and Nim trailing behind me.

The door opened when I hit it, revealing a dark entryway with a large, nearly empty bowl of candy just inside the door.

Wrapped candy was scattered on the floor as if other kids had grabbed handfuls frantically, afraid of being yelled at for taking too much.

At this hour, we were the dregs of the night. No one else in the cul-de-sac or on the street.

I could hear people laughing, but it was echoing to us, over the trees, and by the time it reached my ears, it sounded like a television rerun.

Oppressive silence flowed out from Ms. Kinsey's house.
It was the silence of the angry and the sad, and reminded me of home after our parents argued.

Bull huddled behind me, pressing up so tight so his entire body was hidden. Even Nim felt it.
hovering in the doorway but unwilling to reach through and grab the treats that were were right there.

They were right there.

Full chocolate candy bars, bags of those gushy drops that tasted like sugared acid on the tongue. Even a few packets of candy cigarettes our parents had claimed weren't made anymore.

There was something wet to the darkness in the house. My brothers were still as roaches with the lights on.

I stepped forward to grab all the candy that was left, the entire bowl cradled in my arms, hurriedly tossing in all the candies that had fallen to the floor.

My heart was racing, and Bull hissed in alarm or fear, and my lungs felt like they were full of cotton candy.

And when I handed the bowl to Nim, he didn't take it, but just let the bowl bump up against his chest.

They were looking at something.

I turned and saw Miss Kenzo at the edge of the entryway.

Take it all. Enjoy it too, if that's what'll make you happy.
I'm sorry. Miss Kenzo's head was the only part of her that was clearly visible.

She wasn't much older than mom, but her face was scratched through with wrinkles anyway. In the shadows, her entire body seemed to slump.

Her bones curling like that pencil trick in the glass of water, bending ways they shouldn't bend.

The bowl of candy was out of my arms now. I turned back and saw Bull and Nim on the far side of the porch, Nim carrying the candy bowl and motioning at me with his free hand.

And I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to run.
I did. I swear.

But before I took a step, Ms. Kenzo spoke.

Do you want some hot chocolate? I hesitated for a moment.

Yes?

And then I followed her into that dark hall. And when I glanced back, the door was closed, and I hadn't closed it.

I ended up in a dim kitchen, the four-vein ceiling fan lighting the room with just one dirty bulb. Ms.
Kenzo sat on the other side of a small round table.

She pushed a steaming mug towards me, the marshmallows on top looking like bull's baby teeth when they fell out all at once that one summer.

I sat down at the table.

The hot chocolate smelled like cake, but I couldn't get past those floating teeth.

What do you desire most in all the world?

Strings of saliva in Ms. Kenzo's mouth danced as she talked, delicate as cobwebs.

I thought of my parents and my brothers, and the home that wasn't going to be our home any longer unless a miracle happened.

Mom and dad fighting all the time, Bull getting picked on in a new school, Nim retreating into his room and locking the door, refusing to talk to anyone not online.

What would you sacrifice to make that happen?

Her jaw snapped as she finished talking, reminding me of the ever-present mousetraps in the apartment we'd lived in before a mom and dad could afford the house.

The mug of hot chocolate was cold between my hands.

The entire house was chilly, barely warmer than outside. Other than the fan's flickering light bulb, there weren't any other lights on, not even displays for the oven or microwave.

Anything.

I finally answered. Suddenly, I was sitting in the dark.
My heart pounded, and the air was damp like at an indoor pool.

I stood up quickly and the mug tipped over, its contents rattling out onto the table. I ran to the front door and yanked it open.
It was pitch black outside. Even the moon gone from the sky.

Bull and Nim were long gone. I couldn't believe they'd left me.

I ran home, feeling hollower and hollower with every step I took. Every house I passed.

Halloween was over, and the world was dark and scary.

Not because of some fantastical reason, but just because it was.

I was terrified I'd never see my family again.

But I could see them from the sidewalk when I reached home. All four of them gathered in the brightly lit living room still sorting the bowl of candy.

The room was filled with expensive things we'd never been able to afford. A piano, a wrap-around couch.

Mom and dad never looked so happy. Come, nameless child.

Miss Kenzo grabbed a hold of my shoulder. It's time to go.

In our final Halloween tale, we meet a boy, Brandon, who loves Halloween. He loves being able to wear a mask and become whomever or whatever he wants.

Ah, such a delightful part of the Halloween night. But in this tale, shared with us by author Joshua J.
Henry, Brandon and his friends stumble across a house promising the best treats inside.

But we all know on this night, treats compared with tricks.

Performing this tale are Joel Blackwell, Matthew Bradford, Kyle Akers, Alante Baraket, Dan Zapula, Ellie Hirschman, Jesse Cornett, Sarah Thomas, Graham Rowett, Peter Lewis, and Marie Westbrook.

So don't worry, it's not a spoiler if I tell you Brandon makes it out of the house. Because this tale is called, Brandon Deck Has a Happy Halloween.

For Brandon, no night during the whole year was more special than Halloween night. Even more so than Christmas, this night had palpable magic in the air.

In his sweetest dreams, it was Halloween every night.

Standing before the mirror fixed to his bedroom door, Brandon studied himself through the slits of his mask.

The red helmet with a black star for its face evoked a sense of power inside Brandon's heart, as most masks do.

It was a constant sense of wonder to Brandon how he felt more himself when he was someone else. Stepping away, Brandon removed the mask and began donning his true costume for the night.

Minutes later, he reappeared in front of the mirror and smiled behind his new mask.

He was now the wolfman. A snarling latex snout led to furious glass-bead eyes.
Faux fur glued around the face and pointed ears really brought the sight to life.

With some help from his mother, the rest of his outfit accentuated the mask. Old clothes that had been shoved to the back of his closet were slashed and cut to resemble tattered rags.

Under some of the cuts were splotches of fur to help sell his bestial transformation. Gorilla gloves, repurposed from his older brother's costume from a few years ago, completed the look.

Brandon lost track of the time as he posted in front of the mirror and perfected his new monstrous mannerisms. When the doorbell rang, he began searching for his pumpkin-shaped pail.

Brandon, your friends are here.

Brandon bolted down the stairs two at a time as he raced to the door and flew past his mother to join the night. A crew of terrors met Brandon outside his home.
Wow, you look so cool.

The hockey-masked child sounded an awful lot like Anthony. Thanks.
I made it myself. Should we start on Main Street? The bedsheet ghosts might have either been Mike or Alan.

I don't give a crap. The latex masked zombie with its brains exposed was definitely Rob.

Just as long as we can get to the Dieter's house. Danielle said her parents are doing full-size candy bars this year.

Brandon looked towards the horizon and saw the last cooling embers of daylight extinguish behind a tree line.

He inhaled the sweet smell of fallen autumn leaves and cool night air as he closed his eyes to savor the dawning night.

That is when he turned towards his neighbor's house, anxiously searching for any sign of activity. I don't care, let's just go.

The group of monsters ran down the sidewalk, bumping shoulders with Kim Possible and Darth Vader as they went.

Happy Halloween!

The boys scampered away from their latest victim. On the street, they showed their bags and buckets to take inventory of their gains.

I'm already half full. Yeah, and we haven't even hit the north side yet.
We should start heading over there.

Brandon was so excited that it was hard to control the volume of his voice.

Brandon, is that you?

All of their masked faces turned to see a skinny kid wearing a hand-drawn paper-cut-out mask that had been colored red.

The boy wore thrifted red clothing that had white white diamonds cut out and glued on. The new boy lifted his mask and Brandon's gut tied itself into a knot.

Why didn't you wait for me? We were supposed to trick-or-treat together. And why aren't you wearing your red ranger costume?

The other boys broke out into laughter as Brandon stood paralyzed.

What kind of crappy costume is that?

The zombie raised an accusatory finger. What are you supposed to be? A used tampon?

Another round of laughter erupted as the boy wiped his eyes.

I'm the Red Ranger.

From the stupid baby show?

That's such a lame costume.

Brandon jolted at that comment and turned away from the boy.

We should go if we don't want to run out of time.

The boy's lip quivered.

But but it was your idea to be Red Rangers.

Brandon whirled around on the defensive.

I wouldn't be caught dad in a kiddie costume like that. You're supposed to be scary on Halloween.
I don't know what you're talking about.

Brandon began marching away from the now-crying boy.

Come on, guys, ignore this baby. Let's go.

The group laughed and smacked Brandon on the back as the sounds of repressed sobs faded away behind them.

After another hour, the boys had more candy than they could possibly eat within a single lifetime. And that was, of course, not nearly enough for them.

But the jack-o-lantern candles were burning out and porch lights were being extinguished.

One more street.

Brandon didn't want the night to end.

Sure! Yeah, yeah, that'll be awesome. Yeah!

They picked a street at random that looked like it had front lights still on and went door to door, snatching up the last pieces of candy that the homeowners had to offer.

As they walked away from one such house inspecting their goods, Brandon looked down the street and gasped,

the rest of the masked heads turned and followed his hairy gloved finger. At the end of the street stood a proud and aging Victorian home.
Crooked shutters dangled in the wind.

Stripped away paint revealed revealed the dried and paled boards beneath. Candle flames danced in each window, and smoke escaped the chimney like a puttering wraith.

It looked like something from an old black and white haunting flick. The house itself was the perfect embodiment of this holiday, but it didn't stop there.

Jack-o'-lantern sentinels lined the walkway leading to the front porch.

Foam tombstones made a mock cemetery across the whole front yard, with straw-stuffed dummies and plastic bones arranged throughout.

Tattered white fabric tied around balls hung from a tree and fluttered in the breeze with sinister faces painted on them. Never had a house whispered, Happy Halloween more than this one.

There was no further discussion. The whole group shuffled up to the house.

You think they still got candy? Oh,

a house like that?

Oh, I bet they got candy bars as big as my arm!

They walked between the two rows of carved pumpkins and all failed to notice that each candle puffed out as they passed.

Once on the porch, they paused, for each boy wanted to relish this moment for as long as possible. It was the zombie that gripped the cast iron knocker and slammed it on the door thrice.

As soon as he stepped back, the door creaked open to display the scarecrow. They took it for another prop until it stepped forward.

Its head was a burlap sack, tied tight around the throat with a noose of thick rope.

Crude black-threaded circles were stitched into the fabric for eyes above a blue-threaded grin.

Straw poked out of small holes in the flannel shirt he was wearing and out of the wrists where gardener gloves were worn.

Tricketry!

The scarecrow chuckled,

then spoke in a voice that sounded like dead leaves scraping down a sidewalk in the wind.

I

have treats for you,

boys.

I have the best treat you boys could ever possibly want.

King-sized candy bars?

No.

Fresh cookies?

Free toys?

A whole bag of candy corn.

No.

Something even better than that.

But I can't give out my treat for free.

The boys' masked faces turned and looked at one another.

If you want my treat,

you have to survive my tricks.

What tricks?

Come this way

and find

out.

The scarecrow stepped back into a darkened hallway of the house toward an open doorway that light spilled out of.

If you dare.

Each boy froze and clutched harder onto their sacks of candy and pail handles. The zombie stepped inside and turned toward the rest.

What are you, chickens?

He stepped closer to the doorway and turned again.

Go ahead and stay out here. That just means more goodies for me.

Brandon stepped forward just as the zombie disappeared into the doorway. Two more sets of footsteps followed him in.
As soon as the last boy had passed the threshold, the door crept shut behind them.

A bolt clicked itself into place. Before them stretched a long hall lined with doors on both sides.
At the very end stood the scarecrow, beckoning the boys.

Follow me through here.

Hesitantly, the boys shuffled forward. As they started to pass the first door, its rusted hinges groaned, and a cold wind swept over the boys.

A spectral form glided out of the room and approached the boy dressed in a bedsheet.

Another of my kind.

A little girl hovered in the air with her curled toes barely touching the floorboards.

All her features were blurred as if a thick layer of fog separated her from the group, and if they stared at her directly, they could see right through her.

The boy in the bedsheet stumbled back and dropped his pillowcase of candy onto the floor.

The little girl's face contorted in rage.

You're just a boy. You are no spirit.

In a flash, the ghost girl gripped the boy's exposed ankle and dragged his flailing body into the room she had emerged from.

The door slammed shut, and the boy's screams began to fade away into the distance. The remaining three had been so terrified during these events that none had moved an inch.

The hockey mask turned and ran back to the door they had entered through and yanked on the knob.

Let us out. I don't want any more trees, please.

But the door did not budge.

That was real. That was really real.

While the other two began to panic, Brandon stood still and observed the whole situation. He thought he understood and so stepped forward.

Wait, what are you doing?

When Brandon started passing the next door, it was thrown open. A single massive paw stepped out of the darkness and into the dim light of the hall.

The largest wolf Brandon had ever seen walked out on two legs, hunched forward with an arching spine.

It growled

quietly as frothing saliva dripped from its muzzle.

Another member of the pack.

Will you join me on my hunt?

Mimicking the mannerisms of the beast, Brandon growled back.

No need, brother.

He extended his pumpkin bucket forward.

I've just finished hunting and we'll share.

The giant snout lowered to the bucket and sniffed with flaring nostrils.

The beast took a mouthful of the wrapped candies and stepped backward into its room. Once the door was shut, Brandon let out a shaking sigh

and nearly collapsed to the floor. The other two inched towards him, carefully eyeing the door.

You just have to play along. One of you has to go next.

The hockey mask and the zombie looked at each other nervously, their wide eyes visible through the holes of their masks. The zombie gulped and began shuffling forward with one limp foot, groaning.

The next door creaked open, and a horrid smell filled the hall. It reminded Brandon of the time his father had pulled a dead cat out from under the trailer.

The whole back half of the cat was coated in twisting maggots.

A corpse twisted out of the room, its bloated green skin peeling off its face and exposed arms. The clothes it wore were crusted with dirt and looked to be overly starched.

One eyeball, milky white with bits of dirt stuck in its moisture, swung against its cheek as it hung out of the socket. The boy zombie froze when the living dead man approached him.

Then, with a trembling hand, the boy reached into its plastic bag and pulled out a handful of candies.

Brains!

The boy extended the candy to the corpse. The actual zombie gurgled and blood dribbled out of its mouth as it took the offering and muddled back into its room.

Even after the door was shut, the boys all choked on the stench of rotting meat that lingered in the hall.

The hockey masked boy dropped to his knees and dumped out his bag of treats. Did either of you get the markers from that one house with the toys? I did.

The zombie began rooting around in his bag. He found the small box of mini markers and handed it to Hockey Mask.

The boy turned his bag inside out to expose the white interior lining and stuffed a few fistfuls of candy back into the bag before tying a knot so the candy couldn't escape.

He then took the markers and drew two X's for eyes as well as a frown with a tongue sticking out. With the red marker, he scribbled all over the knot and the dangling section of the bag.

Brandon recognized it as a poorly made severed head. With his creation behind his back, Hockey Mask slowly walked forward until another door opened.

Out stomped the dripping wet body of a large man, wearing an antique hockey mask and splattered with blood. The killer did not say anything.

He only cocked his head to the side of the boy, who in turn stood solemnly and slowly pulled out his makeshift head from behind his back.

With no words, he showed the fake head to the killer, who nodded and took the head before stomping back into his room.

The moment that the killer's door closed, The door that the scarecrow had gone through reopened, and all the remaining boys ran toward it.

Where the hall had been sparse, this new room was crowded. Shelves lining the walls were packed full with different shaped and colored glass bottles and tattered books.

Tables were filled with roiling beakers of fluid atop mini gas burners.

A constant stream of lightning ran between two tightly coiled rings of wire, and a glass tank contained an ample supply of little rats that writhed like a living carpet.

In the center of it all, an old man stood with his back to the boys, but he whirled around when he heard them enter.

The man wore a heavily stained and bleached lab coat, as well as thick rubber gloves that reached up to his elbows.

What was left of his hair was clumped together in wiry splotches of silver, and a gnarly burn scar masked half his face.

Good, my new research candidates.

Now, as much as I would love to have you each stay with me, I unfortunately have only enough funding for one candidate.

So, I thought we could have a little competition to see which one of you is the brightest.

Ready?

The zombie in hockey mask nodded vigorously as Brandon gave a loose affirmative while scanning the rest of the room.

He noticed an operating table vaguely hidden behind a standing cabinet that appeared to be covered with dark smears.

Pop quiz, which planet in our solar system is the fifth farthest from the Sun?

Oh, that's Jupiter, right?

Correct to point for our sports star. All right, then.
What is 9 squared equal to?

The zombie counted on his fingers and mumbled for a moment. 12, 13, 80, 70, before blurting out.
81.

Correct.

I see you boys are as skilled with arithmetic as you are with astronomy. Now, let's try history.

During the American Revolution, as the colonists rebelled against the British Empire, the Americans often used the slogan, No taxation without what?

Cause?

No, it's representation.

Absolutely right, my little corpse.

The scientist laughed and rubbed his hands together.

As the rest continued their quiz, Brandon kept searching the room through the slits of his mask. On the scan, he discovered a row of large jars stored within a display case at the far end of the room.

Inside those jars were wrinkled masses of gray flesh. Brains.

Human brains.

Let's see who's familiar with the periodic table. What is the abbreviation for silver? SI.

He was wrong. Brandon knew that the abbreviation for silver was A-G, but he chose to say nothing.
The werewolf took an imperceptible step backward to let the other two boys shine.

No, it's A-U, right?

The scientist shook his head in disappointment.

Afraid not. Any other guesses? Um...

The zombie thought and tapped at his mask.

It's A something.

AG?

You got it?

Well, I think that settles it. My little corpse will be the perfect candidate for my next round of experiments.
How could I not choose you? You clearly have the largest mind of all the boys here.

You other two may leave through that door.

The scientist gestured to a little door off to his side. Brandon began walking toward the door as the zombie finally caught on.

Wait, they're just leaving? But but I want to go too.

Oh, we can't have that.

The scientist wrapped an arm around the zombie. That would be a waste of such a beautiful and healthy brain.

In one fluid motion, the scientist scooped up the boy with far more strength than any would suspect the old man possessed.

Hockey mask froze, watching his friend get carried to the steel table with leather straps dangling from its sides.

You coming?

Brandon's hand was already on the doorknob, not wanting to hear his friend scream anymore.

Hockey Mass turned and ran toward the door. This new room was pitch black.

The only comfort it gave was that once the door shut behind their last two boys, it completely silenced all the zombies' cries.

The only thing they could hear were the sounds that reminded Brandon of a creak. Trickling, gurgling, wet sounds.

What is that?

Don't know.

Brandon groped the wall for a light switch. When he found one, he flicked it and then regretted it right away.
A single light bulb crackled to life and exposed the room.

Directly across from them, on the opposite side of the room, was the only other door.

Laying in a heap right in front of that door was the body of a boy wearing a poorly made Red Ranger costume. Knelt over the boy was the scarecrow.

At first, the sight was just odd for the boys, but as the light brightened, the scarecrow jerked one of its arms back, clutching a long kitchen knife, the kind you would use to carve a pumpkin with.

The Red Ranger gurgled.

And a string of blood-soaked saliva shot out of his mouth. His eyes jumped to the two boys, and they felt their blood turn to slush when they met his begging gaze.

The scarecrow spread his arms in welcome.

You've made it to my last trick.

I'm having trouble cutting this pumpkin. It keeps moving, you see.

Would you boys mind helping me?

That's

that's Jeremy.

A jolt of anger burst in Brandon's chest when he heard the name. It was Halloween.
They weren't supposed to use their real names. Collecting himself, Brandon stepped forward.

Can we leave once we help you?

Oh,

But don't forget,

you have a nice treat waiting at the end.

Without another word, Brandon walked over, got down on his knees, and held the writhing boy still.

Thank you.

This isn't right.

Hockey Mask whimpered.

But he wasn't Hockey Mask anymore. When Brandon looked back, the hockey mask dangled in the boy's hand.
He was Anthony. Only Anthony.

The scarecrow plunged the knife into Jeremy's belly in three quick jabs. Brandon felt the boy jolt and convulse with each stab, but did his best to hold him still.

The smell of blood was so dense that Brandon tasted pennies on his tongue.

Panicked banging drew Brandon's attention back to Anthony, who was slamming his fists against the door they had entered through.

All done.

Brandon had been so focused on Anthony's wailing that he hadn't noticed the red ranger grow perfectly still. The scarecrow rose and opened the door lying just behind him.

Brandon followed, but paused to watch Anthony sink to the floor,

crying and pitifully clawing at the other door.

You can stay with him

if you like.

But Brandon shook his head.

Wouldn't do me any good.

He turned and followed his host.

They were back in the hall that led to the front door. They shouldn't be.
Brandon knew that made no sense with how they traversed the house, but he was relieved nonetheless.

Can I have my treat now? I want to go home.

Certainly.

The scarecrow curled its straw-stuffed glove fingers around Brandon's shoulders and spun him to face a grime-covered mirror.

He stared into the glass-bead eyes of his Wolfman mask and again felt pride at his costume.

You love Halloween,

don't you?

Brandon nodded.

And you love wearing masks, right?

Because you love changing yourself?

Again, Brandon nodded. With a sudden yank, the scarecrow ripped the mask off of Brandon's head, and the boy gasped.
His curly hair was gone, replaced with glossy white plastic.

As was his skin, his lips, his ears, and even his eyes. His head was now that of a store mannequins, featureless and plain, an unpainted doll.

The scarecrow uncapped a marker and drew a smile on Brandon's unflinching features.

Now it will be easy for you to remake yourself

as you see fit.

You can wear a mask every

single

day.

Brandon pushed the living scarecrow away and ran for the open front door. Within seconds, he was on the street, screaming through lips that no longer parted.

All while the scarecrow's whispering laughter echoed down the empty streets,

chasing the boy.

Our tales may be over, but they are still out there.

Be sure to join us next week so you can stay safe, stay secure, and stay sleepless.

The No Sleep Podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical score was composed by Brandon Brandon Boone.

Our production team is Phil Michulski, Jeff Clement, Jesse Cornett, and Claudius Moore. Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy, Ashley McInelly, Ollie A.
White, and Kristen Samito.

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This audio program is Copyright 2025 by Creative Reason Media Inc. All rights reserved.
The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors.

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