alcala0001
10-10-2010, 07:57 PM
Lots of candy to pass out to greedy little brats - some not so little. Case in point would be Samantha, Jim and Ryan. All of them are getting ready. I'm gonna sit this Halloween out. I'm just not into it this year, besides, the real fun starts at the after-party. I have my DVR set to record the horror festival on cable, since I'll probably get up a hundred times to shovel out candy into greedy sacks and buckets. I hear scuffling and muffled laughter upstairs. Sounds like the room-mates are having a good time. Samantha comes down first, her skimpy little vampire costume barely leaves anything to the imagination. She's practically spilling out of the top and her legs disappear at the last possible moment under her skirt to be considered proper and decent. She flashes me a toothy smile, her pasty face paint and the dribble of fake blood down the corner are a little cliche but the plastic teeth look pretty good. "lookin' good! I hope you're wearing panties. Don't want you scaring any toddlers out there!" She sticks her tongue out at me and makes her way to the refridgerator and helps herself to one of the dozens of jello-shots lined up on the bottom shelf, waiting for the party at '11pm - ...'. Wow. It's been a while since I checked her out. She looks kind of hot, actually. I peel my eyes off of her legs as stairs creak and squeak. Jim comes down, sporting his 'sexy robot' costume - i'ts mostly just aluminum foil and silver paint and sunglasses with flashing lights. They are green with little shamrocks on them; probably left over from St. Patrick's Day. He's such a tight-wad with his money i'm surprised he splurged on the paint. I'm not even going to comment on it, it looks that bad. Jim walks past Samantha, smacking her bottom, making her jump. She shoots him a playful, scolding look. He opens the fridge and raids the jello-shots, taking one in each hand. "Dude! save some for the party!". He gives me a wink and gestures at Samantha with raised eyebrows -'check her out, dude!' in guy code. At least I'm not the only one looking at her. We talk about the coming party - mostly who's coming and who we don't want them to bring. Ryan finally comes down in his gory latex zombie mask. He really over-did it with the fake blood. It was pretty gross. I love it. Ryan does his best zombie shuffle as he gets to the bottom of the stairs, heading toward Samantha. She giggles and pushes away his outstretched arms. At least he leavs the alcohol alone. I tell him I like his costume and as we talk the doorbell rings. Little brats are early this year.
I spend the night shoveling candy and pretending to be impressed and scared, coaxing giggles and smiles from little kids. It's not so bad, but the older kids are another matter. Teenage girls wearing sexy outfits of every description, some skimpier than Samantha. Did girls look like that when I was their age? I felt uncomfortable as I would fight to keep my eyes on the candy buckets and bags. The boys were worse. Just rude and obnoxious, taking advantage in their anonymity. The doorbell all but stopped ringing after 10pm and was silent by 10:30. 11pm approached and nobody had arrived yet. I hear the security door squeak open and the door latch pops as the Merry Trio enter, looking tired and haggard. Without acknowledging me they make their way up the steps with slowly and deliberately, as if in a trance, eyes open but staring straight ahead at nothing. I hear shuffling upstairs and three doors slam shut. OK. That was wierd. 11:30 comes and goes. As Midnight approaches I pick up the phone and make some calls. Our parties are always a hit, this one being one of the more popular. Nobody answers the numbers I call. I leave a few voice mails and answering machine messages. "Hey It's Eric! It's midnight, wondering if you're going to make it over! Talk to you later!" I finish the slasher movie I'm watching and slurp jello-shots and eat from the meat, cheese and cracker plate on the counter. Looks like it's a bust this year. I make my way up to my room and I stop and listen in the middle of the hallway - not a sound.
I wake in the morning to the sound of a car alarm. The clock on the night table says 6am. Dammit this is too early for me. There's another sound. The sound of my door knob jiggling back and forth. It's a habit I've had since I was little. I always lock my door. I get up, rubbing my face and I take a swig from the warm water bottle next to my clock. "Hold on..." I say as I make my way to the door. I twist the lock and the handle is still jiggling even as I turn it, making it difficult for me to open. The door pushes open on me and knocks me off balance knocking me on my butt. It's Ryan. He's still in his stupid mask. As I stumble back I yell at him "Dude what the hell? Get out so I can go back to bed, you ***!" Ryan shuffles in, his clothes slick with slime and the rips, tears and sores on his mask look really life-like. I'm just about to tell him that he should have put in that much effort last night, when there is a tearing sound and his dirty, slimy shirt darkens and ripples as slimy green ropes fall from his belly and spill into a heap on the floor. The smell is atrocious. "Dude." I shuffle backward and scrabble away from him. That's not a mask. There is no floppy overhang at his neck. The drooping half-popped out eye does not look fake. I can see a dark, slimy cavity where guts were a moment ago. I grab the stool of my drafting table and swing the thin oak leg at him. It hits him square in his head and his jaw cracks and shifts, sitting crooked on his face. Definately not a mask. Ryan continues to advance in that slow, deliberate way. I push the flat end of the stool against him, shoving him off balance as I run past. My foot steps on cold entrails as I sprint by him and they burst, squishing between my toes. I lock the door and close it behind me, leaving him inside my room. In the hall, Ryan's room is open. I see dark stained sheets as I make my way down the stairs. I run straight into Jim at the top of the stairs. I bump into him and almost knock myself out, stars explode as my head bounces into his chest. His silver skin feels cold and hard. His eyes glow and his arms swivel up to clutch at me as he teeters stiffly and slowly falls back. Jim's head strikes the stairs and there is a flash and a pop as his eyes explode in a shower of sparks, smoke coming from the empty sockets. He twitches and jerks then remains still. What the hell is going on? I look at Samantha's closed door. I go into ryan's room and open his closet. His replica Excalibur sword sits in the corner. I grab the simulated leather grip and pull off the sheath. I slowly reach out a hand and grab the handle, pausing to listen. I can't hear much over the car alarm outside and Ryan banging on my door and jiggling my door handle. I twist the handle and throw open the door in one swift motion, putting the stainless steel blade in front of me. Empty. I make my way cautiously down the stairs, poking Jim's leg with the sword. There is a hollow 'ding!' as the blade rings. Jim does not move, so I carefully step over him, ready to bolt if he so much as twitches. I make it past him and make sure the rest of the house is clear. I pull open the curtains of the front room and at first I don't see anything unusual. Then I notice broken windows across the street at Jan and Phil's house. I try and see into the dark house as the front door Slams open. I close the curtains and peek through a slit as something small and orange slowly moves out of the doorway. What looks like a large fat pumpkin, 3 feet tall, emerges into the early morning sun. It shuffles out on thick, leafy thorny vines. They coil and twist under it like a nest of snakes as it goes to the edge of the porch and grins a wide jagged-tooth grin and lets out a long, red-soaked tongue. The pumpkin-thing lets out a squeal, muffled through the glass, and vines thrash and flail as it scurries down the street, out of view. Little Tommy. I remember telling him how scary he looked in his pumpkin costume.
I turn on the TV and radio, hoping for news. Nothing on the radio. The TV is playing like normal, but local news channels are all blank, displaying off-air screens. I grab the sword and sit on the chair, hunched over I rock myself as my mind reels. I don't know how long I sit there, but the house starts to get dark before I get up. I cautiously go into the garage and after I make sure it's safe, I get some lumber and nails and, carefully avoiding touching Jim on the stairs, I go up and board up my room, just in case Ryan breaks through. I eat from the old cheese and meat tray and crack open a beer. Random sounds from the neighborhood reach me. Sound I don't dwell on. "Hey Eric." Her voice startles me, I drop my beer on the kitchen tile. Samantha.
I spend the night shoveling candy and pretending to be impressed and scared, coaxing giggles and smiles from little kids. It's not so bad, but the older kids are another matter. Teenage girls wearing sexy outfits of every description, some skimpier than Samantha. Did girls look like that when I was their age? I felt uncomfortable as I would fight to keep my eyes on the candy buckets and bags. The boys were worse. Just rude and obnoxious, taking advantage in their anonymity. The doorbell all but stopped ringing after 10pm and was silent by 10:30. 11pm approached and nobody had arrived yet. I hear the security door squeak open and the door latch pops as the Merry Trio enter, looking tired and haggard. Without acknowledging me they make their way up the steps with slowly and deliberately, as if in a trance, eyes open but staring straight ahead at nothing. I hear shuffling upstairs and three doors slam shut. OK. That was wierd. 11:30 comes and goes. As Midnight approaches I pick up the phone and make some calls. Our parties are always a hit, this one being one of the more popular. Nobody answers the numbers I call. I leave a few voice mails and answering machine messages. "Hey It's Eric! It's midnight, wondering if you're going to make it over! Talk to you later!" I finish the slasher movie I'm watching and slurp jello-shots and eat from the meat, cheese and cracker plate on the counter. Looks like it's a bust this year. I make my way up to my room and I stop and listen in the middle of the hallway - not a sound.
I wake in the morning to the sound of a car alarm. The clock on the night table says 6am. Dammit this is too early for me. There's another sound. The sound of my door knob jiggling back and forth. It's a habit I've had since I was little. I always lock my door. I get up, rubbing my face and I take a swig from the warm water bottle next to my clock. "Hold on..." I say as I make my way to the door. I twist the lock and the handle is still jiggling even as I turn it, making it difficult for me to open. The door pushes open on me and knocks me off balance knocking me on my butt. It's Ryan. He's still in his stupid mask. As I stumble back I yell at him "Dude what the hell? Get out so I can go back to bed, you ***!" Ryan shuffles in, his clothes slick with slime and the rips, tears and sores on his mask look really life-like. I'm just about to tell him that he should have put in that much effort last night, when there is a tearing sound and his dirty, slimy shirt darkens and ripples as slimy green ropes fall from his belly and spill into a heap on the floor. The smell is atrocious. "Dude." I shuffle backward and scrabble away from him. That's not a mask. There is no floppy overhang at his neck. The drooping half-popped out eye does not look fake. I can see a dark, slimy cavity where guts were a moment ago. I grab the stool of my drafting table and swing the thin oak leg at him. It hits him square in his head and his jaw cracks and shifts, sitting crooked on his face. Definately not a mask. Ryan continues to advance in that slow, deliberate way. I push the flat end of the stool against him, shoving him off balance as I run past. My foot steps on cold entrails as I sprint by him and they burst, squishing between my toes. I lock the door and close it behind me, leaving him inside my room. In the hall, Ryan's room is open. I see dark stained sheets as I make my way down the stairs. I run straight into Jim at the top of the stairs. I bump into him and almost knock myself out, stars explode as my head bounces into his chest. His silver skin feels cold and hard. His eyes glow and his arms swivel up to clutch at me as he teeters stiffly and slowly falls back. Jim's head strikes the stairs and there is a flash and a pop as his eyes explode in a shower of sparks, smoke coming from the empty sockets. He twitches and jerks then remains still. What the hell is going on? I look at Samantha's closed door. I go into ryan's room and open his closet. His replica Excalibur sword sits in the corner. I grab the simulated leather grip and pull off the sheath. I slowly reach out a hand and grab the handle, pausing to listen. I can't hear much over the car alarm outside and Ryan banging on my door and jiggling my door handle. I twist the handle and throw open the door in one swift motion, putting the stainless steel blade in front of me. Empty. I make my way cautiously down the stairs, poking Jim's leg with the sword. There is a hollow 'ding!' as the blade rings. Jim does not move, so I carefully step over him, ready to bolt if he so much as twitches. I make it past him and make sure the rest of the house is clear. I pull open the curtains of the front room and at first I don't see anything unusual. Then I notice broken windows across the street at Jan and Phil's house. I try and see into the dark house as the front door Slams open. I close the curtains and peek through a slit as something small and orange slowly moves out of the doorway. What looks like a large fat pumpkin, 3 feet tall, emerges into the early morning sun. It shuffles out on thick, leafy thorny vines. They coil and twist under it like a nest of snakes as it goes to the edge of the porch and grins a wide jagged-tooth grin and lets out a long, red-soaked tongue. The pumpkin-thing lets out a squeal, muffled through the glass, and vines thrash and flail as it scurries down the street, out of view. Little Tommy. I remember telling him how scary he looked in his pumpkin costume.
I turn on the TV and radio, hoping for news. Nothing on the radio. The TV is playing like normal, but local news channels are all blank, displaying off-air screens. I grab the sword and sit on the chair, hunched over I rock myself as my mind reels. I don't know how long I sit there, but the house starts to get dark before I get up. I cautiously go into the garage and after I make sure it's safe, I get some lumber and nails and, carefully avoiding touching Jim on the stairs, I go up and board up my room, just in case Ryan breaks through. I eat from the old cheese and meat tray and crack open a beer. Random sounds from the neighborhood reach me. Sound I don't dwell on. "Hey Eric." Her voice startles me, I drop my beer on the kitchen tile. Samantha.