Maggie
by
Lin De Lazlo
Maggie loved
Halloween. It was a special time for her.
Unexplained
things happened around Maggie, then she was moved on to another home. To avoid
paperwork. There had been concerns.
Blond
hair, blue eyes, she was like any other six year old. Distant but polite. An
old soul. Her social worker called her an odd sock.
The
new foster mother gave Maggie a pitiful look as you would an abandoned puppy
and shoved her into a room littered with broken toys and an old chest in the
corner.
‘Choose
something for tonight. You’re going with the neighbours kids. Hurry up’.
Left
alone in favour of daytime tv, Maggie dug into the depths of the box
discovering something that was just perfect.
The
dress swamped her small frame. Musty and torn in several places, it felt like
cobwebs and smelt of age. Maggie caressed the material, smiling broadly when
she discovered a mouldy black hat, pulling it down over her curls.
This
was fun.
A
bucket of sweets sat by the front door. Halloween props lay on the floor ready
to decorate the hall. She stared at a reel of wire, eyes glittering, watching
it unravel and snake across the floor. She giggled and looked at the figure in
the doorway.
‘Look.
I’m a witch’.
The
fosterer stood frozen, confused, mouth working soundlessly.
The
wire wrapped itself around her neck tightly, dragging the frantic woman towards
the stairs as if guided by invisible hands. It effortlessly lifted her mid-air
as if she were a feather as she clawed uselessly at her neck. Eyes wide, she
silently implored the girl to help her.
Silence.
The
wire continued to wrap itself decoratively around the banisters.
Maggie
was looking forward to trick or treat.
Mr Pumpkin-Head
by Sue Davnall
‘Wanna pumpkin!’
‘You’re a bit young,
sweetie. The knife’s too sharp. Why don’t you help your sister? You could
collect up all the bits and put them in the compost bin for her.’
Big pout.
‘Don’ wanna. Wan’ my
own pumpkin!’
‘Next year, maybe.’
Full-length tantrum
on the floor.
‘Benji’s being
naughty, isn’t he, Mummy? I never behaved like that when I was little.’
Thanks, Olivia, for
pouring fuel on the fire, as usual. Only a seven-year-old could evince such
superiority over a five-year-old. Maddy sighed as she stepped over her wailing
son to empty the tumble dryer.
‘Here, Benji, come
and help Mummy sort the washing.’
‘Shan’t!’
But she knew he
would. Sorting washing was something grown-ups did and it made him feel
important. No-one told Maddy before she had kids that an advanced degree in
psychology would have come in handy.
‘Mummy, Mummy! Benji’s broken my
pumpkin!’
Oh
for Christ’s sake… Maddy looked at her daughter’s tear-streaked face then at
the assaulted pumpkin. Benji must have given it a hefty kick to have smashed it
so comprehensively.
‘Benji!
Come here!’
He
was hiding behind the sofa in the front room. At least he looked contrite.
‘What
do you say to your sister?’
Pouty
face again, then ‘Sorry!’
‘Right,
no Peppa Pig for you today. You can sit right there and watch while I help
Olivia make a new one.’
As Maddy stirred the soup there was
an ear-splitting scream from the garden. Imagining all sorts of horrendous
swing-related injuries she rushed out to see Benji backed against the patio
wall, pointing a finger at Olivia’s new pumpkin. Glowing red, it seemed to be
leering horribly at the little boy. Which was odd, as Maddy hadn’t yet put the
candle inside.
Welcome
Party
by Sue Davnall
I squinted through the windscreen,
struggling to see the contours of the road through the dense fog. Could I have
missed the turn-off? Three miles beyond the village, he’d said, can’t miss it,
big wrought-iron gates with stone lions on the pillars. It felt like I’d been
driving for ages. Thick hedges had lined the road for a while but now there was
nothing.
Ah,
there! The tyres squealed as I swung abruptly towards the imposing entrance.
The gates stood open; they were expecting me.
The
mist seemed thinner here. I could dimly make out the dark trunks of the trees
lining the drive, their overhead branches dripping an irregular rhythm onto the
car roof. There’d better be a hot toddy waiting for me! The autumn damp was
cutting right through my light jacket.
A
flash of movement to my right. A deer perhaps? Seemed about the right size.
Whatever it was, it had gone. There it was again, on the other side this time,
or… no, it was a second one, the one on the right had reappeared. Three of them
now, then four, blurred forms moving swiftly through the trees.
The
sound that followed was not made by any deer. The hairs bristled on the back of
my neck, an atavistic response to an unknown threat. I put my foot down on the
accelerator, swinging recklessly round each curve of the road until the manor
emerged through the eddying mist.
My
host was waiting on the front steps to welcome me. As I shook his hand I
noticed that he was slightly out of breath, panting through his wolfish smile.
‘So
glad you could make it, old boy. Let me introduce you. My brother and
sister-in-law, my dear wife Accalia. Shall we go in to dinner?’
Can’t
Beat The Reaper
by Mike Poyzer
‘This is the life,
mate.’
‘Not
half, mate. Sun, sea and stretched out on the beach. I thought I’d had enough
sun and sand for a lifetime, this last six months in Iraq. Sneaking around
dusty buildings with full battle dress and helmet, waiting to get shot any
minute. Doesn’t quite have the same charm.’
‘I’m
Jim by the way.’ Jim stuck out his hand.
‘I’m
Jack. 3 Para. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Ever
been to Thailand before?’
‘No,
never. It beats your Mykonos and Ibiza into a cocked hat, though. All these
cracking little Thai women. I’m going to get this fellah stuck into as many of
them as I can, starting tonight.’
‘How
long you been here.’
‘Only
arrived yesterday, Lucky to get the leave and then managed to get a flight.
Apparently nobody wants to fly Christmas day. The hop-over flight to Phucket
was alarming’
‘You
missed Christmas dinner in the hotel then. ‘
‘Afraid
so. Went straight to bed. I’ve slept about twelve hours.’
‘Food
was nothing special. Now, I was last here at Halloween. That was some party.
Some of the girls were scarier underneath the outfits. I took one beautiful
girls mask off and I was kissing her for ten minutes, then found her cock was
as big as mine.’
They
both laughed.
We
can go out tonight if you want. I’ll show you the ropes. Lots of beautiful
young Thai girls. You only have to slip the owner a few bahts, then straight
back to her place. These girls know how to make a guy happy’
‘Sounds
like my sort of place.’
‘What‘s
going on down by the sea. They are all stood looking.’
‘I
don’t know.’ Jack stood up. ‘FUCK… Look at the size of that wave.’
Halloween
Revenge
by Lin De Lazlo
From ‘I’m not
wearing a stupid costume. What am I, five?’
to ‘Where’s my costume?’, the night before Halloween.
Stella
could take no more. She had hoped that the attitude might have improved with
age, but it was like living with a cactus. At least when her daughter Phoebe
was younger, Stella had been able to pull down the blackout blinds, sing
bedtime song as approved by supernanny, and shut the door. This approach did
not work on a fifteen year old.
A
frantic rush around the shops found nothing suitable. Tempted to suggest
something along the lines of using a bed sheet and going as a ghost, would
definitely have earned her ‘Unloving, Unsympathetic, Uncaring, Cruel, Mother of
the Year Award’.
Four
espressos later, to help her think, she had her lightbulb moment.
One
whining, uncooperative teenager and a twenty four pack of toilet rolls later,
sweet revenge was a pouting, outraged but passable mummy. Perfect.
‘Seriously?’,
Phoebe was horrified and close to tears.
‘Well
I think it’s ok’. Stella gulped her wine.
Phoebe
needed a serious lesson in gratitude.
‘It’s
a dry night, you’ll be fine’.
Her
daughter glared, obviously plotting some sort of revenge for the future.
‘Come
on, how many other mummies will there be?’
At
the sound of the doorbell, Phoebe flounced out dramatically. Stella could hear
the snorting laughter of her friends who owned the kind of parents who planned
for nights like this. Phoebe was busy blaming her for everything, past, present
and future.
The
door slammed and Stella sighed. Thank god her weather app had promised a fine,
dry, evening. What could possibly go wrong? She did a lone applause on behalf
of her unbelievable creativity.
Peace
at last.
Funny.
Was that the sound of rain?
Obstruction
of fate
by Mike Poyzer
James settled down
into his seat, 32c. A nervous flyer at the best of times, he was tenser
tonight, as it was Halloween and there was a typhoon raging outside. As the 747
began to pull away from the stand at Taipei, he checked his watch, 11.15 pm. He
reflected on how much he was looking forward to seeing his wife in LA. This had
been six months now, his longest stint.
He turned and smiled at the passenger next
to him. The passenger, who was oriental, probably Chinese, turned and smiled
back at him. Then, to James’s horror, the man’s face suddenly turned to a
glowing white skull with red eyes, before dissolving into a flaming inferno,
then back to the smiling face. James was spooked. He unbuckled his seat and
jumped up. A stewardess stood up in front of him, so he turned and ran back,
down the aisle, squealing hysterically as he went. As he approached the rear,
two more stewardesses stood and stopped him.
‘I’ve got to get off’ he shrieked.’
‘Sorry, sir, doors are closed. Please calm
down and sit here. We are taking off.’
James calmed a
little and sat down on the back row. Perhaps I over-reacted. Did I imagine it?
The plane revved high for its take off run
and pulled away . Seconds later, it collided with several construction
vehicles, as it had mistakenly turned onto a closed runway.. The plane broke
into two and a fireball tore through the front section. Rows 30 to 40 between
the wing fuel tanks were incinerated. The rear fuselage broke away and, without
exception, everyone in it survived, most, virtually uninjured. This was
Singapore Airlines flight 006, Singapore to Los Angeles (via Taipei) October 31st
2000, 23.18 local time in Taipei.
Four-Poster
Bed
by Sue Davnall
‘You’re
imagining it.’
‘I
swear I’m not. Listen…’
Pause.
‘No.
Not a thing. Look, they’ve got those nice biscuits. Let’s have a coffee before
going for an explore.’
Jeffrey
took the kettle through to the bathroom.
‘Not
for me, love. I don’t like those silly milk things. Just pour me a glass of
water. I’ll have a biscuit, though.’
Joyce
kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed.
‘OK.
Shortbread or oatmeal crunch? Joyce?’
Jeffrey
set the kettle down on its stand and glanced round at his wife.
‘What
is it, love? What are you looking at?’
She
raised a trembling finger towards the top corner of the four-poster bed.
‘There!
Can’t you see it?’
‘See
what? Ah, of course, Halloween joke. Haha!’
‘I swear,
Jeff, I saw something, like a face or…I don’t know.’
‘Come
on, forget the coffee, let’s get some fresh air. You’re probably a bit hazy
from the drive. If you like, we can fit in a wander round the cathedral before
dinner – we’ve got time.’
‘Alright,
see you downstairs. I’ve just got to powder my nose.’
‘Don’t
forget the room key.’
‘And what time was
this, sir?’
‘I told you! About half past four.
She was going to meet me downstairs.’
‘How long did you wait for her?’
‘About ten minutes. No longer, I’m
sure.’
‘And you didn’t pass anyone as you
came down?’
‘No!’
‘Alright sir, I know you’re
distraught but try to be patient. It’s important to get the facts straight.
What happened next?’
‘I went back up to the room. The
door was open, and…’
Jeffrey couldn’t bring himself to describe
again her bloodless body, mouth distorted in terror.
The police officer and the hotel
receptionist exchanged a glance. Every year the same thing.
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