Writing Challenge ~ October 2014

WRITING CHALLENGE ~ OCTOBER 2014​

October is here and so too is Halloween. With that in mind, I’ve tried to find prompts that will allow those wanting to exercise their muse and create spookier stories to do so while still providing inspiration for those less interested in that particular celebration.

September saw some amazing pieces and I know a lot of people are looking forward to seeing what this month’s challenge brings! And so, here are your October prompts...


You can involve the prompts themselves in your piece and make your link to the prompts as obvious or as subtle as you like or use them simply as inspiration for something else. You can use part of the prompts, just one aspect of the images, or use them in their entirety.

As there are several prompts you can of course chose to use all of them in one piece or write one for each…again, it’s your writing, your challenge. You write whatever you’re inspired to write!

The word limit for this challenge is 3,110 words and your submission can take whatever form you desire – poetry or prose, complete story or a vignette. Erotic or not, serious or light hearted, it’s whatever you want it to be!!

Post only your submissions in this thread, constructive comments and reviews are to be posted in the appropriately named – Comment and Review Thread
And please, if you do take the time to read? Please just take a few more minutes to leave a comment.

The deadline for this month’s challenge is Saturday 1st November 2014, with November’s challenge hopefully going live over the course of that weekend!

Previous challenges and reviews can be found here.

Happy writing!

The Spider Queen

There is a ringing in the distance, twelve strikes echo like mourners in the mist. Candles flicker and gutter and fail at once, leaving trails of smoke amidst the quiet of the ballroom.

She enters wearing naught but a gossamer dress, made of fine silken cables, leaving modesty bereft. Her hips are wide, but not as wide as her smile. Her eyes are smoky, dang'rous blue with flecks of holy gold. Her throat is filled with laughter with a capital S, and her hands have found their rest upon your hip and shoulder. She's guiding you in a dance of death, whether you know it yet or not and struggle all you like my dear, you're still as good as caught.

The room is spinning even as you stop. Your pulse is beating fev'rishly, your flesh is getting hot. You feel your fingers going numb, your vision starts to fade. You feel the sheath of lust, you're filled with equal parts desire and of shame. You feel you've lost your voice at first, but end by screaming out her name. At last you feel your sweet release and your heart slows down to stillness. The spider queen has claimed her prey, another willing victim.

The End

You never see it coming, do you? That moment, when the clock strikes twelve and the fairy tale ends.

One minute you're walking on water and floating on the air, and in the next the clever wind blows taking all warmth and light from the world. Fading embers and crumbling ash are all that's left for comfort, along with shadows that taunt and tease with ghosts of things that were and things that might have been.

All those things that were once whispered and imagined, that once burned with passion bright, are now distant and forgotten, waning with the night. Was it real or was it all a dream - a fragile fiction that ensnared us both, though we spun the weave and thread of the web ourselves.

All our springs and summers are lost, and now our love dies; fading into memory with the falling of autumn's leaves.

I remember the church filled with candle light; it shouldn’t have still been called a church but even old abandoned buildings tend to keep their job descriptions to confuse one. And if the priest hadn’t long since left, he still wouldn’t have been up at midnight on a chilly October night saying any kind of mass. Certainly not the kind Gareth had dared me to attend.

But I remember the night not for the church or the candles that blew out when the wind got up and changed direction and bustled in through a vacant window opening. I remember it because that was where I’d met her. We’d exchanged names, and then got to know each other in the darkness and confusion while the ceremony was re-started. She’d come as a tag-along; her friends Maria and the guy whose name I never recall were happy she had found someone to talk with.

There have been odder places to meet a girl, I guess.

She’d been mesmerised; I hadn’t had her interest in masks and chants and ceremony. Not then, not now. But I’d won my dare, and when things turned erotic she got aroused. Naturally I’d pressed my luck. Others were at it too, somewhere in the shadows. Well, the sounds and scent of sex is obvious, isn’t it?

That was quite a night. And she lived close and worked nearby, so afterwards was easy. She moved in.

Short, maybe 5’4”, with wide hips and foolishly long hair, for it was always in her eyes; she was light enough to pick up and strip while holding her and I felt possessively inclined to consider keeping her forever. Of course, before I’d got too keen I had asked about the before me bit. She hadn’t been a virgin and liked restraint, and a little bit of slap.

Rhys had been gone a year, she’d said. Out of sight. I should have taken more notice of the look on her face and the set of her chin and the gleam in two green eyes that told me he wasn’t out of her mind yet. Unfortunately my mind was in her pants. Hot, what can I say? So I’d shrugged and left it.

We stayed in the village for three years. In the first summer, she took me north to her parents’ farm. They were thinking of selling it, they said. But for now beef still ran in the long pasture that stretched to the main road. I didn’t want to be a farmer, but we spent a fine few weekends there.

The last year of my apprenticeship was much more hectic. I had longer hours and the business wasn’t doing well, so the other mechanic was let go. More hours for me; more money, but still. She got bored, I think.

And Rhys came back. He had another girl, but she was moody all the way till Christmas. And didn’t like it when I asked if she was going back. Said I should know she loved me, and that all of it was just memories, you know?

Rhys didn’t bother us, although I saw the guy and his hangers-on a lot. Couldn’t help it. Small place.

After a while, as sometimes happens, our sex grew sameness; the sort that comes when tired meets bored too often. She wanted a new challenge somewhere else. I should have seen it. I finished my apprenticeship and started looking for a place to move to. Jobs in the city paid more, and that’s where I looked.

Then she said Rhys had come around. It was Saturday. Over beer and chips she told me, smiling at some shared recollection. It seemed his girl had given him the finger and skipped out. I‘d worked ten hours, so it was another evening when I didn’t snarl and dominate her, and sometime before dawn I think she mentally slipped away. It was several weeks before she actually left, of course, but then suddenly she did.

I suppose I could have done something. I didn’t like the way Rhys treated people. He didn’t care who he hurt or how. I think if she hadn’t gone, he might have threatened me – but who knows. And he didn’t scare me. But he did scare her. She’d told me that as we’d laid post-coitus, in the church, the first night we’d spent together. But she didn’t leave any details and my phone calls weren’t returned.

I drank more after that. And I didn’t get over her. Why? Who knows why? She’d grown on me and I was looking forward to the next stage of our life together. Still, in a new town with new mates, the seasons went quickly. I shared a house with a bunch of guys who knocked about idly and played darts. I passed my next certificate.

When she rang, I was under a car, wrench in hand, phone out of reach. And the number was a new one. Her message sounded strained. I suppose it’s a good voice to put on if you really want a call back.

He’d beaten her and she wanted a place to go. Lucky for her I still had the same cell or she’d have been out of luck. We talked and she calmed and said she was going to the farm. She said she’d go immediately, before he got home with the booze he’d gone out to get. She didn’t mention her parents, and I didn’t ask. I assumed they were still there, still talking about selling up.

The rest of my day went very slowly, while my guts churned. The next, Friday, also dragged, and she didn’t answer when I called. Too tense to sleep, I left after midnight and drove through the night. I knew I’d be early, but figured I’d doze in the driveway until the dogs woke.

I love mornings, but clear-sky mornings are my favourite. The golden light of an awakening sun washes the landscape in daring and hope, it seems. I turned up the mile-long drive and parked near the steps. A splash of sun had just hit the peeling paint above the entrance. A lack of cars surprised me, so instead of waiting in mine, I strode up the gravel, boots crunching. The breeze had stiffened. It was full in my face, refreshing, evoking a memory of that hair whipping across her laughing face as we’d rode across the farm for the first time. I grinned. Didn’t feel like half a decade ago.

I reached for the worn brass handle, but my hand fell away to my side as I stared at the thick spider’s web that adorned it. Several tiny spiders were emerging from a nest that filled the space between handle and jamb.

The breeze had almost died completely. Then all at once it blew stronger for some seconds; a greeting from the land’s guardian, perhaps. A swirl of dust from the unswept deck filled my face with grit.

The Final Sale

“They say it’s haunted, I wonder if that’s true?”

He’d called for an appointment last week after seeing the listing online and flew over from California especially to look at the house. The Estate Agent walked beside him and the two of them paused to take in the exterior before continuing on. It was a grand place, or once was at any rate. Nothing on the scale of the Grand Old Houses that still operated as private residences or in the care of the National Trust, but a fine place nonetheless.

“Well, the local legend says that on certain nights the last Dowager will make her rounds and correct any problems she may find with the care of her house, but you know how local legends go.” The Agent was smiling, but inwardly he was cursing his luck. He’d been trying to sell this property for what seemed forever, but no one would buy it given it’s local reputation. He’d hoped this Yank would not know the tales and be lured in by the low asking price.

“As you see Sir, it does require a bit of work, but that’s to be expected for the price.” The Agent paused briefly as he tried the front door. It resisted his efforts, but eventually the American helped him and it yielded with a groan, swinging open on squeaky hinges.

There was dust everywhere. It was obvious that no one had been inside for quite some time. The air was stale and cobwebs hung from the corners. The few bits of furniture left inside were covered with cloth and heavily lined with dust from disuse. The Agent gave an inward sigh, the last few prospects didn't get much further than this before deciding to look at other properties in the area.

When he first took the listing as a young man, he’d been very excited and went out of his way to stage the property for best showing. He’d invested in some knock off antiques to give the place a regal feel and made sure it was clean and sparkling for every showing. That was many years ago, when he still believed the property would generate a large commission and launch him into a new class of representation. Now, he realized the only reason he got the listing to begin with, and kept it all these years, was that no other agency would take it on.

The Agent entered briskly, with an air of confidence, hoping the American would follow. He didn’t want this to be yet another wasted trip to the country. “As you can see Sir, the rooms are quite large for the time of the house, and it’s been fitted with modern electric and plumbing, but there may be some work that needs to be done during renovation.” As he strode in, heading toward the main dining room, he needn't have feared that the visit would end at the door. The Yank seemed quite keen on the place and was excited to look around.

“My God, will you look at that woodwork, and the moldings, they’re out of sight!” The prospect stood in the middle of the Foyer and turned around looking at every angle. “Is this marble?... I wonder how long it’s been since someone’s lived here full time?” The Yank moved to the sitting room and tried the door, peeking in before returning to the opened dining room where the Agent stood patiently.

“Yes, the main rooms are all done in marble or mahogany. You'll find that the moldings and cornices are all hand crafted. I believe the original artist’s grandson is still doing similar work in the area, I can get you his name when you’re ready to renovate so that you can recreate the detail as necessary.” The eager excitement of the Yank gave him a bit of hope. Perhaps, after all these years, he might be shed of this burden and be able to move on. If only She would let him.

The Yank was right, and though he would never admit it to anyone, he could personally confirm that the local lore was not only true, but an understatement. The property was most definitely haunted. He’d first noticed it shortly after he began cleaning and staging for his first showings. Furniture placed just so would end up in a different location, and he’d chastised his assistant several times before he realized that it wasn't her moving the pieces. Candles left burning in rooms where the electric was dodgy would suddenly flicker and extinguish, though there was no draft or breeze in the area, and he couldn't count the number of times he’d sworn there was someone behind him or seen movement out of the corner of his eye when he knew he was alone.

All the local stories about the place centered around the late Dowager, but they all seemed to happen in the middle of the night during unique times of the year, solstices, full moons, harvest moons and the like. His experience was much different. In his experience She was always here, always watching and always protecting Her house.

The Agent deliberately avoided the question of occupancy. The last of the line had passed away almost 25 years ago and the Estate had been up for sale ever since. The inheritor, a distant relative with no claim on the title, had the means to keep up the most basic maintenance but had no interest in the property other than to sell it. Over the years they had developed a close, if somewhat tense relationship, but after visiting the place a handful of times early on, he’d never returned and left the Agent to do his job.

He’d had several keen buyers over the years, but She never approved of any of them and would eventually scare them away in one fashion or another. Once She managed to fashion the cobwebs into the vague shape of common household items, the most memorable of which was a dress that closely resembled the dress the prospects wife was wearing that very day. Yet as they approached each web for closer inspection, they would vanish in a swirl as if someone or something had run through them violently.

Other potential buyers would be spooked by strange feelings that would wash over them as they made their inspection, and one young couple, with their son, fled after the boy was “pushed” and skinned his knee, adding that when he got up, someone had spanked him! The Agent later learned that the boy had wandered upstairs and was playing in the Master bedroom, jumping up and down on the bed, Her bed, when he was “pushed” to the ground. Apparently, the old girl was still very protective of Her house.

The Yank however seemed at ease. He didn't seem to notice the cold spots as they walked around, nor did he react to the glimpses and flashes the Agent was seeing out of the corner of his eye. He also didn't notice the gentle rustle of the cloth hem that lay over the table at the end of the hall. So he was either completely insensitive to Her signals, or She was deliberately hiding them from him.

The American was not an easy client to guide, he kept walking around almost randomly and looking at things as he wished. The well rehearsed history of the house and the guided tour of the rooms that the Agent had committed to memory long ago was wasted on this man, and he finally gave up. Instead he contented himself with describing the features of each room as they made their way randomly through the house.

“Will you look at that clawfoot tub, you don’t see these around anymore. I’ll bet it’s original from when they put the plumbing in.” The Yank ran his hand around the high curved side of the tub, checking the porcelain for cracks or nicks. “This is like new. With a little scrubbing it will look like the day it was put in… Amazing.”

“Yes Sir,” the Agent agreed, “you’ll find that most of the fixtures have been preserved quite beautifully. They lend a very authentic touch to the home.”

At last they entered the Master bedroom and the Agent sighed as the American immediately sat upon the old mattress, kicking up a cloud of dust in the process. “I wouldn't do that Sir,” the Agent cautioned, “As you can see it does kick up quite a mess, but after a bit of airing out the entire property will shine in a new light.” The Agent was worried about more than dust. So far She’d not interfered at all with the visit, despite the client’s obvious enthusiasm for the place. The last thing he wanted was to have Her decide that the American wasn't welcome any more.

The man got up and opened the large French doors that led to a balcony overlooking the garden. Though mostly overgrown, from above you could still make out the shape of the beds and paths that once led through the space. With a little imagination you could see the roses blooming and fresh ripe apples hanging from the trees.

“This place is magnificent, truly magnificent... It’s perfect.” The man closed the doors and secured them as he found them. The Agent then followed the American out and down the hall, and together the two of them bounded down the stairs toward the front door. The Agent did his best to keep up but the American was well ahead of him, “I’ll meet you back at the office. We can start drawing up the agreement right away!” Stopping at the top of of the last flight to catch his breath, the door swung closed, “There’s more to see… the grounds, and some outbuildings… but… we can come back... later.” His voice trailed off as he realized the American was gone.

The Agent took a moment to rest with his hands upon his knees. He was not as young as he used to be, and a somewhat sedentary late middle age was beginning to take it’s toll. He’d never been keen on fitness as a rule, but lately it seemed he couldn't keep up like he used to, and even simple tasks took more effort than he remembered.

Recovered, the Agent made his way to the front door and once again struggled with the lock. Did the American lock him in by accident? Surely not, he would have needed a key to do that, wouldn't he? He continued working the handle, rattling it but never getting it to turn when he felt a hand rest upon his shoulder. He jumped in his skin and felt a cold prickle run down his spine. He knew without looking who it must be.

“Come Robert, you've done well.” The voice was feminine, dignified and cultured. “Your work here is done, as is mine.” The agent turned to see a woman in a long black dress from the early 20th century. She was dignified, but by no means intimidating or off putting as the local legend had it.

“You’re….” He was at a loss for words, struck dumb at the realization of what was happening.

“Yes, and it’s time for both of us to move on. You've done your job and I've done mine. Come Robert,” She held out her hand, “it’s time.”

Vick Fic #1

Sympathy for the Devil​

“Roll on six!”

“Six is rolling!”

The prison guards of cell block six shouted in practiced rhythm, causing the row of twelve heavy, iron doors to roll on their steel tracks. The tracks wore away irregularly and as a result of their variable terms of service and each cell door slammed individually within a second of the other, an all bass drumroll.

“Lights out!” Captain Oliver shouted, signaling the practiced reply from his shift officers at the control panel.

“Lights out!” Officer Jones shouted back, throwing a heavy lever which killed the rows of overhead florescents.

Mike Wick flicked on his desktop light, unwrapping the bundle of mail he’d received that day. It was less now than it had been, when it was coming in bags, twice a day. His first three months in prison, Mike learned to spot the death-threats without having to open them—sure, there were always a few that slipped by and got opened, but he didn’t read them anymore, even if opened by mistake.

Letters from home went in one pile, a blessed respite from the solitude of life in and out of protective custody. Form rejections from scouts and teams went in another pile, motivation to continue pursuing excellence. Death threats went straight into the large, blue recycling tub which had been borrowed from the kitchen for the sake of keeping up with Mike’s hate mail.

Night time was the worst, especially in protective custody, when he was alone with his thoughts—his memories—his regrets.


Medea was bleeding from her front shoulder, but her eyes showed no pain. She was snarling and circling, watching every movement that the black pit made. The other dog, named Bottom Bitch, was bleeding too—but her dark fur made it tough to tell how badly she was hurt. Her paws made wide red prints as she circled, trying to mirror Medea’s movements despite her limp. You could see the pain in BB’s eyes.

BB finally stumbled, her wounded foreleg buckling as she tried to change directions and Medea struck like the practiced killer she was. Her paws made a clattering sound on the concrete bowl as she charged the other dog’s exposed side. BB barred her teeth and snarled, swinging her long, white teeth like daggers, but she was too late to defend her throat. Medea sank her canines deep and locked, shaking her head violently from side to side, spraying showers of blood across the arena.

The group of men surrounding the sunken bowl all erupted in a bawdy roar, some clenching fistfuls of hundred-dollar-bills, others spilling their drinks—all drunk on blood and power. None were louder or drunker than Mike, who jumped over the waist-high wall as soon as BB’s tongue touched the ground like spilled, pink molasses. Mike picked Medea up and held her to his chest, shouting with glee. BB’s owner was also rushing in and clutching a blood-soaked animal to his chest, but his shouts were different.

“You did it, Dea! You did it! Oh God, I love you so much!” Mike was shouting, letting Medea lick his face and leave bloody smears behind. “You’re my good girl. My million-dollar baby, yes you are!”

While Mike celebrated, Kelvin circulated through the crowd, collecting on bets that had been made. He stashed the hundreds into a Nike gym bag by the fistful. Mike felt like a god, like the world was his and his will could make the universe yield anything he could imagine—and more! The universe had so much more just for him. Mike wanted it all.

Dear Daddy,

I know you are very sad and very sorry, but I miss Dea a lot and Mommy says that we can’t get a new dog because of what the judge said you and uncle Kel made her do. I was hoping that you could tell the judge that you’re really really sorry, and that we don’t even need to get a big dog like before. Maybe then they’ll let me have a Corgi, I’ll name her Duchess and she won’t ever hurt anyone. Please help me, I miss Dea sleeping in my room. She helped keep the camera-people away.

I miss you Daddy,
Monique Wick

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This letter from home joined the death threats in the rapidly filling recycling bin. Heartbreak wasn’t good for helping him sleep. Imagining his wife trying to explain to their six-year-old why his dealings with Uncle Kel would keep them from ever having a pet again made his stomach turn. This was his fault, his mess and now his wife was cleaning it up—again.

He didn’t deserve someone like her, now both his wife and daughter were out of his reach, easy prey for the army of shutter-bugs who wanted his blood.

DIE DOG KILLER! BLEED FOR A WEEK AND DIE SLOW LIKE THE POOR INNOCENT CREATURES YOU MURDER IN YOUR SOULLESS HELL OF A WORLD. DIE SLOW SCUM, DIE SLOW!

DIE-DIE-DIE-DIE-DIE-DIE-DIE-DIE-DIE-DIE-DIE-DIE-DIE-DIE-DIE

AFTER I BLEED YOU DRY, I’M COMING FOR YOUR LITTLE GIRL.

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Oops—that was a sneaky one. Most psychos didn’t take the time to forge NFL letterhead, but this one had. They were getting sneakier every day, finding ways past his screening process. Most death threats were written in pencil—or sometimes paint. Psychos wrote in capital letters only, a dead giveaway on the front of an envelope. Psychos could seldom resist the urge to embellish their hatred with crafts and collaging, so letters that felt unnaturally thick, they went into the bin.

Mr. Wick,

We regret to inform you that your vehicle has been repossessed due to non-payment on your loan. We’re terribly sorry that this has happened and are eager to help in any way we can.

Thank you for your loyalty and patronage,
Atlanta Mercedes Benz

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Loyalty. Funny choice of word for the people who’d won his daughter over with kettle corn and smiles to get him and his wife over-extended on a third loan. “We’ll be there for you.” they’d said, now they were towing his car back from his driveway in the middle of the night. He wondered what “loyalty” meant to people like that.


“…and there he goes. That linebacker commits to deep and Wick is just gone! Forty yards, through the middle of the defense like he was shot out of a cannon!” Ray Korver announced over the highlight reel from the Monday Night game against the Bears.

“I’ll tell you Ray, this young man is special.” Benny Orlando agreed as the safety made an ankle tackle to stop Mike from scoring. “A new breed of quarterback.”

The clip ended and the shot cut back to the sports desk where both men sat. Mike was on his back in his California King sized bed, with Medea’s head laying across his chest. Each knee was draped in a clear plastic bag of ice, every part of him was hurting. Guys like Brian Hurlacher didn’t take kindly to Mike’s “new breed.” That clip was up next.

“You’ve got to wonder about the longevity of a player like this though. Here he is trying that same kind of scramble over the middle and Hurlacher goes high while Tillian goes low. Ouch!” Ray was impartial and gave the same level of enthusiasm to linebackers clipping his legs out and slamming him to the turf that he gave to Mike’s game-breaking scramble. “He’s not going to play sixteen like that, Benny.”

“No he won’t.”

Medea sighed heavily on his chest and Mike stroked the top of her head. She could sense is discomfort at having his health questioned by desk jockeys like this. She turned her brown eyes up at him sympathetically, seeming to ask if there was anything she could do to help.


The ingenuity of the previous death-threat had made Mike vigilant against forgeries. He’d been staring at the Philadelphia Eagles logo on this envelope for long enough that he was starting to feel sleep tugging at the edges of his consciousness. He had to open it, if it was a death threat he’d just endure the nightmares.

Dear Mike Wick,
Thank you for your thoughtful and contrite inquiry into opportunities within our organization. Philadelphia means “brotherly love,” and it’s a place where people believe in second chances. Though we can’t commit to anything contractual, given the terms of your incarceration, we would be happy to accept a call from you during business hours to discuss your current workout schedules and possibly a try-out upon your release. Stay strong, God is love.

Jeffrey Lowrey
Owner, Philadelphia Eagles

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Mike slept better that night than he had in three months, dreaming of the smell of fresh cut grass and the sound of a full stadium crowd.

I generally don't venture onto this board but its been one of those sleepless nights and I came across this thread. On a whim I wrote this story based on one of the prompts. Mind you it is almost 5am and I just finished writing. I'm far too tired to read over it and fix all my mistakes, regardless I hope its an enjoyable read.

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“Halloween of all nights...” The young woman said to herself as yet another vehicle passed her by. The night chilly to say the least as she clung tightly to the jacket she has managed to salvage from the wreckage that used to be her BMW. She was driving to her fiance's house, the plan was for her to arrive early in the afternoon, after which they'd spend the rest of the evening together. That of course was before she was called back into work for some emergency.. Needles to say by the time she got done at work it was close to 7pm. She'd called her fiance to let him know what was happening before she began on the two hour drive that would lead to her fiance. She was eager to see him, and while they didn't have a long distance relationship, the fact that they didn't live in the same town did make things more difficult. The two had talked it over and she'd decided that before getting married she'd try to find a job in his town. The news had been met with a lukewarm reception from her boss as she was a valued employee. Her boss even offered a bump in pay, something she reused.

She'd thought about making a quick stop at a diner to get a bite to eat, after all she hadn't eaten since lunch, however she knew her fiance had cooked, and their day together had already been ruined, and she didn't want to further contribute to that by ruining her appetite. She'd been on the road for about an hour. The stretch of road she was on was a rural one, nothing in sight but trees on each side of the road. She could have taken the highway however she'd predicted that the country road would be a lot more desolate at that time of night.. She'd been correct.. She'd only passed two vehicles the entire time she was on that particular road. If she'd been driving a little slower she might have been able to react quicker... The deer that leaped onto the road seemingly came out of nowhere. She slammed on the breaks and turned the wheel. The breaks screeched as the vehicle swerved violently of the road. Even with both feet on the brake pedal the car didn't come to a stop right away. There was an incline as she went off the road. The vehicle jumped, all she heard was a loud bang before she lost consciousness..

When she finally awoke it was still nighttime.. Everything was dark and quiet... She thanked the heavens that the moon was out... A crescent moon however it was enough go provide her with enough light to see what was around her.. The loud bang she'd heard was the airbag that had deployed right as her vehicle had hit a thick tree trunk. Dust from the crash had settled on the hood and some of the interior of her vehicle, even covering her airbag with a very thin layer. She let out a cough as she pulled her cheek away from the airbag. She continued to push the bag out of her face as she pulled herself back onto the seat. Just as well she was wearing her seat belt or else.. Well she didn't want to think of the 'or else'.. She unfastened her seat belt, and since it was a head on collision she was able to open the door without a problem. She stepped out of the vehicle “Okay.. You can still walk.... Good..” She said to herself. She gave herself a once over the best she could with her hands.. Everything seemed to be in place, even though the back of her neck was a little sore.. However that was most likely due to the impact from the airbag. 'My purse!' she thought to herself as she turned her attention back to the vehicle.. She'd left it on the passenger seat however it was gone... Given the fact that the windshield had shattered chances were her purse was lying somewhere in the woods.. She didn't have a flash light and the moonlight wasn't nearly bright enough for her to get on her hands and knees and start searching through knee high grass for her purse.

Luckily she had her iphone in her jacket... Which.. She had left in the back seat.. She opened the back door “Come on come on...” She muttered to herself.. “HAH!!” She said triumphantly as she found her jacket laying on the floor of the backseat. She pulled it out and luckily enough her phone was still in the pocket. She pulled out the phone and promptly noticed the large crack running through the glass screen.. “Fuck!” she muttered as the screen refused to come on.. She'd come out of the crash in one piece... Apparently asking for a working phone was too much... She tucked the phone into the jacket before draping the jacket over her shoulders.. It was a cold night, and chances were it'd get a lot colder.. She couldn't call or help, nor could she call her fiance to let her know what was going on... While the isolated stretch of road was a godsend to her earlier, it had now become a curse.. She could be waiting hours before someone passed, not to mention the might not even stop..

She started walking in the direction she was going in.. Hopefully she'd be able to flag down a car and get a lift into town.. She walked, and walked and walked.. Since her phone was dead she had no idea what time it was, or how long she had been unconscious.. Her thoughts once again turned to her fiance whom she knew must be worried about her... It was at that point that she heard a vehicle approaching from behind. She turned immediately and started waving her hands.. She even took off her jacket and waved it in the air. The vehicle got closer however it didn't slow down.. They had to have seen her and yet it just whizzed by.. “Assholes!!” she yelled out. She knew her BMW had gone off the road but surely they'd seen the wreckage.. More importantly how the hell could anyone not stop for a young woman who was alone on a stretch of road at night..

That bring us to the point at which the story started... It was the fourth car that had passed without stopping.. She was irritated, hungry, tired, as well as angry at her situation.. “Halloween...” She said to herself bitterly.. Figuring that the reason the cars weren't stopping was because they figured she was in on some kind of elaborate Halloween prank. Not that she looked like a ghostly figure, however a woman on her own on Halloween night on a creepy road seemed like a clichéd disaster. She huddled her arms around her torso, the hunger and fatigue getting worse and worse the further she walked. She didn't see any more vehicles for what felt like hours, and just as she was about to give up hope she came across a green road sign that read 'Welcome to Coltonville'... She couldn't believe it.. She'd actually made it. It felt as if she were running on fumes however the road was one that she had traveled many times and while she may have been disorientated from the crash now that she'd seen that familiar sign she knew exactly where she was.. Her fiance's place was less than a 15 minute walk.

With each step all she wanted to do was see her finance again, to feel his embrace.. To be held.. To feel warm, and safe. Each step was rushed and hurried and before long she found herself on her fiance's street. She could see the lights were still on, as she ran up to the front door “Thank God!” she said to herself as a wave of relief washed over her. She rang the doorbell and waited at the door... A few minutes passed and nothing.. She rang the bell again, and again. When nothing happened again she banged at the door “JIM!!” she called out, hoping her familiar voice would wake him up if he was sleeping. She remembered that she'd seen the living room light on. She made her way around the front yard and to the window. The window was slightly fogged up though she could still see inside. “Oh my God.. Jim..” She said with a sigh of relief.. It was only from the back that she could see him on the sofa.. But she'd been with Jim long enough to recognize him instantly. She was about to bang against the window and call out his name when a woman walked into the living room. “W...What?” she said to herself as she watched in disbelief. The walked right up to Jim and curled up against him on the sofa. She couldn't believe what she was seeing.. Jim wasn't the kind of man that would cheat on her... He was engaged to her for fuck's sake.. More than that he KNEW she was coming.. She was going to find out exactly what the hell was going on.. She drew back her right arm, forming into into a fist as she got ready to slam her fist against the window. No sooner than her arm had begun to swing that a loud young squeal filled the living room. A young girl that couldn't have been older than 4 who as dressed up as a princess came screaming into the room “Mooooommy daddyyy he wont stooooop!” she whined as she dived onto the sofa onto Jim's lap. Jim took the young girl into his arms as he looked over his shoulder into the hallway “JOSH! How many times have I told you not to scare your sister!” he shouted out before turning back to the girl “Don't worry kiddo, no candy for him!” he said to the girl with a wink, before kissing her on the forehead.

Just then there was a strong gust of wind, the window that she'd been standing at blew wide open. The swirls of wind caused the fireplace to flicker, the gust was so strong that it blew out all the candle that were on the mantle. “Darn... I thought you closed that sweetheart” Jim said to the woman next to him as he lifted the young girl off his lap and sat her on the woman's lap. He quickly rushed over to the window and closed it shut. He stood there for a moment, staring directly at her. She could hardly register what was going on, and whatever he had going on it was now over she thought to herself.. She had idea why he'd do this.. Why he wanted to hurt her like this.. They'd been engaged for three hole months, and prior to that she'd known him for a year.. She'd been to his place numerous times... He didn't have another wife, nor did he have kids... Jim continued to stare at her as he spoke out load “Looks cold out there....” Without so much as acknowledging her he turned back to the woman and child “BRRRR I bet its freezing outside.. Okay... Lets get these candles lit back up...” He got a lighter as he walked over towards the mantle. The woman called out from the sofa “JOSH! Get down here, its story time!” A few moments later a boy who looked round 6 came running down in a batman costume.

She stood there... Outside the window... She felt her entire body gently swaying left to right as if she were about to lose balance altogether.. Her eyes wandered aimlessly throughout the living room.. As the family snuggled down together on the sofa she noticed the calendar on the wall.. October 2014 is what it read.. Tears started to well up in her eyes.. The reality of what was happening hit her like a speeding truck... While she wanted to move out of the way of that truck, while she wanted tell herself that there was some kind of horrible mistake, she couldn't deny what was in front of her own eyes.. The night of her accident was on October 31st 2004. Ten years had passed of which she had no memory.. Her fiance wasn't cheating on her... He'd simply... Moved on... She stood there... Broken, and defeated..


Each Halloween night her restless spirit was given life.. Each Halloween she'd make the journey from the sight of the crash where she'd died to her fiance's house. For her there was no heaven, there was no bright light... Just an agonizing journey that would end with the worst kind of torment, the life that she wanted, being lived by another woman.


She stood at the window, her feet frozen in place.. She wanted to move, she wanted to close her eyes, she wanted to look away... More than anything she wanted to be ANYWHERE but there... Yet her body was no longer cooperating. Slowly enough she stared to feel faint, the weightlessness of her body starting to drag her down somehow instead of up.. Finally there was nothingess.


She let out a low groan as she pulled her cheek away from the airbag.........

Dedicated

I did it all.
I did everything you wanted.
I made the house the way you wanted, I emptied it.
I made it barren, like you are.
I made it cold, like you are.
I made it perfect.

I will feel you again. Your touch on my hair, cold fingers on my neck, tingling, gentle, barely there. I will feel you. Not a passing web. You. Your fingers.

I will lock the doors. I will lock all the doors. I will not light the lights.
The lights, the lights.
The lights I left burning that night. That night I came home and threw open the doors
and blew out the lights.

You want this. You will want this.
This will make you happy.
You haven't been happy.
But I will make you.

Since the day I came home.
Since the day I came home and found you,
a white gossamer angel,
suspended from the ceiling.

Your small, naked feet swinging, dancing in the air.

Your hair, limp and hanging listless on one side. Shorn on the other.

And it was so quiet then. No more crying at night, no more pretty little footsteps on the cold stone floor, running, running, running. No more silent weeping, slamming doors. No more clicking of the little scissors, or your nails scratching, snapping. No more cool kisses, or serene whispers. You still hear them. You're still here. And our midnight is coming.

Not yet.

But soon.