Tag Archive: scary


Shadowy gusts rattle lonely brittle leaves.

Creeping darkness presses in upon me.

Rigid Jack-o-lantern stares fill my sight.

Each echoed footstep intensifies my fear.

As his breath moistened my neck.

My knees buckle and I finally…


All rights to owner

I recently saw a six word story challenge on Leigh’s Wordsmithery. It involved telling a Halloween story scary, funny, or other in only six words. Building upon this already difficult challenge of sixes I set out to tell a Halloween story in 6-6-6 format.
6 sentences
6 words per sentence
6 sentences must spell out the final 6 letter word of the tale, using the first letter of each sentence.

It took me just over 24 hours but here you go…I hope you enjoy it 🙂


Lochlin, Shona, & Barlow

Much thanks to the great Tim Burton who created such wonderful characters. All rights to owner.

Much thanks to the great Tim Burton who created such wonderful characters.
All rights to owner.

“Did you hear that they are making a movie about Maple Lane,” Janine said with just a touch too much excitement in her voice for a Monday morning.

“No. That can’t be right.”

“Swear to God Lynn.” Janine looked around to make sure her slightly raised voice was carrying. “You know I watch The Morning Cup news religiously because Teddy, the lead anchor, is just cute enough to get out of bed for. Right? Well he was interviewing some hag in a bad skirt suit this morning, and she said that our community would be playing host to some real life Hollywood producers.”

“Why,” Shelly asked.

“Well why else,” Janine said pausing for dramatic effect. “The Maple Lane Massacre.”

“The what?”

Janine sighed and then rolled her eyes over to Lynn. “Look I know your new-ish to town Rob, but really. The Massacre is the only movie worthy thing to have ever happened here. Just, at least, tell me you’ve heard of the Tough Triplets.”

Rob’s shrug and the various head shakes throughout the group only bolstered Janine’s showmanship. “Lock, Shock, and Barrel?” Janine had asked the question innocently and acted aghast when there was no collective head nod of understanding. “You guys should really bone up on your local history. I mean, don’t you think it would be important to know that only 50 years ago three of the Tough family’s hoard went on a killing bender up and down Maple just becu…”

Janine’s voice dropped off as she made eye contact with the latest edition to her audience, Jackson Tough.

Rob was the first to turn and see what had stopped Janine. “No way! Jack?” The hurt in Robs voice was obvious as he asked, “Is this true?”

“Don’t let me stop you Janine,” Jack said his eyes never once leaving hers, “I recall how much you use to love telling this story.”

“We would all love to hear your take Jackson, at least, I know I would,” Janine said to his back as he passed her by. “I’m such a sucker for back story and… the inside scoop.”

“Would it be the facts or the story your after Janine?” Janine barely had time to purse her lips before Jack continued. “Facts? Lochlin, Shona, and Barlow Tough, not Lock, Shock, and Barrel, were arrested and charged with the murder of 13 people on October 30th, 1948. They were found guilty. Lochlin was sentenced to death by hanging as an 18th birthday present and Shona died in prison last winter. Barlow is still serving his life sentence.”

No one even coughed as Jack spoke either too mesmerized or too afraid. “The story,” Janine asked as she made a give me gesture.

Jack took a deep breath. “On the day before Halloween, over 70 years ago, the three youngest Tough family children were searching for decorations in order to festoon their front porch.  Flour sacs were found for ghost faced masks and the scarecrow was misappropriated from their mother’s garden, along with a gourd or two.  While Barlow worked on his Jack-O-Lantern and Shona her mask Lochlin went off to see what he could find in the attic.  When he returned it was with a large egg crate labeled All Hallows’ Eve.  The three eagerly examined the contents, which must have belonged to the house’s previous owners, and were happily surprised.  Inside were handmade costumes complete with painted masks.  Some were beautiful others horrible to behold, but all of them painstakingly crafted.  The crude sac masks forgotten, each child picked their favorite outfit and tried it on.

The pieced together theory on what happened next was that the three had gone trick-or-treating sparing those who treated and killing those who required tricking.  Whatever actually caused the incident though is still as mystery because all Lochlin, Shona, and Barlow have ever said since that night is…

             Trick or treat,
              Smell my feet,
              Give me something good to eat!
            If you don’t,
             Please beware,
             Else all will know, that we were there!

No one knew what to make of it really.  Maybe if they had chosen to be the friar, puppy dog, and angel rather than the witch, devil, and skeleton nothing would have happened.  But they didn’t and something definitely happened.  Thirteen people died that night and16 lost their lives. ”

Janine had no follow up and as she tried to think of anything to keep her co-worker’s attention she realized Jack had won, if you can call it winning, because she was never going to be able to tell that story again.

All I see

Anyone who watches scary movies or crime based dramas knows at least the basics of being a coroner.  Travel in a black vehicle, carry a black bag filled with time of death assessing accoutrements, and always leave with something in the bag.  I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about.  Its about eight feet long, three feet wide, and black as night well not in South Carolina.  In the palmetto state the bags are blue, the happy blue of children’s t shirts, and as the finality of a zipper fills my ears that blue… is all I see.


All rights to the owners

The only night


Diana Spelton lives at 1331 Blackburnian Way.  She is a newspaper enthusiast who receives the Journal and the Times in addition to her local edition.  She reads the local rag first over her morning coffee which she most commonly enjoys in her east facing rocking chair.  Then after a brief, 10 to 15 minute, shower Diana savors the Times along with her obligatory toast and jam.  The Journal she saves till last.  Tucked neatly between her elbow and slender waist it makes the 192 steps to her bus stop only to be read and recycled before she switches on the desktop in her cubical.  She eats her lunch beneath a small tree which flowers in the spring and turns orange in the fall.  For dinner Diana keeps the TV company till her seemingly mandatory 10:30pm bedtime.  Then 1331 Blackburnian Way goes dark till Diana opens the green front door to slide her white terry clothed arm out for her papers.  The only variation to this routine is Halloween night.

My name is Dwight Menders.  Diana moved into the neighborhood three years ago, and since that moment I have been drawn to her.  Too shy at first to walk up and start a conversation I positioned myself so we could ‘bump’ into each other multiple times per day.  I hoped that we could start a conversation organically rather than the scripted typical interactions I had with people.  But that never happened, she never even noticed me.  No polite smile, how’s the weather, nothing.  I didn’t exist.  She couldn’t see me, but I saw her.

It’s me who places her papers neatly upon her door step.  Me who jogs ahead pressing the cross walk signals so she never has to wait.  Me who brushes her tiny bench beneath the tree free of trash, debris, and loiterers.  Me who shares her laughter at the nightly scripted comedies.  Me who keeps vigilant watch over her as she sleeps.  And it is me who beneath the Halloween mask buys her drink after drink as she sits in her sexy costume on the bar stool. 

The only night she allows herself to drink too much.  The only night she sees me.  The only night I get to do more than just watch Diana through the invisible glass that separates my world from hers.  The only night she never remembers.

*******Happy Halloween!*******

This is my attempt at a scary story, hope it had at least a little bit of a creep factor 😉  I wanted to write something that if told in the dark around a campfire might make you look over your shoulder, and nothing gives me the heebie-jeebies like a watcher you never know is there ! 

So I ask you what’s your favorite camp fire story or creeps you the heck out?

The task


An illustration of an undertaker from Mark Twain's Roughing It

“There is only the task, one single directive, sepelio.  And so I do that which I was born to do, I create order. Nameless and unloved, I am the storm crow. The necessity you refuse to acknowledge. Thankless I continue on, taking only that which is mine and only at the appointed time. Not that that ever stops any of you from raging when you find yourself in my presence. Which let me assure you leaves me unaffected, no human furry could ever dissuade me.”

“Now, Mr…,” the good Dr. Lavine says as he stops his rapt staring and consults his notes, “Diggery. When did you first come to believe that you are ‘the’ Grim Reaper?” His sarcastic air quotes are an audible thing.

“I never said I was a Reaper.”

The mater of fact tone in the man’s voice causes the doctor to pause slightly before explaining himself. “Mr. Diggery, sir, have you not just used the phrase to take only what is yours and described your life goal as sepelio or to bury if my Latin is still up to snuff? What else am I to think?”

“Not that, never that! I am something else all together. I’m a Diggery.”

“Yes, Mr. A. Diggery, I have that here in my notes, but let’s focus shall we,” Lavine says as he rubs his eyes beneath his spectacles. “If we have not been discussing your, how shall I put this…your mistaken identity what on earth have we been talking about?”

Opposing looks of anger and disappointment flit through the man’s eyes before he lets his shoulder’s sag and gently rests his head in his large calloused hands. “I knew this was a long shot, but when I saw your name on the list I had to try.”

Dr. Lavine cocks his head to the side as if trying to determine if he heard the man correctly, “List?”

“I mean if I’m ever going to be able to enjoy my work again I have to get past this right? I have to let go of this anger.”

“Excuse me, but what list?”

“So no one knows who I am. Or what I do. Or that without me it would all fall apart. So what,” the man exclaims as his head snaps forward, “I know!” “That’s it isn’t it Doc? I know and that has to be enough.”

“Now, Mr. Diggery I really must insist that you explain yourself immediately,” Lavine says nearly jumping from his chair he put so much force into his words.

The man glances at the door for a second then nods his head. “Yeah, I guess I better since we’re almost out of time. I’ll keep it real simple Doc. Reapers and Diggerys work in this unbalanced partnership. We do all the leg work, logistics really, prepare, sort, and deliver, but they collect. So they get the glory. That’s where I was getting tripped up. All the work, time, and energy I put into this, every time, and you don’t even know my name or why I’m here. Well, I’m good at what I do, I know it, and he couldn’t do his job without me,” he said proudly motioning over the good doctor’s left shoulder.

The shadowy figure was cloaked, its face hidden in the dark recesses of an oversized hood, and stood with hunched shoulders as if the room were to small. Slowly it raised an arm and inclined its head suggesting that Dr. Lavine should join him, but all he did was pale.

“What list Mr. Diggery, what list am I on,” Lavine asked panic rising in his voice.

“The only one that matters Doc, I’ll be in touch. Thanks for listening.”

A Better Question


Davey's view

Heavy was the right way to describe it Davey thought to himself as he allowed a shallow breath past his parted lips.  Almost like it was water he thought as he lifted his right hand.  The resistance Davey felt in the empty night filled space above the arm of the rocking chair was foreign to him.  Turning his hand palm up he slowly rubbed his fingers together.  Collecting in minute beads a viscous liquid started to puddle in his cupped hand.  Davey’s eyes went skyward using the moon for illumination he could see…something.  Just a wisp of fog his brain reasoned, but the hair at the nape of his neck rejected that thought immediately standing on end.

The many childhood hours Davey had spent soaking up Hollywood’s post apocalyptic possibilities surfaced shouting for him to not leave the semi-safety of the covered porch, but tonight was about answers.  Since there was no burring sensation where the dew like droplets of oily liquid condensed he ruled out acid rain, still deciding on some iota of caution he pulled his shirt over his nose before walking out into the night.

Only a few steps and he could already feel the heat leaving the valley.  Growing up in the mostly dry climate of the desert Davey knew how fast the heat would drain back out of the sun baked rocks departing as if it had never been there leaving a chill that was hard to shake.  As the mercury plummeted the wisps in the air turned to more of a foggy haze, but rather than rising from the recently hot ground like steam it seemed to be sinking. 

Frozen in place, torn between the porch and the high ground he was walking towards, Davey noticed the watery light of the full moon catch in the mist throwing eery rainbows into the inky shadows.  Before he could react the dense cloud settled over him.  The greenish tinge of the fog gave everything the appearance of being viewed through night vision goggles,  but it was the weight of the fog which increased as its haziness gave way to opaqueness that Davey found the most disconcerting.

Within seconds he found himself face first in the dusty sand choking on the stifling cloud, his eyes streaming, every inch of him listless.  The lethargy made Davey almost not care that he had asked the wrong question, what instead of how, but then he heard the groan of the fog pressing down on his rocking chair and he smiled a drowsy smile.  He had his answer, if only he had thought to ask a better question.

Reader Note:

This is a continuation of my story A Heightened Sense of Things I hope you enjoy it!


Working on Cadaver Alley was many things, intriguing, almost always, entertaining, more than you might think, but never fun.  As an assistant M.E. Phil prided himself on on being un-shockable he had no queasy feelings when they rolled in, anymore, or shaky knees during autopsy.  Perhaps that was because Phil worked the third shift, to thoes in the know this shift was often reffered to as the graveyard shift, and as apropos as that seemed it fell a little short in his mind.  Phil had chosen third for three specific reasons; firstly he was a night owl always had been and he found that working at night relaxed him, secondly his sleep wake schedule gave him a built in reason to miss any family event he chose, and finally though most relevent was that crime happened at night.  What this most commonly meant was that said person would die at night, be found in the morning, catalouged by day shift, then processed by swing shift, and mearly watched by graveyard.  He often joked that he was a highly qualified baby sitter.

But that was before today.

Today at exactly 12 noon Esmerelda J. Wakefield had been struck by lightning from a clear sky and pronounced dead at the scene.  She had been catalouged by swing and now awaited processing.  Due to his so often avoiding processing it took Phil quite a while to A) remember what needed to be done, B) find the necessary tools for the task, and C) actually proccess poor Miss Wakefield.  However, by his first break he had finished prelim and was now well versed in who Esmerelda was from a statistics and measurement standpoint.

With her file in hand he walked out to the break room to warm his hands around a hot chocolate or coffee sludge which ever appeared fresher.  Sitting down on the threadbare couch he tapped off the t.v., a curiously uncharistic motion from Phil, and began going through it aloud.  Having read it cover to cover he was nothing if not confused.  “How does one go and get electrocuted to death by lightening without a storm, huh Esme,” he asked glancing over his shoulder towards the glass wall which separated the morgue from the break room.

His cup slipped from nerveless fingers as Phil shot into the air, “What the …”  Running to the employee entrance he continued to shake his head and swear, but when his hand reached for the key pad just inches from the panic/emergency button everything went still.  He took a deep breath, “What are you going to tell them, when they get here?  She was watching me!  Who the hell is going to believe that?  Just go in there man you probably set the block wrong.”  Three minutes later and with arms in a defensive position Phil entered the morgue once more.

Esmerelda would have been described as having piercing eyes he thought to himself as he once again meet her stare with eyes so deep set and dark green.  A shudder ran through Phil forcing him to step towards her table.  Sure enough her head had slipped.  So after a moment of silent thanks Phil went back to work.  Now Esme rested beneath a crisp white sheet, “You have no secrets from me now my dear,” he said as he walked to the faucet.  Phil knew it was silly and unnecessary but he still warmed the water against his wrist.  Satisfied with the temperature he turned back to Esmerelda in time to see her hand fall gracefully from under the sheet and seemingly point to the floor.  “Not…possible,” he yelled as he moved to garb her arm with one hand and to pull back the sheet with the other unawear that he came to rest where she pointed.

“Not out of secrets,” Esmerelda whispered as the sheet fell away and she grabbed Phil’s arm.


Beth screamed bloody murder as Mike grabbed her wrist.  Laughing he let go to protect himself from the barrage of blows Beth was attempting to land on his head.  He stopped laughing and held his hands up in surrender, “Fine, fine I deserve that…but I got you so good,” Mike said still smiling.

“You ass,” Beth said shooting Mike a withering look.  As they both quieted down the night sounds came back locust in the trees, bull frogs on the lake, and the crackel of logs in the fire. 

Then from the cloudless night sky a bolt of lightening.

The Price of Peace

Trusali while important was not well known to many outsiders.  At first glance it was nothing more than a small, quaint, town.  Located far enough from any city, so as to be considered out of the way, it boasted a mine, fertile farm land, and not much else.  Perhaps the most important good Trusali could offer the world were its people, who were both hard working and capable of collectively keeping the secret.  That was the real surprise to all branches of the government; that unanimously the people of Trusali had chosen to take on the secret.  For the good of all mankind they told themselves indoctrinating the young rather than allowing their noble purpose to become diluted.  So the work continued, though the risk was high, and so far the people found the price of peace worth the cost.

Life went on as usual, mostly.  Children ran to school late with the ringing of the great brass bell, hardworking men and women worked the mine and associated plant, and life, loosely defined, continued on. 

In Trusali each day started with the sounding of the air raid sirens.  This signified the beginning of production in the plant.  Unless you were currently working in the mine or plant what was actually being produced was largely misconstrued.  In the school kids were told that their parents were heros striving to bring a lasting peace to the world, rather than the truths about what exactly was being mined from beneath their fine town. 

For the people of Trusali, though life ran like clockwork, it was the siren not the tolling of the clock tower bells which dictated life.  While the plant was in production mode none entered or left the grounds, but in the pre-dawn darkness curious children would meet at the town center and watch as the adults filed wordlessly past.  From this vantage point the brave ones would bet and dare each other to sneak inside the mines or look into the windows, which leaked  flickering grayish light before the sun rose high enough to mask the weird glow.  Until this night no one had been so foolish as to go more than a few steps onto the plant’s grounds, but Trish, feeling bold in the face of her 18th birthday, had more than just peaked in a window she had slipped inside the plant.

As the door clanged shut behind her an awful sense of foreboding stole over the girl. Trish who only moments ago had looked and felt so alive, as dark strands streamed from her ponytail and light reflected from her bright blue eyes during the mad dash from the gazebo at town center to the well hidden back door, but now the gray light washed her out and dulled her young features. Contemplating either the stairs to her left of the long hallway before her she stood frozen, folded nearly in half, with caution and fear. The sound of someone in the stairwell decided her. Trish, once again determined, started down the hallway, unaware that the person from the stairs was diligently making his rounds to secure and lock all exits.

The hallway had been uneventful, though she had paused and listened at every doorknob there had been neither movement nor sound, which only caused her curiosity to pique. After what seemed and eternity of intermittent tiptoeing and pauses Trish finally neared the end of the hallway. Rather than bursting out into the open space of the lobby she hugged the wall and waited. In the eerie quiet she heard the clock tower bells chime the five o’clock hour and visibly relaxed, knowing that by now all workers were inside and that production was still 30 minutes off. The loud click and whirl of an old fashioned movie projector drew her into a main corridor where she quickly dropped to the floor in an attempt to avoid being seen. Rather than moving through the corridor of windows to the plant, which must lay beyond it, she stopped realizing that she had found the source of the flickering light.

It was an old black and white news reel, the kind which was interwoven with public announcements. Trish was in no risk of being spotted as every set of eyes were glued to the screens at the opposite end of the room. Without the sound she could make out very little of what was going on but to her it looked like something the very first plant workers would have watched to convince them of the good they were doing. Shaking her head Trish moved on, but was disappointed to find that the movie was the only thing happening no matter which corridor she ventured down or which windowed room she peaked in. Standing at the end of one hall she considered making her way back to the stairway, then a series of events occurred so quickly she barely had time to react.

The monotone dong of an electric bell sounded, a horrible hissing sound filled the building in time to the windowed rooms filling with greenish-yellow gas, and the factory, a windowless pit of a place dead just moments ago, whirled to life in a mess of random moving part sounds. Just as quickly the bell toned again, the gas cleared, and the doors opened.

The sound of the air raid siren cut through her confusion and sent the girl into action.

Trish, finding no other options, crouched beneath a wooden bench doing her best to calm her heartbeat and steady her breath. Her eyes, shut tight in an automatic response to fright, were forced open as she heard them and their uneven gait scraping ever closer. Trying not to move an inch Trish scanned the room for an exit, even an improbable one, but in every direction she was met with horror movie images. Her family members and friend’s parents were no longer recognizable with their gray skin, yellowed eyes, and blackish drool as they made their way with single minded intent towards the plant.

A scream caught in her throat nearly broke free and the strangled sound was enough to have diverted a few of the “workers” from task, they moved towards her bench blindly searching for sound or smell to identify the anomaly. Television sets she hadn’t even noticed click into life, a repeat of the film from earlier, catching the attention of those “workers” not yet in the plant. So terrified by recent events Trish stared at the floor hopping a very young hope, that if she could not see those around her that perhaps they would not see her either. Finally the slow sickening shuffle of the “workers” couldn’t be heard anymore, but the propaganda film continued on even without its captive audience.

Unable to walk away from such horror without answers Trish stood and listened to the clean cut man in the nice suit talk.

“The world was brought to the brink of annihilation with nuclear war threats. Parents and children alike in a state of constant fear, but fear not people of Trusali for your government has found the answer.


Peace is an element that in its raw form, which has been found within your mine, can be processed in such a way as to put you, your town, and our lands well outside the reach of nuclear fear forever. Sound too good to be true? Well it isn’t.

All we ask of you and your fellow workers is devotion to our cause, career long devotion, and daily aerosolized vaccinations, for your own protection of course. By taking these vaccines you will be able to work with the element as it is converted into its final stage without any fear of harm to yourselves or your families. The reason we are asking this grave favor from the people of Trusali is because without your help…”

Trish never heard what Peace could do for the world nor saw what the finished product looked like. Because while watching the t.v. she had failed to notice the high sharp sound that kept her motionless or the gurgling “worker” moving towards her with slow awkward intent. It was not till the thing had its hand on her shoulder did she awake from the trance, and by then her ability to care was lost in a spray of red as the thing feed.

That day the other children whispered possible scenarios to one another about what Trish might have seen and how much trouble she would be in when her parents found out what she had done, but none were brave enough to look for here even as the sun started its decent and the end of day siren sounded.

Leaving the Memories

Toby blinked in the gloom, as if awaking from a dream.  Even in the shifting light of the large wood burning oven the liquid pooling ever closer to his feet sparkled ruby red.  His head snapped back quickly at the sound of a tremendous amount of ash falling as the contents of the oven settled.  As the fire licked through the grill on the door light flashed from his closed fist.  Toby glanced down almost surprised to see that he still clutched the silver blade.

He opened his hand and really looked at it; it was the most decorative one he had ever seen, long though not as heavy as it looked, and warm.  As if the thought had burned him Toby gasped and let it clatter to the stone floor.  Shaking his head he started for the stairs his shoes squelching with every step.

Deep red marked his progress through the house where he snatched the coppers and gin he saw on the way to the shop.  Toby paused and debated going upstairs, but the thought made his stomach roll so he walked to the door instead. 

Toby crossed to the corner and glanced over his shoulder, “I thought the good Lord sent you to me,” he said to no one.  Looking straight ahead he walked brushing a tear from his eye, telling himself it was the stench in the smoke nothing else, as he put the memories of Fleet Street behind him.

Monster Chew

It was everything candy should be; eye catching colorful packaging, fun name, and it came in a variety of fruity flavors like Grapeula, Frankenlime, and Zomberry.  With it being only weeks till Halloween no commercial campaign was necessary just well placed cardboard displays at store fronts and Monster Chew bubble gum was sure to be a hit this holiday season.  So it was no surprise that Katie and her best friend Brittney, from Sacred Hearts Academy, were mesmerized as soon as they entered the ShopQuick.  Katie’s favorite color was blue and as such she was immediately drawn to the gum with the pale blue ghostly specter with the curious flavor of Boosenberry, while Brittney picked up the one sporting a hot pink witch.

“Which one are you getting Kate,” Brittney asked as she started walking to the counter.

Katie fallowed her looking longingly over her shoulder at the comic book bubble showing the price, “I can’t get one, I spent my extra lunch money on that Carmel apple today,” she said kicking at a nonexistent dust bunny.

“I’ll share some with you,” Brittney said while they walked out the door.  She made a big show of opening up the foil pack and sniffing to see if it would really taste like the name suggested, but then she paused.  “I don’t think we can share this,”  Brittney said shaking a small amount into her palm.  It was powder.

“How is it gum?”

But Brittney was reading the back of the package and ignoring her as they continued on their walk back home.  Then out of nowhere, “Okay, it says here that it works like magic.  Just pour the powder in your mouth and start chewing, add more powder to intensify flavor, and get this it say at the end of every bag is a magical surprise.”

“A what?  There’s no room for a surprise you would see it or feel it through the bag.”

“It probably just paints your tongue, or switches flavors or something,” Brittney said all garbled.  Sure enough she was licking the powder off her fingers and then dumping more in after.

“Brit, you look ridiculous trying to turn that powder into gum.  Maybe the surprise is lockjaw,” Katie said striving to be humorous while still feeling rather jealous.  Brittney just waved her off and continued down the street to her house.

Throwing her book bag on the bed Katie looked into the mirror and promised herself that even if she went without lunch next Friday she was going to stop first thing Monday morning and buy some Monster Chew.
Staring at her phone and willing it to ring Katie debated her options; she could go with her family to a cousin’s football game, stay home and watch movies by her self, or call Brittney even though she was supposed to call her.  Desperate to avoid the game she dialed, and was greeting by, “Chom, chom, chom…yeah.”

“Britt?  Um…did you want to come over and rent a movie or something?”

“Can’t, chom, chom, chom.”

“What, why?  What is that sound?”

“Chom, chom, chom, haven’t gotten to the surprise yet.”

“How much gum are you chewing, I think I can actually hear you chewing that powder.”

“Gotta go, chom, chom, chom, talk later.”

Katie sat there staring at the phone listening to dial tone. 
Laying in bed Katie stared at the ceiling and thought about what had happened at the game.  All night long she had heard that awful chewing sound as everyone seemed to be trying out Monster Chew, but on her way to the concession stand to buy some, for her and her brother to share, she had seen what looked like boy with a greenish tint to his skin sitting in the shadow of the marry-go-round tearing through a bag like an animal.  Even though Katie was sure she hadn’t seen what she thought she saw it decided her against the stuff.  As the game wore on all the chewing sounds went away with all the children to the poorly light playground, and while that concerned Katie her mother didn’t even seem to notice.  So here she was worried about her friend for no reason.  I mean gum can’t hurt people you don’t even swallow it, Katie thought to her self as the sound of shattering glass rang through the night.

She jumped out of bed and ran to her window barely brave enough to peak through the blinds.  Huge dark things were prowling the street smashing into cars and houses alike, but it wasn’t until one stood beneath the light at the end of their driveway that terror truly set in.  Before her very own eyes stood a large, hairy, snarling werewolf.  Katie gasped and slowly back away from the window unsure what to do next.  When her door swung opened she screamed, but it was only her mother and brother, “Watch him Kate.  Stay here and hide do not come out for any reason, I’ll come back for you.”. Then she was gone?

The smashing sounds were getting closer.  The closet wasn’t deep enough to be a good hiding spot and under the bed was an obvious choice, but nowhere else would fit them both.  So it was under the bed pressed back against the wall that the two clung to each other when she heard it.

Chom, chom, chom.  Then the front door splintered inward.

Chom, chom, chom as the monsters made their way down the hall.

Katie clasped a hand over her own mouth as well as her brother’s as her door slammed open, ricocheting off her foot board.  From under the pink dust ruffle Katie could see only feet as the things from nightmares entered her room, and hear only the pounding of her heart which seem to beat in time to the chewing.

Chom, chom, chom…

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