MicroHorror

It was getting late and Michael was hungry again. He turned off the porch light to deter any further trick-or-treaters and descended the rickety wooden steps to the dank cellar. His screaming Halloween treats were still chained to the back wall, thrashing against their bonds. He had a skeleton, a princess, and what was left of the pirate to choose from. Michael decided that he was in the mood for something sweet before bedtime. So, with carving knife in hand, he headed straight for the princess.

Naomi seductively nibbled on Nate’s nape, while Brandy slowly unbuttoned the lucky guy’s silk shirt.

“I’ve never been with two girls before,” Nate chortled.

“Well, consider this your first ménage à trois–and your last!” Naomi snarled, as she sank her fangs into Nate’s right carotid.

The two ghouls giggled with glee as they devoured Nate’s organs.

“Hey, Brandy, I just thought of something,” Naomi quipped. “This john is our trick–and our treat!”

“Ha! Ha!” Brandy cackled. “You were right, Naomi! Three-ways are more fun! Let’s scope out another Halloween party to find our next poor soul!”

At a fraternity Halloween party, Naomi and Brandy salivated over a studly brown-haired specimen, while Lilly eyed a buxom blonde.

“Nate was great,” Brandy said, “but I prefer men with more meat on their bones.”

Lilly rolled her eyes.

“Men are okay,” she said, “but women taste better.”

Brandy and Naomi approached the guy, while Lilly zeroed in on the gal. A short time later, the five consenting adults slipped away from the party for some private fun.

After an orgy of blood and guts, the three ghouls walked away completely satisfied.

“Wow!” Brandy exclaimed. “Women really do taste better!”

He was slumped over the bar at a hotel where I was stayin’. “Don’t I know you, sir?” I said.

“Maybe.”

“I saw your act. You’re that… magician?”

“I was!”

He indicated his empty glass. I obliged.

“You were good. What happened?”

“I went to a séance.”

“And…?”

“Nothing happened.”

“So what? Nothing’s happened to me plenty a’ times.”

“You don’t understand. It was the séance–for Houdini–Halloween?

“I heard of it.”

He grabbed my lapel. “Don’t you understand? He was the master!”

He spelled it out. “He couldn’t find a way. There is no escape!”

The woods were full of whooping goblins and vampires. Johnny shivered and pulled his shroud tighter.

His old house had a carved pumpkin head in the window. Yellow flame eyes winked at him. From the shadows he’d watched children apple-bobbing in the garden. Now they’d gone trick-or-treating.

Johnny went to the deserted water tank. There were still apples floating there. He stuck his head into the water but the apples bobbed away. As he swished he felt wetness seep into his mouth and eye-sockets. Was he doing it right?

Something popped.

Splash! His eyes plopped out, like rotten windfall fruit.

Samhain. In Ireland that means barmbrack, sweet fruit bread slathered in butter. The children sat around the turf fire, giggling, said ta mammy as they each took a slice.

In the barmbrack there was always a rag meaning poverty, a coin meaning riches, and a ring for the one who’d marry within the year.

The babe got the coin, spat it out with a half smile; riches but no husband this year. The oldest got the rag, sulked.

The middle child smiled, ate quick for her prize. Too quick; she started to choke.

And outside a bean sidhe wailed.

They were queuing a hundred yards for the latest Halloween ride to open. It was completely enclosed–a nameless mystery.

A high helter-skelter it seemed with a long black tunnel in which to descend in darkness. The first customers were taken to the top. One at a time they set out on the long slide. Inside the tunnel no one could hear their screams as the sharp blades cut into their flesh and the surface became increasingly slippery with their blood.

At the bottom they kept on going down, down forever into Hell on the Blood Flume.

Ding dong…

The bell beckoned me to the door. I peeked through the curtain and saw little Toby Maxwell. My wife saw me grimace and her eyes stretched open in disbelief.

“No! Please don’t!”

I looked her in the face; my stare burned through hers.

“That brat soaped up my Mercedes last night… he must pay.”

She opened the door and Toby entered. “Trick or treat!”

“Help yourself, son.” She motioned toward me.

I held the candy in a bowl just out of his parent’s sight.

He walked over and reached in for his treat… I slapped his face.

Billy was about to go trick-or-treating when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it, mother,” Billy said.

He hoped his zombie costume would scare whoever was at the door.

When he opened the front door it was Billy who got a fright.

The Grim Reaper stood on his porch.

“Billy Thorson, your time is up.”

His scythe sliced off Billy’s head and it bounced to the porch.

“Who’s at the door, Billy?” His mother asked. She screamed when she saw his head at her feet.

The old lady paced the floor of her withered cottage, mumbling to herself. After a few minutes, she walked slowly to the window. Pulling the shades up with a quivering hand, she peered outside. Small shadowed figures could be seen from a distance, heading towards the path that led to her front porch. The old lady gave a startled cry, shaking her gray head back and forth. The doorbell rang and she clutched the orange bag to her chest. Gulping, she stood up and bravely opened the wooden door. “Why do you come every year to scare me!”