Would I be a true ghoul if I neglected my loyal fans on this day of stories, legends, and tall tales? I don't believe I would. Enjoy!
Decorated with the expected array of fake spider webs and rubber bats, one porch loomed big in the minds of every child living on Prospect Street. We devoted as much time and thought to visiting old man Mueller’s porch on Halloween as we did to making sure Santa brought us the gifts we most desired, a few months later. Old man Mueller prided himself on showmanship. Decorations slowly accumulated, day by day, until the terrifying panorama completely unfolded on Halloween night. In other words, the whole month of October revolved around sneaking down the street to peek over the railing at the latest horror to spring from grave or coffin. Of course, our parents forbade us to bother old man Mueller until Halloween, so we could only get glances as we sped by in cars, unless we wanted to risk being stuck at home while everyone else was trick or treating.
My last year of life was no different. The day before Halloween, my friend Maggy and I stood outside my house as darkness fell. We took turns surreptitiously peeking at the living room windows of my ranch style house. When the curtain finally fell back against the window, we knew my mother had stopped watching us and adventure could begin.
“Did you get the flashlight?” Maggy peered over her shoulder at the living room window.
“Yes, but we won’t need it. His street is lit as well as ours.” I gestured at streetlights that cast glowing pools of on both sides of the street.
“You never know.” Maggy linked her arm in mine.
As our footsteps echoed through the empty street, I glanced over my shoulder one last time. The curtain didn’t stir. The door didn’t open. We were going to get away with it. As long as we hurried, we’d have plenty of time for a sneak peek at this year’s decorations without our parents knowing. The closer we got to our destination, the slower our footsteps became. Without conscious thought, we matched step after slow step with each other, almost as if the air on this street had turned to warm taffy.
“We’re almost there.” Maggy patted my hand reassuringly but her voice quivered.
“Yes, yes, we are.” My own voice vibrated.
“Some people say he isn’t really decorating for Halloween…” Maggy pauses to take in a gulp of air.
“He’s just airing out his house to prepare for other ghouls to visit him.”
If the midsummer sun shone down on us, I would have laughed. In the dusky gloom of late October, however, a shiver rolled up and down my spine. Maggy giggled nervously, pressing closer to me.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” False bravado steeled my voice, but she knew the answer I wanted.
“Of course.” She wouldn’t admit to fear either.
We took a few more tentative steps toward old man Mueller’s house. We paused to peer at the dark windows. A rusty, red Ford truck sat alone in the driveway. I pointed to the empty spot where a newer but no less rusty truck normally sat.
“He isn’t here.”
“Good. Let’s go.” Maggy grabbed my hand dragging more toward the stairs.
Even as I followed in her wake, caution prompted me to glance at the other houses on the street. Warm light glowed within many of the windows, but no curious eyes peered out into the darkness. Essentially alone, Maggy and I paused to peer at the tableau spread out before us.
Cobwebs hung from rusty nails that had pulled loose from the siding and any other protrusion large enough to support them. Realistic spiders that ranged from black widows to hairy wolf spiders nestled in the tangles of cotton with cold, glittering eyes. A coffin stood ajar next to the door with a green phosphorous glow portending the horror within. Styrofoam bones and latex limbs spattered in blood leaned against the lattice panels that wrapped around the porch. A long table rested against dirt-streaked windows. Amidst test tubes, cauldrons, and bottles and vials of organs, a mockery of the infant form looked up at me with cold, lifeless eyes. Reflected light from the street gleamed in those glass eyes swirled with crimson, giving them a demonic aspect that sent more shivers through me.
“That’s absolutely grotesque.” My breath barely accompanied the words that hissed between my lips.
“Touch it.” Maggy’s whisper tickled my ear.
I shook my head. She nudged me, pushing me closer to the table. I looked at her, sighing as she nodded her head at the doll. Tentatively, I reached out with my right hand. I extended my index finger to point at the doll’s head. My arm moved slower and slower the closer it got to the inanimate form. My finger hovered two inches from the ragged cloth wrapped around the baby’s abdomen unable to move forward any further.
The doll met me halfway. To my surprise and horror, its plastic arms slowly rotated. Tiny fingers molded to encircle my finger. The plastic felt like flesh, warm, supple flesh. Blood rushed to my ears. Maggy said something, but I couldn’t hear it. I turned to look at her. She was already disappearing down the steps.
The soft flesh of the baby’s hand turned to rough sandpaper. The muscles underneath rippled as its grip tightened, not just on my finger but my entire hand. The round childish cheeks began to melt away leaving a hardened angular face unveiled. The entire creature began to morph, growing older before my eyes. As it grew, it became even more grotesque. Its features twisted and wrinkled into the visage of my demise.
“You’re mine, child.”
