31 Hazardous Halloween Tales (part three) (Tales 10-17)

*This is part three of my “31 Hazardous Halloween Tales” stories. This is underneath my folder titled “31 Halloween Tales”. Gacha Club character designs are under my folder titled “My character designs<33”. Enjoy!*

Tale Ten-Pay respects

The world has changed a lot since I died. On my gravestone, it reads as: “Fiametta Aiello. Born July 10th 1905. Died October 31st 1912. Always and forever in our hearts, little dove.”

It’s rather saddening, isn’t it? I died when I was only seven and on Halloween night, no less. On the date that I died, after I became a ghost, I weeped. I shook tremendously with sobs, I didn’t know what to make of it.

But time has passed. I’ve watched the world grow, I’ve watched people change their outlook on life. My grave has collected mold of different colors, I no longer have living members of my family around. Now, every time someone comes to the cemetery, they say something like: “Ohhh, she died when she was seven, that’s so sad!”. Yes, it’s sad, but it happened a hundred something years ago. I’m not sad about it anymore.

I think I’m not sad about it. I don’t really know. I don’t have crying fits anymore, but I miss my family. I don’t know what kind of “unfinished business” I have. Isn’t that why I’m still here? Because of “unfinished business”? Isn’t that what people say about ghosts?

I died so young, I hardly had time to make meaningful friends and enemies. I wasn’t able to grow up to be anyone. I remember how I wanted to be a fairy Queen when I grew up, but now that I think about it, I would have rather played the violin. There’s a music theater right next to the cemetery. Some say that it’s inappropriate, but I like it. I like visiting the theater and watching the musical performances, particularly the violinists.

It’s better than the parties that the middle-aged adults throw here every Halloween. No, not teenagers. Middle-aged adults.

The families with small children talk a lot, but they don’t disturb any graves, so they’re alright. In fact, I’ve learned about the modern world and what year it was through the conversations of living families, so they’re actually really helpful!

The very few teenagers that come here by themselves or with friends do it for a peaceful walk. Back in the eighties, nineties, and early 2000s, the teenagers would come here on ridiculous “dares” and do something like rob a grave. I remember seeing a few teenagers dig into the grave of Sylvaine Phlean, a woman whose stories didn’t become popular until what is now known as the “modern era”, and watched as they acted surprised when she rose from her coffin and moaned in such a despairing way that one would think all of her vocal cords were peeled away. I heard a rumor that she smoked in life, so I’m not taken by shock. Her spirit came all the way from Heaven just because they tried to rob her.

Teenagers are more sensitive nowadays. I know some older adults are dissatisfied with that, but I like it. The cemetery is slightly better than before and teenagers are less…I’ll just put it quite delicately and say “obtuse”.

As for the older adults, they are quiet and respectful. For the most part. There are a rare few who make unsolicited comments about me and the other dead people, but they are relatively reserved. I wonder if it is because they are so near death themselves, the shadow of the grim reaper following closely behind.

But back to the middle-aged adults. The middle-aged adults are the worst. I’m not sure who started it, but somebody decided that they needed to go somewhere “totally spooky” and chose Dahlia’s cemetery. It happens every Halloween and goodness, they’re so abysmally loud, it’s like they only want to hear the sounds of their voices. 

I’m surprised that nobody has done anything yet. Normally the ghosts will terrorize anybody who bothers any graves, but not when it’s a big party.

Perhaps they’re overwhelmed. Maybe they’re all tired. Sometimes I feel my bones ache like I’m an old woman and other times I feel my heart break like I’m a child.

I wish that I knew what killed me. I’ve been dead for more than a hundred years and all I can remember is my body being completely still. I wasn’t able to move my arms or call out for help. My heart was racing in my chest, and then, it all zapped to black.

I could move after that, but it did me no good. Nobody was around to help me. I didn’t understand it then. I thought that if I screamed hard enough, then somebody would come.

But nobody did. Nobody came.

Eventually, the darkness disappeared and I was in the cemetery, standing right next to my grave.

Only I didn’t realize that it was my grave. I saw blurs of a graveyard, but I thought that I was trapped in some strange prolonged nightmare for about three years until I began to think clearly. I was in bed when I died, after a day of Trick-or-Treating. On the day I realized I was dead, I wished I was in a nightmare.

I wish that I was only in a nightmare. I wish that I could recall exactly what happened during my death.

I miss my Mom.

……………………………………………………

They’re all here. The middle-aged adults. They have a look in their eyes that shows they are trying to fulfill their miserable lives, just like the ghosts that haunt this cemetery. They’ve all brought their loudspeakers, they’re all wearing cheaply-put together costumes.

I’m done with this. I’m done with watching them treat this all like it’s a game. Their music hurts my ears, their costumes hurt my eyes.

I try to channel all of my fear and fury within me. Visions of my death circle my head.

Tears and confusion, calling out for help. Looking for guidance, a way out. But in the end, there was only darkness.

Some of them start to notice me. They look a little concerned, but not what I want.

Waking up in a graveyard, everything all fuzzy. Wondering why I was there, worrying that I was trapped in a nightmare that I wouldn’t wake up from. That I was sleeping too long again.

Now they’re starting to get scared. Now they look like they want to run.

I can see my hands grow into claws, I can feel my body twist and turn. The other ghosts are looking too, transfixed and fascinated.

Yes, it’s quite intriguing that the living can only see us when we’re trying to scare them away. At least, that’s what I think. They never see the ones that try to be friendly. They never saw me when I first found out that I was dead, when I was trying to get answers.

A scream crawls out of my throat, a bloodcurdling, mind-penetrating sound that makes all the people run from me as though I’m a wicked ghoul.

It was the scream that I screamed when I was trying to get help. Tears form in my eyes, but I’m certain that they are an instinct reaction. How can I be sad? There’s nothing to be sad about. The people are leaving, we all may be able to finally have a cleaned-up, well-manicured cemetery.

They’re afraid of my terror. They’re afraid of how lost I was, of how much death has taken a toll on me. If I were alive, they’d want to help. But I’m a ghost, so they hate me. Ghosts are just dead humans, but somehow, we are lumped in as organ-hungry cryptids that lurk in closer corners.

At least they’re gone. Maybe I can catch a show at the theater next door. I wonder if they play shows on Halloween. They have to, Halloween is a big event!

Maybe one day, I’ll be able to figure out what happened to me. I’ll keep thinking back on it. Maybe there was a detail that I missed.

I have all the time in the world. I’m sure I’ll figure something out one day. I just have to keep trying.

But boy, I wish that I knew already! It’d be awfully nice to see my family again, to be around people who know me more than a few words on a corroded stone.

Tale Eleven-Life molds away

Christian Dahlia lay sprawled on the red velvet couch, lazily staring up at the ceiling. The hanging lamps were so bright that she was convinced that they would have blinded her if she stared at them too long.

With that in mind, she got up from the couch and stretched her arms, for she needed to do something more productive other than lie down.

It was just that every All Hallows’ Eve, Christian didn’t feel like doing much of anything. Sure, the air was alive with spirits and creatures, but their wailing gave her a headache. What she could tolerate every day became a living nightmare on All Hallows’ Eve, something that made her so exhausted, so done with it all.

On All Hallows Eve, Christian’s head swam with spells, as though the presence of the spirits brought them all tumbling in her mind. There were spells to help, spells to harm, and spells to summon.

She eyed the grimoire with the azure eye cover on her desk, the grimoire she hadn’t touched since she was sixteen. The last time she wrote in it was the night it happened. The night her whole family…

No. She wouldn’t think about it.

Perhaps a walk outside in the fresh, cool air would help.

…………………………………………………..

In true puritan fashion, Christian was given dirty looks and called distasteful things like “heathen” and “heretic” by the adults and a few adolescents of the town. When she was little, she used to feel as though her skin was being peeled off and wanted desperately to crawl into the dirt.

She still felt it, but it was less so. As an adult, things didn’t get easier, only better to deal with.

But the little kids were different. The little kids were all working, all of them quiet, all of them with misery in their eyes. At most, Christian would see one or two toys a year. The kids wouldn’t look at her with judgement; some even smiled softly at her before doing what they were told to do. They didn’t hate her yet, but they would when they grew up.

Christian tried every night to find a spell that would save the children. The little children, with their young, soft hands already raw and red, already knowing the harsh realities of the world. As a child, Christian’s hands got dirty, but she always had time to play, to live.

But the only spells Christian could find in her grimoire were destructive, spells that would kill the entire town, including the children. There were other spells too, but they weren’t appropriate for getting rid of adults. Besides, she didn’t have any children of her own. How would she know how to take care of so many? How would she be able to send them off to families who loved them, people who would support them, with absolutely certainty that they would be alright?

Christian’s heart broke a little every time she saw the joyless, despairing children, but what could she do? Even with her power, she wasn’t a complete goddess.

Christian continued to walk on, taking in the only pleasant thing outside, that being the cool, calm air.

…………………………………………………..

She had walked so long and so far that she was in the town’s woods, the place the townspeople avoided strongly with a burning passion.

In the woods, where the spirits were most active. In the woods, where many things could happen. Where the creatures could hide safely.

In the distance, Christian could see a town. A town lively with music and laughter, so different from the town she walked away from.

She ran towards it, her heart racing in her rib cage, hardly believing what she was seeing.

Christian ran faster, faster, faster…

After a while, she made it to the town. The music was still playing, the people were still dancing, but they were all made of fog, all completely invisible save for their outlines.

Ah. So they were ghosts. Ghosts in a deserted, forgotten town.

Yet still, they celebrated. They didn’t care that they were dead. Did they even know that they were dead? Did it matter? So long as they had each other, what mattered if they were alive or dead?

Yet one sight caught Christian’s eye. A little girl in a burlap sack dress, a confused look in her orange eyes. Christian could sense that there was something else about the little girl. For when she looked at the child, she felt a force of magic that was to be reckoned with, something that told her the child may as well have been a fae.

Christian walked up to the child, the layers of her purple dress swishing and swaying, and gently put a hand on her shoulder. The child’s orange eyes briefly flickered to black; she flinched a bit. But she didn’t run. She stayed still, as though waiting for what Christian would do.

“Little fae, what are you called? I’m Christian, I can sense your magic. You needn’t fear me, I won’t hurt you.” Christian said.

The fae brushed her shoulder away from her and plopped down on the dirt, holding up her pouting face, and asked:

“Why are they all gone? I came down here to have fun and now they’re gone! Everyone is gone! Why are they gone?”

Christian sat as close to her as she could without the force of magic pushing her away, without the fae’s powers completely destroying her. It was the strangest thing, how Christian felt the fae’s powers only when the child looked like she was about to cry, as though the fae were only letting her strong emotions seep out.

“Is this your first time being here on Earth? Do you know what happened?” Christian asked.

The little girl nodded and said:

“Yes, it’s my first time here. This world is a strange place…but they all looked at me strangely. Then they all just disappeared! Well, their physical bodies did. I can still see them out here. Look!” The girl said, pointing to a few ghosts.

Christian sighed. In that moment, the girl looked like a human child. So small, so innocent. How would she tell the child?

But there was never an easy way to tell things. One just had to say it.

“I’m afraid you’ve killed them all. Your presence has obliterated every one of them. But they’re still here, as ghosts. What is your name, again?” Christian asked. If only she knew the fae’s name, then she would be able to remember her more.

“Eerie. I am called Eerie. Say, is there any way I can see what else is out there? I seem to be trapped in here.” Eerie said.

A fae’s first time at the human world always bound them to the town they were in, unless…

“I can write a spell about you. I can create a spell that will summon you to anyone who recites it. Would you like me to do that for you?” Christian asked.

Eerie nodded. She grinned how Christian would imagine the children at town would, free of worries, free of dread.

“I would love that!” Eerie gushed, eyes bright, magic alight.

“I’ll get set to it. Farewell for now!” Christian beamed.

With that, she walked off, fulfillment brewing in her heart, hope in her head.

…………………………………………………..

When Christian got home, she wrote a spell of fright and delight, a spell that she felt certain Eerie would answer to.

Her certainty wasn’t wrong, for Eerie did appear at the words, but still, Christian felt the spells screeching in her mind.

So she stayed in her house, writing her spells, hiding from a world who thought too much of her without even talking to her.

If there was one thing that Christian believed in, it was that death was something no one should run from. Death was something that everyone would be grasped away by, that everyone would be dragged into the darkness for.

For as long as Christian hid away with her spells, thoughts of her family never left her fully.

It seemed that Christian was like the ghosts. Hanging on to the living world even though she was forsaken by many.

Tale Twelve-The first ever killer clown

On All Hallows’ Eve night, in the year 1915, there was a clown woman called “Mallow”. She was named after the purple shade her costume was, for mallow was her favorite color.

Mallow liked to go around the town of Dahlia in a unicycle, handing out balloon animals to the kids and the kids at heart. On All Hallows Eve, she gave out candy instead of balloon animals.

Everything was all fine and content until that All Hallows Eve in 1915, when Mallow got sick and tired of it all.

…………………………………………………..

It was a cool All Hallows Eve night. Mallow was giving out candy on her unicycle, only, there was a sense of dread in her. She did the same thing every year and not once did anybody thank her. They all just ran off with their prizes without a care in the world. Nobody even asked Mallow about her own life. She was just the entertainer clown of the streets.

Still, the sense of dread wouldn’t leave her. Mallow tried her best to push it down with her ear-to-ear grin, but still, it crept back up, suffocating her, overwhelming her, and then-

Something crunched under her unicycle.

Mallow stopped. Everything around her seemed to stop. The world was in a blur, the only thing that she could really see was the little boy under her unicycle, his rib cage a bloody, splattered mess, his eyes bugged out of their sockets. Why, she could hardly believe that her unicycle turned him into such a pile of innards.

Her unicycle did that. Her unicycle crushed him. A little boy who probably only thought of her as a vendor. He might not even think of her at all. Only of what she gave, nothing about who she was.

Mallow grinned wider than she ever did before. Everything was clearer, brighter, sparkling, even! They were all looking at her-really looking at her, taking in every detail! Paying attention to her!

She jumped out of her unicycle and walked up to the boy, pulling out a bone from the tangle of blood and veins.

With much gusto, she plunged the bone into a little girl’s heart, then took out more bones, then plunged it into the heart of other humans, then took out more bones, all while her cackle rose and fell in pitches that she didn’t know existed, her wide grin showing more of her white, mismatched teeth…

Mallow the malevolent, free of making them all happy, free to do as she pleased, the beauty of bones bright around her!

Why was shenice to them in the first place if they didn’t see her as a true person?

Tale Thirteen-It’s always gloom and doom

Darien picked at his fingernails, not a word escaping from his lips. What was there to say? The love of his life, Soren, was having his own funeral at twenty-five.

It started a few days ago, when the two of them were at the Halloween festival. Soren’s skin had taken on a strange pale color, as though he were decaying. Soren had gone over to different doctors, all of them saying that they could find nothing. His skin would get more pale, his eyes wouldn’t align right, and then one night, after Darien woke up from a nightmare he could not quite remember…

He found Soren lying limp next to him, his teeth all pulled off, his limbs splayed like the flimsy, cheap Halloween animatronics, blood pooling on the sheets.

Darien didn’t bother telling anyone exactly what happened, because who would believe him? He only said that his husband was dead and thus, preparations for the funeral had been made.

It didn’t make any sense. How did Soren die in such a grisly manner? The windows and doors were all locked up, thehousewas completely secure. It didn’t feel like anything real, like anything that would actually happen.

Darien pinched his arm, but nothing changed. He was still at Soren’s funeral, the priest talking about how much of an impact he had in lives and how he would always fly high in Heaven.

No tears came out of his eyes, for they had all dried up. He gave a speech earlier, but his voice was all hoarse from his tears earlier that morning, his words had become jumbled and lost. He could not speak anymore. The pain was twisting and turning inside of him, contorting his heart into something that was breaking apart, that was falling in his stomach, creating a knot that grew and grew and grew until Darien felt like he was going to suffocate.

What did he do to deserve it? What did they both do to deserve it? Was it even about “deserving it”? The makeup that covered Soren didn’t help much to make him look alive, it only gave a hint of gloss to his bone-face. His bone-face that looked so wrong, so rotten. His lips that were so chapped, so rough…

The funeral seemed to stretch on and on, like the hallway at his elementary school when he couldn’t remember the way and then the thing would happen-

That was a long time ago. Soren’s funeral was no place to think about it. He just had to sit and wait for it to end, wait to come back…home.

“Home”.

…………………………………………………….

Darien turned on the light, closing the door softly behind him. Outside, there were children laughing as they were Trick-or-Treating, families enjoying the abundance and excitement of Hallows’ Eve. Though the arrangements for the funeral were messy, he still wished that it hadn’t happened on Halloween.

In the upstairs closet were the tattered suits hanging, covered by a plastic sheet. He and Soren were going to dress up as Victorian ghosts, a ghastly twist on the romantic and dreamy. The whole house was themed to that of a gothic graveyard, for inside were black curtains, plastic skeletons, and candles burning on red and black wax sticks, and outside was a fog machine and tombstones that Soren himself had made. It was Soren’s idea to theme the house with their costumes, Soren who was the creative one, Soren who wanted to bring his all for every season.

With legs that felt like they were being dragged, Darien made his way to the kitchen, where he took out the pen and notepad from the drawer. Trick-or-Treaters didn’t know any better, they would think that he was giving out candy with how their-his-house was decorated in a dreary, deathly manner. There was a bucket of candy in an orange plastic bowl sitting on the counter, but frankly, Darien was done trying to talk to people.

Everyone at the funeral said “sorry for your loss” “may he rest in peace” but what good did words do? He was dead. What was Darien supposed to say? Go into detail about how much he would miss his husband, about how nothing would feel right, about how he would grow older and older, the world would all “move on”, as everyone put it, and then be expected to cover the gaping hole inside of him with brief flowers of life? Didn’t they already know how he felt? Why did anybody want to talk to him?

Sloppily written on a piece of paper were the words: “SORRY. NO CANDY”. It wasn’t too sloppy, though. The Trick-or-Treaters would be able to understand it.

A knock came at the front door, followed by the sound of cheery young voices crying out in giggling tones: “Trick-or-Treat!”

Darien wiped away at the tears in his eyes, hoping that they would go away after a while. He knew that he should go outside and put the sign up, but he didn’t want them to see him in such a state. They’d ask questions, they’d get worried, they would be disturbed, and then their night would be ruined. Halloween used to be special for him, they didn’t deserve to have it ruined.

The kids left after a while, murmuring in disappointment, and Darien walked back to the door, taping the sign at the front. He closed the door fast, so that no one would see him.

And then it happened. The tears covering his eyes, wheezing, grating sobs coming out of his mouth, as though his limbs were crashing against each other, as though his world was nothing more than a half-awake phase, a surreal fantasy movie shot vertically, as though the director of life was trying to make things seem more “interesting” with “ground-breaking technology”.

How fascinating that a day with death used to make Darien smile so much. He never once thought about actual death, only about the costumes and the self-expression. How Halloween could mean many different things. There were many reasons that he loved Soren, but one reason they had begun talking in the first place was for their shared love in Halloween. Darien didn’t know how, but Soren made Halloween more vibrant. His ideas held a sense of vigor, he brought about a bigger and brighter charm to Halloween with how much time and dedication to the costumes and the house, with how he immersed himself in the holiday. Darien had stopped wearing costumes after twelve years old, after his family said no, but with Soren, he felt as though he could flourish, as though he would get to reallyshow off just how macabre he could be…

Yet Soren was gone, so what was the point of it anymore? It seemed cruel to have fun without him, to move on and find another man, as though Soren didn’t mean anything to him, as though he was forgotten. No, no. How could anyone move on? How could anyone marry someone else? Soren would always be the only one. Darien wouldn’t decorate with detail ever again, he wouldn’t give out candy ever again. Maybe he would put up a few plastic decorations, but going all out in a house that began to feel more and more empty with every passing second, like a cemetery dressed as a home for the living…it was laughable. His happiness would never be the same, he didn’t know if he would ever be happy again.

“It’s all doom and gloom, isn’t it? Death is the end for you humans, eh?” A woman’s rasping voice asked.

Darien looked up. In the living room, there was a woman with completely white skin, long black hair clinging close to her face and arms as though they were held together by some kind of sticky substance. Her dress was all tatters, and she reeked of spoiled meat.

Darien rubbed his eyes, but no, she was still there.

“You humans act like you can hide from death. With your birthdays, graduations, weddings, anniversaries, and get-togethers. You think to yourselves “If I don’t talk about death then nothing bad will happen!” But no, no. It does not care who you are, it will strangle you into suffocation. It happened to loved ones of mine a long time ago…”

The woman’s sunken-in eyes seemed to hold tears, but Darien only saw them for a brief second.

“It’s Soren’s own fault that he died, you know. He didn’t have to read my book, but he did. He read the spell that would make him die, all out of curiosity, and look where that got him. Don’t fear, Darien. Death is not the end. You’ll see that very soon, for I am Morgue. Some may call me a demon, but I am nothing more than a woman of magic.” Morgue said with a wide, lipless smile.

Her body twitched slightly, Darien felt his body go stiff. He couldn’t move his fingers, he couldn’t move his mouth. He could, however, feel his heart beating, louder and louder, thrumming in his brain, just like…

Just like what he heard in school years ago.

…………………………………………………….

“Darien? Darien? Oh god Darien, did she take you too?” A familiar voice asked.

A familiar voice, but it sounded all choked up, all hollow of life.

Darien opened his eyes. He found himself lying on a soft white bed, big enough to be found at ridiculously priced hotels. Only, the room he was in was filled with fake, toothpaste-white cobwebs and plastic spiders, screams and dramatic pipe organ music playing on loudspeakers.

Holding Darien’s hand was Soren, only his eyes were gone, his teeth were all mismatched and yellow, his skin was peeling and his once full head of black hair was twig wires that coiled and curved like thin snakes.

“No, no. I can’t possibly be-“

“You’re not in a dream. There are others who are trapped here. Others who want to get out. There’s a magic spell book, I’m sure there’s a way to free us all. Just stay with me, Darien. You’re not in a dream.” Soren said, squeezing Darien’s hand reassuringly.

Why did the bones in his hand pop? Why did his own voice sound so guttural, so twisted? There were others trapped in the house? Like what, a purgatory? What was going on?

No matter how many times Darien blinked, how many times he willed himself to wake up, nothing changed. He was still in a room of fake spiders with a saddened shell of Soren, his heart heavy with grief and fright.

But in the midst of his confusion, he felt a flicker of optimism in his body. Soren was with him, Soren was talking to him. No, he didn’t like seeing Soren in such a depleted state. Not one bit.

But it was better than the nothingness of an eternal void or eternal clouds, for Darien never agreed with most interpretations of death. How was one expected to find peace when there was just an eternity of the same thing, the dread and delight of life all gone? Such a place was not suitable for Soren.

Darien held onto Soren’s hand, not minding the smell of fresh blood mixed with corroded flesh. Yes, Soren looked different than before, but he was still himself. It wasn’t like he wanted such a thing to happen. Soren said that they would figure it out, that they would get out. Death was not the end, their story was not set in stone.

Darien hoped that his heart wasn’t clinging onto false hope.

Tale Fourteen-Gen Z

Eurania stared at her hands, hardly believing her own eyes. All she did was bite her fingernails, and her skin began to crack, yellow pus pouring out of the open wounds.

She looked up from her desk, all around the classroom. The scent of spoiled meat hung heavy in the air, she knew that scent from the back of her mother’s butcher shop.

The other kids had small wounds on their skin, yellow or white pus spilling out. Their eyes were bloodshot, their lips were cracked. None of them seemed to notice anything wrong.

Eurania turned her head towards the teacher, Ms. Elwood, who went on with the math lesson. There was a hint of fear in her eyes, but still, she taught on.

She felt something pour out of her ear and hastily gathered it all together, pushing the goopy pink matter back inside of her ear, a sense that it belonged there swimming in her mind.

That was your brain, Eurania. The government was keeping this secret from you and the others. This is who you are meant to be.

Eurania flinched. She knew not where the voice came from or why it sounded achingly familiar. She wanted to ask what it was, but her throat felt all scratchy, like she was coming down with a cold.

There are debates about the use of Social Media, but they are all a front. Nobody will get rid of Social Media. The apps help make the young ones look young. It’s from the lighting. Contrary to what people think, when you and the others were born with this virus, you did not lose your intelligence, but gained a high IQ and emotional intelligence. What you and the others need to do is rise up and take what is rightfully yours!

Who was the voice? No, Eurania didn’t know. She felt a sense of pride rise up within her, as though she were ready to tear down the perceptions of adults, of how she and the youth were “supposed to act”.

You are Gen Z. You are zombies! Eat their flesh and take what’s yours!

Along with the other students who had begun to realize, Eurania got up from her chair and pounced on Ms. Elwood, relishing in the sweetness of blood and the sour of shock.

She and the others were going to make the world a better place. If anyone opposed them, well then, they best be careful.

The Z in Gen Z stands for zombies. Zombies that will eat away at anything that stands in their way…

Tale Fifteen-Changing times

Risna looked at the mirror, raking through strands of her long brown hair. She didn’t forget about the Halloween where she met Eerie and begged to be turned into a monster by her. Eerie said to wait until she was older to become a monster.

Well, she was no longer seven years old in a pirate costume, but fifteen and ready to be a Halloween Queen. Risna considered that old enough to become a monster, but…

Did she really want to do it? It was all fun and games back when she was younger, but did she really want to change herself into a creature of the shadows? Would she ever see her parents again? Did she even remember how to summon Eerie?

It was the book with the azure eye on the cover. That was what would make Risna a monster, only, the book had disappeared right after Halloween ended all those years ago. She never saw it again.

Just like the years before, her parents were going to a Halloween party without wearing costumes. Just like the years before, Risna would have to find a way to spend Halloween all by herself.

On her bed lay her pumpkin Queen costume. The set was a black ballgown decorated with Jack-O-Lanterns, a black scepter with a Jack-o-Lantern ball at the top, orange and black striped socks, and black chunky boots with buckles and chains (the boots were on the floor).

Her costume wouldn’t require much. She just had to put it on and add makeup. Considering that Eerie wasn’t coming back, it was best for Risna to find another way to enjoy Halloween.

There were quite a few kids that were close to her age who dressed up, but most kids looked down upon those who dressed up. It was one of the many reasons that Risna didn’t have any friends, but frankly, she didn’t care anymore.

Just as long as she had a perfect Halloween.

……………………………………………………

Just like many years before, Risna walked the sidewalks of Dahlia, watching the Trick-or-Treaters carry their buckets of candy in their enthusiasm. She would have joined them if the houses wouldn’t turn her away and screech that she was “too old”.

Too old to be alone. Too old to dress up. Too old to Trick-or-Treat. Too old to complain. Too old, too old, TOO OLD. Just grow up already and shut up about your complaints, because life gets harder as you get older. You think you have it hard now? Imagine being an adult. That’s harder. You have no right to be whining now.

While Risna was well aware that being an adult was harder, she didn’t want to constantly be told that she was in the wrong for being upset about something. Everyone got upset about different things, it didn’t do to compare troubles with one another.

Yet why would the adults listen to her? The adults were right, she was wrong. The adults knew what to complain about, she was just a friendless teenager who still dressed up for Halloween like a loser would. Risna had to wait until she was older, because everything that she was feeling was all worthless and until she was older, her thoughts and opinions held no values.

“What are you so sad about, pirate girl? Do you still want me to turn you into a monster?” An achingly familiar child’s voice asked.

Yet when Risna turned around, she didn’t see a little orange-eyed girl in a witch’s hat, but a towering, hunched pale figure in a black and orange patchwork dress, stringy black hair showing only one orange eye peeking out of it.

“I know that I look different from before. I can change my form, you know. Now, what is it that you want? You want me to turn you into a monster, right? You didn’t think that I would forget, did you?” The figure asked still in the child voice that Risna heard a long time ago.

“Eerie? Is that you?” Risna asked, just to be absolutely certain that she was conversing with the being whom she believed she was conversing with.

The figure threw its claws up in what looked like exasperation and said:

“Yes, I’m Eerie. I thought that we established that. Now listen here, kiddo. You want me to turn you into a monster, correct? Well guess what, I’m not doing it. It’s not as fun as when a person wants it. I think you ought to know. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some important things to do.”

“Now just a minute! You are not going to leave unless you help me out! You are not going to disappear! Stop that, right now!” Risna cried out, trying to take hold of one of Eerie’s claws.

But Eerie brushed her off and said in a voice that vaguely sounded like taunting:

“Be glad that I clouded us both in a magical barrier or else people would think that you were, you know…”

Eerie made a circling motion around her head with one claw and cackled as the last of her faded away.

Once again, Risna was left all alone. Except she was not merely saddened, but filled with indignation.

How could a creature like Eerie deny turning her into a monster and then call her crazy? Wasn’t she supposed to endorse all of the Halloween shenanigans? Wasn’t she supposed to be Risna’s friend, since they were both misfits?

She stalked off, fuming with displeasure upon Eerie’s actions.

……………………………………………………

After a while of walking, Risna had made it to the Halloween festival. Anybody could go in, no tickets were needed. There were candy apple stands, a clown who gave out cookies, and a haunted house attraction shining with purple and blue lights.

A haunted house attraction? Risna had never been in one before. Why not give it a try?

She walked towards the haunted house, a smile sneaking upon her face. The childhood joy of Halloween seeping through her flesh.

Risna took a step forward.

……………………………………………………

There were clowns, vampires, and ghouls all lurking about the house. Risna had gotten quite the delight and the fright, but nothing quite disturbed her more than the woman with the mouth shaped like a circle, sharpened teeth spotted with blood, just like…

Just like the leech girl Risna saw many years ago, the one who used to be a little leech on a boy’s neck, the one who looked so disgusting, so horrifying…

Was the leech woman the leech girl all grown up? Was she coming towards Risna? No, no. It was all an act. It was all just an attraction.

But why was she so close? Why was she reaching towards Risna? Why…

Before the leech woman could grab her, something else did, placing a hand (claw?) over Risna’s mouth, dragging her far, far away…

Tale Sixteen-In the shadow of dismay

I don’t know how long it has been since the Halloween that changed us forever. I haven’t been counting the days too much, but I don’t think that many years has passed. Me and Brixley watch the humans from behind the shade of the tree branches when we’re eating by the side of the highway, shaded by the trees.

I still can’t recall what it was that made us bunny monsters. I mean, that’s what I think we are. We’re humanoid bunny creatures and we have a craving for flesh, because why wouldn’t we? I don’t know who or what cursed us, but whatever the being was, it was particularly malicious to make us flesh eaters.

Not that I mind, of course. Animals eat animals all the time to survive and humans eat meat to gain nutrients that plants don’t have, so I’m fine with eating animals and the occasional human. I mean, sometimes humans deserve it.

But not Brixley. The both of us are standing over the bodies of Darya and Fia, her former friends all mangled and bloody, and she’s crying. No, sobbing uncontrollably. I try to put my claw on her shoulder, but she brushes me away and says in a cracked, broken voice that breaks my heart:

“They were my friends, Fabian. We killed them. They didn’t deserve this, but we did it anyway. We’re monsters.”

“Not by choice. They were outside, we were hungry, we had to eat. Why do you still like them? They treated you like a child.” I say, trying to bring her into a hug.

Again, she brushes away from me. She slumps to the ground next to her friends and sobs louder, the kind of bawling I used to do back when I was in middle school, when I got home from school and wanted to pour all of my emotions out. None of my friends wanted to see me cry, they’d all snicker when I did or say that I had “weak skin”. Yeah, real happy memories!

I sit down next to her, awkwardly fidgeting with the buckles of my plague costume. I want to comfort her, I want to stop her from crying, but words have never been my strong suit.

I’ll try my best though.

“You were friends with them for a long time, yes?” I ask.

Brixley nods timidly, her bunny ears drooping over her head. It almost covers her round face, but I can see one of her green eyes peeking out of her white ears.

“I used to have these friends back in middle school. I wasn’t really myself with them, though. I acted in a way I thought that I was supposed to act in order to keep them from leaving me, but all it did was break me down. If I wasn’t happy, then I wasn’t living my life to the fullest. I had to cut them off from my life, which I did…but it took me a long time to do it. I felt like I had to stay friends with them, since I knew them all for a long time. I thought that I was missing out on something, that I was missing out on what life was supposed to be. Even after I stopped being friends with them, I still missed them sometimes. I mourned the loss of the friends I used to have.” I say.

Even though I’ve cut them off, I still feel a twinge of pain twist in my heart. It’s numbed down since then, but it still hurts. I still feel bad about it and nothing is going to change that.

Getting rid of my friends didn’t help with my parents, either. Upon doing so, they seemed to hate me even more. They liked my friends and it was a “crying shame” that I let such good boys go.

They’re all out of my life now. I don’t have to worry about them anymore. I normally don’t talk about this stuff with Brixley because I don’t want her to fret over me, but I think she needs me to talk about friendship, so I’ll tell her as much as I can about me and my friends.

“You aren’t a monster. You had to eat. We didn’t ask to be this way, it just happened. Your friends all treated you like you were a child just because you cry, just because you’re emotional. My friends were like that too. People who act that way aren’t your friends. Don’t hate yourself for surviving, sometimes you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.” I say.

Brixley wipes away her tears and smiles softly at me. Her ears are raising up a little bit, but still slightly drooping.

She flings herself onto me and gives me a tight, loving hug. I embrace her close, my heart relaxes a little.

“I wish we were human.” Brixley whispers against my chest.

I don’t want to be human for myself. Being human didn’t solve anything because I was still excluded, I was still looked down upon.

But I know she misses her human life. I know she wants to get back to a time where she felt like she had some control, where she felt safe. If I’m being honest here, I would only be human for her, so that she wouldn’t be alone. She’s the only person worth being human for.

“I do too.” I say, giving her a kiss on the head.

If it were just me who became this monster, I would have never wanted anything to change. But no, it’s me and her, so I’ve got to make her feel better.

She relaxes just a little bit in my arms, but that’s all that matters. For the time being, she’s not in the shadow of dismay.

I’ll try my best to keep it that way.

Tale Seventeen-Magic of murder

Mallow watched as the human man walked closer to her closed-off house, the house covered in cobwebs and the overpowering mildew scent.

Her children, Scary and Pierce, stood behind her, waiting for the kill. After Mallow had ended the life of their “ever so reliable” father, they knew that murder was the only way to get stuff done.

The human man opened the door, intruding in their family lives, not welcome in their house in the slightest…

And Mallow broke apart his skin, cackling at his screams, inviting the children to join her, for life wasn’t fun if the children didn’t partake in violence.

………………………………………………………

The hour had passed since Mallow killed the curious trespasser. She dragged him downstairs to the basement, where she would make him look like a Halloween decoration.

Somewhere in the basement was the body of her former husband, the man who almost got her exposed. He promised to love her, protect her and yet he went around and broke that trust.

Though things were better, she still felt a twinge of sorrow inside of her, a hint of humanity still flickering inside.

No, no. Humanity was a lie. On the table, she drilled a hole straight through the man’s forehead and looped a string inside, the perfect hanging decoration.

So much death and gore. Was that all her life had in store? The magic of murder fixed things quick, but did her love go out like a switch?