Viney Dancer

A young boy unleashes a killer... [1st draft]

VINEY DANCER

or THE CURSE OF THE LITTLE SHAMAN

by Mark Belisle [1st Draft]

 

     "It was five years ago that local girl Amalie Williams was brutally murdered at Killens Pond. This Halloween, come experience the horror, the terror, the brutality at... KILLENS POND HORROR HOUSE! Don’t forget-"

    "And in other news, Farrow town sheriff John Strayer wishes parents to know that all children are to be out no later than eleven P.M. tonight for trick or treating. Fines will be given to any that violate the curfew. And for tonight’s weather-"

    Billy clicked the remote again, this time bringing up a pair of cartoon weasels dressed in Halloween costumes hitting each other with mallets. The steps of his parents descending the stairs brought his attention away from the television. His mother and father entered the living room, each of them dressed in long trench coats covering their Halloween costumes that they had picked for the late night dinner party they were attending.

    "Miss Hudson, are you in there?" asked Billy’s father looking into the kitchen.

    "Yes, Mr. Connor?"

    Billy’s Mother leaned over and embraced her son, "You going to be a good boy tonight, Billy?"
    "Yes, Mom."

    "That’s a good boy."

    Miss Hudson came out of the kitchen. She was a Haitian woman with dark, mahogonay skin. She spoke with the slightest whisper of an accent.

    "What can I help you with Mr. Connor?"

    Billy’s father walked over to the black woman and smiled gently at her.

    "Thanks again for watching him so late. Teresea and I really appreciate it."   

    "You’re very welcome Mr. Connor. You know that Billy never gives me any trouble. He’s always a darling young thing."

    Billy’s mother gleamed at the boy on the couch, "We’re very glad to hear that Miss Hudson. We should be back no later than 12:30 tonight. You’ve got our number in case anything happens, right?"

    "Yes, ma’am. I don’t think anything will, but I won’t hesitate to call you if things happen."

    "Thank you so much," said Billy’s mother. "Listen, Maddy is allowed to go out to a party tonight, but she is to be in before the curfew is over. If she gives you any problems, just call us and we’ll straighten her out."

    Billy’s mother walked to the foot of the stairs. The song playing from Maddy’s stereo wafted down the landing.

    "Do you hear that Madeline?" she shouted. "Don’t you dare give Miss Hudson any grief tonight!"

     Instead of a reply, the stereo volume increased.

    Billy thought he heard his mother say, "Little b***h" underneath her breath.

    "C’mon, honey. We’re going to be late," said Billy’s father.

    "Okay. Bye-bye little guy," she said as she kissed Billy’s cheek. "Be good okay?"

    "Yes, mom. Hey, can I go out with Maddy tonight?"

    "No sir, you can’t."

    Billy frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but his mother pursed his lips with a single finger.

    "Please don’t love," said his mother. "Just stay here and be good to Miss Hudson, please?"

    Billy smiled, "Yes, mom. I love you."

    "Good boy. I love you too."

    His mother moved to the door with his father.

    "Thanks again so much for all this Miss Hudson."

    The elderly woman smiled a broad, white smile. It reminded Billy of a crescent moon shining in a midnight sky.

    "No problem, child. Not get gone with ya. You’re late enought as it is."

    His mother gave one last smirk to Billy and then closed the front door, shutting out the night behind them.

    Billy stared at the door, ignoring the cartoon’s orchestral movement being punctuated by loud BOOMs and BANGs as the weasels continued to punish each other. He sighed heavily.

    "Now, now Billy. You and Miss Hudson are gonna have a great time tonight." said Billy’s nanny from the kitchen entrance. "I got a nice treat for ya in the kitchen. Do ya want a pumpkin spice cookie?They just came from the oven."

    Billy thought for a moment and smiled, "That sounds real good, Miss Hudson. Can I have two?"

    "You can eat yourself silly tonight, Billy. And please, child, you can call me Di. You’re parents aren’t around and you don’t have to talk to me with respect. You treat me respectful enough."

    "Thanks Miss Di."

    The old woman shook her head turned back into the kitchen, "Such a good boy."

    Billy picked up the remote again and started flicking through channels.

    "Miss Di, do you mind if I watch a scary movie?"

    "Go on, child," said Miss Hudson from the kitchen.

     Billy scanned all the channels until he came upon a screaming young woman, breasts pumping and jiggling while she ran from a monstrous wolf-man. He watched the scene with complete attention, his little mind using all the muscles of his imagination to picture what it would be like. How his heart would pound with effort and adrenaline, how his breath would come in ragged gasps, how the stitch in his side would burn white-hot in his abdomen.

    He jumped when Miss Hudson set the plate of cookies in front of him. The old woman laughed and patted the boy on his head. She returned to the kitchen to finish her cooking.

    Billy turned back to the movie, once again engrossing himself in the plight of the screaming, scantily clad woman in the forest. He didn’t hear the stereo turn off in his sister’s room, nor hear her descending footsteps down the stairs. In fact, he didn’t even notice her until she spoke out loud.

    "What the f**k are you watching?"

    Billy tunred around and gasped.

    His sister was wearing a nurse’s uniform that was torn and ragged. The skirt was cut almost up the whole length of her left leg, and a large chunk was missing from her shirt, advertising the tops of her pushed up breasts. Her legs were covered with white, gaudy fishnets and her feet were covered with what his father would no doubts call "f**k me pumps". Instead of wearing a red cross on her hat, there was a black, inverted crucifix. And for the final touch, she had splashed crimson fake blood over the whole outfit. The same fake blood covered her face and dripped down her chin. Black lipstick covered her lips and her eyes were heavily covered with mascara.

    "Maddy, what are you supposed to be?" Billy asked.

    "I’m the nurse of the damned," she rolled her eyes. "Stupid f*g."

    "Maddy, you know you’re not supposed to say that."

    "Blow me."

    She went to the closet and removed a long, black leather jacket. When she turned around, she saw Miss Hudson standing at the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. The distaste was evident on her face.

    "I’m leaving," Maddy said as she put the jacket on.

    When she tried to blow past Miss Hudson, the elderly woman’s arm shot out and grabbed the girl’s wrist. Maddy all but bared her teeth and raised her hackles at the black woman. She ripped her hand away and stood ready for confrontation.

    "I don’t think your mother would appreciate you dressed like that girl."

    "I’m not a girl. I’m goddamn seventeen years old. And it’s a good thing my mother isn’t here to see me then, you b***h."

    Maddy threw open the door and walked down the front path, leaving the doorway open and fluttering in the autumn breeze. As she turned the corner onto the sidewalk, she gave anyone bothering to look from the doorway the finger. The jack o’ lantern that Billy had carved earlier that day smiled an orange, ghastly smile after her.

     Billy sat on the couch, blushing furiously. He watched Miss Hudson as she closed the front door, Haitin rolling of her tongue like the way the ocean lapped at the shoreline. Billy thought the language sounded so beautiful, so elegant.

    "I’m sorry that she talked like that to you, Miss Di,"

    "It’s okay, child. You can’t be apologizing for your sister when she does things the wrong way. You know understand why what she did was wrong?"

    "Yes, ma’am."

    "Good boy. You disrespect your mother and father when you dress like a w***e, when you talk down to people who mean well. Don’t ever do these things Billy, they break your mother’s heart."

    "Yes, ma’am."

    "Good boy."

    The phone in the kitchen began to ring, and Miss Hudson turned to answer it. Billy turned back to the TV. He realized that he didn’t know what happened to the busty damsel in distress. Now, the wolf-man was stalking a muscular young man toting what appeared to be a double-barrelled shotgun. A stick broke in the distance and the young man reflexively fired into the night.

    Over the echoing blast of the boomstick, Billy heard snippets of Miss Hudson’s conversation.

    "Yes, yes. This is her," Miss Hudson paused. "What do you mean accident?"

Billy’s heart started to thud in his chest.

    "Well how is he?" she asked.

    On the TV, the hero called out to the wolf-man as he reloaded the shotgun, "C’mon you furry b*****d! Where the hell are ya?"

    "Is he concious?" asked the old woman in the kitchen.

    Billy left the movie on the TV just as the final confrontation began. He stepped into the doorway and watched with dread as the Haitian woman nodded and began writing on the erasable board on the fridge that his mother left memos on.

    "Oh my dear lord," said Miss Hudson shaking her head. "Alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can."

    Two more shotgun blasts roared on the movie. A high pitched yelp from the wolf caused Billy to flinch.

    "Is it... is it okay, Miss Di? Is it my family?"

Miss Hudson looked at the young boy at the edge of tears. She smiled weakly and knelt down, embracing Billy.

    "No, no child. Not your family, just mine. My nephew was in a car accident and I need to be getting there as soon as possible."

    "Oh, Miss Di, I’m so sorry."

     "It’s fine child, the doctors say that he’ll be just fine. I do need to go and fill out his forms for him. I’m going to have to leave you for a spell, Billy."

    She turned to the oven, flicking it off with a thin, aged finger, "You’re gonna have to be okay on your own. Now, I’ll call your parents on their cell phone on the way there, but until then, you’ll be by yourself. Do you remember the rules?"

    "Yes, ma’am."

    "Say them to me while I gather my things."

    "Keep the doors locked. Don’t open them for anyone except my sister, my parents, and you."

    "Good boy. Come with me now, child," she said while removing her apron.

    Miss Hudson grabbed her coat and her purse, along with the big, leatherbound book that she always read when she was babysitting. Neither of them noticed the scrap of yellow paper that floated out from between the pages.

     "Now, lock the door behind me Billy, and call me if you need me for any reason."

     "Yes, ma’am. I hope everything’s okay."

     ‘Thank you child. I’ll see you soon."

     When she walked down the path and disappeared behind the corner of the house to the driveway, Billy closed and locked the door.

     The hero on the TV sneered at the wolf’s corpse on the ground. The screen went black and the credits rolled.

    Billy was suddenly alone in the house.

    The quiet piano melody playing on the TV made Billy's skin crawl. He walked to the place where he left the remote control and clicked off the horror movie. He scanned the TV stations until he found the most benign, that being the Weather Channel. The creepy piano concerto was suddenly replaced with smooth, new age jazz. Billy sat on the couch and sighed, wracking his brain for a way to keep his brain busy.

    He once read in a book by Stephen King that if the brain had the ability to grab a fork and eat itself, it would do so, not because it wanted to, but because it didn't want to.

    It was times like this he couldn't agree more.

    He remembered seeing the jack o' latern on the front porch as his sister was leaving. He thought that he might be able to do some finishing touches on the carved vegetable. He went back to the front door, threw open the lock, and pulled the pumpkin inside. After locking the door and setting the pumpkin on the living room table, he put his hands on his hips and sighed heavily. He went into the kitchen to get his carving knife from the dish washer and to snag a couple more of Miss Hudson's pumpkin spice cookies.

    He had pulled a saucer from the cabinet and and went to the fridge for a tall glass of milk when he saw the yellow note that had fallen from Miss Hudson's book. Billy frowned and reached to grab the scrap of paper on the floor.

    The note was written in elaborate, ornate manuscript. It was surely Miss Hudson's handwriting, but it was as if she were using a calligraphy brush when the not was pened. The title of the note was enigmatic and caused Billy's frown to deepen:

The Spirit of the Dancing Ghost

    Billy sat down at the kitchen table, and read the note once silently. He left the cookies on the counter forgotton, and then read the note aloud.

 

"On the spirit moon of old so bright,

There lived a man cloaked in light.

He danced so swift and hard despite,

The way he saw, and his lack of sight.

There came a witch women who brought to bear

An evil magic and the force of air.

She imprisoned the dancer within her lair,

And favored the man with a hateful stare.

Her magic changed the way he was,

Changed all his ways just because

Of her evil magic and now he does

Her wickedness with gleeful buzz,

The Sound of the Dancing Ghost..."

 

    Billy dropped the note, "I wonder what that means?"

    In the front room, jazz music still flowed melodically from the speakers. Billy left the note on the table and went to get his glass of milk. He dropped the whole jug when he happened to glance into the living room.

    The lights were flickering and intermittent bursts of static ripped across the television screen. The pillows on the couch began to fall to the floor, and the coffee table that was supporting the pumpkin began to quake and tremble, threatening to fall apart at its edges. The family pictures threatened suicide by jumping off the hooks securing them to the wall. Odds and ends clattered on their stand, and knick-knacks bobbled up and down. Billy’s feet seemed to move on their own accord, taking him into the living room.

    The air was noticeably chilly. Billy could see his breath turn into a cloud of frost. In the air there was an energy bounding and caroming around the room, striking the walls and riccocheting back and forth. The energy made Billy’s hair stand on its end and made his stomach tie itself into knots. Billy had to fight the urge to retch. He felt his muscles tighten and loosen in violent cramps that made his arms want to thrust out and his legs want to piston up and down in a mad jig.

    The living room seemed to Billy like it was going to tear itself apart in mere moments if he didn't do something. Fighting the cramps in his muscles and stomach, Billy forced himself into the room. Raising his hands above his head, he began shouting at the phenomena.

    "Hey! Hey, stop what you're doing right now!"

    The room paid him no attention and continued to convulse. A deep laceration appeared in the wall near the mounted flat-screen TV, exposing dry wall and the inner guts of the house. It reminded Billy of a tilted grin. The TV, all static by now, quivered once, twice, then fell off the mount and shattered on the floor. Billy’s heart fell like a brick thrown into winding creek. He was going to have some explaining to do whne his parent finally returned home. Again, Billy tried to raise his voice over the din of the self-destructing room.

    "Hey, damn it! Stop!" Billy cried in a panicked voice.

    That was when he felt the pusle of energy strike his chest. A buring coldness settled on him and licked at his lungs. It felt like he had been outside on a blustry, winter day. His heart was chilled and began to thump even harder against his sternum. The intensity of the cramps in his arms and legs tripled, and his limbs spasmed up and down.

     Billy screamed in horror as his legs carried him even further into the living room in hard stomps and taps that punctuated a rhythm that his ears could not hear. He was tap-dancing, a flamboyant, showy display that brought him closer and closer to the coffee table. His arms shot out above his head and his hands shimmered towards the sky in uncontrollable, insane jazz fingers. His head was flung back towards the ceiling as if basking in the bright, hot lights of a stage. He felt his face muscles tighten and reconfigure. He lost his look of terror and adopted a new, crowd-pleasing grimace of sheer, unadulterated joy. He felt a mad laugh in the depths of his chest. Before he could fight to stifle it, his diaphram lifted it up, through his lungs, through his vocal chords, and out his mouth. He felt his body twisting, his arms pumping out to his sides. He was spinning, spinning, spinning faster and faster.

     The coldness in his lungs shifted into his sinuses. Billy sneezed.

    As his sinuses cleared, coldness left his body and carried in its wake the dancing energy. Billy’s muscles, suddenly his own again, weren’t prepared for their return to Billy’s brain. Consequently, he crumpled to the floor with a sharp cry of shock.

    He smacked his head on the carpeted floor of the living room and felt his legs drag against the corner of the table. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that he was bleeding onto the light beige, stain-resistant floor. More explanations were in order. He lifted his head up and rubbed the back part of his skull where he landed. Although the ground was soft, he already felt a large goose egg swelling. Billy was thankful for not landing on the hard linoleum of the kitchen.

    Cursing mentally, Billy leaned against the couch and closed his eyes. He was too busy concentrating on his pulsing skull at first to notice the sudden quiet. When he finally did, he glanced around the room, cringing at the destruction.

     The flat-screen was shattered beyond repair. Pieces of the screen were embedded into the floor and the frame that previously held them was twisted. In his dancing, he had knocked over two lamps, one of which was willed to his mother by his dead grandmother. Potted plants bled dark brown soil, further staining the carpet. And then there was the cracked wall, still grinning at Billy with mischevious glee.

    Billy groaned, settled back, and began mentally making notes of to whom he was bequeathing what.

    That was when he noticed his jack ‘o latern’s cut stem was growing at an unbelievable rate.

The shadow of the stem cast across the pumpkin’s carved face. Billy held his breath, raptured by the vegetable’s amazing restoration. He studied the pumpkin as it continued to grow and was reminded of a nature documentary about how starfish regrew lost appendages. Only the jack o’ lantern was regrowing at an astronnomical rate. He saw a slight sheen on the orange skin. Risking immediate amputation of his fingers, he reached out and felt the skin. It was covered with what he initially mistook for water before the true answer occured to him.

    It was the spittle from his sneeze. When he forced the sneeze from his sinuses the dancing energy apparently followed, and now it was nestled somewhere inside the pumpkin, causing the crazed regrowth.

    Billy watched in horror as the stem split and curved around either side of the jack o’ latern’s face, framing its triangular eyes with rapidly growing green stem horns. The pumpkin began to tilt to the right. Billy saw that more green stem was growing from underside.

     His mind raced, desperately trying to think of something to do with the resurrecting vegetable on his coffee table. He shot up and grabbed the pumpkin from the table, rushing towards the front door. The horns had stopped elongating, leaving the pumpkin with a wicked looking set of stems shaped like a Texas longhorn’s. When Billy finally reached the front door’s knob, the jack o’ latern defied both nature and reality by blinking it’s eyes and smiling at him.

Billy shrieked and rolled the hellspawned pumpkin through the open door and down the walkway framed by portable lights. The pumpkin gnashed its teeth, the same teeth Billy himself had carved earlier that day. It looked like it was laughing.

     Billy slammed the front door and engaged the dead bolt. The air hammered in and out of his lungs with tremendous force and Billy’s heart felt like it was acosting his sternum in reckless abandon. He gave himself only a moment to catch both his breath and his wild thoughts before rushing to the kitchen and snatching the phone from its cradle.

     He turned the phone on and checked for a dial tone. He was struck by indecision, unable to decide whether he should call his parents, who were probably on their way home already, or if he should call Miss Hudson, who was probably closer. Even though Miss Hudson was closer, he reasoned, did he really want to involve the elderly woman in such an encounter? What could such a woman do against a wicked looking pumpkin?

     Terror-born selfishness eventually won out. Billy wanted no part of tackling the mutated pumpkin alone, even if it meant endangering his nanny when she arrived as back up. He punched in the first four digits of Miss Hudson’s telephone number when he heard the sharp rapping at the window.

Billy shrieked again when he saw the pumpkin, now fully formed, occupying the window’s frame.

     It was maybe two feet tall. The green stems from underneath it’s bulbous, orange head had finished growing, giving the pumpkin a lithe and viney body. Vines tapered into arms which in turn terminated into a green hand with four fingers. The central stalk ran vertical, bowing under the weight of the pumpkin’s head. Legs sprouted from more vines bunched together to serve as hips. The entire monstrosity was supported by two feet, which received an avian aspect from the green talons serving as toes. The pumpkin sneered at Billy through the kitchen window.

     Billy pressed the remaining digits into the telephone and brought it up to his ear. He heard the click as Miss Hudson answered the phone. Billy gathered in air to shout for help, but was cut off by the sounds of the window breaking. The air in his lungs rushed out in a grunt when Billy saw the pumpkin bring its head out of the shattered remains of the window pane.

     Shards of glass stuck into the meat of the vegetable, and orange juice oozed from the newly acquired wounds. Had the pumpkin been able to make noise, it surely would have tittered as it brushed the glass from its head and slithered into the kitchen through the broken window.

    "Hello?" asked Miss Hudson on the other end of the line. "Is there anyone there?"

    Billy ignored the question, shocked into paralysis. The pumpkin spun around and bowed deeply. Then it raised its hands in the air, as if to say, "tada!"

    Billy looked over to the counter where he had laid the carving knife when this whole episode began, trying to decide if he should make a move for it. The pumpkin followed Billy’s gaze and smiled, this time without the good humor.

    Billy started for the knife, took two steps, and was easily beat out by the pumpkin who had moved with scary, predatory quickness. It tossed the knife from hand to hand, and then started doing a thrusting, hateful dance routine. It jumped up and down, opening and closing its mouth in wild, silent hooting. While Miss Hudson continued to implore on the phone, all Billy could do was imagine the wiry pumpkin dancing around an open bonfire, dancing to celebrate the day’s kill.

Billy was admiring the way the pumpkin’s body bent and bowed with every leap when the pumpkin glared at him and pointed the knife.

    You! it accused. You gutted me! You carved me! Now, I’m going to carve you!

     Billy dropped the phone and ran out the door into the living room. The pumpkin dropped to the floor and followed him quickly with malevolent purpose.

     As the phone clattered to the floor, Miss Hudson began to shout.

     "Billy?! Billy, is that you?! Hang on, I’m on my way back!"

     Billy was four steps into the living room when the first slash to his blue jeans came. It didn’t break the skin, but it was enough motivation to put an extra bit of pep into his step. He leapt over the couch, landing on the top of the coffee table. This final bit of punishment put the table out of its misery; it collapsed, its four legs angling out beneath the wreckage. As the table collapsed, Billy was thrown off balance again, this time landing on his a*s. He grunted more in suprise than he did pain.

     When he saw the green fingers reaching over the couch, he clutched at one of the table’s dismemebered legs. He twisted it off and held it to bear as the pupmkin pulled itself up and balanced on the top ridge. Its eyes squinted and the demonic vegetable seemed to size Billy up. Then it leaped into the air, flying towards Billy with the knife blade fully extended like a kamikaze straight from the Land of the Rising Sun.

    Billy swung the make-shift club. He didn’t catch the pumpkin in the head, but managed to connect with the hand holding the knife. The blade skippped across the front room floor and Billy had just enough time to watch it go under the loveseat four feet away before the pumpkin creature was on him.

     His face was scratched by the goring horns on the pumpkin’s head. His exposed forearms were cut and torn by the hateful claws of the creature. Even the thing’s feet were used as weapons, shredding his jeans and finally exposing tender skin underneath. Billy punched the pumpkin in the face, trying to crush its hollowed skull, but the demon moved too fast for him to ever get a good hit. Billy changed tactics and aimed for the creature’s hips. He connected this time, but paid a terrible price: his hand was tangled in the vines, making the melee that much easier for the jack o’ lantern.

With his free hand, Billy held the pumpkin’s face back, saving him from the bites of the vegetable’s teeth. He tightened his grip on the thing’s neck, hoping to choke the life out of it before realizing that a plant didn’t breath. Instead, Billy lifted the creature up with both his free hand and the tangled one and hurled the creature over his head.

     The flailing tangle of vines lashed out at Billy one last time as it flew overhead. Billy didn’t wait to see where the creature came to rest. He began crawling across the floor towards the dropped knife, grimacing when he heard the pumpkin land and struggle to regain its footing. Billy’s breath came hard and quick, and as he reached the sofa he heard the padded footsteps of the hellish thing behind him. He grabbed the knife and flipped over, just in time to see the pumpkin come flying toward him again. Billy had no time to think, only react. He brought the knife up and closed his eyes.

     He heard a loud THUNK and felt a spray of warm juice hit his face. He felt rough texture of the pumpkin’s head against his knuckle and opened his eyes.

     The creature had impaled itself to the hilt on the knife. It still thrashed violently against Billy. The boy let the knife go and the creature began running around the room, knocking over furniture and kicking the remains of the coffee table aside. It made one more pass by Billy and then grabbed its throat. It reached towards the ceiling, staggered, spun, and then expired in a tangled pile of vines and juice.

    Billy blinked once, twice. Then he sighed heavily and every muscle in his body uncoiled.

    "Thank God," Billy said.

     The pumpkin sat up and smiled. It stood and took another deep bow.

     Billy started and scrambled to his feet.

    This year’s award for best death scene goes to... the murderous garden veggie he thought as adrenaline surged into his system again.

    The pumpkin put both hands on the knife embedded in its head, and yanked. The momentum from removing the knife carried it forward a couple steps. The pumpkin flipped the blade back and forth again, this time accomplishing another series of tap dances. It was mocking Billy, inviting him to make the first move. Billy took the offer.

    He ran for the stairs, ignoring the footsteps of the jack o’ lantern behind him. He took the steps two at a time. When he reached the first landing, he felt a rush of air across his face and saw the knife bury itself into the wall. He turned to see the creature perched on the banister, making silent laugther, exuding all the confidence a cat might when it knows it has the mouse cornered. Billy wasted no time and ran onto the second flight of stairs.

    He reached the top, hearing the pumpkin monster on the move again. Billy ran for the first door on his left, his bedroom. He threw open the door, went inside, and turned around to see where the monster was.

     He watched it grasp the knife with both hands, swing over it like a gymnast would on a set of parallel bars, and rip it out of the wall.

     Billy slammed the door shut. He put his back to the door, trying to decide what to do next. His eyes scanned the room for a weapon of any kind. His gaze fixed on the object in the corner of his room. A smile pulled at his lips.

     Outside the door and down the hall, the pumpkin finished climbing the stairs and paused. It’s long, wiry legs bowed under its own weight and it scanned the hallway with its cruel, crudely cut eyes. It smiled when it saw the slightly ajar door to its left. It tip-toed down the hall with comic showmanship, doing it like a cartoon character would. It reached the open door, readied the knife, and kicked it in.

     The door swung freely open. The boy was nowhere in sight and the pumpkin was taken slightly aback. It lowered the knife and narrowed its eyes, suspecting trickery. It was caught completely unawares when the bat came around the corner.

     Billy’s smile morphed into a grin when he saw the bat connect dead-on with the pumpkin’s face. The head broke apart and chunks of orange meat went spattering on the wall. Flecks of juice covered the end of the bat and Billy’s door.

    The boy stepped into the threshold to assess the damage. The pumpkin had dropped the knife with the force of the blow and the creature was still trying to get it even though it was missing a large chunk of head.

     Billy kicked the knife away and patted te bat against his palm the way he saw mobster do on TV. His grin became even wider when the pumpkin tried to scrabble away. Billy stepped on the creatures viney leg, securing it. The pumpkin raised its hands, beseeching the young boy for mercy when Billy held the bat over his head. Instead, Billy brought the bat straight down, crushing the jack o’ lantern’s hateful face. He hit the vegetable again and again, reducing the hellish monster into a tangle of vines and pulp.

     When the creature was dead, there was a blast of cold energy that hung before Billy’s face briefly, before dissapating.

     Billy raised his head and cackled, ignoring the cuts and pain onis body. He laughed a full, mad laugh that Miss Hudson would call "The Devil’s Screech" when she came in through the front door seconds after the killing blow had been landed to the creature.

   She surveyed the extensive damage to the front room and heard the crazed laughter upstairs.

    "Oh dear God, are you okay child?" the old woman shouted.

    Billy’s mad cackling came to an abrupt end when he heard the voice of his nanny. He walked down the stairs to the landing, unaware of what he looked like.

    The old woman saw the madness in his eyes, the blood on his clothes and the orange juices and meaty chunks on his face. She saw the way he held the bat with a white-knuckle grip. She rushed up the stairs, taking the boy into her arms. She knocked the bat away and peppered the boy with questions that all went unheeded. Eventually she quit trying ask the boy what had happened.

    She led him into the kitchen, where she expected to wash him off and clean him up.

Instead, she found the yellow scrap of paper on the table.

    "Oh, my lord, child," Miss Hudson said. "Did you read this out loud?"

    The boy nodded.

    The old woman frowned, "This is an incantation from a book my old grandmama gave me when I was a little girl in Haiti. It’s a voodoo song meant to summon the Spirit of the Dancing Ghost. Was it him child? Did he do all this?"

   The boy nodded again.

   The old woman gasped and reached for her heart, "Such power the boy has. Such power..."

   She paused again and pulled out a chair for him to sit. After Billy was seated, she sat down herself.

"Tell me what happened, child."

    Billy began to talk and he didn’t finish until just before his parents pulled up into the drive. He told Miss Hudson how the whole thing started, how the pumpkin had grown and chased him into the house. How the creature had met a messy demise at the doorway to Billy’s room. He fell silent and his face reddened.

    Miss Hudson felt the boy’s face, "Tell me how you feel child.

   "Amazing," said Billy in an exhausted voice.

    As his parents began the walk up the front path, Billy grinned at the old woman.

    "Teach me more, okay." stating more than a questioning. "I’d like to know more."

    The old woman smiled at the boy.

 

THE END

Reviews

[Chaos X 3]

hmmm... Voodoo... I liked this story. It is definately an attention grabber. :)