The Hairy Scary Hallowween Extravaganza

By Leslie Johnson

It was the night before Halloween as co-owners, Sheila and Wanda prepared the bookstore for the annual “Hairy Scary Halloween Extravaganza.” Tomorrow, the mayor and other local officials would arrive to read passages from several well-known horror novels. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Stephen King’s Carrie, Bram Stoker’s Dracula to name a few.

“Gosh this stuff is disgusting.” Sheila said as she stretched the fake cobwebs across the window of the bookstore. “I hate these rubber spiders.” She laughed and turned towards Wanda. “I guess they are better than the real thing.”

“That’s a given.” Wanda laughed, her short black bob bouncing as she did. “I don’t get people who like spiders, you know, those big furry things some people have as pets. They are just creepy.”

Sheila nodded in agreement. “The only good thing about All Hallows Eve is the candy. Little chocolate bars, snack size bags of chips. They are just the right size.”

Pulling the corner of the white strands to the edge of the window, Sheila couldn’t get it to hook. She went a few inches farther and stretched the corner over the electrical outlet. Standing back to admire her handiwork she said, “There. How does that look?”

Wanda turned to admire the web. She counted the spiders, ten fat black arachnids hung in the white threads. “That looks disgusting.”

Sheila climbed off the ladder and grabbed the bag with glow in the dark spiders. She began dispersing them throughout the store, hiding them among the books on shelves. Forty-eight spiders, each with a coloured dot on the bottom. A promotion value of two percent to ten percent when turned in at the time of purchase on Halloween. It was one of the busiest days in the store.

When they were done, there was a witch on her broom hanging precariously over the front door, there were several jack-o-lanterns and two clouds of bats filling vacant corners at the back of the store. Several small gruesome statues were scattered in the shop and a cauldron of candy sat on the front desk. Tomorrow it would cackle whenever someone took a candy out.

It was midnight when the storm struck. A large bolt of lightning hit the protective rod over the bookstore, sending a surge through the wires. A few seconds later, the black spiders in the web began to move. The bats in the corners flew around the store several times before settling again – hanging upside down from the top shelves across the store.

The witch also flew around, zigging and zagging through the aisles. She cackled and hissed with glee as she thought of the many ways, she could scare people when the store opened. She landed her broom near the back of the store and hide behind the rack of newly released paperbacks.

A line formed in front of the store an hour before it opened. The citizens of Temple Grove loved Halloween and the bookstore was the place to be. When Wanda and Sheila arrived, they made their way to the front of the line, greeting the regulars by name. Sheila unlocked the door and held it open. The crowd filtered in, making their way through the aisles of the store looking for bargains and those glow in the dark spiders with the discount tags.

Wanda flipped the lights on and turned the sign before making her way to the seating area to plug in the coffee pot. The brew began to perk and soon the heady aroma of fresh coffee filled the aisles. She also set out the cookies she had baked. Eve, Wanda’s daughter who was helping for the day stepped forward, her orange Halloween smock tied tightly around her small frame as a few customers lined up for coffee and treats. The day’s festivities began.

Sheila got the cash register set up for Molly, their part-time cashier before she took a walk through the store. The first thing she noticed was the ten black plastic spiders were not in the fake web. She crinkled her brow and went over for a closer look. Beside the window, she noticed real cobwebs and one of the large spiders sitting at the top of the web waiting for his prey. She shuddered.

A scream rang through the store and a loud cackle ensued. Sheila and Wanda rushed toward the sound and were nearly bowled over by Luther Hicks, a skinny, over-excitable man, as he scrambled out of the far aisle, an ugly crone on his heels. He shrieked again as he made for the door, his feet spinning and skidding on the low pile carpet. He fell in front of the door before scrambling back to his feet and escaping, the witch right behind him.

Several customers came to look at what was going on. They began to clap. Sheila overheard one of them say, “They have really gone overboard this year. That was a fantastic show. This is truly the best bookstore in the world.”

The women looked at one another, eyebrows raised. Sheila told Wanda about the spiders being gone and that’s when they noticed the bats hanging on the edge of the top shelves. Sheila slapped her hand over her mouth to prevent a scream. Trying to get a grip on their building hysteria, they didn’t notice Janet Blakely until she was right beside them. She pointed at the furry creatures. “Those are terrific decorations. Where on earth did you get them. They are so lifelike. The only ones I found were black plastic.” Without waiting for a reply, she walked to the end of the shelves and disappeared around the corner.

“What is happening? That witch was real. The spiders are real. The bats are real. I suspect those glow in the dark spiders are too and what if one of them bites a customer when they try to pick them up?” Sheila ran her hand through her mass of red curls. Wanda stood across from her, hands over her mouth, shaking her head. “We’d better find those spiders.”

A bell tinkled as the door opened. The witch flew back in cackling as she circled the store. No one seemed to pay her any attention. Everyone assumed she was simply part of the day’s festivities.

“Mom!  Mom!” Jimmy Caldwell yelled from the children’s section. As the two women and his mother approached, he said, “Look what I found.” He held up his forefinger. Wrapped around it like a ring was a lime green spider. His mother looked at it, her eyes wide.

“I swear that thing looks real, except of course, there are no such thing as lime-green spiders.” She grimaced.

“Look what it does.” Jimmy continued. As the women watched, Jimmy ran his finger along the back of the spider. Each leg released and reattached itself in kind as it was stroked. “Isn’t that cool?”

All three women reacted with shivers. “Yes, quite cool,” the little boy’s mother said. “Have you chosen your book?” He held up the latest book in the series he was reading. “Well let’s go pay for it. Bring that spider. I think it’s the discount?” She looked at the two women for confirmation. They nodded in unison. The pair made their way to the front counter, where they paid for their purchase. Jimmy ran out of the store his book tucked under his arm and his spider still hanging on his finger. At the door, Debbie Caldwell turned back to Sheila and Wanda, smiling. “This really is the best bookstore. Thank you, ladies for making it so much fun and celebrating Halloween with such ferocity. I have no idea how you’re going to top it next year.”

              Wanda and Sheila stared at each other. Top it next year! This shouldn’t even be happening this year.

The mayor read his passages, while a large black spider sat on his shoulder watching the crowd. The mayor, who had a terrible phobia of spiders, didn’t even notice his little passenger who leapt to the back of the chair and disappeared as he stood up to shake hands with those gathered to listen. No one mentioned the spider and he left unaware he had hosted the creature. Most of the audience was euphoric that the store owners had gone to such lengths to appreciate the scariness of Halloween, though a few people were critical that they would put a plastic spider on someone who had severe arachnophobia.

The day passed quickly, the witch cackled and flew around the store scaring only a few people. Some disturbed the bats and they also flew around. The first time it happened, people shrieked and dropped to the floor, but after that, they simply clapped and cheered. The bats always returned to the top shelves, hanging upside down, wings folded around their furry bodies.

The statues stayed glued to their spots except they reached out and pinched bottoms whenever someone turned their backs. Again – other than the initial indignation – the customers passed the word and people tried their best to not put themselves in a precarious position. If they did, they shrieked and then laughed. It was an insane day in the book aisles for sure.

The glow in the dark spiders, held on to the fingers of the people who found them. Even at the cash register, they refused to let go. Molly didn’t fight with them, she simply let the customers leave with their pink, purple, blue, yellow or lime-green spiders.

As the last customer left, Molly pulled on her jacket. “This was quite a day. I don’t think I can remember ever having so much fun at work.” She hoisted her purse over her shoulder and slipped out the door.

Eve appeared just as the door closed. “Everything is cleaned up back there, except the spiders of course. You’ll have to deal with those on your own. They look so real that I got the creeps whenever I had to go into the storeroom for more cups or sugar. But what a day. I don’t know where you found those decorations, Mom. Everyone was amazed at what you guys did.”

“Thanks, Eve. See you at home.” Wanda said. Eve left and Sheila locked the door behind her. She flicked off the overhead LEDs, leaving the store bathed in the soft glow of the night lights. Her shoulders slumped as she turned to Wanda.

“What are we going to do? Those spiders are real. That witch is real. How are we going to put her back in the box?”

“What I’d like to know – is how did this happen? When we went home last night, everything was normal. By morning, we have live spiders, live bats and a witch that flew around the store trying to scare people. She was paper mâché, not flesh and blood.”

“The storm! Do you think that storm had anything to do with it?”

“You mean – if lightning struck the rod or something?”

“Yeah.” They stared at each other before Sheila shook her head. “There is no way – I mean – it’s not possible to bring a plastic spider or a plastic bat to life with a jolt of lightning – is it? That’s so… Frankenstein-ian – Frankenstein-ish?”

Wanda shrugged. “Maybe?”

“We’re back to the same problem, though. How do we get rid of these… creatures?”

“Maybe we open the door and shoo them outside?”

“You mean, set them loose on the unsuspecting citizens of our fair town?”

Wanda nodded. “Maybe? Those discount spiders all went out into the world on the fingers of customers. What’s a few more… um… curiosities set loose.”

Not able to come up with another solution, Sheila propped open the front door and Wanda went into the storeroom for a couple of brooms. They met at the back of the store, where they found the paper mâché witch, laying on the floor. As they searched for the bats, they found the black plastic creatures scattered on the floor between the aisle. Confused, they stared at each other.

Sheila began to laugh. “Is this real – have we lost our minds – I mean pinch me – I think I’ve just had a long – intricate and very bizarre dream.” Wanda pinched her. “Ouch!” She cried. “That hurt.”

“So, we aren’t dreaming?”

“No, but I will never understand. I’ll never know how they did what they did, nor how they reverted back to being fake just because I turned off the lights.”

A few seconds ticked by before the words Sheila spoke registered. The ladies stared at each other. “Go, turn on the lights – quick.”

Wanda rushed to the front of the store and flipped on the overhead LEDs. As the store lit up, the witch on the ground stirred and began to sit up. Sheila yelled. “Turn them off – turn them off.” Wanda flipped the switch again and the witch fell back to the floor with a clatter.

Meeting in the middle of the store, Sheila confirmed that the light brought the witch back to life. In the dimness of the night lights, the women gathered up the decorations and stored them in the boxes. Then using the torches on their cell phones, they cleared the spiders from the storeroom. When they were done, they sealed the boxes and put them on the top of the farthest shelf.

“Well, I’m glad that’s done. I wonder if they’ll come back to life next year?”

“No idea – but I sure hope they don’t find their way out of those boxes until then – especially those spiders.” She shuddered. “Did we get them all?”

“We got all ten of the black ones, but I don’t know about those discount spiders. Every year we find a few stragglers once Halloween is over. This year… oh gosh… I hope they are all gone.”

"Me too.”

Grabbing their coats and purses, the women went out into the night. The streets were alive with tiny, scary creatures running up and down the sidewalks, carrying bags of candy. Shrieks of delight echoed as they shared their bounty with one another. Sheila turned to lock the door, glad the day was a success and happy it was over for another year. Wanda headed to her car as Sheila crossed the street for the short walk home.

Inside the store, a tiny egg sack sat nestled in the high corner above the window. A few weeks from now, it would hatch, and a hundred tiny black spiders would spring free, taking up residence in the nooks and crannies of everyone’s favourite bookstore.  

“Happy Halloween!”

Hank and Greta - A Fairy Tale Retold

Hank and Greta – A Fairy Tale Retold

By Leslie Johnson

Miriam watched the lone tumbleweed roll down the wide vacant street. Dust and debris raced behind as the wind swept in from the west. Looking left and then right to be certain no one was about she exited the dark alley with two small children in tow.

            Hank, being only six stumbled over his feet as he was pulled quickly along by his stepmother. She didn’t slow down, she merely snarled at him to keep up. Greta, being eight had less difficulty managing the pace. Neither child was happy, being here on this side of town with Miriam. They knew they should be at home, waiting for their father to come home for supper.

            A few blocks down, Miriam turned into the overgrown yard of a house with many colors. From the street, it looked like a decorated gingerbread house, but up close, it was ratty and run down. Miriam dragged the children up the stairs and rang the doorbell.

            Loud shuffling noises pierced through the large wooden door and then the sound of a lock being sprung. A bright light above the visitors split the darkness before the door creaked open a crack. An old grizzled face stared out one eye squinted closed against the bright outside light. “Yes?” she inquired, with a voice that made both children shiver.

            “I’ve brought the brats like you asked. Now where is my money?”

            Greta, realizing what her stepmother had said, started to pull away. She wanted to run home to her daddy - curl up in his lap where she felt safe. She looked across at Hank and knew that she couldn’t leave him behind. She tried to signal him, but Miriam rapped her on the back of her head with her purse. Dazed, Greta lost her will until it was too late.

            The old crone inside the house, opened the door a little wider and Miriam pushed the children through into the dim light of the large foyer. Releasing them, she took the offered cash and slipped back into the night. The large door slammed shut and the old crone twisted the lock into place.

            Turning on the children, she grabbed Hank and inspected him from all angles. She did the same for Greta, grunting that both children were too skinny. She led them down a dark hall to a locked door. She pulled a large skeleton key out of her pocket and unlocked the door. Throwing it open, the children saw several small cotton mattresses on the floor. All of them bare of bedding. A dim light shone through the solitary window at the far end of the room. The bars barricading the portal cast shadows on the worn, dirty hardwood floor. The evil wench herded the children inside. “I’ll be back.” She called over her shoulder as she left the room, closing the door behind her. 

A few seconds later Greta tried the door, but it was locked securely. Seeing the light switch, she flipped it on. Horrified shouts filled her ears and she whirled around to find several children in the room. They crawled out from the closet and from inside the wardrobe she hadn’t noticed before.   

A boy ran past her and switched off the light. Then with a finger on his lips, he motioned the two newcomers to follow him. All the children gathered on the far side of the room, well away from the door. In hushed and frantic whispers they shared their stories with Hank and Greta.

The largest boy sneered at the newcomers. His name was Derek. In a harse whisper, he told them what was to come. “If it goes like it did for us, you can expect to get scrubbed down with a harsh brush and some foul smelling soap. If you have lice, you’ll be shaved. They’ll give you an outfit to wear while they take pictures for some creep who’s looking at taking kids from families who don’t want them no more.”

“That’s not true,” Greta shouted. “Our daddy wants us.”

“Then why are you here?” He stared hard at Greta. She held his gaze for a few seconds, then lowered her eyes. “Because you’re mom didn’t want ya. I saw her drag you up them stairs. She’s throwing you away, just like we’ve been thrown away.”

Greta started to cry and Hank joined her. He was terrified he was never going to see his daddy again. All he wanted to do was go home. If his step-mother would come back and get him he promised silently to be a better boy.

“What’s going to happen to us?” Greta squeaked.

“You’re going to be sold to the highest bidder. In the meantime, the old bat is going to fatten you up. She’s going to make sure you’re healthy and well enough so she don’t get no trouble from the perverts that are going to take you.”

“I want to go home…” Hank wailed, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“This is home.” The older boy said. “Until it ain’t.”

Clearly distressed, the children parted, each climbing onto a bed in twos and threes. Greta and Hank clung to one another, Greta feeling helpless to comfort her brother. Both of them cried until exhausted, they fell asleep.  

It happened just as Derek said. They were scrubbed and posed to have their pictures taken. Greta stuck her tongue out at the photographer. Even though she got a whipping for that, she felt proud that she was not making it easy for her jailers.

The only good thing was the food. Three times a day, the children were herded into a dining hall, where every imaginable delicacy was set out for their enjoyment. They were encouraged to eat and they did. Hank loved having chocolate cake for breakfast. 

The next day, three of the children disappeared from the room.Later, two new recruits appeared, scared and crying. Greta did her best to comfort them, while Derek, the older boy gave them the lowdown on what to expect. 

Greta prayed every night that her daddy would come and save her. Desperation exploded in her chest when she heard that her brother had been chosen. Hank clung tight to Greta and she to him, frantic to figure out how to keep him with her. That night, she got on her knees and prayed again. She prayed harder than she’d ever prayed before. 

Exhausted from weeping and praying, she crawled into bed long after the room had fallen into slumber. She awoke to the sounds of shouting and wood breaking. She thought she heard her father’s voice. She ran to the door and shouted back. 

Her father told her to stand back and then his axe was through the door and minutes later the children were free. Greta saw policemen swarming everywhere and heard words like child prostitution and solicitation being bandied about. She didn't know what they meant. She just knew they were bad words.

Tears flowing into the stubble that covered his cheeks, Greta and Hank's father wrapped his arms around his children. "I thought you were lost forever. Thank goodness I found you in time."

"Where is Miriam?" Greta asked, hoping she wasn't nearby.

"She is gone, and she won't ever be back. I am so sorry I didn't see her for who she was. I am so sorry she put you through this. It's all my fault."

The children assured him that it was okay. They understood that Miriam had fooled their father. She was very good at hiding her true nature.

Happy to be with their father, the trio clasped hands and went out of the house together. They went back to the tiny home at the edge of the woods, where they lived happily ever after.

Angela's Revenge

Angela’s Revenge

By Leslie Johnson

I stared at it - that crack in the sidewalk. It wasn’t there yesterday. But today there was a split in the concrete from one side to the other. I walked over, squatted down and ran my finger along the gap. It was rough but not sharp. I knew it was probably just a flaw, even when a shudder ran up my spine. I stood and moved back, still staring at the blemish.

            Bryce and I followed the instructions implicity. I was diligent, just like my dad when it came to DIY projects. Then I remembered a story he had told me one night not long ago. He wanted to build that sidewalk and I wanted to resurface the living room floor. 

My heart palpitated wildly in my chest as I recalled the memory. It was late at night. I lay wrapped in his arms as he talked about what his crazy mother had done. She had conjured a beast from below with her wicked magic he had told me seriously. He thought she had sealed in under the ground before she died, but he wasn’t sure. He thought a sidewalk would act as security - just in case. 

I sat up - looked him straight in the face and burst out laughing.  “Alright - we will do the sidewalk before the floor. Sheesh. You are such a baby.  Besides, your mother is still alive and I don’t think she’s even a little crazy.”

Now, I wasn’t so sure. There was something there and  - IT - wasn’t happy being locked beneath the surface. I shivered. What was I going to do? I called Bryce.

            When he answered, I whispered, “There’s a crack in the sidewalk.” 

            Silence.

            “Did you hear what I said?”

            Silence.

            “Bryce - are you there?”

            “Yes, I am here. What do you think it means?”

            “What do you mean - what do I think it means - are you serious? It’s your story… remember your mother…”       

“Okay, hang tight, babe. I’ll be home in an hour. I’ll check it out then. In the meantime, just chill and stay inside.”

            I hung up the phone and paced the floor. But I had to look again. I had to make sure it was still there. I walked to the back door and looked out at the sidewalk. The crack, was now a chasm. My heart stopped for a second and I nearly fell to the floor. 

            Turning, I ran to the phone and dialed Bryce again. “It’s grown, Bryce. The crack is twice as big as it was when I called you fifteen minutes ago.” I shrieked into the phone. “You have to come home now.”

            “Stay calm, Elly. I’ll be right there.”

I put the phone down slowly, afraid to leave the connection to the outside world. Then stealing myself for what was coming, I walked to the backdoor and looked out at the sidewalk again. One half of the cracked portion of sidewalk was upside down. Dirt and debris littered the bottom and I could see something moving in the freshly turned earth where it once lay.

My legs started shaking as my heart quivered. With trembling hands, I reached out to lock the door. The solid click of the bolt slamming home was small comfort. I needed to get out before that creature got free.

Panic rose and shortwired my brain. I ran around in circles looking for my purse, my cell phone and the keys to my car. By the time I was ready to leave, I could hear scratching at the back door. A little scream escaped my lips and I flew to the front door and yanked it open.

Down the steps I sailed, my bare feet barely touching the ground. I pulled open the car door, slipped inside. As I started the engine, I locked the doors. Throwing the car in reverse, I began backing out of the long driveway. Before I reached the street, Bryce pulled in behind me. I honked my horn, gesturing wildly for him to get out of the way. 

I watched him climb slowly out of his car and walked toward me. I rolled down the window, yelling at him to move his car. He kept walking toward me. I was bouncing in my seat, screaming and gesturing like a woman possessed. Bryce reached the car, placed his hands on the window ledge. Then he leaned inside and turned off the ignition. The locks automatically disengaged allowing him to pull the car door open.

“Come on, Elly. Get out of the car.”

I stared at him. Get out of the car? Didn’t he know what was back there? Surely, he wasn’t stupid enough to imagine we could conquer whatever it was that crawled out of the ground.

“Get out of the car, Elly. NOW!”

Frustrated at my immobility, he grabbed my arm and dragged me out.  “She’s come back for you, sweetheart. That’s why I need you.” He gripped my arm tighter, hauling me up the stairs and into the house. The scratching at the back door was louder, more violent. I tried to pull away but Bryce wasn’t letting go. I swung my arms wildly, trying to break free. He hit me with such force, I fell to my knees.

“Behave. She promised she would come back but I only half believed her. I thought the cement would keep her where she belongs. You are the only one she can take - she wants the one who wronged her. Since you were the other woman....”  He trails off leaving me with a million questions.

“Who are you talking about, Bryce? Angela - your ex-girlfriend? You told me she moved away. Oh gawd, did you do something to her?”

He didn’t answer as he ripped the cord off the nearby lamp and tied my leg together. I was too stunned to fight.

Once I was incapacitated, Bryce unlocked the backdoor and threw it open. He moved away, back into the living room so he could view the carnage but not be part of it. The beast shuffled in, grunting and snarling. My skin crawled when I caught sight of her. I tried to wiggle away but I only managed to fall over, where I was more helpless. Bryce laughed. “Stay put, Elly. It will all be over soon.”

Rage burned in my veins. If I could get loose, I was going to do some serious damage to that man. The beast got nearer and the stench of her made me gag. She drew up beside me, her dead eyes staring into mine. With surprising strength and dexterity she bent over, pulling me up. Holding me against her rotting flesh, she continued to walk into the living room, toward Bryce. He was smiling at her - at us. 

I tried to squirm out of her grasp, but she held tight. Drawing near to Bryce - he winked at her. “Hello, Angela. You look a little worse for wear, babe.” And that’s when it happened.

One minute she was holding me tight against her chest, The next, I was face down on the couch, listening to Bryce shrieking. The smacking of lips and the tearing of flesh was the only sound coming from across the room. The silence when it came, wasn’t welcome - it meant she was done with Bryce and I was next. 

I could smell her but I couldn’t see her. I felt her bony fingers touch the skin above my ankles. I shrieked and pulled my legs away. She grabbed hold and pulled them back. I kicked and struggled, but she held fast. I was soon out of breath and still she hung on. I went limp, hoping she would make it quick.

The wire around my feet fell away and soon my hands were free as well. I lay face down waiting for her to do her worst. The smell drifted away and I finally turned to see what was going on. 

I was alone. The house wasn’t destroyed, there was no blood or damage where Bryce had been sitting. I got to my feet and went to the back door. The sidewalk block was back in place. The only evidence to show I hadn’t dreamed the whole thing, was the disturbed dirt on top of the grass on either side - where the crack in the sidewalk marked her place. 

In The Shadows

In The Shadows

by Leslie Johnson

He crouched there in the shadows, waiting for her to come home. He knew she was out with her friend Angela. He’d waited for them to leave before letting himself in with the key she didn’t know he had. He imagined the two women having a delicious supper at The Bistro, perhaps a couple of glasses of wine. Just enough to shave off the edge - so she would be less aware of her surroundings when she returned home.

He expected her to arrive happy and carefree. He imagined her coming in, still laughing at something Angela said. With a satisfied grin on her face from a nice evening out with a good friend, she would walk into her living room, toss her coat over the chair and flop down onto the couch. Then she would reach over and turn on the lamp.

That’s when he would pounce; when she was off balance. Her face would show terror in that instant as she would be caught unaware. He imagined she would scream, a high pitched primal scream. She might even scramble backwards or try to flee. Oh, that made him smile. The thought of catching her by surprise, knowing she didn’t have a clue. She wouldn’t be expecting to see him here - in her home.

The anticipation made him nervous. The more he thought about scaring her, the more hysterical he became. He began gulping in air, trying to calm his nerves as they skittered around under his skin. He wanted to move, He needed to move but couldn’t. She would be home any minute. The last thing he needed was to get caught, She needed to be vulnerable. He needed to be between her and the door when she realized she wasn’t alone. He  took another deep breath and thought about the first time he saw her.

There were eight of them on that trip to the mountains. He enjoyed watching her as they hiked along to the falls. Long brown hair, laughing eyes, her slender body moved lithely. They didn’t know each other then and she treated him like he was invisible. Soon, she would see him for the man he was.

Lights flashed across the picture window. The taxi - bringing her home. His breath caught in his throat. His heart fluttered, the staccato beat - off kilter making him light-headed with anticipation. Deep breaths, or he would burst out laughing the moment she opened the door. Keys jingling, metal scraping on metal. She was close now. Soon, my darling. Soon.

As he imagined, she didn’t turn on the lights. She came into the living room, humming a song. What was that tune? Perfect by Ed Sheeran? She’s right - it is perfect and she is going to be perfectly frightened in just a few minutes.

From his hiding place behind the couch, he felt her sit. In the shadows created by the lights coming through the sheer curtains behind her. He saw her flex her head back, her hair spilling over the back of the sofa. Then she stretched out her arm toward the lamp and he got ready to spring out.

He felt her hesitate. Did she sense she wasn’t alone? He held his breath, waiting, counting the seconds, waiting for her to relax again. She shifted closer to the lamp and switched it on. Everyone sprang out from their hiding places. He made sure he landed just in front of her. She gasped and moved back. Her face tight with fear. He smiled.

“Surprise!” the room of people shouted together. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what was happening. Engrossed in his fantasy, he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. In that instant, he saw her look from him to one of her friends. She relaxed and laughed.

“You guys scared the crap out of me.”

Jillian stepped forward and handed her a large gift bag. “Happy Birthday!”  Other presents appeared and someone started handing out drinks. He stepped to the back of the room and watched.

Angela came up to him, smiling.  “Thanks for doing this, Kevin.” She put her hand out. “ I’ll take my key back before I forget.”

He handed her the key, smiling. “No worries - happy to help.”

She moved away and he returned to watching. She was laughing at something someone said. She threw her head back and he felt the ache of desire rise. He longed to wrap his hands around her long, slender throat. He wanted to see the fear again. He wanted to watch the light fade from her eyes.

He thought of the key he had cut, the copy of Angela’s. And he knew that soon, he would be waiting for her again, only next time, he would be alone. Next time, she would pay attention to him.

Haunted

Haunted

by Leslie Johnson

Five year old Lisa crawled into her bed, hugging a soft teddy bear to her chest as her mother pulled the cover up tight to her chin. “Make sure Buttercup and Cuddles are tucked in too, Momma.” She implored.  Her mother reached behind the girl and tucked the other two stuffed teddies under the covers. Lisa couldn’t bear the thought of either of them being alone and scared - especially in this new house. Everything here was strange and unsettling and her brother told her the house was haunted.

Her mother stepped to the door and turned off the light. Lisa looked at her mother’s silhouette and wished she had the courage to ask her to stay. But she knew she was meant to be a big girl - she was supposed to be strong. So she stuffed her fear deeper as she hugged Fuzzy Wuzzy closer.

The door slowly closed and the room dropped into darkness. For a few minutes, Lisa panted in fear. She reached behind her and pulled Buttercup and Cuddles under the covers in front of her - all three fluffy friends squished into her tight embrace. Comforted by their presence she allowed sleep to catch up to her and she drifted off.

~ ~ ~

The sun felt warm on her face as Lisa rode her horse toward the barn. She loved Paddy, her big bay gelding. Leaning forward, she lay down across his neck, dropping her arms down to hug him. Sitting up, she encouraged her horse to step into the barn. She knew she was supposed to lead him in, but she preferred using the manger to dismount since the ground was a long way down.

In the center of the barn, Paddy stood for a moment before the floor opened up beneath them. Hurdling downward, they crashed through one floor, then another and another. Too many to count. When they finally stopped falling, they were in a dark pit - seemingly unscathed. Though it was too dark to see where they were she knew there was no way out.

~ ~ ~

With a shudder and a muffled scream, Lisa awoke. It was the fourth time she’d had that dream. Laying there, her heart pounding in her ears, she slowly opened her eyes. The hair on her arms stood on end as she saw an orange glow near the foot of her bed. When she sat up she knocked Buttercup toward the light. She noticed that her bed and the other one in the room were positioned end to end in the corner. The beds and the wall formed a square where the light was coming from.  

Her heart skittered in her chest. She didn’t know what was happening, but everything in her was screaming at her to run. Buttercup lay exposed near the foot of the bed - she needed to save him. Rising to her knees she reached out to grab him just as a shadowy black arm slithered out from the orange glow and snatched the teddy bear, dragging him out of sight.

A little scream escaped her lips. “Buttercup!” Scrambling to the edge of the bed, she looked down into a pit. It seemed to go on as far as her eyes could see. There in the bottom, stood a horse and rider. The horse edged nervously in a circle - the little girl clinging to his neck and sobbing quietly. She didn’t know how - but she knew she was seeing herself in her dream.

She forgot about her lost teddy bear and the dark arm that had snatched him off her bed. She stared at her lost self as she slipped her feet over the edge. Suddenly, two arms reached out and grabbed her ankles. She screamed and kicked but it was no use. Those cold hands held fast.

Still shrieking, she twisted onto her belly and grabbed hold of the covers trying to pull herself toward to top of the bed. The blankets proved useless as they gave way. The shadowy arms pulled her off the bed, the covers falling down on top of her.

Landing hard on the floor, Lisa started to cry. Moments later, her mother was there, hauling her back onto the bed and yanking the covers off the floor. Buttercup lay where he’d fallen near the foot of the bed and Lisa hugged him close to her chest when her mother rescued him. It was a dream - it was all a dream, Lisa told herself as she curled her tiny body around her three fluffy friends. Her mother tucked the covers tight around her before stroking Lisa's soft hair off her forehead. Neither noticed the long shadowy fingers slithering out of sight under the bed.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

If you’re a watcher in this old world - someone who notices the subtle nuances that are all around us - then you won’t be surprised when I tell you that Fire, Wind and Heat are best friends. With hearts as black as the grass and trees they leave behind when they play together, they are a force to be reckoned with. They are as old as the universe and as young as today - everlasting - long living - youthful - crafty bitches.

Fire and Heat had been having a wonderful summer - burning grasslands and forest with great delight all across BC and Montana. After last year’s battle in Fort McMurray it was calming to think that our province would be left unscathed this year. But Mother Nature had other plans. She was tired and more so after a long hot summer. A nice burn was what she wanted, so she clapped her hands and brought the girls together, setting them on the cusp of Waterton Lakes National park. When a new playground opened up, those little bitches laughed with delight. Not only did they have fresh ground to cover, but this was the area where wind lived. They could hardly contain themselves when they imagined the havoc the three of them would wreak.

At first they were coy with one another - trying to best one another - test out the alpha in the group. As they grew more familiar with the hierarchy, they became bolder. By the time they hit the peak on Monday - they knew it was going to take a mighty big hand to rein them in. Laughing with joy, Fire looked over her shoulder as dashed across the expanse, her long red hair flowing across her shoulders, her dress flouncing around her knees. Reaching up along tender tree trunks her mirth skittered upwards before leaping from the top of one tree to the next. Her left hand was held tightly by Wind who pulled her along, relishing the chaos left behind.

Heat was everywhere. She paved the way - making it easy for Fire to leap up and to run fast. She swirled among the ashes left behind and laughed with delight as she watched Fire touch and destroy the beauty before her. Heat’s long honey-brown hair whipped across her face and she shook her head, laughing as Wind tousled it again.

Wind became stronger - gathering momentum from Heat - she grabbed at Fire and threw parts of her ahead. She didn’t need to aim - wherever Fire landed was good enough for her. A tree top - some bushes - tinder dry grass - she shrugged nonchalantly. It was just so beautiful seeing the orange glow whoosh from a speck to a large force.

Hand in hand, these three raced to the top of the mountain and as they crested it - they heard the Firemen call out to one another - “Something wicked this way comes!” The girls whooped with delight at the fear they evoked. They exploded down the mountain side, not caring what they left behind. Wind realized the danger of being stopped, so she grabbed Fire’s hands and pulled her back and away - setting parts of her in a whole new direction.

Heat and Fire continued to race to the bottom, licking at the roof tops and hoping to find sanctuary. They’d been here before - this was familiar territory - but they were rebuffed by their old foe - that playground bully - Water.

Water, her blonde hair pulled tight to her head was ready. She knew those three bitches well. She detested them. She was strong in her own right - a force of nature - capable of doing great things and capable of great destruction as well. Today, she stood ready to protect those vulnerable structures that were unable to look after themselves. Showing no fear, she wrapped herself around her charges and waited for Fire and Heat to do their worst.

The three wenches were not worried about Water. They pretended to push forward, all the while ensuring the expansion of their territory to the north. Here, they had free reign again - free to run - free to carry on wreaking havoc. Excited with the freedom they found here, they pushed forward, leaping across highways, fording creek beds and roaring across meadows. Nothing could stop them - they felt invincible.  

Houses - barns - corrals - sheds. It was all the same to them - something to destroy - a way to leave their mark. They left vast green spaces behind - places where water was sure to have the upper hand. They refused to play her game. Onward they ran - hand in hand - laughing and skipping like they hadn’t a care in the world. Wind lifted Fire across the river and they rushed up another hill - slowing from the upward momentum. Cresting the top - they fell on their sides and rolled downward - stripping away the native grass and leaving nothing but blackened soot behind.

Tired and uneasy now, they skipped back across the river. Another house, another barn but they faced a band of fearless fighters, intent on keeping what was theirs. They hit again, circled back and attacked from another direction. They went low - then they went high and at every juncture - they were met with resistance. Weak and tired from a long night’s journey, Wind gave up. She realized that the fight was useless against these humans. Without her guidance, Fire and Heat felt a little lost. They retreated back to the mountaintop to rest and lick their wounds.

The battle had been a long one. Heat succumbed to her wounds and Fire was on her own. Valiantly, she battled on - her destruction minimal without the help of her playmates. But she doesn’t care. She knows she’s a bitch - she’s proud of it. And she’ll live to fight again - and again. But she has a lot more fun when it’s the three of them - that deadly combination that makes her job unpredictable and delightful.

She’s not dead - she’s biding her time - waiting for Heat to resurrect herself - waiting for Wind to come back to the playground from wherever she has gone. And then the three of them will join hands once more and run and skip and play like they haven't a care in the world.

If Only Walls Could Talk

I know you’ve heard it said - if only these walls could talk… well - it’s not wishful thinking. They really can talk. Not everyone can hear them.

I don’t know why I hear them. It’s like that movie kid - “I see dead people”. Only I hear the memories of those who’ve gone before. It takes patience and an almost uncanny willingness to let the voices in where the heart can interpret them. They can’t be heard with your ears - can’t be understood by your brain - it takes your heart.

Maybe since I’ve been through so much - my heart is different than most. It’s scarred and battered - bruised and mutilated - but strong and resilient. It keeps beating despite my sometimes overwhelming wish for it to stop.

I was eleven the first time a house spoke to me. We had moved to this old house in Parksville a month before. Dad had another new job - the third one that year. I was in bed, wrestling with some demons in my brain - the ones with two legs, evil minds and black hearts.

My heart broke open as I relived the events of the day. Some mean girls dropped me head first into the toilet - an unclean toilet - and then flushed.  The water rose up - over my eyes and nose - almost reaching my mouth before it finally receded.  My tormentors were elated as I lay retching on the tiled floor, my long hair soiled with excrement. Mrs. Henderson heard the laughter and came in to see what was going on. The girls scattered and were gone.

I didn’t tell her their names - though I’m sure she knew them. She took me to the staff room where she washed my hair in the deep sink. She was so kind, I wanted to curl into her arms and never leave. Why can’t all mothers be that loving?

But back in bed, I heard a noise that made my hair stand on end. I sounded like voices, but I was home alone? Mom and Dad were over at the neighbours. I could hear them laughing through the open window - I knew it wasn’t them.

I waited - the silence smothering me and nothing. I turned off my light and slipped down deeper under the covers and there it was again… a moan or a murmur? My ears tingled with anticipation. I strained to catch the sound, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. Nothing. I quit trying and the sound washed over me again. Another moan, another murmur and then a baby cried.

The murmuring became louder, the baby stopped crying and I heard her name, Ella. As clear as if I had said it aloud myself. Ella.

I didn’t hear the house speak to me again for over a year. I thought I dreamt the whole thing. It was about the same time of year, only this time we were getting ready to move. Dad had another new job in another new city. My room was a jumble of boxes and bags. My tormentors from school were leaving me alone for the most part. Tripping me in the hallway, or accidentally jostling me into the lockers - nothing I couldn’t handle. I was thinking about them though, because I wouldn’t get to see them - I wouldn’t get to see their expressions when they each opened their lockers in the morning to a big surprise.

I snuggled down under the covers and was about the fall asleep, when I heard the sound again. Just like last time, the hair on my head stood on end and I strained to hear more. It was quiet. Then I remembered that if I didn’t try, it came more naturally, so I relaxed.

Ella was chattering away, making sounds maybe even a mother wouldn’t be able to understand. She sounded happy. Her mother came in and Ella squealed with delight, clapping her little hands… I lay there in the dark, listening to them talk to one another, one making sense, one not so much and I smiled at how lovely it was to share this space with so much love.

In my next house, the sounds came more often and they weren’t good sounds. The sounds of doors slamming, glass breaking, shouts of anger and rage hurled around many of the rooms. My mom found me crouched behind the sofa one Saturday afternoon, crying. She wanted to know what was wrong and I tried to tell her that the house had bad memories, but she didn’t understand. She sent me to see a psychiatrist who was very curious about my life. I made up stories to keep him from finding out what was really going on. I don’t know if he bought it or if he knew I was lying. I didn’t care.

Listening to house - to the walls talk became easier as I grew more confident and less afraid of the sounds. The stories ran the gamut of life’s adventures - happiness - to sorrow - love and adoration - pain and suffering and even murder. It was this latter that got me involved with the police. I offered my help and was rebuffed many times until one detective decided that he was willing to try anything to get answers. He took me to the house. I was a little nervous - well - I was a lot nervous - so the house wouldn’t talk right away. It took some coaxing on my part before it began. I listened quietly, nodding from time to time while to detective hissed at me to tell him what was going on. I just touched my finger to my lips and listened.

Eventually, he stopped asking and went outside. When the house had given up her secrets, I met him on the front lawn and told him what the house had said. He was elated. He knew he was on the right track all the time. He felt assured that now he would get his

conviction. He found the gun - right where the house said it would be - behind the fourth brick from the floor on the right side of the fireplace. Fingerprints and the ballistic reports would seal that evil man’s fate.
I know there must be more like me out there in the world. It would be really nice to meet someone who listened to houses like I do. It’s rather lonely not being able to share my experiences - although the detective has called me more than once - wondering if I’d like to go to dinner. I think the next time he calls - I’m going to say yes - because even though he can’t hear the walls talk - he believes I can.