One Weird Halloween

“Kyle Snyder,” Mrs. Fulton called out.

“Present,” Kyle answered. Mrs. Fulton checked his name off from the attendance sheet. She

placed her clipboard on her front desk and clasped her hands together.

“Pop quiz,” she announced. The class let out a collective groan. Everyone except Kelly Winters

that is; she’s the proverbial teacher’s pet. She is the daughter of Holly Winters who is the lady

that owned Holly Jolly Press. It is a publishing company that specialized in Christmas books.

Kyle’s mom Rita was always reading one of Holly Jolly Press’s books around the holidays.

Kyle rolled his eyes as the teacher placed the quiz on his desk.

“Please be multiple choice,” Kyle whispered to himself. He looked down; his stomach lurched.

“Short essay questions,” he groaned a little too loudly. A few other kids chuckled and Kyle

blushed. He had not meant to say that out loud. The seconds seemed to stretch into minutes. The

torture was unbearable.

“The quiz was only worth five points. Why make us do so much work for so few points?” Kyle

thought. He considered putting his head down on the desk and taking the zero. It was only five

points. Kyle knew he could recover. Then he let out a groan. He knew better. Mrs. Fulton would

probably tell Kyle’s parents and he would most likely be grounded until he was thirty. That’s a

long time to be grounded when you’re only eleven.

There was no point in avoiding this. He was going to pick up his pencil and try.

Kyle’s dad would often tell him this.

“Your mother and I don’t expect perfection, we just expect you to try.” Try. That one word

crawled like a spider. It crawled through Kyle’s brain, just like a spider. He knew he had to

try…There was something liberating in his dad’s advice.

“Your effort was more important than every T being crossed or every I being dotted. “

“Show your work and I’ll give you partial credit,” Mrs. Fulton would often say. He finished his

quiz and raised his hand. That was one of the classroom rules: after a quiz or test raise your hand

and Mrs. Fulton would come collect your work. She wanted to cut down on distractions.

Suddenly Colton stood up and started running around the room like a madman. He was

hooting and hollering. Mrs. Fulton called in Mr. Lake, the Principal, and he escorted the student

to his office. No one in the class liked Colton. He was disruptive. Around third grade he started

acting out for attention. He was in fifth grade now. He had been through some trauma, but the

teachers never elaborated. Schools across America had their fill of kids like Colton. He needed

his own care and way of being handled. The class let out a collective sigh as Colton left the

room. Even Mrs. Fulton’s shoulders slumped. She could not deal with Colton today.

“It’s only Monday,” she thought. “Can we at least wait until Tuesday for this level of insanity?”

Everyone finished their quizzes, while Mrs. Fulton stood in front of the class, and gave an

assignment. “This Friday your report on a historical figure from the town of Sienna Falls is due.

And you’re going to have to read it to the entire class.” There were groans. Kelly’s hand shot up.

“Yes Kelly,” Mrs. Fulton said.

“How long does the report have to be?” she asked.

“Two pages,” Mrs. Fulton answered.

“Can it be longer than two pages?” Kelly wanted to know. Kyle rolled his eyes.

“Suck up,” Kyle thought. A small smile tugged at Mrs. Fulton’s lips. She loved Kelly’s

enthusiasm. Mrs. Fulton wished all her students shared Kelly’s passion for learning.

“Try not to go over three or four pages at most,” Mrs. Fulton said. Kelly seemed disappointed.

“She probably would have written a twenty-

page report if Mrs. Fulton would have allowed it,” Kyle thought.

The year was 1998 and it was the week of Halloween. The bell rang, all the students

packed their things, and headed to their next class. Kyle bumped into his best friend in the hall.

“Hey Chip,” Kyle said. “What’s up? Chip shrugged.

He readjusted his glasses. He had shaggy brown hair and a round face.

“Not much,” Chip admitted. “Other than birds and the sun in the sky,” he quipped. Chip meant it

as a joke.” Kyle’s dad often said this about Chip.

Chip is drier than the Sahara.” Kyle was not really sure what his dad meant by that. He just

played it off as stuff Dad said.

“I was just reading in our school library and I learned something pretty interesting about

our town,” Chip boasted. Kyle quirked an eyebrow.

“What did you learn?” Kyle asked. Chip looked all around to make sure no one was listening. He

leaned in and cupped his hands over his lips.

“Our town has its’ own Warlock,” Chip confessed.

“You’re serious?” Kyle asked. Chip nodded.

“They hanged him two hundred years ago. He vowed to comeback and wreak havoc on

Halloween night.” Kyle folded his arms across his chest.

“I don’t believe you,” Kyle said. Chip’s mouth dropped open.

“Are you calling your own best friend a liar?” Chip asked.

“I just need proof,” Kyle said.

“Come with me to the library,” Chip motioned to his friend to follow him. Kyle did so.

The library was nearly empty except for Mr. Bradley, the school librarian. He was restocking one

of the bookshelves. Chip stood there in the middle of the library skimming pages until his finger

landed on the right passage.

“Eureka,” Chip said.

Chip showed his best friend the proof. Kyle read the passage; it reaffirmed Chip’s story.

“That’s pretty wild,” Kyle said.

“And the judge who sentenced the Warlock to hang had your last name,” Chip declared.

‘That’s probably just a coincidence,” Kyle scoffed.

“Maybe,” Chip said looking at his friend, like his bloodline

had brought a curse upon the entire town.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Kyle asked.

“What if this curse is real?” Chip asked. Kyle looked at his best friend like he had lobsters

crawling out of both nostrils.

“You know witches, warlocks, and curses are not real!” Kyle insisted.

“I mean you’re obsessed with Halloween and spooky things,” Chip commented. “Could be a sign

you are cursed,” Chip surmised.

“We have been best friends since kindergarten,” Kyle said.

“How could you accuse me of being cursed?” Kyle wanted to know. He was trying to mask his

hurt, but his eyes reflected his pain. They were wide, and wracked with vulnerability, and hurt.

Kyle raced home and found his dad was mowing the lawn.

Tom, Kyle’s dad, turned off the mower.

“Hey son,” Tom said. “How was school?”

“Same as always,” Kyle said.

“Your passion for learning is infectious,” Tom teased.

“Dad, are we related to Edmund Snyder?” Kyle asked. “The judge from 1798.” “The one that

sentenced Whitmer Collins to death?”

“Yeah,” Tom said. “Whitmer was your mom’s great uncle and Edmund was my great uncle.”

Kyle’s mouth dropped open.

“Wow,” Kyle said. “I was reading about all this at the school library.” Tom smiled. He was happy

to see his son was finally showing an interest in something he learned in school. “I’m going to go work on my report for school.” He read and wrote diligently; before he knew it

a couple of hours had passed. Then he went downstairs, put on his coat, and went outside to play.

He shot some hoops and Chip approached.

“Can I play?” Chip asked. Kyle turned around and saw Chip standing there. Kyle nodded. The

boys played horse and one on one. Before they knew it, it was suppertime. Chip waved as he

headed home.

After supper, Kyle took a sofa nap. He woke up a couple of hours later a bit disoriented.

He wiped the sleep from his eyes. It was dark and no one else was around. He made his way up

the steps. He tiptoed past his parents’ room and made his way to his own bedroom. He crawled

into bed and let sleep over take him once again. He dreamed he was riding a broom over the

town. He passed the quiet little houses that were all bunched together. He passed over the middle

school and the black clouds amassed. Lightening flashed across the sky and a fierce storm raged

out of nowhere. Crazed laughter tore through the night. Whitmer appeared in the sky. His

silhouette was thin and cockeyed.

Kyle woke up and let out a sigh when he realized he had only been dreaming. His mom

smiled when she saw him at the kitchen table that morning. She was dressed in a skirt, high

heels, a blouse, and a business jacket. She had black curly hair. She held her briefcase and kissed

her son’s cheek.

“I have an open house; have fun at school.” She waved as she walked toward the door. The week

passed like normal. Before long it was Halloween. He walked to school as usual. Chip joined

him halfway to school.

From his grave rose Witmer Collins. He threw his hood over his head and walked

hurriedly away. He carried a broom in his hand. Orange leaves swayed in the wind. Time came

for first period. Kyle strutted up to the front of the class. He could not wait to give his report.

When he was through, Arthur Brown scoffed.

“It was supposed to be a history report not a horror story,” Arthur sneered.

Mrs. Fulton cleared her throat.

“Well legends and myths are still a part of our town’s history,” Mrs. Fulton said. “Thank you, Kyle for that informative report.”

“You’re welcome,” Kyle said. Arthur mimicked Kyle under his breath.

“You’re welcome Mrs. Fulton.” Kyle rolled his eyes.

Back at the cemetery Witmer hopped on his broom and few away. He cackled as it began

raining. The sound of the rain soothed Kyle. He leaned against his hand. His elbow propped him

up. He nodded off. That night it was Halloween. There was a loud knock at the door. Kyle

answered the door and found Chip standing there. He was dressed in purple from head to toe. He

wore a fake white beard.

“Cool wizard costume,” Kyle said. They headed outside. Wet pavement glistened as the boys

started their journey. The houses were close together. This excited the boys because they could

cover a lot of houses without having to walk very far.

Now the boys came to a house they never seemed to have noticed before. It was a brick

house with a super realistic Halloween decoration hanging in the front yard. It was a skeleton

prop and it had a rope around its’ neck. There was also a dark figure cloaked in a robe. Its’ head

was tilted downward. Kyle and Chip kept eyeing the thing. It looked so lifelike the boys thought

they saw it move a couple of times. Kyle reached the door first and rang the bell. Chip and Kyle

both heard shuffling inside.

An old man named Jerry answered the door. His shoulders were slightly hunched over

and his green eyes shimmered like emerald stones in the ocean.

“Trick or treat,” Kyle and Chip said in unison. They smiled.

Their parental training shined through.

“Be polite, smile, and say trick or treat.” They knew the routine.

Jerry just dropped some candy into each boys’ trick or treat bag.

“That hooded figure prop in your front yard; where’d you get it?” Jerry looked at Kyle.

“What are you talking about kid?” Jerry asked looking puzzled. Kyle looked back at the old man

as if he was incredibly dense.

“I mean that hooded figure standing there in the middle of your yard,” Kyle insisted.

“Kid I don’t have a Halloween prop like that,” Jerry said.

Kyle was about to protest but he became dumbfounded when he noticed the hooded

figure was gone.

“No way,” Kyle muttered. The boys shared a confused look.

The boys had no answer for this weird occurrence. The figure appeared behind Jerry.

“Look behind you,” Chip declared. Jerry turned and saw the figure staring at him. The figure

grabbed him and forced the old man to stare into his eyes. Jerry turned to stone. Next the figure

turned to look at the boys. Chip and Kyle practically flew back to Kyle’s house. They were

breathless when they got there.

Dad was out in the garage. Mom came into the living room. She noticed the boys were

winded. Mom raised her eyebrow.

“What’s wrong boys?” she asked. We saw a hooded figure turn one of our neighbors into stone.

“Very good.” She let out a chuckle. “That’s a great Halloween story. Its’ very creative,” she said.

“You should write this one down.”

“We’re not making this up,” Kyle said. “You have to believe us.” She rolled her eyes.

“I don’t have time for this,” Kyle’s mom said.

“What’s going on here?” Dad asked when he walked in the room.

“Your son and his friend are trying to convince me that some hooded figure turned one of our

neighbors into a statue,” Mom said.

“Was it Mr. Bishop?” Dad joked. “That guy is an old crank.”

“We’re serious Dad,” Kyle insisted.

Suddenly the door burst open and the hooded figure was standing there.

“Alright buddy.” Whitmer turns the Mom and Dad into a statue. Kyle charges at him and shoves

him to the ground. The possessed figure’s face lands in the fireplace. Whitmer thrashes until his

face melts off and he fell completely still. Kyle’s parents returned to normal. He hugged each of

them. No one could even begin to comprehend what had just happened. They all melted into

one another’s embrace.