Confronting the Past on a Lonely Halloween Night

Here is chapter 1: The Unwelcome Visitor

Here is chapter 2: Shadows of Suspension

Chapter 3:

“Trick or treat!”

Isla’s scream was met with silence, she took a step back, unintentionally colliding with a dining room chair. Isla heard again the high-pitched voices outside her door.

“Trick or treat!’

Isla’s breath held captive in her lungs, was released, and a wave of dizziness swept over her. Her muscles and bones seemed to liquefy, as she realized it was Halloween. Hastily, Isla stumbled to her front door, and it swung open to reveal three children in various costumes. The children’s parents stood a few feet apart, engaged in conversation and engrossed in their iPhones.

The little boy, dressed as a poop emoji, extended his Halloween bag.

“Trick or treat!”

Beside him, a boy in a pirate costume echoed the same words. Next to them, a girl, her red hair hidden under a blonde wig, caught Isla’s attention. Her freckles beneath the wig stirred an emotional pain in Isla’s heart.

Isla’s hands trembled as she said, “Trick or treat to you; give me a moment.”

She hurried back to the kitchen, but her eyes kept returning to the innocent-looking package. The package seemed to mock her, as if it could speak.

Isla searched through her cabinet doors for treats for the kids. She hadn’t prepared for Halloween and lacked candy because she had no children of her own, giving her little reason to celebrate this sugary holiday. Memories of the accident six years ago, which took her daughter, cast a painful shadow over Halloween.

“Darn it,” Isla muttered as she realized she had nothing to offer the kids outside her door.

She turned to her stainless steel refrigerator, a space occasionally stocked by Irma, her housekeeper, who believed Isla needed to savor life’s simple pleasures.

The kids’ disappointment was clear when Isla handed them apples for Halloween.

“Are you serious?” protested the poop emoji boy. “What do we do with apples?”

As Isla stood there, reflecting on her loss, the children’s parents sensed it was time to leave. They expressed their thanks for the Halloween treat and departed.

As Isla watched the little girl in pink walk away with her mother, the pain of her past resurfaced. Before the little girl went down the stairs, she turned around and gave a little wave to Isla. Isla returned the small wave.

Turning away, Isla used her foot to nudge the heavy cat doorstop aside and closed the door. A dull thud echoed through the lonely apartment as she leaned against it. Her head rested against the hard cold door. Her mind conjured up visions, reminiscent of a movie trailer.

Pink baby booties, a pacifier, Tom’s kisses on her belly, and his soothing promises replayed in her mind. The pain, the accident, the hospital, and the loss of their daughter came to life in vivid scenes. Images of the collision, the car accident, and the tragic aftermath resurfaced as intense memories.

Isla snapped back to the present, resolute not to relive the agony of her past. She thought, “But it would have been your daughter’s birthday.”

The memories persisted — her water breaking, an emergency C-section, her baby’s lifeless body, and the following agonizing days. The relentless accusations from the boy’s mother who was the drunk driver and the strains on her marriage remained as haunting ghosts.

Shaking herself from her trance, Isla went to the refrigerator to fetch her bottle of Chardonnay. Her hand landed on the bottle, and she pulled it out. The package and its note cast a shadow over her appetite.

As she reached for the wine opener and a glass, her focus returned to the package. As she poured herself a glass of wine, she wondered how the sender had appeared to understand the importance of this day. Each message accompanied by a dead white rose and signed “The Judge” would write accusations and would bring up the painful reminder of her loss.

It shrouded the night outside in darkness, resembling black ink on a canvas. The hour grew late, and the silence in her condo was deafening, with only her labored breathing, the ticking clock, and Luna’s gentle purrs. She approached the package sent by the ‘The Judge,’.

“What do you have in store for me now?” Isla said.

As Isla approached the small sized package, the closer she got, electrifying pain shot down her back left leg. It felt like a live wire starting from her lower back and trailing through her butt to the bottom of her foot.

“Great, just great,” Isla muttered.

“This night just keeps getting better and better.” She said.

The lingering taste of Chardonnay was rapidly replaced by a metallic taste seeping into her mouth from the pain. Isla hurried back to the refrigerator, opening the freezer door to retrieve her ice pack. She had learned the hard way that when her sciatic nerve started acting up, ice was a must.

The package seemed to be taking a toll on her body, causing her muscles to tense like a vice around her lower body. When her eyes fell on the package, it was as though it radiated waves, making her body react. The urgency of tending to her back pain only intensified the tension.

Ignoring her lower back would inevitably lead to a painful spasm, trapping Isla in a different kind of prison. Her breathing quickened as she struggled with trembling hands to attach the velcro ice pack holder to her lower back.

“I can’t let a spasm happen now, not with this package invading my home.”

But it seemed too late. Her muscles began to lock her into place. Gradually, Isla’s body pitched forward, degree by degree.

“No, this can’t be happening now!”

She no longer had control over her own body; it seemed to be working with the package, keeping her a prisoner. Was this how she viewed her current situation? Had she created this prison herself? It wasn’t her fault that some sick individual was sending these threatening packages.

The package continued to appear ominous as it sat on her kitchen island. Dark shadows created shapes resembling skeletal hands reaching out. A howling wind began to build outside her apartment, causing the temperature to drop, it was as if the package had turned on some invisible force that was starting to take over her once safe home.

Beads of cold sweat began to pop out of Isla’s forehead. The floodgates have opened now. Isla closed her eyes, willing it to disappear. Her mind flashed back to the past as she stood bent forward, her hands braced on her knees.

The scenes from the past began to play out in the darkened room.

To be continued….

This is chapter 3 of 5 from a short fiction story: The Haunting Package

The Haunting Package is a suspenseful short story, Isla MacGregor, haunted by a mysterious, threatening sender known as ‘The Judge,’ receives packages that make her face past and test her resilience. As Isla battles her inner demons and a menacing presence, her determination to stand alone may lead to her ultimate downfall.

Thank you for reading!

This was original posted on Medium.