You’ll Never Believe What Shocking and Horrible Thing He Gives Out each Halloween!

Finger Food

He didn’t know why he checked the crime log. He had nothing to worry about. After years of doing the things that he did, he was as likely to get caught as was a mime likely to press his hands against a real wall. Not gonna happen. He continued to read though, and that’s when he saw his name, in bold, with a small reward amount.

“What?” he said to himself, and looked around trying to think of how he got caught but a sudden repetitious bang on his door broke his concentration.

“Open up! Police!”

His heart hammered, his mouth dryer than the Mojave during a drought.

BANG BANG BANG!

He shot up from his seat and watched a silhouette cross the window. Beads of sweat rolled down his face as if he’d just took a brisk walk through torrential rain.

BANG BANG BANG!

“Last warning! Open up or we’re coming in!”

He dashed from the living room, up the stairs, and into his bedroom, which faced the backyard. He had been preparing for this for a long time, and now that it was time, he was scared nothing would go right.

From his closet, he armed himself with a shotgun. It was loaded with only two rounds, but that was enough.

He heard the door open on the first floor. They had a key. They must have, because he had locked the door after grabbing the paper that morning. He always locked it.

When feet started stomping up the stairs, he positioned himself three feet from the door. It was enough for the door to open and enough room for the shotgun spread. When the door burst open, he fired. The blast hit his intruder in the chest, and he watched the uniformed man stagger back and tumble down the stairs. He waited for just a moment to see if anyone followed him, and when he heard nothing, he dropped the shotgun.

Gable ran toward the back wall of the room and kicked it. One, two, three times. The cracks started to appear, and then the wall crashed out onto the ground below. He worried that the break-away wall would fail him, but it turned out to work well after all.

He stopped at the edge, and looked out into the crisp morning sky. A cold wind nipped at his skin, and a distant dog barked at something. This was supposed to be another wonderful Halloween, which he’d prepared for all year long. Now, it was spoiled because a couple cops couldn’t mind their own fucking business.

Above his head, there was a metal twine rope attached to the wall and it lead down to the grassy area just beyond his backyard fence line. He opened the cabinet to his right, which contained clothes and other assorted items, and he retrieved a zip line mechanism. After quickly connecting it to the line, he zipped to the ground.

He looked up, and no cop appeared at the opening in the wall. They were probably being cautious or tending to their fallen comrade. He didn’t know. Didn’t care. He just started running, and as he approached the ally between his house and the other, someone turned the corner and he ran right into them.

After falling and then scrambling to his feet, he was about to dash the other direction when he saw it was Lucas, the man he’d known for over two decades.

Gable said, “They’re here! The cops. Dude, we gotta bolt!”

Lucas’s face was red, his eyes lit with the glisten of water. “You killed him!”

Gable stopped, and turned. “What?”

“Victor. You fucking killed him!”

Sirens blared in the distance as Gable approached Lucas. “What the hell do you mean I killed him?”

Lucas, through deep heaves of pain and anguish over his friend’s death, explained that he and Victor had dressed up as detective and cop, respectively, to play a prank on Gable. He was supposed to open the door and find two cops there, but then immediately realize that it was just a prank. When they heard him rummaging around, they used the key he’d given them a couple years ago to go inside and scare him a little more. Victor went upstairs while Lucas stayed behind to get a good laugh.

“Shit,” Gable said, the sirens near.

“Why the fuck did you freak out!”

Gable knew why. It was because normal people don’t understand him. They don’t understand that he has fetishes and desires that he had to feed. They don’t understand people like him, and so they call him monster, murderer, and try to lock him up in jail, but they don’t try to understand him. They never do. After this, they won’t even try.

“Why!” Lucas screamed and wailed in pain.

Gable listened as the police vehicles in the front of the house came to a screeching halt. Soon, they’d capture him, and then they’d find his friend dead in his house. The police would arrest him, and probably they’d search the rest of the house. They’d find the bodies he had stuffed in the walls, and the one he had in the basement that was still fresh. They’d examine those bodies and find that each one of them was missing fingers and toes. They’d find the bowl of fingers and toes in the freezer, and then they’d connect him to the fingers and toes he handed out to kids during Halloween. They’d know that he was the Candy Man serial killer–as the media so lovingly called him. They’d find out all of that, and he would go to jail. Likely he’d be put to death. All because his stupid friends played a stupid prank, and the stupid police responded to the stupid fucking gunshot.

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Twice the Trouble

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She walked up to me, her finger wagging in the air like an excited puppy, but she was anything but happy. “Ooooh, I am so mad at you right now.”

“Me? You’re the one who decided it was a good idea to go outside!”

“Ugh! I can’t even with you right now!”

“Bitch, please. Had you stayed inside like I told you, they wouldn’t be hunting us down.”

“Whatever, I could turn you in as the fake, and then I wouldn’t have to hide, like ever.”

“You can’t do that, they would know.”

“How? Unless your ass grew three sizes too big since I last saw you,” she said, eyeing me. “Look, we both know you created me to be perfect. Better than you’ll ever be, so I’ll never be the one they figure is the clone.”

I gasped, and looked out at the ocean. Okay, maybe I was looking at the profile of my ass in the shadow. She didn’t know that, though. A good thing, too, because it meant I would be inadvertently admitting that she was getting to me.

“Don’t you look away from me when I’m talking to you, Missy.”

“I created you,” I said, and finally met her eyes. “I’ll do what I want.”

“I’d like to know how you plan on doing that?”

“Chronos.”

Now she was the one gasping. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

She eyed me, as she usually does when she doesn’t trust me. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

I smirked and pulled a small device out of my pocket. It was about the size of a car remote, but instead of alarm buttons, it had a small screen with buttons to set a date and time. It was Chronos, a time-travelling device I created for emergencies. Just then, it seemed like a good time to use it.

I started typing the new time, and she said, “You can’t do that or I’ll use the black box!”

“The what?” I said, and looked up.

With wild eyes, she produced her own small device, and started typing on it. I said, “No, you can’t do that! It’s not fair!”

She laughed maniacally as the sky started to darken. The wind howled through distant trees, and the clouds raced across the sky. Then, just above us, as the black sky gave way to purple, the clouds swirled as if the small epicenter of a hurricane.

I returned my gaze to her and then to the device in my hands. If I could just get back in time to stop her and destroy that black box, then none of this would ever happen. If I failed, then the world would perish.

After a moment, I finally entered the time, three weeks prior to this day. The small red button in the center of my device blinked in and out, and just before my thumb pressed the button, she knocked it out of my hands.

“No!”

“Yes!” She screamed, and looked at the sky. The winds descended upon me, the clouds reaching down like large hands. They grasped me, soon to take me to unknown places. I had lost the battle here and now, but the war was far from over.

I screamed, “Mom!”

“What are you doing you little brat?” Loretta said.

I called again, “Mom!”

“What, honey?” she said from under the shade of a nearby picnic umbrella.

Loretta tried to cover my mouth but I fought her as I said, “Lori’s not playing fair!”

“What did she do, honey?”

I didn’t know how to explain that my bitch of a sister had cheated, so I said, “She said a bad word!”

She gasped. “Ugh! I did not!”

“Did, too!”

“Uh, huh! She said it! I swear!”

“Did not! Momma, she’s lying!”

“Both of you stop it right now!”

By then, Loretta had me laying in the wet sand and was trying to push my face into it. We both looked up, and our mother was staring at us over the rims of her dark sunglasses. Loretta quickly crawled off me, and started playing in the dry sand. I stared at my mother, who continued to stare at me. I scowled, puckered my lips, and then after picking my Tamigotchi off the ground, I ran off to play in the tide pools. There was a giant sea creature living down there, and I didn’t have time to pay mind to my mother’s neutrality. The world needed me.

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

A man wants what he cannot have, and will do anything to get it, even if it means committing suicide to do it.

As the mayor of a small town, I had everything I could ever want. They literally gave me a book full of blank checks and the power to sign them. As long as I took care of the town, they allowed me to use the monetary resources as I wished. However, as all men know, money can’t buy everything.

It happened as I was watching a late-night marathon of MacGyver in the living room of my discreet four-story mansion. I didn’t much care for commercials, so I surveyed the dark room. During the day or in full light, the decor appeared regal, stately. In the TV’s soft gloomy glow, however, the ornately knobby furniture felt more like grinning beasts.

I returned my attention to the tube just as some maniac with a super-absorbent towel finished screaming at the camera. The screen faded to black, and when the picture returned, it was of a man sitting in a reclining chair. The room looked a lot like mine, and though I knew it certainly wasn’t, it earned my interest.

In the commercial, the man walked to his freezer, opened it, and realized he had nothing in there but an empty ice-cream box. He dramatized this by shaking it upside-down, and of course, nothing fell out. He looked sad for a moment, until he saw a child outside his window with two ice-cream bars. After 20 seconds of crazy antics, he finally stole one, bit into that delicious candy bar, and I suddenly wanted one, too. No, I needed one.

I looked at the clock, and it was too late. All the stores had closed hours ago. Living in a small town had some perks, but all-night convenience wasn’t one of them. Therefore, I had to use my powers of political persuasion to get one.

After picking up the phone and dialing my assistant’s number, I waited.

Kurt answered with a yawn, “Hello?”

“Do you have Alex’s number?”

“Who?”

“Alex. The guy that owns Quickie Market.”

“You mean James, and yes, I do.”

“Okay, can you call his phone and have her meet me at the store?”

“Him.”

“What?”

“Him. Remember. He’s post-op. You’re mayor. You have to remember how to say things right.”

“Okay, can you just have him meet me at his store?”

“What for?”

“I need something.”

He yawned again. “Well, you’re just gonna have to wait until Saturday.”

“Excuse me?”

He suddenly realized how insubordinate his comment sounded and replied, “No, I just mean that he’s at a funeral in Larimore. Won’t be back until Saturday.”

“Jesus. This won’t do,” I said, and then I stood. I paced back and forth, thinking of some way I could get in there, and then I thought of Adrianna. “What about that young blonde that works there on the weekends? Adrianna surely has a key.”

“Lindsay, sir,” He said, and I could hear coffee brewing in the background. “She got married a month ago, moved to Texarkana. You remember? You even officiated their marriage.”

“Oh, that’s right. She married, uh,” I said snapping, “what’s-his-face. The, uh, the kid that brushes the horses.”

“Sir, Jimmy is the one with the horses. She married Victor, the lawyer from Chattanooga.”

“Oh, right. That guy.”

“Anyway, the only way that place is opening up is if Jenkins need in there.”

“Jenkins… yes…” I still had no idea who he was talking about.

“Sheriff Jenkins has a key in case they need to store someone for the morgue.”

“Oh, God,” I said, realizing I bought all my food there. “Why the hell would they do that?”

“Sir, the morgue is under construction. You knew about this.”

“I did?”

“Yes. The ‘renovations’ are there to make room for the gym.”

“Well, shit.”

“Yes, sir.”

As he slurped his coffee, I sighed. Defeat never suited me, but naturally, I accepted when it got the best of me. “Okay. Get some rest, then. I’ll probably be in late tomorrow.”

“Okay, sir.”

I hung up the phone, and sighed again. I had always had this insatiable drive when it came to getting what I wanted. It was how I became the mayor of that small town after all. I hated not being able to get what I wanted.

I plopped down on the couch and watched ten minute of MacGyver. Despite my disappointment, I still found pleasure in how he could get out of just about any situation by being clever. I didn’t know anyone who could take an impossible situation, and MacGyver the shit out of it. I knew I couldn’t… or…

That was when it hit me. I could be that man. Hell, I was already used to getting everything I wanted, why stop now? All I had to do was think of some way to get into the building, and then I’d have my good eats.

I thought about breaking the window, but then realized immediately how bad of an idea that was and how unlike MacGyver that would be. After that, I considered ways to get the keys from Jenkins, but he wouldn’t just give them to me. He was a man who stuck to the book, and I liked him that way because honestly, it kept me straight. However, he was the only way I was going to get into that store. That remained true, anyway, until I realized I didn’t have to get in there directly through him or by making him break his oath to uphold the law.

I smiled, unable to believe that I’d come up with such a perfectly devious plan.

I stood and walked across the room to an old oak credenza once owned by Malcom something-or-other. I don’t really recall his name, obviously, but I do remember the story behind it.

Sixty years ago, Malcom owed a lot of money to some very bad men. Although people considered him stupid for having acquired such dangerous debt, he was also very smart. One day, he decided to escape them by faking his death in the same way that Juliet did. He used his knowledge of chemistry to come up with a household mixture that would put him in a deep sleep. When the mob found out, they’d release the debt and he’d be free. It worked a little too well, because he’d passed out and woke up buried alive.

Fortunately, the credenza came with the recipe when I bought it. Perhaps I wasn’t as smart as Malcom was, but I knew enough to make it work. Well, I hoped, anyway.

I opened the drawer, removed a sealed frame, and looked at the list of ingredients and the recipe contained inside. I had everything in my kitchen.

I quickly gathered the ingredients, and double-checked to make sure everything was right. The last thing I wanted to do was poison myself to death—no pun intended.

After taking a deep breath, I mixed them. I fully expected to die from inhaling the smoke that feathered out of the glass on the table, but the only thing I could complain about was the smell. It was awful.

With cup in hand, I dialed my Assistant, Ralph. He answered just as he did before, with a yawn. “Hello?”

“Help me…” I said with a pathetic whine, and then dropped the phone.

I looked down at the concoction, took another deep breath and I asked myself, “What would you do for a Klondike bar?”

I downed the disgusting mix, holding back the urge to barf it all over the kitchen floor. A moment later, I became drowsy. Another moment passed, and I woke in darkness.

I don’t remember much about my father because he was never around, but I do recall him telling me that drugs were bad and I should always make good choices. I found that funny because he was a drug addict and a shitty father. I suppose, if anything, he did a good job reinforcing his own advice even if it was in an incredible example of irony. This is the information I should have reflected on before drinking that shit.

When I woke, my body felt numb, and I thought I could move but I wasn’t sure. What I was sure about, was that it didn’t stay dark for long. Soon, I was basking in the warmth of the summer sun, smack dab in the middle of a grassy meadow. Butterflies danced languidly from flower to flower as birds twittered from the trees. I took in a deep breath of the sweet vernal grass, and a cool, clean breeze, passed through, chilling those blades, and they shivered, though more with delight than with resentment.

Because of where I lived (in the desert) and because I knew I wasn’t crazy (debatable), it meant I was hallucinating. The stuff I drank, though effective, was apparently also a drug. Well, I mean, yes, it was a drug to begin with, but I had no idea it would cause me to hallucinate.

Anyway, I was back in the darkness eventually. The smell of plastic and polyethylene nauseated me. I tried lifting my arms, expecting them not to move, but they did. I patted the cover that was over me, and I suddenly realized I was inside a body back.

Shit.

Although I still felt a bit numb, I molested the bag until my knuckles scraped along the metallic zipper. Following it was difficult, but eventually my fingers found the internal zipper tag, and then I unzipped the bag.

A sudden rush of cold blasted me as I sat up. I was, as expected, in the freezer of what’s-his-name’s store. The first thing I saw was beer, and damn it looked good. I figured no one would notice if I had just one to warm me up. After all, I was nude and needed something to keep the chill at bay.

I tip-toped across the walk-in freezer, and plucked a bottle of alcoholic Root Beer from one of the crates. Luckily, the cap twisted off, and I started sipping. Then I was chugging.

Looking down and taking in a deep breath to abate the burn of carbonation, I saw a crate of Heineken to my left. The bottlenecks swayed back and forth, and there were tiny human faces on the caps. They sang a song in German. I didn’t even know German, but somewhere deep in my subconscious, my hallucinations found a song from the beer’s homeland and sang it to me.

The beer continued to serenade me as I looked around the freezer for those delicious little Klondike bars. For a while, I saw everything except those things I desired the most. What I needed the most. Then, at last, I spied that silver box of minty chocolate goodness near a stack of vegetarian ice cream.

I waddled over to them, and tore the box open with a kind of carnal voracity only found in hungry animals and those addicted to sex. It was, after all, a small love affair. The Klondike bar needed me, and I so very much needed it.

I detected a hint of peppermint as I sniffed the aluminum exterior. Those perfect square shapes hinted at the pleasures beyond, and I ever so gently pealed at the wrapper. The beer sang me another tune—or maybe it was the same one—as I bit into it. The flavor was so divine that I felt like I might be risking my salvation, my entrance into heaven forfeited because of this one… tasty…

I heard a door slam open. It was Jenkins.

He screamed. I screamed. The Klondike bars screamed. I think Jenkins then shot me in the chest.

I woke up several nights later in a hospital bed. A machine softly beeped, and my chest hurt as if someone had shot me. At that point, I wasn’t sure because I had been hallucinating. It wasn’t until I looked down and saw the bloody gauze on my chest that I was certain it had actually happened.

There was a sour taste in my mouth, but there was no water nearby. There was, however, a remote to the television hanging from the wall. I turned it on, and watched a commercial for Brisk lemon iced tea. In this Claymation rendering, an international spy went through hell to obtain a top-secret bottle of iced tea.

I was thirsty. I needed something to quench it. I knew what I needed to do.

The Haunted Maze (Poem)

We step through the entrance,
And within seconds,
We are welcomed with iniquitous grins
To a place where men go to smile upon death.

Strawberry syrup splatters the partitions slick
Like the oil tapestry of a deranged artist.
Polished blades pierce the wall
Holding disembodied hands high waving, “Hello!”

The second thing we observe
Is a soldier laughing in a prison of red brick.
He weeps to us a deal for release,
But we cannot acquiesce.

Next, a woman supine in bed.
She’s bound at the hands and ankles,
And she screams a tormented ululation.
Her face perverted with cold-blooded rage.

A phantom emerges from the inky black shadows
Sick with insidious intentions.
His deep, heavy breaths
Turn sour with a depraved, yet welcoming smile.

Around the corner, shimmering threads
Of a spider’s web hang from the ceiling.
They softly tickle my neck
As I pass the silky nylon strands.

In another dimly lit chamber,
A man is chained to a lightning machine.
Electricity burns, and soon a
Silvery scentless smoke permeates the corridor.

I tell myself
“This is no place to fear.
It’s all a mirage—
A pretend world to escape.”

Still, I am horrified,
But not because of what we see.
It’s the world that created this place,
The ideas born from a man’s delicious imagination.

Now, beyond the perilous passageway,
We see the exit to safety.
It’s not a long journey,
Yet too long for us.

The last thirty feet
Tells a tale of seven sins.
Each fatality a warning
To anyone who dares to tread.

At last, we step into the frigid night.
She releases her painful grip on my arm,
And I breathe a relaxed sigh.
Wait! — A butcher attacks with a chainsaw.

There’s a deafening buzz
Of its dangerous blades,
But he soon relents, and peace returns
To this night of man’s malevolent dreams