Dead Halloween

The Dead of Halloween

The sun was kissing the sky when Margaret Ellis pulled into the driveway.

It had been a long shift at Miller's Diner. Six hours on her feet, three tables of cranky customers, a coffee pot that refused to cooperate, and a manager who believed that being short-staffed was a personality trait. Her feet ached. Her back hurt. And there was a grease stain on the sleeve of her sweatshirt that she was almost certain hadn't been there that morning.

But none of that mattered.

Not tonight.

Tonight was Halloween.

Margaret killed the engine and looked toward the passenger window, where her six-year-old daughter was already bouncing in her seat.

“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Are we going now?”

Margaret laughed despite herself.

“Yes, your royal witchiness. We're going.”

“I'm not a royal witch. I'm a regular witch.”

“Oh, excuse me.”

“Regular witches don't have crowns.”

“Good to know. I'll remember that next time.”

Anastasia giggled and scrambled out of the car before her mother could remind her to wait. She hurried up the front steps, her little black costume fluttering behind her, the crooked purple hat perched precariously on her head.

Margaret followed, shaking her head.

Lord, that child had enough energy to power the whole town.

And what a town it was.

Bellweather sat tucked between two long stretches of highway, so far from anything important that the world seemed to have forgotten it existed. The nearest shopping mall was an hour away. The old movie theater had closed years ago. Half the businesses on Main Street had been passed down through generations, and the other half looked as though they had been waiting just as long to die.

It was the kind of place where people still waved from their porches, where the sheriff knew your daddy's name, and where children could walk three streets over without their mothers worrying themselves sick.

A place suspended somewhere between what the world had become and what it used to be.

And on evenings like this, it was beautiful.

The sun poured orange light over the rooftops. Maple leaves drifted through the streets, collecting in gutters and gathering along the sidewalks. The trees stood tall over the old houses, their branches swaying in the cool October breeze, releasing their last handfuls of gold and crimson.

Porch lights flickered on one by one.

Jack-o'-lanterns grinned from windowsills.

Somewhere down the block, children were already shrieking with excitement.

Margaret paused on the front porch for a moment, taking it all in.

She loved this town.

She loved this little house.

And she loved that, despite everything she'd had to do alone, she had managed to give Anastasia a childhood that still felt like a childhood.

“Mommy!”

“Coming!”

Inside, the television was still on. Anastasia had left it playing while she'd waited for her mother to come home, and now the familiar animation flickered across the screen.

The song was In the Dark of the Night, from Anastasia.

Anastasia stopped to watch, her little purple hat slipping sideways as Rasputin's sinister melody filled the living room.

“Mommy! My song!”

Margaret glanced over her shoulder while searching for her purse.

“Your song? Since when do you sing about evil?”

Anastasia giggled, singing along to the parts she knew.

On the television, shadows danced and the music swelled, promising that evil would find its way into the night.

Outside, the last orange light slipped beneath the horizon.

Margaret found her purse, checked her phone, and called for her daughter to hurry up.

Neither of them paid much attention to the song's warning.

They had candy to collect.

And Halloween had only just begun.

By the time they were ready, the sky had turned a deep violet, the last thin strip of daylight fading behind the tree line. Margaret pulled on her jacket over her sweatshirt, grabbed her keys, and checked Anastasia's costume one final time.

Black dress. Purple hat. Plastic broom. Little boots.

Perfect.

She knelt and straightened the crooked hat.

“Now, what's the most important rule?”

Anastasia sighed with the dramatic exhaustion of a child who had been asked this question every Halloween since the beginning of time.

“Stay with Mommy.”

“And?”

“Don't eat candy until you check it.”

“And?”

“Don't go into strangers' houses.”

“Good girl.”

Anastasia wrapped her arms around her mother's neck.

“Can we go to the big house on Willow Lane? The one with the skeletons?”

Margaret smiled.

“If you're brave enough.”

“I'm a witch, Mommy. Witches aren't scared.”

“Is that right?”

“That's right.”

Margaret kissed her forehead.

“Then let's go scare us up some candy.”

They stepped outside.

Across the street, old Mr. Harlan was dragging a plastic coffin onto his lawn. Two teenage boys in hockey masks raced past on bicycles. A group of children in superhero costumes gathered at the corner, their parents trailing behind them with coffee cups and phones.

The town was alive.

And for a little while, it was easy to believe that nothing bad could ever happen here.

The first fog appeared just after six-thirty.

It came crawling up from the low fields beyond the last row of houses, so thin at first that it could have been mistaken for smoke from somebody's chimney. It slipped between the trees and drifted over the roadside ditches, pale fingers reaching across the asphalt.

Nobody paid it much attention.

October nights were damp. The creek ran behind the old mill. Fog was nothing unusual in Bellweather.

Still, Margaret noticed how cold the air had become.

She rubbed her hands together and tucked them into her jacket pockets.

“Brr. Somebody forgot to tell the weather it's still fall.”

Anastasia skipped ahead two steps, her plastic broom bouncing against her shoulder.

“Maybe it's the witch fog.”

“The witch fog?”

“Yeah. It comes out when witches go trick-or-treating.”

Margaret smiled.

“Well, then, I suppose we're responsible.”

Anastasia giggled and hurried back to her mother's side.

They started down Maple Street, joining the steady procession of little monsters, princesses, superheroes, and ghosts making their way from house to house.

The fog thickened as they walked.

It curled around the children's ankles, gathered beneath parked cars, and swallowed the cracks in the pavement. Porch lights shone through it in soft golden halos. The orange glow of jack-o'-lanterns seemed to bleed into the mist, their carved faces stretching and wavering whenever the wind moved.

Somewhere, a dog barked.

Once.

Twice.

Then fell silent.

Margaret glanced toward the sound. A little white house sat behind a picket fence, its front door decorated with fake cobwebs. The dog's leash hung from the porch railing, swaying gently, but there was no sign of the animal.

She shrugged and looked back at Anastasia.

“Stay close, baby.”

“I am close.”

“Closer.”

Anastasia slipped her hand into her mother's.

They continued toward Main Street.

Above the rooftops, the moon was rising.

At first, Margaret barely noticed it. It was only a pale sliver behind the clouds, caught between the bare branches of an old oak. But as they moved farther down the street, it climbed into view with a peculiar speed, clearing the treetops far sooner than Margaret would have expected.

She stopped beside a mailbox and looked up.

The moon was enormous.

Not simply full, but swollen and low, its surface stained the color of old rust. A dim red glow spread through the surrounding clouds, turning their undersides the color of a fresh bruise.

Margaret blinked.

She had seen red moons before. Everybody had. Dust in the atmosphere, an eclipse, some explanation a meteorologist could offer while standing in front of a weather map.

There was always an explanation.

She waited for the sensible thought to arrive.

It didn't.

Instead, she found herself wondering why the moon looked so close.

As though it had descended to watch.

“Mommy?”

Margaret lowered her gaze.

Anastasia was staring at the sky, too.

“It's a Halloween moon,” she whispered.

“Sure is, sweetheart.”

“Do you think it can see us?”

Margaret forced a little laugh.

“The moon doesn't see anybody, baby. It's just a big rock in space.”

Anastasia considered this.

“Then why is it looking at us?”

Margaret opened her mouth to answer.

Nothing came out.

A gust of wind swept down Maple Street, carrying the smell of damp leaves, wet soil, and something else beneath it.

Something metallic.

Like pennies left too long in a puddle.

Margaret wrinkled her nose.

“Come on. Let's get some candy.”

They moved on.

By the time they reached Main Street, the fog had climbed to their knees.

The town square was usually the heart of Halloween. Children crowded the sidewalks, parents gathered beneath the streetlamps, and the old shops stayed open late to hand out candy. The bakery gave away miniature cookies. The hardware store kept a bowl of chocolate bars by the register. Every year, the volunteer fire department parked its engine outside the station and let the children climb aboard for pictures.

Tonight, the square looked different.

The fog had gathered between the buildings, dense enough to hide the far end of the street. The lamps glowed dimly through the haze, and their light seemed strangely weak, unable to reach more than a few feet beyond the glass.

The laughter of children carried through the mist, but the sounds seemed distant, as though everyone had wandered into separate rooms of the same enormous house.

Margaret could hear footsteps behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder.

A family was walking perhaps twenty yards back, a father dressed as a pirate and two children wearing matching skeleton costumes. Beyond them, the fog shifted.

For an instant, she thought she saw someone standing in the road.

A tall, motionless figure.

Then a car passed between them, headlights sweeping across the street.

The figure was gone.

Margaret tightened her grip on Anastasia's hand.

“Mommy, you're squeezing.”

“Sorry, baby.”

“Are you scared?”

“No.”

Anastasia tilted her head.

“That's what I say when I'm scared.”

Margaret looked down at her daughter.

Then she laughed, a little too loudly.

“You little troublemaker.”

They reached the corner of Main and Willow, where old Mr. Harlan's brother stood on his porch, passing out candy from a silver bowl.

“Evening, Margaret!” he called.

“Evening, Mr. Harlan!”

“Cold one tonight.”

“Getting colder by the minute.”

He chuckled and dropped two chocolate bars into Anastasia's bag.

“Happy Halloween, little witch.”

“Thank you!”

Mr. Harlan leaned forward as Margaret turned to leave.

“Hey, you hear about the lights down by the old cemetery?”

Margaret paused.

“What lights?”

“Probably kids messing around. Saw something moving down there a little while ago. Looked like a whole crowd of people.”

He shook his head.

“Couldn't make out what they were doing. Fog's so thick, I couldn't see past my own fence.”

Margaret glanced toward the end of Willow Lane.

The old cemetery lay beyond the church, past the abandoned mill road. It was a small place, surrounded by a rusted iron fence and a row of ancient trees. Most of the graves dated back more than a hundred years.

“Maybe they're having a Halloween party,” she said.

“Maybe.”

Mr. Harlan didn't smile when he said it.

A distant bell rang.

One slow, hollow note.

Margaret looked toward the church tower.

It was six-forty-five.

The bell rang again.

Then a third time.

Anastasia tugged on her mother's sleeve.

“Mommy, why is the church ringing?”

Margaret stared through the fog.

“I don't know, sweetheart.”

The church bells hadn't rung on Halloween in years.

Not since the old pastor died.

Not since the church doors had been locked and the congregation had moved to the new building on the highway.

Margaret knew that.

Everybody in Bellweather knew that.

She was still trying to make sense of it when a car horn sounded from somewhere down Main Street.

One long blast.

Then another.

Then a frantic, continuous blaring that cut through the fog and silenced the voices around them.

Mr. Harlan stepped off his porch.

“What in God's name?”

A woman emerged from the mist, walking backward, her eyes fixed on something behind her.

“Get inside!” she screamed. “Everybody, get inside!”

She stumbled over the curb and fell hard onto the pavement.

Something moved behind her.

A shadow.

Then another.

The fog rolled apart.

And Margaret saw the first one.

A man stood in the middle of the street, his clothes hanging from his body in torn, filthy strips. His skin was gray, his head tilted at an unnatural angle. One arm dangled uselessly at his side while the other reached toward the woman on the ground.

He didn't walk like a drunk.

He didn't move like a man who was hurt.

He dragged one foot forward, then the other, his jaw working as though he were chewing something invisible.

The woman scrambled backward.

“Please,” she sobbed. “Please, don't—”

The man fell upon her.

Her scream erupted into the night.

Children began to cry. Parents shouted. Someone dropped a bag of candy, scattering chocolate and wrapped sweets across the pavement.

Margaret couldn't move.

The thing lifted its head from the woman.

Its mouth was dark with blood.

For a moment, it stood motionless in the street, its clouded eyes staring into nothing.

Then it turned toward the sound of the children.

Toward Margaret.

Toward Anastasia.

From somewhere deep in the fog came a low, collective moan.

Not one voice.

Many.

The red moon climbed higher above Bellweather, bathing the rooftops in a sickly crimson light.

And in the distance, beyond the church and the abandoned mill, the cemetery gates began to swing open.

There was no wind.

Not anymore.

Margaret felt Anastasia's fingers tighten around hers.

“Mommy?”

The thing in the road began to run.

Margaret pulled her daughter against her, turning her body to shield the little girl from the horror racing toward them. Around them, Bellweather had become a chorus of screams. The streetlights flickered. The fog swallowed the houses. Somewhere, a car crashed into something unseen, and its alarm began to wail.

The dead poured from the mist.

They stumbled over the fallen, clawed at doors, and dragged themselves across lawns. Their mouths opened in soundless hunger beneath the blood-red moon.

Margaret ran.

Her lungs burned. Her legs threatened to give way. Anastasia's little boots struck the pavement beside her as they raced toward the nearest house, but every porch was dark, every window black, every door shut tight.

“Mommy, I'm scared!”

“I know, baby! Keep running!”

A hand shot from the fog and caught Margaret's jacket.

She screamed, twisting free. The fabric tore, leaving a strip in the creature's fingers. She stumbled, nearly dropping Anastasia, and looked back.

There were too many.

They filled the street from one end to the other, a slow-moving sea of gray faces and reaching hands. The church bells rang again, faster now, their hollow voices drowning beneath the howls of the living and the dead.

Margaret spotted the old pharmacy across the road. Its front door stood open.

“Inside!”

She dragged Anastasia across the street. They stumbled through the doorway just as the first of the creatures reached the sidewalk. Margaret slammed the door and threw her weight against it.

Something struck the other side.

Once.

Twice.

The glass shuddered in its frame.

Anastasia clung to her waist, sobbing into her sweatshirt.

“Mommy, make them go away!”

Margaret looked around desperately. Shelves lay overturned. Medicine bottles littered the floor. The back door hung open, leading into an alley already filled with fog.

There was nowhere to go.

Another impact rattled the glass.

A crack spread across the door, branching like lightning.

Margaret sank to her knees and gathered her daughter into her arms.

She had spent six years trying to make sure Anastasia never had to be afraid of the world. Six years working double shifts, counting every dollar, kissing scraped knees, and promising that tomorrow would be better.

She had kept every promise she could.

But she couldn't promise this.

“Listen to me, baby.”

Anastasia looked up, her cheeks wet with tears.

“Whatever happens, Mommy loves you. Do you hear me? More than anything in this whole world.”

“I love you too.”

The glass cracked again.

Margaret closed her eyes and pressed her daughter's face against her chest.

Outside, the red moon hung over Bellweather like an open wound.

The door gave way.

And the dead came pouring in.

“Mommy, wake up!”

Margaret gasped.

Her eyes flew open.

For a moment, she couldn't breathe. She sat bolt upright, her heart pounding so violently that she pressed a hand against her chest. The pharmacy, the broken glass, the blood-red moon—all of it vanished.

She was home.

Her living room was quiet, lit by the warm glow of a lamp beside the couch. The television played softly in the background.

Anastasia stood in front of her, already dressed in her little black witch costume, her purple hat crooked on her head.

“Mommy, you fell asleep!”

Margaret stared at her.

Then she reached out and pulled her daughter into a hug so fierce that Anastasia squeaked.

“Mommy! You're squishing me!”

Margaret loosened her arms but didn't let go.

“Oh, baby.”

“Are you okay?”

Margaret brushed the hair away from her daughter's face. No blood. No tears. No gray skin. Just the same bright eyes and the familiar little smile.

She swallowed hard.

“I'm okay, sweetheart. I just had a bad dream.”

“About monsters?”

Margaret hesitated.

“Yes.”

Anastasia grinned.

“Were they scared of me because I'm a witch?”

Margaret laughed, though the sound came out shakier than she'd intended.

“Something like that.”

Anastasia held up her plastic broom.

“Can we go now? You said we'd go trick-or-treating.”

Margaret looked toward the window.

The sky was still orange at the horizon, the last light of sunset filtering through the branches. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, scattering leaves across the lawn. Everything looked ordinary.

Beautiful, even.

She glanced at the television. The animated figures danced across the screen as In the Dark of the Night played on.

Margaret rubbed her eyes.

It had been a long shift. She was exhausted. She'd probably fallen asleep without realizing it.

That was all.

Dreams were strange things.

They borrowed familiar faces, twisted ordinary places, and made monsters out of shadows. They felt real while you were inside them, but the moment you woke, they lost their power.

At least, that was what Margaret told herself.

She stood, took her keys and purse from the table, and helped Anastasia straighten her hat.

“All right, little witch. Let's go get you some candy.”

Anastasia cheered and ran toward the front door.

Margaret followed, slipping on her jacket over her sweatshirt and jeans. She checked her phone, turned off the television, and opened the door.

The cool evening air greeted them.

For a moment, Margaret stood on the porch, looking out over Bellweather.

The houses glowed in the fading light. Jack-o'-lanterns grinned from their steps. A few children were already making their way down the sidewalk, their laughter carrying through the neighborhood.

It was a beautiful night.

A perfectly ordinary Halloween.

Margaret locked the door behind them.

“Come on, Mommy!” Anastasia called from the walkway.

“I'm coming, baby.”

They headed down the driveway, hand in hand.

Then Margaret noticed the fog.

It was gathering at the end of the street, low and pale, spilling out of the ditches and drifting between the trees.

She slowed.

The mist crept over the asphalt, curling around the tires of parked cars and spreading across the sidewalks. It moved without hurry, swallowing the orange leaves scattered along the curb.

Margaret stared at it.

A cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

She had seen that fog before.

She knew she had.

“Mommy?”

Anastasia tugged her hand.

Margaret looked down at her daughter, then back toward the street.

Above the rooftops, the first hint of moonlight appeared behind the clouds.

“Nothing, sweetheart.”

She forced a smile.

“Let's go.”

Together, they stepped toward the fog.

Behind them, the television flickered back to life inside the empty house.

The music began again.

And somewhere in the dark, a voice sang of evil finding its way into the night.