It’s time for one of our favorite events of the year, the Annual Halloween Story Contest! We have seven great submissions this year to share with you so sit back and enjoy a good read. The winner will be announced in the October 29 edition.

Halloween Story Contest Entry #1

Scarred for Life

Never. Never again will I do what I just did. I thought I could survive it, or that I wouldn’t be scarred for life like everyone else. I hoped I could be brave and not utter a single scream. I had no idea how wrong I was.

One day earlier…

It was that time of year again. The crisp autumn scent was in the air and people were getting excited. They were all getting ready for tomorrow night. For scares, costumes and candy … tons and tons of candy. I was getting prepared as well. Finishing up my last minute costume ideas and planning my route around town to get candy. For my favorite holiday, I was going to be a zombie with my two friends Emily and Sara. We were going to try to make it around our whole town and collect as much loot as possible. Since we were all 14 years old, we were allowed to stay out until midnight by ourselves, but only if we texted our parents every hour.

Finally, after what seemed like a year instead of a day, the night for terrors arrived. At six o’clock on the dot my doorbell rang. When I opened it I could barely recognize Emily and Sara. They were dressed up in a full zombie costume blood and everything. “Let’s go,” I said. I grabbed my pillowcase and slammed the door behind me. We headed out and hit 15 houses in the first five minutes. “C’mon,” muttered Sara, “or we’ll have to wait in line” The one thing that we hadn’t told are parents we were going to do was that at 7:30 we were going to the Haunted Alleyway. The Haunted Alleyway was this super freaky, dark alleyway. We were never allowed to go there but since we were 14, we figured we could go. I didn’t know what the big deal was. The ads didn’t look that scary. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t even scream once. Seriously.

When we arrived, there were only three people in line in front us. When we got to the cashier we all paid the five-dollar admission cost and headed in. There were people jumping out at us everywhere. Emily and Sara were screaming and flinching but I just kept walking. Then I made my mistake. I said “OMG this is sooooo dumb! I’m not even scared!” Apparently the people heard me and well let’s just say I broke my vow to myself. A blood-curdling scream ripped through the air like a loose bullet. People heard it for miles and miles. They all flinched at the sound. Truth is told it sounded like murder. I emerged from the alley with Emily and Sara both white and jumpy. But that was nothing compared to me. I was also white but shaking and teeth chattering. “Never again” murmured Emily. Sara slowly nodded. They both looked at me but recognized the look on my face. I agreed with them but I was too petrified to speak or move. I was scarred for life.

Halloween Story Contest Entry #2

White’s Glow

            There once was a man who spent his life as a widower working on a farm. When he started out in life, many other men worked for him. They worked in and around the barn. The barn now named White’s Glow.

The farmer’s wife had always been a city girl. She spent her life as a city girl, until she met George. He persuaded her to move out to the country, where the closest neighbor was a mile or two away.

There had always been many, many workers, but one day all of that changed. That was the very same day Farmer George’s wife died. She passed away up in the hay loft, never to be seen again. After that mournful day, one by one all the workers began to quit.

“I’m tellin’ ya George. That barn’s jus’ not right,” one of them said. Another claimed “I heard somethin’. Or, someone!” So not even a year later, George had no one left on the property. He was growing older, and decided to see for himself if there really was anyone there. He had been cleaning out his house and needed to put some old boxes up in the loft anyway.

It was almost dark by the time he made his way across the field to the heavy barn doors. He pulled them open and stuck his head in. “Nothin’,” he murmured. “Completely and absolutely nothin’.” He then made his way to the rotting ladder and began to climb. He was almost at the top when he claimed to hear a faint whisper. “George,” it said.

The poor old man almost fell off the ladder when he heard his name whispered from the darkness. Before he made it up even a foot, he heard something say “Come, George. Come.” Since he was a very practical man, he decided his mind was fooling him and didn’t think much of it.

Then, out of nowhere, the barn suddenly became frigid as a strong, cold wind came from the loft. A shiver ran up the farmer’s old spine, and the gray hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He dropped the box and fell off the ladder. He couldn’t get up because the wind was pushing him down, gluing him to the bushel of old stiff hay. He let out a shriek of panic as a white glow lit up the barn.

There, right in front of his own eyes was his young, beautiful wife floating before his eyes. She had died years before, but was speaking to him!

            No one knows what happened to George, for he was found lying on the barn floor unconscious. He told later on about the encounter with his wife, but no one will know for sure what really happened.

Unless you visit the barn.

Halloween Story Contest Entry #3

Abigail

Prologue

The girl was crying. Big, round tears were rolling down her face as she sat on the cold curb of the street, waiting. The sun had just dipped below the horizon and the sky, though not yet that dark, was a deep purple. The big moon had just risen into site and clouds were drifting ever so slightly across it, giving an eerie feeling to the already creepy night. The girl, her short, chestnut hair falling to cover her eyes, was sitting on the corner of a deserted street in the middle of town. Everyone else had left. She had her hands clasped in her lap, her knuckles white with fear. You could hear her sobbing “…just a story … it was just a story … a story.…”

For a couple minutes she sat there, crying, and wondering where it was. Soon, a breeze started up. It got stronger and stronger, pushing at the shutters of the houses on either side of the girl, knocking the few trees that were left on the sidewalk over and ripping up some of the cobblestones in the street. And then the moaning started, a low, dark, eerie sound that no human would ever be able to make. The girl leaped to her feet, screaming and trying to stay up against the wind. “This wasn’t part of the deal!” she shouted. “You promised you wouldn’t do anything horrible!” The moaning turned to a deep cackle and the wind started to surround the girl, lifting her up into the air and spreading her limbs apart. She screamed again “You promise-”. But her words were cut short as everything, all the wind and the noise and the moaning of the voice, vanished into nothing.

******

I was taking a shortcut through the graveyard on Halloween night. It was a dare and, well, I never back down from dares. The graveyard that I was walking through was glowing in the light of the pale, half-moon that floated eerily in the indigo sky. Dark stones, some as tall as me, some no higher than my ankle, rise up from the ground, with the occasional plastic skeleton hand here and there, trying to make the graveyard more scary, like it needed to be. It was said the spirits would all gather together here on Halloween. You were supposed to hear the sounds you were most afraid of when you walked through there, like nails on a chalkboard or the creak of a floorboard in the dark. So far, I haven’t heard anything.

The Native American costume I was wearing exposed my arms and legs, and goose bumps kept rising on my bare skin every time the chilly October breeze blew. The little moccasins I had on my feet were quiet over all of the dead leaves that scattered the ground, looking black and purple in this light. There was no specific path in the graveyard, so I was weaving around gravestone after gravestone. I was dared to see if I could walk all of the way to one side of the graveyard and walk back. I was on my way back, about halfway there. So far, I had not heard noises but being in the graveyard was scary enough.

I used my right hand to push away some of the long brown hair that kept falling into my green eyes, as my left hand was holding my candy, and stepped around a huge gravestone that had the letters R.I.P. written across the top and the name Alfred Burton, 1612-1625 scribbled at the bottom. Shuddering, I try not to think about how/why he died at such a young age. It had been the biggest gravestone I had passed so far, so the kid must have been important. Maybe he was killed because he was the mayor’s son or had gotten the plague. The very thought made me shudder.

“Hey!” I hear a voice shout. I jump about a foot into the air, afraid that it was the ghost of Alfred, but was coming from beyond the huge stone arch that marked the entrance into the graveyard. “Makayla, you still alive in there?”

“Barely!” I shout back. The voice belonged to Tristan Caffarel, the king of the 8th grade, aka the person who dared me to do this. “The ghosts and spirits tried to grab me on my way in!”

“Yeah, right!” he shouts back. “They’re made of air, remember?” I grin and then hear another voice.

“Almost done?” calls Eva Stevenson. We’ve been friends since kindergarten, but nope, she had refused to accompany me into the cemetery.

“Yeah,” I say, walking toward the arch as I speak. “I’ll be there in, like, 2 minut-” I stop mid-sentence and stand stock still with my back as rigid as a board of wood. Did I just hear…?

“Makayla. Makayla, are you alright?” calls Eva, but softly, like she sensed something was wrong. “Makayla?”

But I did not answer. My mouth was glued shut. I had felt it again. There was someone, or something, behind the nearest tombstone, which was big and easy to hide behind. It was not like I had seen whatever it was. No. I had sensed it, like when you can feel someone’s eyes on your back or when you’re playing hide and seek and you know someone is behind that chair because you sensed it. I sensed the presence of my visitor.

I could feel my breath getting heavier, like I was panting against the fear of … whatever was behind the tomb, my stomach turning like crazy, my head filled with thoughts of what it could be. Witch or ghost or murderer.

“Makayla,” I hear Tristan say in a shout whisper, “if there is something there, forget about the dare and run. Come here now.” But I can’t move. I have literally frozen in place. I had just seen a hand sneakily grip the side of the tombstone, as if needing the support of it, then whip out of sight.

And then I heard the cackle.

A human cackle, not a witch’s fake cackle, a human one, one of pure spite and joy, but not a joking joy. A deadly joy. An “I’m coming” joy. It was cold and clear, like the owner wanted me to know that it was there.

I screamed. I screamed the loudest I ever had and I ran. I ran to the edge of the graveyard, dodging looming tombs. I heard footfalls behind me and I shrieked. I soon felt something pierce my arm, cutting me. The material was metal. Cold, sharp metal meant to cut something.

I heard the sound of rock hitting flesh (probably thrown by Tristan or Eva) and a soft “oaf” like the thing behind me was hit. I turned around quickly to see if the thing that was chasing me had gone down. But what was there had not gone down. It had done anything but.

A column of black smoke was rising up from the ground, sparking and flashing like lightning. In the middle of the smoke floated a girl. The girl was about my age and had her arms and legs spread wide. Her mouth was open in a silent but horrible scream and her basketball player costume (from Halloween) was filled with air. Her hair was spread out like a fan around her head and her bright blue eyes had frozen tears in them. She looked like she had been scared to death. Literally. But most horrible of all was that I recognized her. I recognized from the MISSING posters:

******

MISSING

Abigail Rose Clinton

Age: 14

Height: 5 ft, 7½ inches

Features: Chestnut hair, Blue eyes, Sporty

Details: Went missing on Halloween night. No one knows what happened, as town was mysteriously deserted many days before.

If found, please call: ___-___-___

******

I remember these posters (just not the phone number) from the 3rd grade. I was thinking how horrible it would be to just disappear and how I wanted to help this poor kid. But now I saw she was beyond help. This thing had taken control of her body and I would be next. I shrieked as Abigail’s mouth began to move. When she spoke, her voice was as rough as gravel.

“I am coming. I am coming.” Abigail sang, “I am coming and you can do nothing to stop me. Watch your back. I am coming.” And with that, Abigail disappeared into nothing.

That was when the wind took up, swirling around me like a tornado.

I shrieked, a bloodcurdling, murderous sound and ran as fast as I could against the wind.

Abigail appeared in front of me just when I was about to cross under the arch. “You will never escape me.” she whispered. Tears were flowing down both of our cheeks as she talked for whatever was controlling her. “I am always watching. I am always coming.” As Abigail talked, a smile too wide split her face, with teeth that were too far apart to be human, lips stretched beyond capacity. “I am coming.” I sobbed and backed up, away from the horrible face that was repeating, “I am coming. I am coming.”

And the next thing I knew, I was tripping over the bulge of rock that was under the stone archway, marking the entrance to the graveyard. If Tristan had not caught me, I probably would have given myself a concussion. I was shaking, my teeth chattering, my whole body twitching, my eyes pouring out tears as I sobbed hysterically.

“Makayla, what happened? Are you OK?” I could hear Tristan. I looked up to see him watching the arch, like he did not see what I had.

“It’s coming.” I told Tristan, but he looked at me like I was crazy. “It’s coming.”

“Hey.” I felt Tristan set me gently on the ground as he talks. “Eva, come here quick.” I hear a couple of people (probably some of Tristan’s friends) make way by the sound of the leaves crunching beneath their feet and Eva is suddenly at my side, one hand on my shoulder. She is telling me that everything will be okay when Tristan notices my arm. “What the…?” he whispers and I look down.

The cut was very deep. It was halfway between my right shoulder and elbow and was bleeding a lot. The edges around the cut had already turned a purplish color and were throbbing. The strange thing was that it did not hurt at all.

“You need stitches.” says Cole, one of Tristan’s friends. He was one of the ones who helped Tristan come up with the dare. I don’t know how I remember.

“What was in there?” says Tristan.

Slowly, I stand up with the help of Eva, holding my right arm in my left hand, cradling it, tears still flowing freely. “So-so-something,” I whisper, not knowing how to respond. The thing had seemed human before, but at the end…

“Let’s go check it out.” says Cole and he and Tristan run toward the graveyard.

“No!” I shout. “It will come for you too!”

They, however, ignore me and head into the cemetery.

While Cole and Tristan gone, one of the other girls helps me patch up my arm, wrapping it in a couple of bandages from her doctor’s costume. Eva tries to calm my panting, shaking body, but I am too afraid.

After about five minutes, my sobs have been reduced to only one ragged breath per minute. Soon, Cole and Tristan are back and in Tristan’s hand, he now holds a stack of paper.

“Look!” he says, running over and crouching next to me. “It’s a story! ‘They were all goners and they knew it. The smoke had come to take them. It whispered “I’m coming” over and over, like a horrible CD.’” Tristan read.

“That’s what you were repeating.” gasps Eva, holding a hand to her mouth and my sobs return.

“Abigail…” I sob and everyone looks at me. “The last thing she ever did … it was write a scary story … what’s the name on the paper?” I ask Tristan.

He squinted his eyes and tilted the paper. “A … um … Abigail Clinton, I think. It’s really faded. Why- Makayla, how did you know-”

But I had just seen the figure of Abigail floating behind Cole in the darkness. “Cole!” I scream, my voice tearing. “Cole, behind-”

But before he even turned around, he was lifted like Abigail, screaming as he went. “I am coming. I am coming and nothing you can do will stop me. I am coming.” Abigail whispers. The wind started to pick up again and Abigail’s voice is lost in the darkness, along with Cole.

“I am coming. I am coming and you will never forget it. I am coming.”

Every year, the Mattapoisett Fire Department Open House draws in the community, igniting the imaginations of the little ones and extinguishing ignorance of fire safety with live demonstrations and fun, educational activities for the kids in observance of National Fire Prevention Week.

“To us, it’s our big day of the year,” said Lieutenant Justin Dubois. The Thursday, October 8 event is the Fire Department’s chance to reach out to the community to get out its message of fire prevention. “It’s a good day in that we make it a family event that people can come to.”

One of the highlights, said Dubois, was the live fire demonstration that showed the nature of how a fire in the home can spread, stressing the importance of working smoke alarms.

Firefighters set up a small model of a living room with a couch, loveseat, curtains – coming as close as a real scenario that they can while still containing the small-scale fire.

“It’s to show how quickly a fire can spread,” said Dubois. “We had plenty of guys around to keep it mellow, but it … went fairly quickly.”

Dubois stressed caution with some of the many common causes of a fire in the living room – smoking, extension cords covered by carpets, and overloaded electrical outlets are just a few of them.

“We also did a vehicle extraction demonstration that shows the Jaws of Life and how they work,” said Dubois. “We pretty much took the car apart to show people, in a car accident, what we do.”

Fire Prevention Week was started in 1922 to commemorate the Great Chicago Fire of October 8, 1871, that burned for two days. It is traditionally observed on the week of October 9, Sunday through Saturday.

The Great Chicago Fire killed over 250 people, left 100,000 people homeless, and destroyed 17,400 structures.

By Jean Perry