halloween

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
short scary story

Submitted: September 18, 2016

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Submitted: September 18, 2016

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One night every year, kids would dress up as monsters and princesses, knocking on the doors of houses, asking for treats.  However, I would be shocked, even worried,  if any child would knock on my door.  House surrounded by dense forest, the only other residence half a mile away, my front door is seldom disturbed on this particular night.  I would enjoy seeing the lit faces of smiling children and pleasuring them with candy, but that could never happen in such a rural area.  Just another reason why a two-story, 2500 sq ft house was so cheap.  
My Halloweens are usually spent alone.  Like most of my other holidays.  But I’m not telling you this for you to pity me.  Now you can read this, and say that it’s gibberish, and that’s perfectly fine.  However, I still remember every detail of this one particular Halloween night, and it still terrorizes me in my dreams to this day.
Four years ago, still a student in college, I decided to pay a visit to my parents in Brookdale, South Carolina.  The first time I came home since school began in September, I decided to make make my visit a surprise.  There was certainly surprise, as I entered my house to find it empty.  My parents ended up choosing the perfect day to go to a party in Springfield, only able to come home the next day.  Still, it was refreshing to be home after a month, so I grabbed a drink and payed a visit to my room.  
No sooner than when I opened the lights, the telephone rang.  Picking it up, it displayed “caller unknown”.  Probably just an advertisement of some sort, but I didn’t want to experience the possibility of ignoring an important call for my parents, so I answered it.  Silence.  “Hello?”, I said confusingly.  Further silence.  Now annoyed, I hung up the phone.  Who calls someone and doesn’t say anything?  Dismissing the event, I opened up my laptop and surfed around the internet.  
About 5 minutes later, the telephone rang again.  Taking a quick glance, the caller ID was identical to before, “caller unknown”.  Was it the same person?  Did something happen before that prompted them to not speak?  These questions in mind, I picked up the phone a second time and said, “Hello?”.  Again, there was silence.  Now angry, I hung up the phone.  Now remembering what the date was, I presumed the phone calls to be annoying pranksters.  I wouldn’t answer the phone again. 
 Immediately, the annoying ringing of the telephone sounded again.  I was getting angry, and tired.  “Why don’t these people try someone else?”, I thought.  The ringing refused to end, even after 10 minutes.  The only way to stop the noise was to pick up the phone.  Planning to hang up immediately after answering it, I went over to the telephone for the third, and hopefully, the last time, and answered it.  This time, a voice came through.  “Why did it take you so long to answer this time?”, said the voice, a sound so quiet it was more of a whisper, barely audible.  
Before I had the chance to shout angrily into the phone for the prankster to go away, the caller hung up.  This was getting weird.  What prankster would call the same number 3 times consecutively?  
Now getting late, I decided to ignore the calls, and to get some sleep.  It was a long ride here, and a longer day tomorrow. 
 No sooner than I had climbed into bed, a violent sound of something hitting glass resonated from by bedroom window.  Now those bastards have gone too far.  I raced to my window, and stopped when I saw a tall, dark figure standing on the small, dark road in front my house.  He was just staring at me, face pointed towards my window.  Now becoming creeped out, I forgot my anger, and surveyed the mysterious figure.  He was wearing a long coat that covered his body, arms stuffed into its pockets.  How did he know where my bedroom was?  Even creepier, how did he know where I lived?  I was becoming scared, but he couldn’t do anything to me.  I locked all the windows and doors before I prepared to go to bed.  Just when I prepared to turn away, the man pulled out a shining, metal object.  It was a machete.
Fear engulfed me as I spun away, jumping to grab the phone to call the police.  No battery.  Just my luck!  My mobile phone was downstairs, so I sprinted to the bedroom door as fast as I could, racing down the stairs soon after.  Just as I reached the last step, a dark figure leaped out at me.  It screamed loudly as the lights suddenly flickered on.  After my eyes adjusted to the brightness for half a second, I saw my old high school friend, Josh, now a senior, on the ground, laughing hysterically.  Mixed between emotions of surprise, relief, and anger, I was speechless.  Of course!  Who else would know where I lived, that I was coming home for the day, that my parents weren’t home, and was crazy enough to break in and scare someone?  Filled with relief that I wasn’t going to die, I playfully hit my friend and talked with him for a while.  
Hours later, lying in bed, the thought hit me.  It took about 10 seconds for me to turn from Josh on the road, reach over to the telephone, and run down the stairs.  Josh was already at the bottom of the stairs by then.  How did he get in my house so fast?  And what happened to the long, dark coat I saw him wearing on the road?  Eventually, I fell asleep, but these questions still managed to ingrain themselves into my mind in the morning. 
 I stepped outside into the backyard, and that’s when I noticed it.  The backyard door, the door that I know I closed last night before the incident even began, open.  Josh entered through the front door, using the spare key I gave him years ago.  The man that I saw outside wasn’t Josh, but some lunatic wielding a machete.  Immediately, I called Josh, and was shocked to find that he wasn’t behind the excessive phone calls.  I still shudder when I think what might have happened if the man didn’t see that another person was in the house besides me.


© Copyright 2017 Andy Z. All rights reserved.

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