A Hectic Halloween night
by Gabriella B.
It’s 1 am, and my dog Midnight is barking ferociously. The full moon casts an eerie glow over the sleepy town, casting long, ominous shadows that seem to dance in the cool October night. I jolt awake, my heart racing, as the frantic barks echo through the stillness. Something isn’t right. I stumble out of bed, fumbling for a flashlight. The barking continues, relentless and filled with a wild urgency. My hands tremble as I step out onto the porch, the chill of the night sending a shiver down my spine.
Midnight, my loyal dog, stands at the edge of the yard, his hackles raised and his eyes fixed on the woods that surround our home. His barks have taken on an otherworldly quality, as if he’s trying to ward off a malevolent presence. “What is it, boy?” I whisper. But Midnight’s gaze doesn’t waver, and his barks grow louder, more insistent. I shine my flashlight into the inky darkness of the forest, my heart pounding in my chest. The beam of light reveals gnarled trees, their branches twisted and contorted, like skeletal fingers reaching for the sky. But there’s something else—something moving among the trees. A shadowy figure, its form shifting and elusive. A cold gust of wind sweeps through the yard, shutting off my flashlight, and plunging me into darkness. Panic rises in my chest, and I fumble for my phone, desperately trying to turn on its feeble light. The barks continue, each one more desperate than the last. With the phone’s light, I see Midnight still standing his ground, but the shadowy figure is gone. Instead, an eerie mist begins to rise from the ground, swirling and undulating like a living thing.
The air is heavy with an otherworldly presence, and I can’t shake the feeling that we’re no longer alone. The mist coalesces into a vaguely humanoid form, its features shifting and indistinct. I take a step back, my heart pounding as fear grips me. Midnight’s barks reach a fevered pitch, a haunting chorus of warning. From the shifting mist, a voice emerges, a whisper that slithers through the night. “You shouldn’t have come here.” I clutch my phone, my knuckles white, and struggle to find my voice. “Who are you? What do you want?” The voice grows closer, and the mist takes on a more solid form, revealing a face twisted by malevolence. “We are the spirits of this forest, bound here for centuries. You have trespassed into our domain, and now you must pay the price.”
A surge of terror courses through me, and I turn to flee, but the mist swirls around me, cutting off my escape. It wraps around my legs, icy and suffocating, pulling me down to the ground. I cry out, but my voice is drowned by the cacophony of Midnight’s barks. The spirits draw closer, their forms shifting and changing, their faces contorted with anger. “You and your kind have desecrated our home,” they hissed. “You have cut down our trees and polluted our waters. Now, you will pay the price.” I struggle against the ghostly grip of the mist, but it’s relentless, tightening its hold with each passing moment. Desperation surges through me as I realize the spirits are right; we’ve been careless with the environment, and now we’re facing the consequences. Midnight’s barks reach a crescendo, and he races towards me at a rapid speed. His paws scratch at my leg trying to remove the spirit’s grasp. The spirits begin to falter, and I feel its icy grip loosening. I scramble to my feet, gasping for breath, and Midnight bounds toward me, his tail wagging frantically. While Midnight bites at the wisps of the spirits struggling to reform. I began running as hastily as I could towards my house. Midnight notices, and starts running after me. The spirits let out anguished wails, as they reform and start chasing after us. I dare not look behind me knowing that would only slow me down, so I continue running faster and faster. My legs start feeling as if they’re going to give out and make me fall down onto the swaying greenery beneath me but I persevere as I near the house, running up the porch and slamming the front door open as I rush inside the house with Midnight. I shut the door scrambling to lock it. Only after the door is locked do I let out a sigh of relief.
I look out the window and notice the spirits are no longer there; they have disappeared. The moonlight once again bathes the yard in its pale glow, and the forest appears calm and still, as if the spectral encounter had never happened. But the message is clear—our actions have consequences, and the spirits of the forest will not stand idly by as we continue to harm their home. I vow to make amends, to protect the environment, and to ensure that Midnight and I never again face the wrath of vengeful spirits. I can’t help but wonder if the spirits’ warning will be heeded by others. Will they too be awakened in the dead of night, forced to confront the consequences of their actions on this spooky Halloween night?
Aunt Matilda’s Nightmarish Gift
By Wyatt D.
“Where am I?” My eyes are flooded with complete darkness. I try to look at my alarm clock and I can faintly see that it is 12:00. It just turned October 31st. Suddenly, I spot a circular object that reminds me of the pupil of an eye. The object gets closer and closer until I realize what it is. A tiny doll is staring me down in complete darkness, its eyes being the only thing emitting light. It lunges at me, when suddenly, “AUHHHHH!” I woke up.
It’s the day right before Halloween. I hate Halloween, after what happened last year. I can see the leaves fall off of the trees as they die for the fall season. The only thing that will brighten my day today is Aunt Matilda. After peeking out the window for 5 minutes, I see Auntie’s car pull into our driveway. The presence of her in the car seems to revive the dead trees and bring the sun up. She loves dressing up for Halloween even though she is 40 years old. She opens the door with a bag that seems to have a face poking out of it. How strange? “Hello Archie! I’ve missed you!” I run up to her and give her a hug. I ask, “What’s in that bag that you’re holding?”
“It’s a present that I got just for you. But be careful, it’s a family treasure.” She hands me the bag and I take a look inside. My heart stops. The bag falls out of my hand. It can’t be. The thing in the bag is a doll. Not just any doll, the doll that lunged at me in my dream last year. I know this because it had the same cracks in its face, and empty eyes that remind me of a black hole.
I look back and forth between the doll and auntie. I swear I saw the doll’s eyes follow mine. “Auntie, why did you give me this doll? And where did you get it?” Auntie replied, “Well Archie, it’s a treasure to our family, some of us claim that it has special powers, including me. It is my time to hand it down another generation, and since I don’t have any children of my own, I knew that you were the one to give it to.” Why does it have to be me, why? I accept the present because Aunt Matilda is my favorite person in the whole world.
After a couple hours of hanging out, I walk to my bed and lie down. My eyes get heavier and soon enough, I’m falling. I jolt up but something feels wrong. I’m not alone. The doll. It seems less, how do I say this, feral. It walks up to me calmly and says, “Hello Archie, last year’s nightmare, that was a warning of what would happen if you use me with greed. I must tell you something, your dreams are much closer to real life than you think.” The doors of my eyes open and I can see my room. It was just a dream.
I walk to my door and try to open it. Nothing moves. Fear surges through my body and I turn around. There it is, the doll, in real life. It’s casually laying down on my bookcase. Am I in another dream? I ask him, “Am I in a dream?” He responds, “Kind of. You are in the place in between dreams and real life. Basically, like you’re the patty of a sandwich. Try to do something, like knock over a lamp or something. I try to move, I can’t. “No, you have to try and use your mind to move me,” said the doll. I focus all of my might into making the doll move. All I manage to do is make the doll kick a toy truck. My eyes open.
I look around the room and the first thing that I spot is a toy truck on the floor. As far as I can remember, it wasn’t there last night. The answer hit me like a rock, what I do with the doll in my dream, I can do in real life.
I walk to school with my doll in my backpack. My friend William greets me at the door and takes me to 1st period. I see my arch-nemesis, George. Get it? Arch-nemesis, because my name is Archie? George spots the doll in my backpack and comes rushing towards me. He pushes me onto the ground and steals my bag. He says, “EVERYONE, ARCHIE LIKES TO PLAY WITH DOLLS. WHAT A BABY.” “Give it back Archie,” I say. “Sure, why would I want to play with one of YOUR dolls?” After that, I knew I had to get my revenge.
Right when I get home, I go into my bed and close my eyes. Soon enough, I’m with the doll. I use all of my power to find Archie and haunt him in his sleep. Right when the doll is about to follow my command, he turns around and says, “I thought I was clear about not using me the wrong way. You will pay.” He looks me dead in the eyes and leaps at me.
The Women And The Well
by Sydney S.
It was 1AM and midnight was barking ferociously. You could hear the trees sway in the dark night. I watched from a distance as the old woman headed out to the woods to get some water from the well. She was a delicate one, not the type to seek adventure. She walked with her cane in one hand, and a bucket in the other. As she walked along the path, she mumbled something to herself. It was too quiet to hear what she said, but whatever it was she seemed to be repeating it. Over, and over again.
Eventually, she got to the well. I could have sworn I saw something behind the well, but it was too foggy to make out what it was. As she started to fill the bucket with water, her mumbling got louder.. and louder….. Suddenly she was screaming in some made up language. Dancing around the well, almost as if it was a song. She seemed happy. Then suddenly, she stopped. She took a sip of water from her bucket, and stood silent. The water started spewing out of her like a volcano. But for some reason she continued to drink from the bucket. It was a horrific scene, something straight out of a horror movie. She started singing again as the water spewed out of her mouth. Water started emerging from the well, drenching her and the grass around her. Suddenly, lightning struck and she disappeared.
Hours later the sun started to rise, and I could hear the birds chirping. The frail woman went back out to the forest to collect some berries for breakfast. She started to pick berries from the bushes. It was a cold morning. The breeze felt nice and it was as clear as day. Everything seemed normal. She wasn’t singing, nor was she dancing. She brought all the berries back to her hut at the top of the hill.
Her house was nothing impressive, but she didn’t need anything impressive. The floor was made out of wood that would creek everytime you walk. She had a small table in the middle of her kitchen with one rocking chair. This is where she would spend most of her time. In the rocking chair, knitting away. When she wasn’t knitting she would be in the woods exploring. While she didn’t have much, she was still happy. Later that afternoon she went out to the clothing rack to gather all of the dry clothes. It was cold and the leaves were turning orange. It was the perfect time of the year. She took the clothes off the line one by one, then folded them right into her little basket. When she was done, she hobbled back up to her little hut.
That night she went back outside to the woods and headed towards the well. It was a quiet night. She walked towards the well and picked up the metal bucket. As she started to fill the bucket up with the ice cold water, lightning struck. The trees started to sway, and the animals fled. It was pitch black. Quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Then, another flash of light. But this time, you could see. And what I saw after that flash of light made me never want to see the dark again. I saw the rocking chair. The woman in the rocking chair. Right next to the well. Humming her song as she added to the pattern on her knitted blanket. She rocked back and forth. Back and forth. You could hear the croaks of the chair against the ground. Water started to pour down from the sky. At first it was just a few drops, but it started to come down heavy. Making splashes in the well. All of a sudden a hand popped out of the well, grabbed her by the mouth, and pulled her in. I could hear her muffled screams. After that solemn night, I never saw her again. Now, anytime someone drinks the water from the well, they too start mumbling the awful tune.
Honorable Mentions
The Thing Under My Bed
By Anna T.
The Jack-O-Lantern sneered at me as I walked across the porch. I could feel its hollowed eyes on my back as I went down the wooden step of the porch. I quickly spun around, trying to catch the pumpkins eyes on me. But when I spun around all I saw was the same exact pumpkin that I carved yesterday, with my mom, with its gapped toothed mouth and wide eyes staring at me with no signs of life. I shudder and sigh. This house is so creepy. We moved into our house yesterday for a reason my parents won’t even say. I continued walking down to the driveway but I heard my dad yelling in the house. It sounded like he was shouting at someone.
I walk up the moldy wooden porch of our house. I swing the screen door open and I take a left turn so I am at the bottom of the stairs. “Mom!” I yell. I hear people walking around upstairs, but the yelling has died out. My mom answers from the kitchen, “Yes Sarah?”, she asks, her voice calm and soothing. As I inhale, I can smell the pumpkin spice aroma wafting from the kitchen. My mouth waters just thinking about my mom’s famous cookies. My mother strolls out the two doors that lead to the kitchen. She is a beautiful person, green-hazel eyes with a head full of dark curls that sit at collarbone length. Her flower-print apron hangs loosely around her neck and is caked in flour. She is mixing what appears to be a metal bowl filled with cookie batter with a wooden spoon.
“You have something on your apron.” I say through giggles. She glances down at her apron, already breaking into a grin. “Woah”, she said, her voice filled with sarcasm, “I didn’t notice”. She takes a little flour from off her apron with her small fingers and sprinkles some on my nose. I laugh. “Did you hear that yelling?” I asked her. “It’s just your dad talking to the movers, they messed something up with the boxes. You can go and try to help if you want.” she offers. I shake my head quickly. “Or you can come help me make some cookies? I have got some extra batter if you want it.” She says with a sly grin. I nod my head vigorously and she laughs.
My dad heads up to bed after dinner. For the rest of the evening I help her bake the cookies and we end up on the couch, sharing popcorn and watching our favorite show, Friends. We were in the middle of an episode, when we heard the doorbell ring. It was a loud startling ring that echoed throughout the house.
My mom stands up to go get the door. I pause the tv and get up off the couch and brush the crumbs from the pumpkin cookies off my fuzzy blanket. When I step out of the mostly unboxed living room I wander over to the front door, wondering who was knocking at our door at this time of night. My mom stood at the front door holding a box in her hands, it looked like one of the moving boxes. She rattled the box, seeing if anything was inside. I could hear there was something inside it. She finally spoke “I think one of the movers might have left it in the truck and came back to return it”. “Did you see them drop it off?” I asked. “No,” she said, her voice filled with curiosity. “But your name is written on it, you can go put it in your room” she said as she placed the box into my arms. I sigh. I trudge up the stairs. They squeak under my feet with age. When I enter my room I toss the box onto my bed and walk over to my desk. I rummage through the drawers, looking for something sharp enough to open the packaging tape. Ah ha! I found it. The swiss army knife I got for Christmas last year, my fingertips curl around the blade handle. I turn to walk over to my bed but when I see the box it is already open. That’s weird. I peer into the box and I see…nothing. But that’s not possible, when my mom shook it downstairs it made a sound. Huh. I slide the box under my bed and place the knife on my desk, change into my pjs, and brush my teeth. As I walk back from the bathroom, I quickly shut off the lights in the hall and sprint into my room and leap onto my bed. I hit off the lamp on my bedside and snuggle under the warmth of my covers. But then I remember I left the knife out on my desk. I hit the lamp on and throw my covers over. When I turn to hop off the bed I don’t see the knife on my desk, it is no longer there. This is getting creepy. I take a deep breath. But then I hear a rustling beneath my bed. With my shaking hand I reach to slide the box out. I peer inside and see…… a doll. It is very pretty, black straight hair, blue eyes, and wearing a white nightgown. That’s what was in the box, I think to myself. I place her back in the box and push it back under my bed again. I fall back onto my bed and close my eyes. I can’t scream, I can’t move. I am in shock when I feel a cool blade go straight through my spine.
The Forgotten
by Lori E.
It was 1am, and Midnight was barking ferociously.
The girl unsuccessfully attempted to hush the poor creature. She stepped out the front door, and the candle within shook, flickering, and then going out leaving her in a dark abyss.
With some light coming from inside the house, she saw a dark, ominous figure, staring at her, and then disappeared. Through her peripheral vision, something twitched. She looked back for a second, hearing a loud creak from a wood panel that she wasn’t stepping on.
Its soulless, shadowy face jumped at her, chewing and mauling her alive. It felt like teeth; bloody, cruel, vicious things they were, As blood spurted and poured out of her eyes and mouth, she gagged, aspirating, drowning, screaming and yelling for help, in a pool of crimson blood. She screeched, as her vision faded to bright red, and as her eyes rolled up in her head.
I have been locked up for 238 days.
I had just finished writing my story when I dropped my chalk, and glanced down at my hands.
They were ragged, with cuts and marks, and powdery black chalk burning the wounds. They stung like wasps, but I couldn’t have stopped writing, hence my method of staying sane.
I took a few steps back, and looked up to see the fruit of my labor, and it was majestic.
My words covered the stone cell from top to bottom, left to right, and on the floor. The size of the letters were so miniscule that you had to be right up against the wall to read it.
One year later, I was ready to publish.
I self published, and expected and hoped that it would be a hit… However, life had different plans. Nobody knew, since I couldn’t get out to anyone and market it. It stayed a mystery that only I and possibly a select few others knew about.
With my dreams crushed, time still went on, and months had gone by since any news happened. Life became a routine, as everyday I wake up, eat, stare at my walls, sleep, repeat.
It was a never ending cycle, until years had gone by in a blink of an eye.
As I was sitting there on my cot, 23 years after the publication of my story, an alarm began to pierce the air, ringing out louder than any scream. The building began to shake violently, and it seemed to be because of the alarm.
A deep, robotic voice came on to the PA systems.
“Warning, Warning, this is a mandatory alert from the capital: do not leave the shelter you are in. If you’re not, get into one until further notice. Something that craves for blood, some sort of creature, is on the loose.” it began to repeat the message.
Hours later, the TV’s had been turned on and the news had spread like wildfire. A young girl had been attacked. The police have not been able to identify what did it. The only thing they know from the footage was described as this:
“It was a shadowy figure, but I could see it in the dark.” a witness said, their voice trembling. “It jumped at her, and first went for her eyes.” A large gasp came from the newscasters holding the microphone to them. “The last I saw of the creature was it scurrying through pools of blood.”
My head began to throb, working hard to remember where I’d heard this before. My brain began to quickly cancel things out; Deja vu, another incident on TV, a movie I’d seen before. The answer was on the tip of my tongue, but it wouldn’t come out.
I opened my eyes, and what I saw was the answer.
My story! I shouted in my mind, bending down and holding my head again in pain.
I was awestruck, and I didn’t know whether it was in fear or in surprise, or something in between.
I ran to the other side of the cell and tried to shout. It was as if all the sound from my voice went out, but never heard, all drowned out before it even left. I screamed and yelled and shrieked, but nobody heard my screams, and I began to accept that nobody will ever know.
I dropped to the cold, stone floor, shivering to my bones. The goosebumps on my arm rose up like little mountain peaks, but I couldn’t move from my paralyzed form. As I began to fade in and out of consciousness, being forgotten from the world. My story had miraculously been brought to life, like the words had been sucked from the pages.
Yet not a single soul knew, nor ever will.
