A Child’s Terrifying Journey

My goal for the month of October is to celebrate the delicious holiday that it holds. What terrifies you? What do you think of this piece? Please comment below. 

Darkened streets and shaded lights promised a fright night that would never be forgotten. Should I choose to participate, gearing up proved essential. I slipped out of the attire of an everyday mortal then paused. Clothed only in my underclothes, I double-checked the door. Finding the lock securely in place, I turned to the items waiting on my bed.

A black spandex unitard with long sleeves lay next to a shimmering silver chest plate. I grinned and slipped one leg and then the other into the spandex. With a little adjustment to the arms, I could swing my arms freely. The chest plate came to rest against my boney sternum, which brought a grin to my face. I gently rubbed short, slender fingers along my newfound abs. I slipped the mask down over my head, tucking a few stray hairs under the cap. Then I surveyed the new me with a critical eye.

“Time to take out some bad guys.” I straightened my spine, stretching to my full height and replacing my smile with a stern look.

“Johnny, hurry up.” My mother’s impatient wail reverberated up the stairs.

In answer to the summons of my commissioner, I thundered down the stairs. I stopped when I reached the bottom to strike a pose. My mother laughed and patted me on the head. I stepped away from her, gently running one hand along my mask to make sure it remained in place.

“Come on, you.” She offered me a fanged smile as she tossed back her cloak and pulled open the door.

As we stepped out into the twilight of horror, she offered standard advice about my mission, cautioning me not to walk in the street or get too far away from her. I shrugged off her advice with a few cursory words of understanding. Then I slipped out into the throng of imps hiding behind masks. The wave of rock stars, animals, cowboys, and strange beings carried me along from house to house.

As the last remnants of sunlight fell victim to the darkness of night, the adventure truly commenced. In the dim light of porch lights and glowing pumpkins, I became more aware of the horrors around me. Mouths without faces twisted into dozens of expressions. Some grinned. Many gaped. Others grimaced. Lips in shades of purple, green, and red twisted away from broken teeth or sharp fangs. A few offered a semblance of a scream, but no such sounds interrupted the soft giggling of the imps who surrounded me.

As I followed one of the imps down the narrow steps of a white house with peeling paint and cobwebs hanging from every tree and bush on the lawn, the imp stopped to peer into his bag. I didn’t have time to pause. Attempting to veer around him, I tripped and fell onto the lawn. As I caught myself, something squirmed under my hands. Radioactive worms crawled around and through my fingers. I opened my mouth to scream but managed to squelch my fear just in time. Superheroes aren’t afraid of worms, even ones that light up the night and smell vaguely of fruit.

I managed to scramble to my feet despite the squirming worms. As I lurched forward, soft, silken threads floated out to touch my face. Dark, slimy spiders hung in the webs that clung to my skin. They didn’t move as I brushed the webs from my face. I shrugged free of the webs and scurried on to the next house with a backward glance to make sure the spiders didn’t follow me.

Dense unkempt hedges blocked off the next yard except for a narrow gate. As my flashlight played along this barrier, shimmering eyeballs caught the light. As they watched me, I walked faster and looked away from their empty depths. Soon I rounded the corner toward the next house.

Hurrying footsteps pursued me. I didn’t turn around. I ran. As my short legs pumped harder and harder, I could feel my pursuer closing the gap. Finally, a hand closed on my shoulder. I used my last dregs of courage to bite back a scream.

“Johnny, it’s time to go home.”

I slumped into the bracing hand on my shoulder and turned to face commissioner mom. She smiled down at me and released my shoulder. I took the hand she offered me, allowing my bag of goodies to bang against my leg with every step we took.

The next couple of weeks faded under a sugar haze. My mother tried to bring me out of it by offering me misshapen bones to eat. She tried to claim they were collie flowers, but I knew that meant bones even though they looked a little like albino broccoli. This fact did not enhance their desirability. When I refused to eat them, she’d grab one from my plate and pop it into her mouth, crunching happily as I shuddered.

By the time December came, she’d given up on getting me to eat the bones. Instead, she concocted a new torture. After waiting a half hour in the waiting room, a woman in lilac scrubs forced me into a machine that whirred around my head, checking to make sure their unique torture would work on me. Then I was guided down a narrow hallway to a tiny room with a chair illuminated by an oversized light. I sat down warily and waited.

The woman in scrubs returned with a tray full of metal instruments of torture. She talked soothingly as she poked and prodded with her metal picks. She even allowed me to pick the flavor of my torture paste before filling my mouth with almost bubble gum that left a gritty residue in my mouth. When she finished, she told me to stay seated and wait some more.

Soon, an old man with a short, grey beard joined me and smiled as he looked at his clipboard. “Your mother tells me you’ve been enjoying a lot of sweets over the past couple of months.”

I nodded my head as he leaned in and peered into my mouth. “Looks like you need a little more work here.”

“No.” I assured him.

He laughed softly and reached for something out of my range of sight. “You knew this was going to happen.”

He laughed again, a slightly maniacal laugh. Then the whir of the drill started and I passed out.