I moved from a country that didn’t really believe in Halloween or really celebrate it. Apart from a few school contests here and there or a night clubs or China stores that put up decorations. Halloween is, so to say, frowned upon.
And now we’re been living in a country for 2 years that loves Halloween, there’s always parties, trick or treating, movies in the cemetery, haunted houses and so much more. Our city won endless tourist awards for the best attractions. Halloween was even our prom’s theme almost every year. And I have grown to love Halloween and the pop culture of everything cheesy to do with 31st October.
But now my dad lost his job at an architect firm and we are forced to move to a small town in the middle of nowhere, literary. I sighed with sadness and somewhat anger and resentment as I started out of the window at the old tattered houses we passed. Not one Halloween decoration was up? That’s so strange. By now, our town would be overflowing with décor.
I was to miss my prom because my dad found an excuse for a job as contractor to renovate some old house to bring more tourists in; we had sold everything and bought a trailer to live in until my dad finishes fixing the house up. It was the only job he managed to find in over a year. My parents spent all these savings trying to start up a new company. And to stop us from being deported and have a visa revoked.
I loved Halloween and I can’t believe I would miss prom; my friends and I had been talking about our costumes since junior year and planned how to look scary but cute. I tried to convince my parents to let me stay with one my friends just until after prom or let me go back for prom but they wouldn’t budge considering it was halfway across the country and they couldn’t afford a plane ticket or to take me back. As it was, we could barely afford this trip.
We pulled up to an old house that looked more like it should be condemned and bulldozed. It was three stories and was abandoned for years. There was graffiti on the walls with slurs and cuss words written in red. Other writings were symbols of gangs. The sheriff apparently needed the states cops to help rid the gang bangers, ladies of the night and addicts to be removed.
“Well…” my dad paused, try to smile optimistically.
“It looks like crap.” I spat, opening my door.
I all but gagged at the repugnant smell coming from the house and slammed my door shut, trying not to puke. My mother just shot me a dirty look. She was not exactly happy either that we had to move as she had been part of so many committees and charities and was favored by the mayor, but when my dad’s one building was botched; we lost almost everyone’s respect in the city. It would have been fine and could have been seen as a freak of nature, but the building collapsed on a national monument and part of the town’s proud history. The monument had been protected from being knocked down and was actually our history museum. Hence why my dad was basically fired and blacklisted in the architect world.
My dad climbed out of the car, and the stink in the air waffled into the car. My mom’s side was enough warning. I had to cover my nose and mouth and hold back a gag. My dad smiled, or I think it was a smile, as he beckoned for us to climb out of the car. My mom gave me one last warning glare before opening her door. I sighed, knowing that they were trying their best, and I didn’t make it any easier with my blatant tantrums. I pushed the door open and swallowed my gag.
My dad walked up to the porch, and it creaked under his weight as he climbed the steps. Slowly, my mom and I made our way to my dad as he opened the door. It creaked as the hinges barely kept the door from falling. The house smelled even worse that my dad coughed, covering his mouth with his arm. My eyes watered from the stink, but I mustered up the strength and followed him inside.
It was dark, damped and smelled like rot, pee and something indescribable. My dad pulled out his cell to use for light. The house had a staircase with carvings of some sort. To the left there was an arch with missing doors and to the right, smaller arch doors. The walls were full of graffiti and moldy. We made our way to the smaller archways. It was a large kitchen, a chef’s dream if it wasn’t so disgusting with broken tiles and counter tops.
The other door held a small dining area, most likely a staff dining room. The next door led down a winding staircase, probably sleeping rooms for staff or the washrooms. My dad decided not to go down the stairs. They looked wet. One miss step and who knows what is down there or at the end of the stairs or how far down it went?
We made our way back to the other room with the bigger arch. This room seems to be a drawing room with a stone fireplace or what was left of it with old stained, torn up couches. I went to the window that had a thick, moth-eaten curtain covering it up. Strange that this wouldn’t have been used as a blanket. I pulled at it and the whole railing came down with a loud bang, making my mom squeak with fright. I coughed and shrugged at her angry face. Light flowed in through the dirty windows, making it easier to see in the room.
There were some old paintings or portraits that had been shredded or graffitied over. And to be honest, that was an improvement. These portraits and paintings looked evil, menacing, not even medieval paintings in museums had that vibe. There’s just something wrong with these, like they would come alive any second, processed and attack us. I shivered at that thought and hugged myself.
“Ok let’s get settled then we can start off fresh tomorrow.” My mom said, pulling me closer to her.
She was feeling the same as I was, I’m sure of it, I thought, staring up at her as she studied the paintings, too. My dad agreed, and we left the drawing room and were about to reach the front door when it slammed shut.
We all froze with fear before my dad rushed to the door and tried to open it, but the door wouldn’t move. Both my mother and I tried helping him to open the door, but it was sealed shut. Next thing, there were squeaks and creaks coming from upstairs, like someone was walking around up there. I started panicking and grabbed at the door, pulling, pushing, and even ramping my shoulder against the door.
Were heard an echo as the wind blew through the house, making us all shiver from the iciness of the air. It all of a sudden became very cold and my father too started panicking and started trying to break the door down. We hear a loud cackle of laughter and the stairs thunder loudly as something invisible to the eye made its way down to us.
We let out a scream as a transparent face appeared in front of us with a pumpkin head that was carved with spiky teeth and frowning eyes. Somehow, my dad got the door open and pulled us out of the house. The ghost appeared in full length, standing at the door in with an orange-brown jumpsuit on. This time, its eyes were glowing red. It reached out towards us with tree branches for fingers and we scrambled for the car. All we heard was this horrid cackle that would not stop. More pumpkin ghosts appeared around the car. They had different face carvings, all gnawing and clawing at the car the trying to get to us.
Sam’s spirits of Halloween!