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2020.11.25 15:19 therealdocturner Sugar daddy cam

Mom and Dad left us alone. I can’t believe they did this to me on Halloween. It’s not like it’s hard to watch Tommy; as far as little brothers go, he’s not bad. Doesn’t cry a whole lot and for the most part I can do whatever I want while I watch him because he’s pretty good at entertaining himself, but it’s not like I could have taken him to Laura’s party.
I just failed my driver’s test five days ago, and at the very least, I had the party to look forward to, but someone that my mom works with insisted that she and my dad come to her party, and my mom has been working really hard to get a promotion before Christmas, so she felt like they had to go. So now here I am with Tommy, walking through the neighborhood, pretending like I’m impressed with all the candy he has in his bag. I may be pissed, but I’m not heartless.
Our neighborhood has always been pretty festive; almost every house is decked out with pumpkins at the very least. Some more than others obviously, and the only house that isn’t, belongs to the Simons. Mr. Simon always has his lights off every year, and the last three years he spends the entire evening sitting on his porch in the dark with his hose in one hand and smoking a Pall Mall in the other. 364 days out of the year, Mr. Simon is only mildly rude, but he’s been a true tyrant on Halloween ever since a few kids egged his house four years ago.
Now, if a child ventures too far up onto his walk or his lawn, they are greeted with a solid stream of freezing water. Mr. Simon has gone the extra step of converting one of those Miracle Gro things that fits on the end of a hose so that it streams through a small block of ice, making the water that much colder. A parent of a child last year attempted to talk some sense into Mr. Simon, but ended up walking away a soggy, slushy mess.
As Tommy and I walk past his lawn, I can see that glowing end of his cigarette in the dark, and I’ve got to say, he’s really embracing the spirit this year. There’s a slow creeping fog undulating along his grass, and in the middle of the lawn is one of those tacky white plastic tables with a huge bowl of candy on it. Judging by the water that is beginning to freeze on the sidewalk, I’d have to say that at least two kids have already attempted to pluck something out of the forbidden candy bowl.
We’re pretty much finished, and after all the houses and all the texts from friends about how much I’m missing out, it’s about time to go home, but there’s one tradition I’m not missing out on this year; Homer and Wyoma’s house.
They’re the sweetest people in the neighborhood, and they always do more than just decorate every single holiday. On Halloween, they put on a haunted house that’s amazing. Wyoma used to work in Hollywood a long time ago as a makeup artist and Homer used to build sets for a bunch of old tv shows. You would never believe that they would have ever worked in jobs like that. They both seemed more like the kind of people that had worked at the North Pole for hundreds of years making toys for kids. They’re probably the nicest people I’ll ever meet in my life, which is why their haunted houses are always such a shock. Blood and guts and screams and nightmares.
My parents made me promise that I wouldn’t take Tommy through the house. He’s only four, and it would be too much for him. I agree with my parents, the house is probably way too much for him to see, but my mother also promised me two weeks ago that I’d be able to go to Laura’s party. I’m looking at it as a compromise that I’m entirely entitled to take advantage of. I’m just going to have Tommy bury his face into my neck while I walk through. I go through this thing every year, and I’m not missing out.
They’ve got the front of their house made up like a castle and a large wooden hand painted sign above the entrance says, Hangman’s Horror. As we get closer to the front of the line, I can even smell unpleasant things burning inside; Wyoma has told me that they pay attention to everything, even the smells, in order to scare you as much as they can. Tommy is already getting scared and after I pick him up, I can feel his wet little nose pressed against my neck. I tell him it’s ok and that it’s all make believe, but all the screaming coming from inside isn’t helping my case.
As I get to the front of the line, Wyoma is wearing a medieval dress. The front of it is covered in blood from a gaping wound across her throat and her eyes are sunken into a face of a most ghastly pallor; this is what Mrs. Claus looks like on Halloween.
“Jennifer! Welcome to the Hangman’s Horror! Oh my goodness!” She notices Tommy right away and her demeanor changes instantly and she whips a ghost shaped sugar cookie out of thin air to give to my little brother. “Tommy, it’s ok sweetie. It’s Wyoma.”
Her voice hits a button in his brain; the same button that her voice hits every time she speaks to anyone. The button that makes you drop down any guard you may have.
“Look what I made just for you!” Tommy takes the cookie.
“Thank you.”
“Oh honey, it’s ok. Homer and I are just playing make believe.” Tommy looks at the gnarly gash along her neck, and Wyoma gets close and takes one of his hands and presses it up against the makeup. “It’s not a real owie Tommy. It’s all pretend.” She then looks back to me.
“I’ll cover his eyes the whole way through, I promise.”
“Do your parents know you’re taking him through this?”
“Yeah. I was five the first time. He’ll be fine.” Damn. She knows I’m lying, but she’s too nice to call me on it. She exhales hard through her nose and then looks back to Tommy.
“Tommy, there’s nothing in there that’s going to hurt you, I promise. Do you believe me?”
“Yes mamm.”
“You know I would never lie to you right?”
“Yes Mamm.”
Wyoma twinks his nose and looks back up at me.
“Ok kiddo. If I get a call from your parents, you know I’m not going to lie to them.”
“I know. He’ll be fine.” She lets us into the house and as we walk through a dark stone tunnel, I hear Wyoma jump right back into character before the wooden door creaks closed behind us.
The tunnel is narrow and I reach out with my left hand to feel the damp bricks and I’m already impressed; there’s a nasty wet moss along the walls that feels like it’s been growing there for years, and although I can’t see the ground through the fog around my ankles, I can feel a bunch of crushing and popping underneath my shoes. Whether it’s gravel or ground up bones, it immediately puts me on edge, and I love it. The feeling of fear is amazing and it’s helped along by what I see sitting on the ground just up ahead.
The tunnel takes a sharp right and sitting on the ground, shrouded in fog is a man dressed up like a medieval jester. He’s holding up something that looks like a cross, and as I get right next to him, I realize that it’s one of those things that puppeteers use to control the puppet. There are several lines of string dangling from it that hang limp in the air. He’s moving the handle, controlling the little wooden boy that isn’t there. He turns his face to me right when I walk past him, and I press Tommy’s face into my shoulder.
The jester’s clothing is a patchwork of different material stitched together in a very sloppy way. There’s dried mud all over the costume, and through the fog, I can see that his pointed boots are also caked in a dried red mud. The skin of his face is hanging from the bones and there are nasty looking pustules dotted all along it; some of them have popped, leaving the goodies that were inside trailing downward toward his pointed chin. He’s smiling at me with a set of perfect teeth, without making a single noise.
It’s the single most impressive ghoul they’ve ever had in one of their haunted houses. He even smells like the grave. His fingers are about twice the length of any normal person and almost twice as skinny. Wyoma...you sick and twisted woman. The hand holding the control to the absent marionette is twitching and that’s making something at the ends of the strings jingle; rusty large fish hooks.
I’m done.
I turn right and press Toomy’s face into my shoulder to make sure that he doesn’t look behind us and see the nasty man sitting in the corner.
“Don’t look.” I whisper it to Tommy, but I’m not sure he can hear me above all of the yelling coming from an open doorway in front of us. It makes me feel better to say it, even if he can’t hear me.
A large room that is normally a living room is now a series of tiny barred cells that crowd in on a narrow corridor. Men suffering from all kinds of medieval maladies reach through the bars, begging for a skinny sixteen year old girl and her quivering four year old brother to free them from whatever punishment they’re about to endure. I’m not exactly sure what that punishment is, but I think it might have to do with a couple of wicker baskets full of severed heads in the far corners of the room next to the way out.
The men behind the bars are really pulling me back and forth. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a little more forceful than I would have expected. I have to hold onto Tommy with both hands, so of course he looks up and starts screaming in my ear. This was a mistake. A really fun and creepily awesome looking mistake. I’m sure we’ll both laugh about it someday after he’s had years of expensive therapy.
I run through the open door and into a kitchen that now looks like Hell’s Diner. There are raging fires in pits underneath cauldrons full of assorted parts of people. Tommy won’t stop screaming and my head is pounding. I should probably be forcing his head back into my shoulder, but all I’m focusing on is getting out past the hooded chefs preparing their bloody banquet. Of course the only way out is through a small tunnel that looks like a burnt out fireplace. I run over to it and put Tommy down and make him look at me. He won’t stop screaming.
“Hey! Hey! We’ve got to crawl through here to get out.” Tommy stops screaming for only a few seconds as he looks down into the darkness of the little tunnel and then he looks at me like I’m crazy. “It’s all make believe dork.”
I smile at him, but he sees something over my shoulder and begins to scream again. I follow his gaze and in the doorway of the kitchen is that damn jester crouched down staring at us. Yeah...it’s...damn he’s creepy. This is the scariest one they’ve ever done.
I push Tommy down into the tunnel and we both begin to crawl over something wet and slimy. There’s light coming from a bend in the tunnel up ahead, and I’m thankful knowing that it’s leading us into their backyard. The backyard is usually the grand finale which means we’re almost home free. Just before the bend in the tunnel, I hear something behind me and risk a glance back. The jester is hunched down staring in after us. He’s still smiling and those rusty hooks on the strings are still jingling.
I push Tommy a little harder and we make it out of the tunnel and into the backyard.
The giant oak tree in the back has a dozen broken bodies dangling from its branches, and two black hooded men draped in old chains and locks are making noises that sound like a couple of pigs while they usher a screaming woman onto a hastily built set of stairs that lead up to an empty noose. I scoop Tommy back up. The lawn is gone. It’s been replaced with a courtyard of cobblestones that are smattered with blood and littered with assorted innards. I can see the way out. It’s a giant wooden door on the other side of the yard, and it’s closed.
Tommy is almost hysterical and then I hear him saying, “the man! The man, Sissy!”
As I turn, I see the jester climbing out of the tunnel and he stands to his full height. He must be wearing some kind of stilts underneath those frilly muddy pants because he looks about seven feet tall. I’m not unsettled anymore; now I’m just pissed. I have half a mind to run over and kick the stilts out from under him for not letting up on my brother. I don’t even watch them hang the screaming woman as I run through the yard, but I hear a loud crack and now there’s only pig noises.
I try to open the door, but it’s closed, so I kick on it as hard as I can a few times before a small rectangle opens in the middle of the door. A wrinkled old man eyes me through the hole.
“Password?”
“How about, Asshole! My little brother is screaming and I’d like to get him out of here!”
“Jennifer?!”
Crap! The door opens and I realize that the wrinkled gnarly man on the other side of it is Homer holding a handful of candy. I just cussed at Homer.
“Did Wyoma let you through with Tommy?! I can’t believe she did that.” I walk through the open door, but I look back inside while Homer closes it. The jester is moving through the courtyard toward us, and I’m happy when the door is completely shut. Homer tugs at Tommy’s sleeve.
“Hey Buddy, it’s ok. It’s me, Homer.” Tommy starts to whimper and he points at me as if he’s blaming me to a grown up for taking him through the worst night of his life so far.
“Homer, I’m so sorry I cussed at you.”
“Sweetie, it’s fine. Don’t even think twice about it. Here Tommy. Here.” He shoves two heaping handfuls of candy into Tommy’s bag, which of course gives something for Tommy to think about. He stops crying finally and just keeps whimpering softly. “We really went all out this year. I can’t believe she let you guys through.”
“It’s fine. I practically begged her. He’ll be ok.” I can hear the pig noises again and the woman begging not to be hanged from the branch where she had already been hanged just a few moments before. “It was just that jester. I don’t remember you guys ever having someone follow people through before.” Homer looks at me and crinkles his nose, but before he can say anything, a loud banging comes from the other side of the door from the backyard.
“Sweetie, we’ll talk about it tomorrow. Duty calls!” I step out of the way as Homer gets back into character. I pick Tommy back up and walk back to the front of the house. There’s quite a line now, and I can hear Wyoma laughing even over all the screams coming from inside the house. I give Tommy a light squeeze and pull him into my body.
“Hey! Hey! Look. See? It’s just Homer and Wyoma’s house. Nothing to be scared of; just make believe.” Tommy looks past the false front on the house and up to the second story where the house is still visible.
“I know that house.”
“I know you do.”
“I want to go home.”
“We’re going to go home.” I give him another squeeze as I bury my face under his chin. I must have squeezed him a little too hard, because the little jerk pees on me. “What are you doing, you turd?!”
He’s still looking at the house and when I look up I know that I didn’t squeeze too hard at all. The jester is standing in one of the second floor windows and he’s staring at us. I swallow way too hard, and it’s loud in my own head. That guy’s an ass. A creepy, unsettling ass who’s having way too much fun scaring us.
“Come on. We’re going home.” I keep my eyes on that window the rest of the way down the street and the jester keeps his eyes on me, until I finally turn down Brook. We’re only a couple of blocks from home, but I’m beginning to feel a little anxious. My phone is in my back pocket, and I almost put Tommy down in order to make a call, but I don’t because I’m sure he’ll lose his shit. There are still a few tricks or treaters out, but the numbers are dwindling. It’s mostly older kids now, but all of the houses still have their lights on.
I keep looking behind me, but there’s nothing there. I can’t get rid of the feeling that the jester is following us home, which of course is a stupid thought. Which of course is what every character in a scary movie thinks right before they die. I fish the phone out of my pocket and I call my dad.
“Daddy?” I used the word that automatically gets his attention. As I talk, I begin to shake. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m sixteen.
“Hey Baby, are you ok?”
“Yeah, I think so. Can you guys please come home?”
“What’s wrong?” If I just say it, I know how it’s going to sound, but I also know it’s going to make him come home faster. “I think there’s some weird guy in a costume following us.”
“Ok. Where are you?!”
“We’re almost home.”
“Ok. Go home and lock the door. We’ll get ready to leave here. Call me as soon as you get in the house.”
“Ok.” I shove the phone back in my pocket and I pick up the pace. This is ridiculous, but I’ve got goosebumps. Tomorrow, they’ll both give me crap about being scared and everything will be fine. I’m practically running now, and I finally make it to our house. There’s still a few kids running around, and Tommy watches them while I unlock the door. As soon as it’s open, he runs inside with his candy, but I look back down the street one more time.
There, rounding the corner of Sycamore, is the jester. He’s walking down the street towards our house. I run inside and lock the door. I dial my dad while Tommy spills out his candy all over the couch in the living room.
“Honey? Are you at the house?”
“Yeah. Daddy? He’s following us.”
“Ok. We’re going to get there as fast as we can. Mom’s calling the police right now. Just take your brother upstairs into our room, ok? I’m sure it’s going to be fine. The doors are locked right?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok good. Go upstairs and you wait for us and the cops, ok?”
I hang up my phone and grab my brother and he screams bloody murder as I rip him away from his candy. I start climbing the stairs and he decides that now is the best time to turn into a flopping mess of dead weight in my arms. I barely make it upstairs and I run into my parents room to the picture of my Dad and my crazy uncle Milford hanging on the wall. I put Tommy down and he watches me take the picture off of the wall. There’s a key taped to the back of it that I’m not supposed to know about, and now that Tommy has seen it, I guess Dad’s going to have to find a new hiding spot. I fling open the door to my parents closet and I snatch the small safe from its hiding place under a quilt that my grandmother made a century ago.
Tommy’s eyes go wide as he sees me pull a pistol out of the safe. I make sure it’s loaded. I may be overreacting, but I can’t help but feel that that man is coming straight for our house.
“Tommy?” I put my finger against my lips and I speak softly. “I want you to get underneath the bed and stay there. Now.” I’m shocked that he does exactly what I told him to do. I begin to think about what I’m going to do next, and that’s when I hear the constant tapping on the front door downstairs. If I go over to the window, I can look directly down to the front door, but I don’t want to move.
TAP TAP TAP TAP
It’s not stopping. This is ridiculous. It’s probably some fifteen year old guy who decided to mess with me on Halloween. But what if it’s not? If I go to the window, he’s going to see me; I turned the light on when I came into the room and the blinds are up. So what?! I’ve got a damn gun and the cops are on the way.
Checkmate asshole. I breathe deep and I walk over to the window and I look down.
He’s climbing up the front of our house and he’s smiling at me.
How is he climbing up?! He’s not. His body is stretching. His head is a good six feet below the window, but his arms are reaching upward, and they’re not stopping. His fingers stretch out even further and they wrap themselves around the ledge. The fingers are at least a foot long and they’ve got four knuckles. This isn’t some fifteen year old. Oh my God! I almost open the window and shoot him, but the sight of him gliding up the front of the house as his fingers and arms begin to shorten back to their normal size makes me freeze in place. What the hell is this?!
He’s pulled himself up onto the tiny ledge on the outside of the window, and now he’s crouching on it. He begins to tap the glass, wanting me to open the window. I’m still frozen, but then the sound of a police siren breaks the shocked spell that was holding me captive. My eyes dart to the left, toward the sound. The jester follows my eyes and turns his head toward the sound.
Good.
By the time he turns back to face me, I have the gun pointed towards him.
“Go away.” He smiles, but he doesn’t move. “I said go away.”
“Give me the boy and I’ll leave you alone.” His breath fogs up the window. The sound of his voice isn’t human. I’ve seen enough movies to know where this goes if I do nothing. I pull the trigger three times, and the window erupts in front of me while the bullets slam into his face. He lets out a noise so horrible, I can’t even describe it. His arms stretch upwards, and while I’m still pointing the gun at him, he pulls himself up off of the ledge and onto the roof.
I back away from the window and I reach for my phone to call my dad. The phone begins to ring when I see several strings with rusty hooks lower down into view from the roof. I drop the phone even though I can hear my dad on the other end. I back towards the bed and I watch as the hooks jingle right outside of the window. One of them begins to slither it’s way farther down than the others, and I suddenly know that my brother and I have to get out of the room.
“Tommy!” As I turn towards the bed, I feel a sharp pain stabbing into my left ankle. I’m being dragged across my parent’s floor towards the window; I hold onto the gun with one hand while I claw at the carpet with the other. Tommy can see me now and he’s screaming. I turn my head. One of those hooks is buried into my ankle while the rest are lying in wait just outside of the window. In an instant, I feel pain everywhere as I’m jerked outside of the window.
I’m hanging upside down. I can see the jester on the roof above me, and I aim and fire every last shot from my father’s gun at him, but it doesn’t stop him. He has that wooden cross in his hand and he begins to move it in a series of motions. The other hooks dangling just outside of the window begin to get longer and I watch them slither their way along the floor in my parents bedroom until they eventually shoot underneath the bed. Tommy begins screaming.
My brother is being dragged along the floor now by the strings. Those rusty hooks have buried themselves into his arms and legs. I’m yelling for help. The sirens are almost here and some of our neighbors walk out of their doors and start pointing at the tall man standing on our roof. Tommy is looking straight at me pleading with his eyes.
“TOMMY!!!”
The hook in my leg releases me and I fall into my mothers rose bushes. Oh my God! My eyes are starting to go dark, but I can’t let them. I try to stand, but something crunches and burbles on my left and my knee isn’t working. Tommy is suspended outside of the window now and the hook that was holding me, finds its way into the back of my brother's neck. The jester on the roof begins to laugh as he moves that cross and Tommy starts to dance from the end of the strings, all the while he’s begging for me to help him.
“SISSY!”
Mr. Talley, the neighbor from across the street runs over to me. He’s yelling at someone on his phone, trying to describe the bizarre scene that’s playing out in front of him. The strings shorten and Tommy is raised up to the roof. The jester holds the wooden cross over Tommy, and then he runs across our roof making Tommy perform a cartoonish gallop in the lead. They disappear from view, and the laughter of the jester fades away just as the police cars come to a rest in front of our house. My eyes aren’t working. Everything’s going black now. Tommy?!
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2020.11.25 14:53 omenpussydestroyer9 Sugar daddy cam

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2020.11.25 14:49 therealdocturner The Puppeteer

Mom and Dad left us alone. I can’t believe they did this to me on Halloween. It’s not like it’s hard to watch Tommy; as far as little brothers go, he’s not bad. Doesn’t cry a whole lot and for the most part I can do whatever I want while I watch him because he’s pretty good at entertaining himself, but it’s not like I could have taken him to Laura’s party.
I just failed my driver’s test five days ago, and at the very least, I had the party to look forward to, but someone that my mom works with insisted that she and my dad come to her party, and my mom has been working really hard to get a promotion before Christmas, so she felt like they had to go. So now here I am with Tommy, walking through the neighborhood, pretending like I’m impressed with all the candy he has in his bag. I may be pissed, but I’m not heartless.
Our neighborhood has always been pretty festive; almost every house is decked out with pumpkins at the very least. Some more than others obviously, and the only house that isn’t, belongs to the Simons. Mr. Simon always has his lights off every year, and the last three years he spends the entire evening sitting on his porch in the dark with his hose in one hand and smoking a Pall Mall in the other. 364 days out of the year, Mr. Simon is only mildly rude, but he’s been a true tyrant on Halloween ever since a few kids egged his house four years ago.
Now, if a child ventures too far up onto his walk or his lawn, they are greeted with a solid stream of freezing water. Mr. Simon has gone the extra step of converting one of those Miracle Gro things that fits on the end of a hose so that it streams through a small block of ice, making the water that much colder. A parent of a child last year attempted to talk some sense into Mr. Simon, but ended up walking away a soggy, slushy mess.
As Tommy and I walk past his lawn, I can see that glowing end of his cigarette in the dark, and I’ve got to say, he’s really embracing the spirit this year. There’s a slow creeping fog undulating along his grass, and in the middle of the lawn is one of those tacky white plastic tables with a huge bowl of candy on it. Judging by the water that is beginning to freeze on the sidewalk, I’d have to say that at least two kids have already attempted to pluck something out of the forbidden candy bowl.
We’re pretty much finished, and after all the houses and all the texts from friends about how much I’m missing out, it’s about time to go home, but there’s one tradition I’m not missing out on this year; Homer and Wyoma’s house.
They’re the sweetest people in the neighborhood, and they always do more than just decorate every single holiday. On Halloween, they put on a haunted house that’s amazing. Wyoma used to work in Hollywood a long time ago as a makeup artist and Homer used to build sets for a bunch of old tv shows. You would never believe that they would have ever worked in jobs like that. They both seemed more like the kind of people that had worked at the North Pole for hundreds of years making toys for kids. They’re probably the nicest people I’ll ever meet in my life, which is why their haunted houses are always such a shock. Blood and guts and screams and nightmares.
My parents made me promise that I wouldn’t take Tommy through the house. He’s only four, and it would be too much for him. I agree with my parents, the house is probably way too much for him to see, but my mother also promised me two weeks ago that I’d be able to go to Laura’s party. I’m looking at it as a compromise that I’m entirely entitled to take advantage of. I’m just going to have Tommy bury his face into my neck while I walk through. I go through this thing every year, and I’m not missing out.
They’ve got the front of their house made up like a castle and a large wooden hand painted sign above the entrance says, Hangman’s Horror. As we get closer to the front of the line, I can even smell unpleasant things burning inside; Wyoma has told me that they pay attention to everything, even the smells, in order to scare you as much as they can. Tommy is already getting scared and after I pick him up, I can feel his wet little nose pressed against my neck. I tell him it’s ok and that it’s all make believe, but all the screaming coming from inside isn’t helping my case.
As I get to the front of the line, Wyoma is wearing a medieval dress. The front of it is covered in blood from a gaping wound across her throat and her eyes are sunken into a face of a most ghastly pallor; this is what Mrs. Claus looks like on Halloween.
“Jennifer! Welcome to the Hangman’s Horror! Oh my goodness!” She notices Tommy right away and her demeanor changes instantly and she whips a ghost shaped sugar cookie out of thin air to give to my little brother. “Tommy, it’s ok sweetie. It’s Wyoma.”
Her voice hits a button in his brain; the same button that her voice hits every time she speaks to anyone. The button that makes you drop down any guard you may have.
“Look what I made just for you!” Tommy takes the cookie.
“Thank you.”
“Oh honey, it’s ok. Homer and I are just playing make believe.” Tommy looks at the gnarly gash along her neck, and Wyoma gets close and takes one of his hands and presses it up against the makeup. “It’s not a real owie Tommy. It’s all pretend.” She then looks back to me.
“I’ll cover his eyes the whole way through, I promise.”
“Do your parents know you’re taking him through this?”
“Yeah. I was five the first time. He’ll be fine.” Damn. She knows I’m lying, but she’s too nice to call me on it. She exhales hard through her nose and then looks back to Tommy.
“Tommy, there’s nothing in there that’s going to hurt you, I promise. Do you believe me?”
“Yes mamm.”
“You know I would never lie to you right?”
“Yes Mamm.”
Wyoma twinks his nose and looks back up at me.
“Ok kiddo. If I get a call from your parents, you know I’m not going to lie to them.”
“I know. He’ll be fine.” She lets us into the house and as we walk through a dark stone tunnel, I hear Wyoma jump right back into character before the wooden door creaks closed behind us.
The tunnel is narrow and I reach out with my left hand to feel the damp bricks and I’m already impressed; there’s a nasty wet moss along the walls that feels like it’s been growing there for years, and although I can’t see the ground through the fog around my ankles, I can feel a bunch of crushing and popping underneath my shoes. Whether it’s gravel or ground up bones, it immediately puts me on edge, and I love it. The feeling of fear is amazing and it’s helped along by what I see sitting on the ground just up ahead.
The tunnel takes a sharp right and sitting on the ground, shrouded in fog is a man dressed up like a medieval jester. He’s holding up something that looks like a cross, and as I get right next to him, I realize that it’s one of those things that puppeteers use to control the puppet. There are several lines of string dangling from it that hang limp in the air. He’s moving the handle, controlling the little wooden boy that isn’t there. He turns his face to me right when I walk past him, and I press Tommy’s face into my shoulder.
The jester’s clothing is a patchwork of different material stitched together in a very sloppy way. There’s dried mud all over the costume, and through the fog, I can see that his pointed boots are also caked in a dried red mud. The skin of his face is hanging from the bones and there are nasty looking pustules dotted all along it; some of them have popped, leaving the goodies that were inside trailing downward toward his pointed chin. He’s smiling at me with a set of perfect teeth, without making a single noise.
It’s the single most impressive ghoul they’ve ever had in one of their haunted houses. He even smells like the grave. His fingers are about twice the length of any normal person and almost twice as skinny. Wyoma...you sick and twisted woman. The hand holding the control to the absent marionette is twitching and that’s making something at the ends of the strings jingle; rusty large fish hooks.
I’m done.
I turn right and press Toomy’s face into my shoulder to make sure that he doesn’t look behind us and see the nasty man sitting in the corner.
“Don’t look.” I whisper it to Tommy, but I’m not sure he can hear me above all of the yelling coming from an open doorway in front of us. It makes me feel better to say it, even if he can’t hear me.
A large room that is normally a living room is now a series of tiny barred cells that crowd in on a narrow corridor. Men suffering from all kinds of medieval maladies reach through the bars, begging for a skinny sixteen year old girl and her quivering four year old brother to free them from whatever punishment they’re about to endure. I’m not exactly sure what that punishment is, but I think it might have to do with a couple of wicker baskets full of severed heads in the far corners of the room next to the way out.
The men behind the bars are really pulling me back and forth. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a little more forceful than I would have expected. I have to hold onto Tommy with both hands, so of course he looks up and starts screaming in my ear. This was a mistake. A really fun and creepily awesome looking mistake. I’m sure we’ll both laugh about it someday after he’s had years of expensive therapy.
I run through the open door and into a kitchen that now looks like Hell’s Diner. There are raging fires in pits underneath cauldrons full of assorted parts of people. Tommy won’t stop screaming and my head is pounding. I should probably be forcing his head back into my shoulder, but all I’m focusing on is getting out past the hooded chefs preparing their bloody banquet. Of course the only way out is through a small tunnel that looks like a burnt out fireplace. I run over to it and put Tommy down and make him look at me. He won’t stop screaming.
“Hey! Hey! We’ve got to crawl through here to get out.” Tommy stops screaming for only a few seconds as he looks down into the darkness of the little tunnel and then he looks at me like I’m crazy. “It’s all make believe dork.”
I smile at him, but he sees something over my shoulder and begins to scream again. I follow his gaze and in the doorway of the kitchen is that damn jester crouched down staring at us. Yeah...it’s...damn he’s creepy. This is the scariest one they’ve ever done.
I push Tommy down into the tunnel and we both begin to crawl over something wet and slimy. There’s light coming from a bend in the tunnel up ahead, and I’m thankful knowing that it’s leading us into their backyard. The backyard is usually the grand finale which means we’re almost home free. Just before the bend in the tunnel, I hear something behind me and risk a glance back. The jester is hunched down staring in after us. He’s still smiling and those rusty hooks on the strings are still jingling.
I push Tommy a little harder and we make it out of the tunnel and into the backyard.
The giant oak tree in the back has a dozen broken bodies dangling from its branches, and two black hooded men draped in old chains and locks are making noises that sound like a couple of pigs while they usher a screaming woman onto a hastily built set of stairs that lead up to an empty noose. I scoop Tommy back up. The lawn is gone. It’s been replaced with a courtyard of cobblestones that are smattered with blood and littered with assorted innards. I can see the way out. It’s a giant wooden door on the other side of the yard, and it’s closed.
Tommy is almost hysterical and then I hear him saying, “the man! The man, Sissy!”
As I turn, I see the jester climbing out of the tunnel and he stands to his full height. He must be wearing some kind of stilts underneath those frilly muddy pants because he looks about seven feet tall. I’m not unsettled anymore; now I’m just pissed. I have half a mind to run over and kick the stilts out from under him for not letting up on my brother. I don’t even watch them hang the screaming woman as I run through the yard, but I hear a loud crack and now there’s only pig noises.
I try to open the door, but it’s closed, so I kick on it as hard as I can a few times before a small rectangle opens in the middle of the door. A wrinkled old man eyes me through the hole.
“Password?”
“How about, Asshole! My little brother is screaming and I’d like to get him out of here!”
“Jennifer?!”
Crap! The door opens and I realize that the wrinkled gnarly man on the other side of it is Homer holding a handful of candy. I just cussed at Homer.
“Did Wyoma let you through with Tommy?! I can’t believe she did that.” I walk through the open door, but I look back inside while Homer closes it. The jester is moving through the courtyard toward us, and I’m happy when the door is completely shut. Homer tugs at Tommy’s sleeve.
“Hey Buddy, it’s ok. It’s me, Homer.” Tommy starts to whimper and he points at me as if he’s blaming me to a grown up for taking him through the worst night of his life so far.
“Homer, I’m so sorry I cussed at you.”
“Sweetie, it’s fine. Don’t even think twice about it. Here Tommy. Here.” He shoves two heaping handfuls of candy into Tommy’s bag, which of course gives something for Tommy to think about. He stops crying finally and just keeps whimpering softly. “We really went all out this year. I can’t believe she let you guys through.”
“It’s fine. I practically begged her. He’ll be ok.” I can hear the pig noises again and the woman begging not to be hanged from the branch where she had already been hanged just a few moments before. “It was just that jester. I don’t remember you guys ever having someone follow people through before.” Homer looks at me and crinkles his nose, but before he can say anything, a loud banging comes from the other side of the door from the backyard.
“Sweetie, we’ll talk about it tomorrow. Duty calls!” I step out of the way as Homer gets back into character. I pick Tommy back up and walk back to the front of the house. There’s quite a line now, and I can hear Wyoma laughing even over all the screams coming from inside the house. I give Tommy a light squeeze and pull him into my body.
“Hey! Hey! Look. See? It’s just Homer and Wyoma’s house. Nothing to be scared of; just make believe.” Tommy looks past the false front on the house and up to the second story where the house is still visible.
“I know that house.”
“I know you do.”
“I want to go home.”
“We’re going to go home.” I give him another squeeze as I bury my face under his chin. I must have squeezed him a little too hard, because the little jerk pees on me. “What are you doing, you turd?!”
He’s still looking at the house and when I look up I know that I didn’t squeeze too hard at all. The jester is standing in one of the second floor windows and he’s staring at us. I swallow way too hard, and it’s loud in my own head. That guy’s an ass. A creepy, unsettling ass who’s having way too much fun scaring us.
“Come on. We’re going home.” I keep my eyes on that window the rest of the way down the street and the jester keeps his eyes on me, until I finally turn down Brook. We’re only a couple of blocks from home, but I’m beginning to feel a little anxious. My phone is in my back pocket, and I almost put Tommy down in order to make a call, but I don’t because I’m sure he’ll lose his shit. There are still a few tricks or treaters out, but the numbers are dwindling. It’s mostly older kids now, but all of the houses still have their lights on.
I keep looking behind me, but there’s nothing there. I can’t get rid of the feeling that the jester is following us home, which of course is a stupid thought. Which of course is what every character in a scary movie thinks right before they die. I fish the phone out of my pocket and I call my dad.
“Daddy?” I used the word that automatically gets his attention. As I talk, I begin to shake. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m sixteen.
“Hey Baby, are you ok?”
“Yeah, I think so. Can you guys please come home?”
“What’s wrong?” If I just say it, I know how it’s going to sound, but I also know it’s going to make him come home faster. “I think there’s some weird guy in a costume following us.”
“Ok. Where are you?!”
“We’re almost home.”
“Ok. Go home and lock the door. We’ll get ready to leave here. Call me as soon as you get in the house.”
“Ok.” I shove the phone back in my pocket and I pick up the pace. This is ridiculous, but I’ve got goosebumps. Tomorrow, they’ll both give me crap about being scared and everything will be fine. I’m practically running now, and I finally make it to our house. There’s still a few kids running around, and Tommy watches them while I unlock the door. As soon as it’s open, he runs inside with his candy, but I look back down the street one more time.
There, rounding the corner of Sycamore, is the jester. He’s walking down the street towards our house. I run inside and lock the door. I dial my dad while Tommy spills out his candy all over the couch in the living room.
“Honey? Are you at the house?”
“Yeah. Daddy? He’s following us.”
“Ok. We’re going to get there as fast as we can. Mom’s calling the police right now. Just take your brother upstairs into our room, ok? I’m sure it’s going to be fine. The doors are locked right?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok good. Go upstairs and you wait for us and the cops, ok?”
I hang up my phone and grab my brother and he screams bloody murder as I rip him away from his candy. I start climbing the stairs and he decides that now is the best time to turn into a flopping mess of dead weight in my arms. I barely make it upstairs and I run into my parents room to the picture of my Dad and my crazy uncle Milford hanging on the wall. I put Tommy down and he watches me take the picture off of the wall. There’s a key taped to the back of it that I’m not supposed to know about, and now that Tommy has seen it, I guess Dad’s going to have to find a new hiding spot. I fling open the door to my parents closet and I snatch the small safe from its hiding place under a quilt that my grandmother made a century ago.
Tommy’s eyes go wide as he sees me pull a pistol out of the safe. I make sure it’s loaded. I may be overreacting, but I can’t help but feel that that man is coming straight for our house.
“Tommy?” I put my finger against my lips and I speak softly. “I want you to get underneath the bed and stay there. Now.” I’m shocked that he does exactly what I told him to do. I begin to think about what I’m going to do next, and that’s when I hear the constant tapping on the front door downstairs. If I go over to the window, I can look directly down to the front door, but I don’t want to move.
TAP TAP TAP TAP
It’s not stopping. This is ridiculous. It’s probably some fifteen year old guy who decided to mess with me on Halloween. But what if it’s not? If I go to the window, he’s going to see me; I turned the light on when I came into the room and the blinds are up. So what?! I’ve got a damn gun and the cops are on the way.
Checkmate asshole. I breathe deep and I walk over to the window and I look down.
He’s climbing up the front of our house and he’s smiling at me.
How is he climbing up?! He’s not. His body is stretching. His head is a good six feet below the window, but his arms are reaching upward, and they’re not stopping. His fingers stretch out even further and they wrap themselves around the ledge. The fingers are at least a foot long and they’ve got four knuckles. This isn’t some fifteen year old. Oh my God! I almost open the window and shoot him, but the sight of him gliding up the front of the house as his fingers and arms begin to shorten back to their normal size makes me freeze in place. What the hell is this?!
He’s pulled himself up onto the tiny ledge on the outside of the window, and now he’s crouching on it. He begins to tap the glass, wanting me to open the window. I’m still frozen, but then the sound of a police siren breaks the shocked spell that was holding me captive. My eyes dart to the left, toward the sound. The jester follows my eyes and turns his head toward the sound.
Good.
By the time he turns back to face me, I have the gun pointed towards him.
“Go away.” He smiles, but he doesn’t move. “I said go away.”
“Give me the boy and I’ll leave you alone.” His breath fogs up the window. The sound of his voice isn’t human. I’ve seen enough movies to know where this goes if I do nothing. I pull the trigger three times, and the window erupts in front of me while the bullets slam into his face. He lets out a noise so horrible, I can’t even describe it. His arms stretch upwards, and while I’m still pointing the gun at him, he pulls himself up off of the ledge and onto the roof.
I back away from the window and I reach for my phone to call my dad. The phone begins to ring when I see several strings with rusty hooks lower down into view from the roof. I drop the phone even though I can hear my dad on the other end. I back towards the bed and I watch as the hooks jingle right outside of the window. One of them begins to slither it’s way farther down than the others, and I suddenly know that my brother and I have to get out of the room.
“Tommy!” As I turn towards the bed, I feel a sharp pain stabbing into my left ankle. I’m being dragged across my parent’s floor towards the window; I hold onto the gun with one hand while I claw at the carpet with the other. Tommy can see me now and he’s screaming. I turn my head. One of those hooks is buried into my ankle while the rest are lying in wait just outside of the window. In an instant, I feel pain everywhere as I’m jerked outside of the window.
I’m hanging upside down. I can see the jester on the roof above me, and I aim and fire every last shot from my father’s gun at him, but it doesn’t stop him. He has that wooden cross in his hand and he begins to move it in a series of motions. The other hooks dangling just outside of the window begin to get longer and I watch them slither their way along the floor in my parents bedroom until they eventually shoot underneath the bed. Tommy begins screaming.
My brother is being dragged along the floor now by the strings. Those rusty hooks have buried themselves into his arms and legs. I’m yelling for help. The sirens are almost here and some of our neighbors walk out of their doors and start pointing at the tall man standing on our roof. Tommy is looking straight at me pleading with his eyes.
“TOMMY!!!”
The hook in my leg releases me and I fall into my mothers rose bushes. Oh my God! My eyes are starting to go dark, but I can’t let them. I try to stand, but something crunches and burbles on my left and my knee isn’t working. Tommy is suspended outside of the window now and the hook that was holding me, finds its way into the back of my brother's neck. The jester on the roof begins to laugh as he moves that cross and Tommy starts to dance from the end of the strings, all the while he’s begging for me to help him.
“SISSY!”
Mr. Talley, the neighbor from across the street runs over to me. He’s yelling at someone on his phone, trying to describe the bizarre scene that’s playing out in front of him. The strings shorten and Tommy is raised up to the roof. The jester holds the wooden cross over Tommy, and then he runs across our roof making Tommy perform a cartoonish gallop in the lead. They disappear from view, and the laughter of the jester fades away just as the police cars come to a rest in front of our house. My eyes aren’t working. Everything’s going black now. Tommy?!
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