One Last Halloween Story

10-31-2017

Halloween has arrived and the spirits are awakened. Fear is the only correct response to any disembodied sound, ghostly emanating from the basement or attic. Frozen in fear is the only action. Dread replaces comfort as the resting sensation. Dread, and a quiet understanding that running serves no purpose but to fowl the sweet flesh.

Now sit, my child. Sit and tell me what you've heard. Describe in as much detail as you can recall. I have not come to soothe you, not today. I have not come to tell you that it's probably nothing. Let your imagination go wild and tell me what is the very worst it could be. Wait... wait and listen for it to return. Let the dread seep into your chest like rot. It spreads to your heart and calls out to the evil one like the scent of a delicious meal.

Have you heard the sound, child? It speaks directly to you. Only to you. Do you understand it now? There can be no confusion. It is not the creaking house or ghostly wind in the rafters. You understand its language. You always have. You are of it, many years ago. It lost you in the woods and has suffered long years just as you have lived. It has searched and consumed, always disappointed. But now it is sure. You are the only child left. The rot calls it near. Can you hear it, child? Is it getting louder, nearer? I see its reflection in your eyes. I see that you can barely hear my words as the call of evil shreds at your ears and fills this weak house with screeches and howls, threats and promises and torment! Is it near? Is it in this room? Does it know your name? Is it breathing fowl dust-breath onto your pale, frozen face?

Is it quiet now, child? Is it the faraway sound of another child? Dozens, perhaps, calling for you to come play at the old well in the orchard? Go to them, they await you. I will stay here until you return. I will rest and listen for the sound of creaking and moaning. The sound of ghost-wind in the rafters.

Nothing to fear. Just the sounds of an old, old house.