Sometimes writing is as fun as reading.
This is something I wrote last year for #NaNoWriMo
Enjoy something fun and kind of spooky this Halloween!
It had been a long day at school. There was a Full moon, Halloween candy, and it was Friday the 13th. There isn’t another profession in the world that deals with the chaotic, universal crazy energy that exists in a junior high with these factors.
“Mr. Stone! Hey, you want some smarties?”
A student pulls out a handful of the pastel cellophane rolls like they’re contraband. In my classroom, they are. Oh, the joys of Halloween.
I sigh with relief when I open the door to my house, and find that it is quiet. Quiet like everyone is asleep, or like their mouths are full of candy in that sugar trance, or like they aren’t even there. It’s only 3:30. I don’t question where they are. I’m just glad there’s time to get a nap in before I start dinner and before the trick-or-treaters start showing up.
I kick off my shoes and walk down the hall, stepping over toys and backpacks. I open the door to my bedroom and see two 8 pound bags of candy. One is fruity sour, the other chocolate. I’m tempted to open the bag of chocolate, but I know I’ll get plenty later. I drop them to the floor and ease into the bed, glad for the quiet. It doesn’t take long and I’m out.
I hear pounding. I look around to see where it’s coming from. It sounds like someone is banging on the door. I walk to the door, and not thinking to look through the peephole, I grab the door knob. It’s hot. It’s hotter than normal. The door faces west, so it’s typically warm, but not like this. I twist the knob quickly, and swing the door open. There’s a blinding light, like the sun is hanging out right in front of my house in the street. I try to shield my eyes and I hear the pounding again. The heat from the sun is starting to make me uncomfortable. I try to swing the door shut with my foot, but my leg won’t move. I try again, and the banging gets louder. I struggle to move my leg, beads of sweat forming on my forehead, and I realize I’m lying down.
I open my eyes. I pull my leg but now know it’s twisted up in a blanket. I start to get relief from the heat, as I unroll myself from the blanket. It’s dark, meaning I slept longer than I planned to. I get up, wash my face with cool water. Someone really is pounding at my front door. I walk down the hall and notice that the backpacks are still in the hall. I start to worry a little bit because it appears that my wife and kids are still gone. The counter, the table, and the living room are all as I found them earlier in the afternoon. I remember it’s still Halloween and walk to the front door.
I remember the dream. It’s eerie, remembering that I was just here, but I wasn’t. I’m not hot like I was in my dream. I slowly reach for the doorknob, afraid to sense heat through my fingers. I tap the doorknob once. It’s cool to the touch. I’m about to turn the knob when there’s another pummeling on the door.
I look through the peephole, wondering who this giant is at my door. Through the crazy fisheye lens I see two little kids dressed in black hoodies and cloaks leaning into the door. They are frantically squirming. I look for a minute, stunned that such a loud knocking can come from something so small. As I try to process the two children standing at my door, one of them suddenly jerks, his face staring up at the peephole, like he knows someone is there looking down at him. His eyes don’t blink, and the pounding begins all over again. I can see his two arms flailing back and forth, past his ears behind his head, then drumfire. Boom, boom, boom, boom!
I flinch and take a step back. The deadbolt is locked. I sidestep to the left to peek out through the front window. The blinds are half open, so I can see most of the street through the lilacs. Two adults walk slowly down the sidewalk, following a toddler. I know I’m back far enough away from the window so they can’t see me, but then all three of them suddenly jerk their heads to the right to look right at me. I step back and crash-sit on the piano. The noise from the keys being struck all at once causes a pause at the door.
Somewhere behind me I hear a clicking. A light tap tap tap like a seatbelt on a car window. I carefully turn and look around the corner toward the living room at the back of the house. The sand colored curtains are drawn closed, but I can see the silhouette of a child wearing a witches hat. A hand raises and, click click click. I can’t remember if the sliding glass door is locked, or if my kids left it open, again. It looks like she turns to leave, but then she is joined by another child. This one seems to be wearing some kind of animal ears. Maybe she’s a tiger? I think it’s the two neighbor girls Jo and Jemma.
I hear my phone ping, alerting me to a text message. I hurry four steps down the hall to my bedroom. The banging on the front door seems to have stopped. The clicking on the glass door has stopped. I unlock my phone and see that I have a message from my oldest son. It reads, Candy. I am puzzled. I look around the room. The two big bags of candy are still there on the floor next to my bed. There’s another ping. Again, it’s from my son, CANDY!. I’m confused, so I start a message to my wife. “Where are you? Something weird is happening.” I pick up the candy, and head toward the kitchen.
When I step onto the tile floor, the clicking on the sliding door begins again. The fusillade at the front door continues. I toss the candy onto the counter. The garage door starts to open. I hear my children’s voices, but they’re voices sound muted. In a few steps I’m in the front room again. They are dressed up in their costumes, but their skin is grey, the skin around their eyes is dark. They’re mumbling the words, “Candyyyy, candyyyy”. The four of them push past me, looking at the bags on the counter. I run to the garage. My wife is lying on the ground. Her skin is grey; the skin around her eyes is starting to turn black. Her head twitches toward me and she whispers, “Candyyyy.”