I don't really do the whole trick-or-treat thing anymore, but a good horror story can terrify you. To treat y'all with a little bit of a spooky tale. This is a short story that I wrote in a writer's group meeting from this prompt: "you are a serial killer. To get away with it, you only kill once a year on Halloween when everyone runs around covered in fake blood."
Hope you are spooked!
Killer of Hearts
Tonight is the night. Gore, blood and guts, are as familiar as friends. I sit at the top of my house and watch the trick-or-treaters hurry from house to house. I have left out candy on the porch per tradition, but the first greedy, little thief will probably take it all in one go, but I don’t really care. My mission tonight is to give the gift of death. A long butcher knife is held in the hand resting on my knee. I tap my other hand against my leg, counting, watching, waiting...who will be the victim tonight. Who will be the receiver of my gift?
It could be anybody, anybody at all that is strolling the streets tonight. Blood is an illusion of make-up, knives are just props, no one expects the real thing. No one expects a killer in a costume, but I will not be wearing a costume, just jeans and a black sweater to fight off the Autumn chill. The leaves are scuttling across the ground in the fear I hope to evoke in my victim. Their surprise, the look on their face as the life leaves their body. My hands tingle in anticipation. This will be my thirteenth kill, the thirteenth year and as we all know -- thirteen is the most fortunate number.
I sit up from the rocking chair I have strategically placed in front of this window and go downstairs. It is time, I am ready for this death. The children have taken all the candy from the bowl as I exit the front door. The little white paper saying “Please take one” is crumpled to one side. I shut the door and lock it, waving to my neighbors as they tote their little one along in a wagon. Little Rebecca is too young for this night, too little to understand, but she is dressed as a fluffy bunny and ready to be carried by her parents down the street.
The neighborhood kids run past me, trying to get to the next house faster than their friends, trying to get the best candy that can be found. The Rodger’s kid says, “Hey there, Mr. Shade,” as he passes. I wave and continue on. The knife lays coolly against my skin beneath the warmth of my sweater. It is tucked so that the handle is closer to my palm and if I’m not careful I’ll nick myself. Young high school aged girls strut around in too short skirts and showy blouses that expose a little bit too much skin to the night air. They are not the victims that I am looking for though. My victim of the night is special, a perfect specimen that I take the whole year to choose. This person is the heart of the community. I relish the tears and fear as the body is discovered and recognized. The heart of a community is the one that will break it. They will hold the death in their memories for years to come. Each year after I give my gift to the heart of the community, a new one comes to the forefront, it is a blessing that my work is never done, that it will never be done, because the community reforms and a new heart is grown until they are ready to be plucked from existence by me.
I know who my target is tonight, but finding her on this street will be difficult. She may be disguised though I doubt her face is covered. She is known for her charity work and came to my attention through the homeowner’s association. Her charity work often brings her through the neighborhood asking for donations and volunteers. She is loved and respected; she is the heart this year and I must find her before the night is over. I know that she was organizing a group trick-or-treat with the young kids so that they could all stay together, but there is also a party tonight. She and her boyfriend will be there, in a few minutes, so will I.
It’s ten o’clock and the younger children will be put to bed soon, herded away and scolded for eating too much sugar before they sleep. The party starts now. The house is lit up with ghoulish shadows created by positioned lights in the yard. Spiderwebs wind their way along the porch railings and through the windows. There is a pumpkin sitting on the porch and a candle flickers inside it. There is noise from inside that filters across the neatly cut lawn. The door is open and I can see people crowding the hallway from here. This will make my job harder, but I accept the challenge. It wouldn’t be fun if I had no trouble at all.
I pass through the door and sound becomes obsolete. The music is so loud that I wonder how anyone can hold a conversation. I nod and smile as I pass neighbors and search the crowd with narrowed eyes for my target. She is not in the sitting area or dining room. I stroll into the kitchen, which is full of appetizer foods that can be easily grabbed. Punch sits in a glass bowl that is probably spiked with something. There is no one here and so I stroll out into the back. The garden area is landscaped with hedges and small trees. The perfect place for me to commit a murder and my target is here. There are couples scattered throughout the yard and some of them have entered the maze of hedges. I slow my pace and linger in the shadows of the house. I need her to be alone. It is time to be patient and I relax, wishing that I had grabbed some punch.
She and her boyfriend are arguing and I slowly step around so that I’m positioned near enough to hear. Although my back is to them as I stare up at the stars.
“Evan, I’m trying to help,” she says to him.
“Well you’re not. I thought you wanted to be present in this relationship, but you’re always busy. You’re not even trying to be with me.”
“Evan,” she sounds hurt and I revel in that broken voice. “I can’t believe you think that.”
“Maybe I should have said it sooner,” his voice is rough.
I can imagine her reaching out for him as he says, “No. I need some space.”
Then he is walking away across the lawn and I hear her sniffle. She is mine. I turn around and walk closer. She is rubbing at her eyes. She is wearing a nurse’s costume, but not one that is overly exposing. Her top is a regular scrub shirt and although she is wearing leggings and boots, she is one of the more appropriately dressed people out here tonight. I get closer and she sees me.
“Oh, Mr. Shade.” She wipes at her eyes, trying to hide her tears.
“Hello, Olivia. Are you alright?”
She sniffles and gives me a wobbly smile. “Oh, I’ll be fine. Thank you, Mr. Shade.”
“I find that a little walk can always help me take my mind off of things,” I tell her. “Would you like to walk with me?” I indicate the garden paths and she is so naive and willing to be led away. We walk in silence until the blaring music of the party is a whisper in the dark.
“You can see the stars when you’re farther out,” I tell her, but I am not looking at the stars. She stares up at them and a stray tear rolls down her cheek.
“They’re beautiful,” she says.
“I know.”
The knife cuts her throat and she drops to her knees, surprise on her face, fear as she realizes what has happened. So many emotions playing across her face and the blood is pouring out. Her neck is stained in a collar where I cut her and she cannot choke out a sound. I catch her as she falls and wipe at her hair.
“There, there, Olivia. This is my gift for you. This is the day of death.”
