Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Halloween Stories-The Rabbit Hole

Greetings All,

Last week I shared, "Frozen" the short story. Since Halloween is on Saturday, today I'm sharing "The Rabbit Hole" with you. The Rabbit Hole comes from "A Handful of Halloween" the second installment of Halloween short stories written by the Greece, NY Creative Writing Group. Just a reminder the 4th annual Halloween Anthology, "A Hint of Halloween", will be FREE for the last time Friday and Saturday on Amazon. Check out my story, "The Isle of Toothsome"-http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0160N4C22/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_jGykwb1ZV8NQM

Now, on to The Rabbit Hole.

The Rabbit Hole
By Elle A. Rose


The Rabbit Hole
Admission:
One soul
Come and become a part of the main attraction
You’ll never leave 

 “Where did you get these tickets?” I ask Cam. They’re printed on the cheapest of cheap sheets of paper. I can see my fingers’ silhouettes through the flimsy material.
“Some clown on a street corner handed them to me. He said, ‘this is the best haunted house around,’” he replies, stuffing his shoulder length brown hair into a ponytail. “It sounds cool—what else do we have to do tonight?”
He’s right, it’s Halloween night, and there is nothing to do. There’s no way we’ll be caught going to a dumb costume party since we passed the age of trick or treating years ago. Plus, we’re already here. Lanterns dressed as scarecrows hang on either side of the cave entrance. The heads glow bright with fire dancing behind their hollowed eyes and gaping mouths. Every few seconds the lifelike effigies twitch like a body being electrocuted.
We drove miles to find this place. For a while, I thought Cam had the wrong directions. He’s good for that: tell you to go left when you should’ve continued straight, mix the numbers up of an address. And I doubt he could tell you if he was facing north or south, even with a compass in his grasp. As I was about to give up—egging a house would have been funnier than riding through Hickville—we spotted the sign for this place.
“Good evening.” Cam and I jump as a creepy-looking butler guy drags his hunched over frame from the depths of the cavern. “Welcome to the Rabbit Hole, we’re so pleased to have you.” His words remind me of the way Alfred Hitchcock used to speak. The slithery tone sends the hairs on the back of my neck to attention. Cam must be weirded out too because he takes a step back. This is going to be great. I love when they hire real actors for these gigs. “Gentlemen, if you’re ready, your driver awaits.” Creepy guy passes us each a plastic flashlight with pumpkin cutouts molded to the lights. When mine flickers to life, a toothless, smiling jack-o-lantern, bobs about the dark walls.
“Oh, here do you need these? How much does this cost?” My voice bounces off the dark wall of the cave, with as much excitement ringing in it as there is adrenaline zipping through my veins.
 Reaching out to offer the thin tickets to the butler, he says, “Keep them, we will make our collection at the end of the course.” As he speaks, a van pulls up and four teenagers pop out of the back. “Ah, more souls,” breathes creepy guy. “Boys, if you will kindly move along, the ferry will transport you to your destination.   
“You ready, Matt?” asks Cam, with a hard swat to my back. He fist bumps the air and flicks his lantern to life too.
 “Hell yeah!” I whoop and stuff the tickets into my pocket.
“Boys,” the butler calls. His words coil around us like a boa constrictor. “This is a very old cave. It’s been said one with a keen eye can find relics like gold coins still lying around. And mind the walls, they do move at times.”
The new group of teens draws creepy guy’s attention back to the mouth of the cave, and Cam and I edge our way into the pitch black tunnel. After a few feet, the ground seems to slope downwards. Our stupid flashlights do little to help us see.
“Did you hear that?” whispers Cam. His shoulder bumps mine and we stop walking. “I think I heard someone crying.”
 “Nope. It was probably the group behind us. We weren’t the only car out there. Maybe someone in front of us,” I respond and start walking again.
 “I’m freaking myself out and we haven’t made it to the house yet,” Cam chuckles and catches up to me. We trek along for a while in the dark. Every once in a while fake bats fly overhead. Their glowing red eyes appear to be searching the night for a way out.
 “Is it me or is it getting hotter?” I say as I remove my jacket and tie it around my waist. We’re still on a downward descent, and I swear with each step it’s getting warmer.
 “I guess,” Cam says. His sight is focused on something in the distance. “I think I see one of those gold coins old dude was talking about.” His weak light dances across a small gold speck on the left. He’s right. Bending, he smacks the ground with the back end of his flashlight to release the coin from the ground. The light from the cheap gadget flickers and with the last blow fades away. “It’s cold,” he claims and flips it back and forth before tossing it to me. I almost miss it as the shiny metal vanishes in the darkness around us. But when the heavy coin hits me in the chest with a low thud, I grasp it before it tumbles to the ground.
 “You think it’s real?” I doubt my own question, yet still try to examine the coin with the one light we have left.
“No way. I bet it’s chocolate or something on the inside,” Cam states and yanks the coin from me.
“How about you bite it and see?” I joke.
Cam reaches out and tugs on my elbow and I jerk away. “Stop touching me and let’s go,” I urge.
 “I didn’t touch you,” he snaps.
 “Okay, whatever. I felt you.” I go to walk away and he grips my arm again. “Let go.”
 “Matt, it’s not me.” Whipping around, my arm breaks the hold only to spot something moving back into the jagged wall of the cave.
 “Did you see that?” the words tumble from my lips like jars falling from a shelf in an earthquake.
 “Matt, what are you talking about? First I’m touching you and now you’re seeing things,” Cam laughs. The sound bounces off the walls before it cuts off in almost a strangulated gasp. “I felt it, too,” he yelps and jumps. Around us, arms and legs begin to emerge, some from the walls, and others the ground. I dare not look up to see if they’re looming over us too. A rotten, sulfur, old-trash, dead vermin scent fills the air and we both gag. The robotic hands reach for us, trying to haul us towards the wall.
 “Come on,” I holler. Now I hear it. Cries ring, haunting us, chasing us, and we race forward, seeking an exit.
With ease I zip pass Cam. In school, Cam is always picked last in gym, because he becomes winded too fast. I blame it on the fact that he’d rather sit and play a video game than go out and shoot hoops.
 “Matt, stop,” Cam calls from behind me. “I think we’re in the clear,” he states between gasping for air. I slow and try not to laugh. Are we a bunch of babies? We let ourselves get spooked by nothing more than props.

Screams echo behind us. We both bolt upright and edge closer together. “I bet it’s another group.” Why I say this out loud, to calm me or Cam, I have no clue. Sweat drops down my face and I wipe my jacket across my forehead. The heat is still rising. After a few steps, Cam stops and picks at something in the wall. It’s another gold coin. Repeating his actions from last time, he rams his broken flashlight into the rock wall until the coin falls into his hand. More stone falls and what looks like pale fingers wiggle their way through the hole from where the coin has vacated. I don’t know why but I reach out to touch them.
 “What are you doing?” whispers Cam in my ear. He’s closer than I thought, and just as the lifelike, ice-cold fingers stroke mine, I jump back.
 “I don’t know,” I stammer and rub my hand on my jeans.
“They’re coming again,” Cam says in an eerie voice. I don’t have a chance to question who ‘they’ are as the rotting smell wafts past my nose. Something brushes my foot and we take off running again. 
Exit to ferry flashes in a neon green light as we round the next bend. My nose, lips and throat burns from the intense heat. Cam again is a few feet behind me. I catch a glimpse of the moon beckoning me from the depths of the cave. I don’t hear Cam’s footsteps anymore so I spin, flashing my dim light back into the cave. “Matt, I found another gold coin,” says my friend from the darkness. “That smell came back and I saw those dead body parts again,” he states with a smirk and drops the coin into his pocket. He strolls towards the opening and I notice he has ditched his flashlight. Mine still works so I slip it into my pocket and follow him out. “I’m gonna sell these coins first thing tomorrow,” he declares and pats his leg.
 “No, you’re not. I’m telling you they’re fake,” I say and laugh.
A corn-stalk archway lined with a string of small lit plastic jack-o-lanterns comes into view. Please, wait for the next ferry reads the half hanging lopsided sign over the arch. I need to duck to keep from smacking my head on the jagged end of the dangling sign. Even though we are outside, it’s not any cooler. The sounds of a horse and carriage draw my attention from the sweat running down my back to the muddy road before us. Two white horses pulling a flatbed with bales of hay covering it come to a stop.
“Evening, guys,” giggles a small brunette from the cab. She’s dressed in a pair of blood-red heels, black fishnet tights, and a red-leather mini-dress fairy costume, showing ample cleavage and wings sprouting out her back. “Wipe the drool from your mouths, boys. Pay the footman and hop aboard,” she purrs, while adding another coat of her glossy crimson lipstick. Damn, I think the temperature just went up a few degrees.  
When we don’t move, the fairy slips her shades down the bridge of her nose and glares at us. She must be wearing red contacts too. Cam and I push our way to the back of the cart.
 “Hey, isn’t that the guy who substituted when the English teacher was out,” says Cam as we come to a stop in front of the steps.
 “I think so.”
 “Mr. Knox, right? Were you our substitute teacher a few weeks ago?” Cam questions. The man dressed in a leprechaun outfit doesn’t respond, but instead, shoves an empty pot in our direction.
“How much?” I say and pull my wallet out.
“To access the hayride, three gold coins will have you on your way,” he says with a wicked smile, flashing all of his teeth.
“Aw, man. I wanted to keep these,” pouts Cam as he digs the props from his pocket.
“I told you so,” I say and elbow him in the side before jumping into a huge pile of spilled hay on the wagon. As Cam joins me, I lean forward and say, “Did you see his teeth? They all have pointed ends.”
 “Yeah, they’re caps or something. They didn’t look like that in class.”
“I’m not sure if he is the same guy.”
“Of course he is,” counters Cam. “He’s acting. Just like hot chick up there.” His head bobs in the direction of our fairy. I turn and find her glaring at us.
“While riding the hayride, please keep hands and feet inside of the carriage throughout the voyage. I’d hate for you to lose a limb…on my watch.” With that, she flicks the reins and the horses jerk the buggy forward. I glance back to see if the leprechaun joined us, but he’s gone.  
After a few feet, we make a sharp right and slip between a path cut out in the middle of a cornfield. Our ride races between the dried stalks. The crops tower over us. From time to time, I catch a glimpse of the moon above us. I grasp at the other bales to hold me upright.
“This hay is making me itch,” whines Cam, as he rakes his blunt nubs he calls nails over his arms. I go to speak when I spot what looks like a person running parallel to the wagon, only meters away. “Do you see that,” my hand juts out pointing at the figure in the stalks. By the time Cam twists to look, it’s gone.
“No, what?”
“Nice  night for a ride wouldn’t ya’ say?” booms a voice from next to me. My heart leaps into my throat and I fall into Cam as I spin to see where that voice came from.
“What the hell?” stammers Cam, as he begins to push me off of him, only stopping when he notices who has somehow joined us on the cart. Before us sits a man in a genie costume. His bottle rests still on his knee as if we aren’t being jostled across this land like Jello strapped to a rollercoaster.
            The genie leans forward, pale blue lips grinning at us and says, “If you had one wish tonight, what would it be?” As he speaks, the buggy jerks right, and we skid to a stop.
My attention shifts from the genie to what has brought the ride to a halt. The horses neigh, jumping about, and our driver stands, yelling a foreign dialect. Orange flames sprout from the ground licking at the dried stalks. They’ve formed a sweltering barrier, blocking our entry to this turn on the maze.
“One wish—what would it be?” murmurs the genie. His sight is still trained on us. In the new light, his lips appear to have deepened to a dark purple. Being burned to death doesn’t seem to be a concern of his. Our driver yanks at the reins pulling, trying to redirect the horses. “I could make this go away, if you like,” he states and spreads his arms wide. The fire reacts to his movement and stretches. The walls on three sides of us now glow in bright orange flames.
Before Cam or I can respond to the genie, the fairy regains control of her beasts, and we begin to shift backwards. A few steps away from the dead end, we take off racing down another path.
 “Maybe I can be of help later,” claims the genie as he stands and jumps from the speeding carriage, disappearing into the crops. My friend’s wide-eyed appearance can only mirror my own. We take a quick left and hit a bump, losing a bale of hay. Every attempt I make to grab something to keep me from flying off the flatbed slips through my fingers as we zip down the narrow lane.
 “Do you think she knows where she’s going,” says Cam as we finally give up and hold each other to remain on the ride.
 “She must. It’s all a part of the act,” I say, but when we make another sharp turn, I question if the fairy still has control of the buggy.

“Whoa, there!” yells our driver. We’ve made a left here and right there and now the cart slows. She gives another command, stands and pulls hard to stop the horses. Curiosity tugs at me and as we roll to a halt, I get on my knees and peer over the front of the cart to see why we’ve stopped this time. Sweat drips from my forehead blurring my sight and I reach for my jacket to wipe my face. My hand searches for a moment or two, before I realize it must have become a victim of our fast ride. With the inside of my shirt, I scrub my face clean and finally spot why we are no longer moving.
Paul Bunyan, or at least an actor dressed as him and his blue ox stand in the path.
“Clear the way,” calls the fairy. Her red heel stamps the floor boards and she places her hands on her hips. In response, Bunyan lifts his axe, hoisting it over his head, and heaves it in our direction. Our driver lets out a loud scream and dives to the floor. As the axe spins like a pinwheel towards us, Cam and I spring from the buggy. A loud thud echoes in the darkness as the axe’s blade wedges itself into the wood from where Cam and I just vacated.
“Get back on the cart,” yells the fairy. Her voice sends chills up my spine. We ignore her and hide behind the hitch. Paul’s heavy footsteps seem to make the ground shake as he storms towards us. “Get back on,” calls a faded voice in my ears.
“What do we do?” questions Cam. The lumberjack yanks his axe from the flatbed and stares at us. Only feet away from us, he lifts the weapon again.
“Climb under the cart!” I scream as the blade whirls passed us. We both cringe when a huge hand swipes the air inches away from where we sit. “Go that way,” I point towards the left front wheel. Mud soaks my jeans and sticks to my hands as we crawl. When we make it to the front of the cart Cam starts to slide out when the ox sticks its painted blue nose in his way. It grunts and nips at Cam.
 “Back up, back up, back up!” he wails. I do but stop when something grabs my leg. A whimper leaves my lips as I’m hauled from under the cart. Cam’s paled face vanishes and I fight to be free of Paul Bunyan’s grasp.
 “Get on the damn cart,” yells that voice again.
My world spins. Movement sounds behind me as I’m pull upright to face the lumberjack.
“Hurry,” calls a female’s voice.
 A whip cracks. My stomach turns when Paul Bunyan leans closer. His warm breath slams into me like a sack filled with rocks. I feel the cart against my back shake and start to ease forward. From behind, someone tugs at my shirt.
 “Go!” hollers Cam.
On command, the carriage begins to move and a tug-a-war commences. Each man yanks on my tee-shirt. The cheap material starts to tear. I’m not sure what’s louder—my heart banging in my ears or the fabric shredding with each jerk.
My heart stops when Cam lets go. For an instant, I believe they will leave me, but, instead, Cam places his hands under my arms and wrenches me away from Paul Bunyan. We tumble backwards into the itchy hay, both breathing heavily as the cart dashes down the path, away from our attacker.      
“That can’t be a part of the attraction. Can it?” Cam breathes and throws his arm over his face. “It was too real. Man, I’m shaking.”
“No kidding.” Neither of us moves until the ride slows again. Like puppets, we both shoot up, as if a puppeteer has ordered us to life. “Now what?” I question. The stars have disappeared in the wake of the new light. Stretching out before us, sits a large house.
“End of the ride, fellas,” states the fairy.

Cam and I stare at each other, and then the huge mansion. Strobe lights flicker through some of the windows, and from time to time figures dash from one room to another. Screams, chainsaws, cackling, and loud music fill the air. Our driver throws us an impatient glare and Cam and I slide off the buggy. Without any answers as to why a lumberjack attacked us, the cart whips around and speeds off into the night.
 “I’m not sure I really wanna go in there,” whispers Cam.
I’m thinking the same thing. How the hell did I let him talk me into this?
“Come now, boys, the fun has just started.” The deep voice makes us jump. As we turn, we find the genie standing next to us. “There’re two ways out of the house,” he says and begins to push us forward. “Give the command and I can release you from your entombment. Or, find the exit. Your choice.”
His words fade away as flames of light blast out of the small holes in the ground leading up the aisle to the doorway.
“Where did he go?” Cam says and spins like a dog chasing its tail.
“I don’t know, man, but let’s just get this over with.”
I’m not sure, but I think the siding of the house is pulsating, and damn-it it’s only gotten hotter. As we approach the front steps, the door swings open. At first, flashing lights and smoke fill the opening. When we near the door a hunched dark shadow drifts through the smoke toward us.
“Ah, there you are,” exclaims the creepy butler from the cave. “I hear we almost lost you in the maze. It would’ve been such a shame.” His old wrinkled hands clasp, and his crooked form leaps for joy. “So few of our guests make it this far. That group behind you‒” he shakes his head and heaves a heavy sigh. “Well, enough of the gloomy news. Please enter.” Cam and I glance at each other. My best friend is sweating as much as I am. His hair has fallen from the ponytail and is matted to his scalp. Dressing up for a costume party doesn’t sound so bad anymore.
 If we were little boys, I think at this moment, holding hands would be acceptable. Instead, we fist bump, square our shoulders, and step forward.
“Wonderful! We’re so delighted you’re willing to join us tonight,” says butler guy in that eerie voice. “Take caution in the choices you make, and remember, the sign marked exit is your only way out.”
A maid saunters by carrying a tray with glasses filled with a red liquid. Flames dance on top of each of the drinks. She, too, is dressed in a very short costume with high heels.
 “I think we should go in the opposite direction that she’s headed,” I breathe.
 “Wise choice, young man,” the butler voices and steps back and bows. “Welcome to our home.”
As he speaks an ear piercing siren blares, causing Cam and I to cover our ears. The house goes dark and when the lights come back on, creepy guy is gone.
We enter the threshold at the same time and automatically make a right. “Let’s find the exit quick.”
Cam nods and turns down a long hallway. All of the doors are shut. “I say we divide and conquer. You take the doors on the right. I’ll take the doors on the left.” In response, Cam reaches out and clutches the handle near him. “One, two, three!” Both of our doors swing open. My room looks like a plain ordinary drawing-room. There’s no one in here and everything seems neat and in order. Behind me, Cam yelps and slams the door. The sound of a barking dog, scratching and ramming the flimsy wood rattles the entire wall.
 “Matt, I don’t know what the hell that was, but it wasn’t a dog,” Cam states in a shaky voice.
 A tremble moves down his body and he leans against the wall to steady himself.
 “Come on, buddy, this will be over soon.” It takes him a moment to regain his composure. When he’s ready, we walk down to the next door. Running feet slam into the floor above and as we open our next doors, screams echo in the house. Behind door number two, I find a small projector room. An old black and white film plays on the screen. It appears to be a horror movie. The light from the hallway spills into the room and the viewers moan and groan, twisting in their seats. Hollowed eyed zombies, whose heads all seem to bob sideways, face my direction. The same smell from the cave wafts passed me as I gaze into empty eye sockets. Their mouths all gape open, hanging by thin strips of skin. As one, they begin to rise from their seats and I shut the door. My heart thuds in my ears.
“Matt. Look at this.” For a moment, I dare not drag my eyes from the portal in front of me. The handle rattles a few times, but when it stops, I set my sight on Cam’s room. He’s left the door open and has stepped into the room. I follow, unsure if he should be in here.
Bubbles. They fall from the ceiling like rain. Stepping inside, my skin tingles as hundreds of bubbles land and pop on my body. “Where do you think they’re coming from?” my friend asks as he spins, arms spread wide. I go to speak when something plops on my head. Without a thought, I reach up and find something cool and mushy in my hair. Another plop lands on my shoulder as I remove the mystery object. It squirms about in my grasp and I need not see it to know what has fallen from the sky. Dad has taken me fishing plenty of times for me to detect a worm’s movements without seeing it. Yet, the next one that falls on the bridge of my nose sends an alarm off in my head. “I think it’s time to go, Cam.”
The instant I stop speaking, thousands upon thousands of worms descend from above. Unlike the bubbles, they hit the ground in a soft thud, squiggling about the floor. Cam thrashes wildly, trying to make his way through the thick curtain of creepy-crawlies. I dare not open my mouth to speak. Worms now slither down my entire body and visions of them entering my mouth make me gag. It feels like I’m walking on jelly as I step backward into the hallway. The small contents of my stomach roll like waves as I shake the writhing creatures off of me. Through the wiggling pinkish-brown veil, Cam’s fingers emerge. Flashbacks to the cave blind me for a moment before I grasp his hand and haul him from the room.
 “Get them off of me. Get them off,” he shrieks. His long frame slams to the ground, rolls from side to side kicking. His voice causes the other doors in the hall to rattle.
“Shh, Cam.” I need to say this a few times to get him to stop. Worms now litter the hallway and my best friend sits with his back on the wall.
“I can’t do this,” he says. It’s low and I need to stoop to his level to hear him better.
“Yes, you can.”
“Are you asking for an out?” the genie’s voice makes us both jump.
In this light, his skin has taken on a red hue. I didn’t notice them before, but he must be wearing fake nails, which are so long they have begun to curl. As he hovers closer to us, I gag again from the rotten smells pouring from his now blacken lips and brown teeth. “No, we’re not wimping out,” I sputter. This place is crazy but there is no way we won’t make it through this dumb funhouse. Without another glance at the actor, I yank Cam to his feet. “Come on, this was your idea. We can do this.”

Again, Aladdin’s friend disappears without a sound. I stare at Cam for a second. His appearance looks like he did last year when he caught the flu. “We need a different plan of attack. No more entering rooms unless you think you see an exit. I’m not sure, but I have a feeling the way out could be anything, from an open window to a hole in the wall. Remember it’s Halloween, and these guys are only here to scare the pants off of us.”
 “Yeah, they’re doing a really good job of it,” he chuckles.
 His voice sounds hollow and is sucked instantly into all the other noises thudding in this house.
Three doors down a guy and girl emerge from one of the rooms. His clothes mirror our own and the girl is barefoot. From where I stand, I watch their chests heave in and out like they’ve been running a marathon. Their deer-like eyes canvas the hallway, perhaps judging if we are a threat, before running our way. A chainsaw buzzes, numbing all sounds around us. “Run!” yells the guy, as he and the girl wiz passed us. Our heads jerk from one end of the hall to the other, just in time to see the couple skid around the corner. We should’ve heeded their warning. From the room they exited comes a set of boots, laced with chains that run all the way up leather covered legs, around a thick torso crisscrossing over a giant man’s shoulders. His face is masked with black leather and he grips a chainsaw over his head. When the giant spots us, he grunts and revs his tool. We need not be told again to run.
My good friend and I race back in the direction we came. The guy and girl are nowhere in sight. We zip by the front door, which now seems to be guarded by a troll and head for the room the maid carried the flaming drinks into as we entered. The chainsaw is close on our heels as we trek into more unknown territory. Soon the thumping of loud rock music washes out the buzz of the chainsaw. A disco ball hangs from the middle of the room and a checkered dance floor thrives with bodies swaying to the hypnotic beat.
Cam’s elbow jabs me in the ribs and he says, “Is she biting his neck?”
 As he speaks, the couple closest to us stops bobbing to the music and the woman jerks her head up. Blood drips from her mouth and she hisses at us, revealing fangs. The guy stands motionless, staring off into space. She releases the man and he crumples to the floor, with blood seeping from two puncture wounds on his neck.
“Fresh blood,” hisses the creature. She steps over her dance partner and glides nearer. Cam and I step backwards but stop when we bump into a barrier. If I had to guess, a male body has stopped my movement. I flinch as a nose brushes my skin. A shiver runs up my spine as the person behind me inhales.
 “Oh, you smell wonderful,” is nothing more than a whisper in my ear, but the words are deafening. 
“I saw him first,” wails the lady and lunges toward me. My eyes close and wait for the impact.
The sound of a chainsaw rips through the music and hisses follow. I sense the air around me shift and my eyes open. “He followed us,” Cam states. Around us, bodies lay on the floor, seeping blood. “Back there.” I turn and see where everyone else has gone. In the archway lurks chainsaw man, revving his weapon. The dancers have blocked his entry, hissing and flashing their fangs.
 “We need to go now, while they’re not looking,” I say and pull Cam.
On the other side of the room, I spot an opening. I’m not sure if I’m ready to face what could be waiting for us, but I can’t say that chick isn’t really going to bite me. We make our way across the floor as fast as possible without stepping on the people sprawled on the ground.

I’m happy I still have my flashlight and after a few flicks, the toothless pumpkin bounces off the steps before us. We don’t speak as we navigate our way into the basement, dungeon, or whatever clever contraption is waiting for us. As our feet hit the bottom step, a green light illuminates the area. Cages with bones dangle from the ceiling and caldrons boiling foul smelling liquids kick the temperature up almost twenty degrees.
“We have new patients,” calls a voice from an unforeseen corner. “Nurse, we need two gurneys.”
            Shoes slapping the cement ground, and the high pitch wail of a squeaky wheel follow, “Of course doctor.”     
 My flashlight drops from my grasp and Cam and I hit the floor, crawling into a dark corner. “Oh, pooh, they’ve run off on us,” huffs the nurse. From where we hide, I can see her white loafers and white fishnet stockings. She taps her foot and spins around. I move back a tad when I catch my reflection in the gurney’s wheel base. “They haven’t gone far. They never do,” promises the doctor.
I fear if we speak, they will hear us, so I tap Cam on the shoulder and point across the room. There has to be another way out. He nods and we, hugging the dark crevices of the basement crawl along the wall. If it wasn’t for the size of the caldrons, I’m sure we would be spotted. When my arm brushes the outside of a pot, I bite back a cry. The skin sizzles and the muscle tense in protest, yet I keep moving. The nurse and doctor taunt us, calling for us to come out of our hiding spot. As we round the second wall, wrapped hands break through the darkness and yank Cam to the middle of the room. My best friend gives a muffled scream and I jump out of hiding ready to attack.
A mummy drags Cam towards the doctor and nurse. Both wear white masks over their mouths and the nurse jumps for joy as they near. No one has spotted me yet. Cam fights to be free, kicking and flaying about. His motions do nothing to slow the mummy’s gait. Going unnoticed, I release a thick bone from a cage that hangs overhead. It’s wet and smells of rotting flesh. I have no time to gag from the smell as I swing the bone, slamming it into the back of the mummy’s head. Cam falls to the ground and rolls to his side, avoiding being crushed by the mummy as he tumbles forward. In the corner, I see a white light and it looks like another set of stairs leading upwards. “Come on, this way.” The doctor and nurse charge as Cam springs to his feet. We hit the stairs and dash toward the light.
 “Darn, we’ve lost them, Doctor,” echoes behind us.
Up we climb. One floor, then a second, but then again it’s hard to tell, there are no doors, nothing but the shining light at the top of the stairwell. Breathless, we reach the landing. Either the doctor, nurse, nor mummy breaches the staircase, or anyone else for that matter. A door with the number thirteen scratched into the wood greets us. Cam and I look at each other, then the door, and then back down the stairs. The bright light above us burst, sending shards of glass showering down on us. No discussion is needed as Cam turns the knob and we almost fall through the doorway. This hallway looks like the one on the first floor, except all of the doors have the number thirteen carved in them.  
This time we go together to each door. Behind gateway number one, we find a weeping bride. Her white dress and veil both drip with red goo and a silver candlestick lays at her feet. She looks up and shrills, “Why didn’t he love me?”
We dare not enter that room and shut the door. At the next room, we can’t get the handle to twist.
 “If it won’t open, I’m not going to push it,” says Cam as he moves on to the third entrance. Soft music flows from the other side of this barrier. It calls to me. My insides feel a pulling that I can’t ignore and I’m propelled forward. When the door creaks open, I enter, leaving my misgiving in the hallway. A blonde haired woman sits, playing a harp, singing a beautiful song. “This isn’t cool, Matt. Let’s go back,” says Cam and pulls on my shoulder. At the sound of our invasion, the blonde stops playing and spins to face us. Her eyes flash a crimson-red and her pouty lips pull into a sneer as the blonde hair falls to the floor revealing red-eyed snakes writhing on top of her head.  
Snakes are Cam’s biggest fear. He whimpers, backing into the door. His movement causes the door to creak shut. The soft click of the latch sends Cam into even more of a panic.
“No, no, no,” he cries and jiggles the handle.
“Yes, my pets, we have company,” coos Medusa. More snakes slither from under furniture, and vents. The ones on top of her head hiss and spit venom.
“Matt, help me get the door open.” He places his foot on the door jam and pulls hard enough to yank the knob from the fixture. Cam tumbles to the ground, landing between the snakes and myself.
 Medusa cackles and raises her hands over her head before saying, “Bring him to me, my pets.” On command, the snakes glide forward circling Cam. I reach to pull him back when a snake lunges toward me. While the creatures that corner my best friend rise to an attack pose, the others fan out creating an impenetrable line to cross. 
“I want out! Let me out,” screams Cam. He pulls his knees to his chest and lets out a loud wail.
“Is this your wish?” From the far corner of the room, the genie has propped himself on a desk.
“Yes, I want out.”
“Then your wish is my command.”
“No! He doesn’t mean it.” My gut tells me this isn’t what he wants. This isn’t want anyone would want.
With a snap of his fingers, Medusa and her pets vanish. In their place, a barrier of fire soars, scraping the ceiling and further blocking me from Cam.
My arm shields my face from the heat as I try to brave the flames. “Cam, tell him no.” The room is filling with smoke and I choke.
“I can make you the same offer,” a voice from the fire says. Although my sight is becoming blurry, I believe I see what looks like the genie’s face dancing in the flames.
“Go to Hell,” I yell back and drop to my knees gagging.
 “You have no idea,” he laughs. The barrier drops, and I spot Cam standing, stuck in a ring of fire. He stands motionless, staring at the wall. I push myself to my feet and step forward. To my left, the genie slides from the desk, and snaps his fingers. “Have it your way.” With that, the door behind me bangs open and a huge gust of wind sends me toppling into the hallway. I sail into the wall and slide to the ground. From where I sit, I watch with dread as the flames incasing Cam dissipate and the genie lures him to his side. The door slams shut and I jump to my feet. As I reach the entrance, the stupid knob on the first try falls to the floor.
 Over and over I bang my fist on the door. My foot slams into the wood until my ankle aches, and still the gateway will not open. Around me, everything goes quiet. Too quiet. When the door across the way squeaks open and a green-faced creature dressed as a witch emerges, I know I must run. She walks with a slant, and drags her broom as a caveman would carry a club. Her crooked walk doesn’t slow her down and I dash into the closest room. I don’t think before I shut myself in what could be the next line of torture, but relief washes over me when I find stairs leading down. My steps echo in the stairwell as I take two steps at a time. On the last step, my heart thrashes in my chest as I peer through the opening. From here, it looks like the hallway Cam and I first ventured down. At the top of the stairs a low thump, thump, thump, bounces off the walls. The lighting is dim and I can only guess it is the witch following me.
On the count of three, I dash out the archway and race down the hall. Feet away from the atrium, a chainsaw buzzes. I fear who or what may be coming to block me in the hallway. Going on a whim, I run to the door I believe to be the drawing room. I barely get the door shut when heavy feet sulk by. I need to find somewhere to hide in case those creatures come in here. With a quick glance, I realize I may have picked the wrong room to look for a hiding place. The only thing that sits in this room is an easel. But when I look again I notice there is something drawn on the canvas. Could it really be that easy? Here all along, had I paid attention the first time I would have seen the drawing. A picture of a window with the word Exit, sits taunting me. On the top corner of the canvas, a green arrow points to the window behind the drawing.  
Racing to the window, I pull, push, and yank the damn thing but it won’t budge. In complete frustration, I rip the canvas from the easel and slam it into the glass. Shards of glass flutter away like a bird whose cage door was left open. Cool air finally brushes my skin and pulls me to the opening. It’s pitch black out and I have no clue what I’m jumping into, but I don’t hesitate as I leap through the abyss. I soar for a moment before I smack something hard, ending my descent. Although it’s dark, my world spins and I find it hard to keep my eyes open.
“There’s no loitering, here,” huffs a deep voice. Is he talking to me? My head feels like someone drove a nail through it. “Keep it moving,” he barks and kicks my foot. I try to open my eyes, but someone is shining a bright light in my face. Rolling to my side, I inhale grass and dirt. “If you don’t get up, I’m taking you in.”
“What?” I murmur. What is he talking about? Where am I? As I roll onto my back, I realize no one is shining a light in my eyes. It’s the sun. One at a time, my eyes slide open, straining to adjust to the bright light. Looming over me is a police officer. Now that I’m awake, he straightens and steps back. I rub my eyes and try to focus them again. I could swear he looks just like the leprechaun Cam thought was our substitute teacher. Cam, where is he? I look around trying to find him or figure out where I am. “Mr. Knox?” I venture. “Where am I? Where’s Cam?”
 The cop glares at me and I wonder for a moment if I have head trauma. I’m sure his eyes flash red before he says, “If you’re not gone by the time I come back from my rounds, I’m taking you to the station.” I don’t speak as he storms away.  
It takes me a moment to get to my feet. At this new viewpoint, I pinpoint the community park where I shoot hoops. From here, I can see my car parked across the way. In my hand is a small balled up sheet of paper. My heart leaps into my throat. It’s the ticket from the haunted house. Digging through my pocket, I search for the other ticket. I had both of them. I’m positive. Yet when I come up with nothing I can only scratch my head. As the sunlight catches the thin paper in my hand, I notice there’s something on the back of the ticket. Perhaps next year, with a smiley face glares at me. A shiver runs up my back and the ticket drops from my grasp, being swept away by the wind.
 Come and become a part of the main attraction. You’ll never leave, sears my brain as I walk to my car.  



Thanks for reading The Rabbit Hole. I hope you enjoyed the story. Please let me know your thoughts and I would love for you to share the story with your friends. In the next week or so I'll be posting pictures of this year's Halloween party. Make sure you come back for a look!

Thursday, October 22, 2015

Halloween Stories-Frozen

Hello All,

With Halloween coming up rather quickly I thought I would share a few of my short stories. I've mentioned this before, but for the last 4 years the Creative Writing Group I belong to has published a Halloween Anthology. SN-This year's collection, A Hint of Halloween, will be FREE Friday on Amazon. Check out my story, The Isle of Toothsome-http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0160N4C22/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_jGykwb1ZV8NQM

The story I'm sharing with you now was from the first collection, Hapless Halloween. Though Frozen started out as a short story in the anthology, I did go on to turn it into a full length YA novel. I would like to also mention that as of last month Frozen, the novel received a Seal of Approval from the Literary Classics International Books & Rewards.

Next week I'll be sharing the Rabbit Hole with you. Below is where is all started. Happy reading, and as always, I would love your feedback.
  
Frozen


By Elle A. Rose


  
Copyright © 2012 By Angela Watkins, Elle A. Rose
All rights reserved


The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.




        They say many years ago, before my great, great, great, great grandparents were born, the young at heart and kids of all ages celebrated Halloween. On October thirty-first of every year, individuals would dress up in costumes either to party with friends or, to go door to door and collect candi from neighbors. Candi, what a foreign name. It’s unknown to our generation, but from what I’ve been told, it holds an alluring sweetness. After The Great Takeover, production of any sustenance not needed for survival was unnecessary. Although the joyfulness of Halloween is extinct, the premise of collection or ‘Trick or Treat’ still remains.
     Halloween is now a day for obtaining provisions to support our family throughout the year. I’m of age this year, so it will be the first time I’m allowed to participate in the food and materials scavenge. My name is Verick Cedar. I reside on the planet formerly known as Earth. The Great Takeover, which occurred sometime in 3100 left the entire planet’s surface merged together. The Xecerptavode (ex-serp-ta-void), an alien race, infused our land, drained all the fresh water, and forced us to live in destitute conditions. Because of the relocation and meshing of the grounds once separated by water, the spiritual barrier between the living and dead, ley lines, were also destroyed. Without intact ley lines, spiritual nights like All Hallows’ Eve have become the salvation for humans of the planet once called earth.
       Thanks to the Goddess, Pomona, this one night she and our ancestors rise from the dead to entomb the xecerptavode in stasis, while our people attempt to gather food. Even though Pomona is a powerful Goddess, she is unable to hold back all of the spirits of the dead. The xecerptavode, who have lost their lives on this planet, also rise in spirit form to assist their imprisoned descendants. For this reason, collection of necessities can become fatal. Although this is my first year of ‘Trick or Treating’, it very well may be my last.
       My father is depending on me tonight, I see it in his gaze. For months now, he has coached me on what to expect. If it wasn’t for the chronic, gurgle of warm bile swishing in my stomach, I may have tried to back out for one more year. I believe my mother is right, sixteen is still way too young. Granted, next year, I will begin the tradition of picking a wife, courting her and wedding her by eighteen--that is, if I live through this night.
        I’ve barricaded myself in my four-by-five foot room with the mattress. It leaves me little freedom to pace, and I continue to kick the dried seaweed and kelp that has leaked from my bedding onto the floor. Resting my arms behind my head, I mull over the pending adventure of the night. Thea and Rylee, my younger sisters, scurry past my door singing. Their angelic voices squelch all doubts. I can do this! I have to do this! If I do not do this for myself, then I shall do it for them. With a slight nod, I flip my mattress away from the flimsy fabric used to close my bedroom off from the rest of the residence. More brittle algae spills to the floor, but I do not stop to refill my bed.
        My sisters come running toward me, arms open wide, as I emerge from my room. Rylee, the younger of the two, bounces into my arms. As I pull her close, her wavy blonde hair brushes my face. Thea, our middle sister, wraps her arms around my leg, and both girls giggle while I try to walk with their bodies attached to me. It’s one of our favorite games. Their giggles turn to hysterical laughter as I pretend to struggle under the extra weight I’ve picked up. We make our way into the kitchen, with a grunt here, a moan there, and laughter that rings throughout our small household, reminding us of better times.
         Mom and Dad are in the kitchen. The creases seem to fade from Mom’s face as she watches us make the six long steps from my room to the kitchen. Her eyes water and she turns back to stirring dinner--stone soup. Dad looks up from sharpening a knife. I count three more knives on the table. Mom says I look like him. We both have green eyes and the same shade of reddish-blond hair. Dad’s face is set in an unreadable expression. His brother was my age when he lost his life on All Hallows’ Eve. Thea releases my leg, and Rylee slides from my arms, as we join Dad at the table for supper.
          There’s little speaking between us as we eat. It’s cool outside and the soup has done little to warm my insides. I wanted to place my spoon back on the table after the second mouthful, but I know I need my strength, regardless of whether my stomach can handle the mineral slosh. After dinner, Rylee and Thea give Dad and me hugs, and then Mom ushers them into their windowless bedroom--it’s best they’re asleep before I leave. If it wasn’t for my sisters, I believe my mother would come scavenge with us. My Aunt Ella, Uncle Etan and cousin on my mother’s side will be making their way to the house, along with my grandparents from my dad’s side. The grandparents, my mom and aunt will keep the children safe tonight.
          While we wait for the others, Dad pulls out a hand-sketched map of the ground we will cover tonight. I’ve seen this map before; however, this will be the first time I must pay close enough attention to the precise legend scribed on the side. For generations, my family has used this map, marking on it new paths to follow and old avenues that may lead to death. I commit to memory all of the lines marked with a red X. Those are lines that we no longer used, and are marked in blood to represent the death of a family member.
          The rusted tin door rattles from a light rap. I can’t hide my fright as I jump from the noise. Dad’s eyes focus on me for only a second before he leaves to let everyone in. As the door creaks open, I notice the sun has begun to fade. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and a cool sensation brushes my skin. Our human spirit ancestors will be erupting from the shattered ley lines soon, so will the xecerptavode ancestors who died on this land.
          My aunt kisses my cheek as she breezes by me to lay my cousin in the room with Thea and Rylee. He, too, is asleep. I’m greeted as one of the men this year. My grandfather reaches his hand out and we shake. Next Uncle Etan welcomes me. Then as tradition dictates, the eldest family member retrieves a small statue of the Goddess Pomona. We take turns. First, the women, then in descending order, the men, all ask the Goddess of fruit and seeds for safe passage tonight. Being last, I gaze at the miniature statue longer than everyone else. I give one more silent plea for a safe return to my mother and sisters come dawn.
          My father, Uncle Etan, and I say our goodbyes as the last sliver of the orangey-pink sun slithers behind the dusty horizon. In the children’s books Thea and Rylee read, it’s claimed that once upon a time ample trees and bushes graced this planet. The stories talk of lush foliage that at this time of year would turn pretty shades of red, orange, yellow, and brown. After the fresh water dried up, most vegetation died. Due to the xecerptavode’s chemical makeup, our atmosphere has been altered, resulting in an end to precipitation. Other than the plants that can survive on salt water—which are very few, you cannot find shrubbery in sight. We do, however, maintain underground farms, which consist of mutated plants from the old world.
        “Verick, I need you to pay close attention.”
My father’s voice pulls me from the melting sun.
 “Yes, Dad. Go on, I’m listening.”
        He gives me an uneasy gaze. Perhaps he’s second guessing my participation tonight. I stand up straighter and square my shoulders.
        “Last year we headed east first. We seemed to have had luck that way. If you get lost make sure you take the southwest route back,” Dad says, as he taps his finger on the map. 
           We never return home on the same path in which we begin our journey. In years past, nomads wait on the direct paths back to our slums. For a proper one night’s sleep, they’ll rob you of your goods and return missing items to the xecerptavode. Out of the corner of my eye, I see other families are on the move. To fill my empty hands, Dad thrusts the handle end of the knife he sharpened earlier, along with three burlap sacks towards me. As we begin our trek, my heart frantically throws itself against the wall of my chest, trying to be free, to flee back to the comfort of our home.
          The first few miles need to be jogged. There’s a lot of land to cover and time is slipping by. Before we make it one hundred feet from the house, we come across our first xecerptavode spirit. It is still materializing, so we slip pass it. That is a sign our ancestors are freezing all living xecerptavode in the midst of activity. I pray the semi-transparent alien we skim by will not make its way to my home. By now, Mom will have the jack-o-lanterns lit. It takes days of preparation to carve the jack-o-lanterns for every window ledge and doorframe for the three households. All of the pumpkin innards have been stored and will be a part of the celebration feast upon our safe arrival home. The gourd itself may not ward off unwanted souls but it will deter them.
          I’m panting as we finally make it to the fork in the road Dad spoke about earlier. To the right, nothing but dry soil as far as the eye can see. I believe that path was the one that led to what ultimately took my uncle’s life. To the left, the peaks of castles appear. All xecerptavode tribes occupy stone castles. I say ‘tribe’ loosely. Besides being able to give birth to offspring, every xecerptavode is able to regenerate a carbon copy of itself. This only occurs when any part of their body separates from the host. That is why we have not been able to kill them, and how the human race lost The Great Takeover.
           We hesitate only a moment. But that is all the time needed for a crazed spirit to spot us. With a horrid shriek, the fully formed body hurls itself at us. I’m frozen, and cannot move, no matter how much I will my body to do so. I can’t shield my ears from the screech threatening to shatter my eardrums. My eyes are no longer in my control. They’re permanently fixed on the creature closing the distance between us. And my feet, though I’ve given the command to move, have betrayed me. The mutilated embodied soul is inches away from me, when the air whooshes from my lungs as something pushes against my abdomen. I fall, hitting the ground as my father comes between the attacker and me. In one fluid movement, Dad strikes a match and throws it at the soul. Bluish-green flames fill the space around us as the spirit is vanquished back to the other side until next All Hallows’ Eve.
          Dad whips around and yanks me from the hard ground.
        “Don’t you do that again!” he screams, before the light from the flame fades, and we are shrouded in darkness. He shakes me and I fight the urge to vomit. “I will not lose you. Do you understand me? I will not go home without you.” Relief washes over his face and he pulls me nearer. This is the first time he has hugged me in years. His heart is jack-hammering through our thick layers of clothing. “Verick, you have to be more careful. I’m not always going to be here for you.” He releases me and Uncle Etan’s heavy hand comes down on my shoulder.
        “I find it easier not to look them in the face.” Uncle Etan is a man of few words.
  I nod.
        “Here,” Dad pulls a few more matches from his pocket and hands them to me. “We’ll have to scavenge for more while we’re out, but if need be, use these.” 
         I secure the matches in a small pocket mother stitched inside my jacket and we sprint toward the castles.      
           It’s not until we come closer to the village that we get a glimpse of a xecerptavode in stasis. Our ancestors who rise from the dead do not take flesh-form as the xecerptavode spirits; instead, they insert themselves into all living xecerptavode to freeze them in place. Although the creature is frozen mid-stride, we still take precaution slipping by. This is my first time seeing one in real life. The drawings I’ve seen have done no justice. From behind, xecerptavode appear to be human; their build is equivalent to ours. Like humans, the male species is generally taller than the female, but it’s their facial features that differ from us. In place of a nose, xecerptavode have four long tentacles squiggling from their large mouths. They pick up scents through two tiny holes on either side of their temples.  
          I attempt to take my uncle’s advice and not stare at the creatures face; however, I’m drawn to its eyes. They are the same shade of green as mine. A slight chill runs up my back, and I look away from the eyes that seem to be glaring at me. I pull my attention back to the fortress in front of me. Other humans have begun to raid the houses. Xecerptavode cannot keep track of time, so they’re unaware of when these raids take place. Because of this, they booby trap their strongholds year round. In early days, humans would raid as many castles as possible leaving the xecerptavode foodless and with damaged goods. This would cause battles between the local humans and the new inhabitants of the planet. Now, to help keep order and loss of life to a minimum, we only take what we need to make it though the year. Then when our ancestors vacate the living, the xecerptavodes will go on with their day as if nothing happened.
     “All of these houses have been breached. Let’s go down a few more rows,” Dad states. He motions for us to follow him.
            I gape at the huge fortresses that line the dusty lane. It takes us approximately twenty minutes to walk by three castles. I believe my family’s home would fit in the entryway of any of these stone houses with room to spare. As we pass the fifth castle, a scuffle breaks out. A man and a woman fight with an angry spirit and one of the xecerptavode’s pets, called a Vodepod. The large six legged creature snarls, baring its teeth, before latching onto the man’s forearm and giving him a violent shake.
       “Should we help them?” I ask. It appears Dad and Uncle Etan may just keep walking, as if they do not see the distressed woman frantically trying to fight the vodepod off now that she has set the spirit aflame. She throws herself against the beast over and over again. Her untamed hair reminds me of my mother and without thinking, I dash toward the struggle. As I near, I call out to get the creature’s attention. It works. The scaly beast’s head pops up and sniffs the air. Resembling its alien counterparts’ facial structure, its scent glands sit on the temples with eyes and large squirming tentacles around the mouth’s outer ring. The vodepod rakes its webbed paw across the dirt, and then begins to charge. I’ve just removed my knife when Uncle Etan attacks. The creature is down in an instant.
          My hand shakes as I slide the knife back into place. Dad scowls at me and I wait for him to bellow. Instead, he, Uncle Etan and the woman go about dividing the carcass. I watch for a moment before assisting the man bandage his arm. He’s bleeding heavily and we end up cutting what’s left of his jacket into strips to tie tightly around his upper arm.
          With three of the burlaps sacks filled with meat that the women will preserve once we return home, we move on. I believe I’ve slowed the men down this year. I sense Dad and Uncle Etan are becoming agitated the farther we walk. So many castles have already been raided. The further we travel, the more we will need to backtrack to make it home. And we must be well on our way before the sun begins to rise.
          After another hour and a half of walking, we come to a castle that looks untouched. We scout the surroundings and find a pit filled with seawater, seaweed, and ophidians. The snakelike creatures are a delectable treat after being cured. Uncle Etan pulls rope and a hook from a pack he carries on his back.
“You two go ahead. I’ll collect a few of the snakes and seaweed.” He lights a small beige jack-o-lantern and begins securing the rope to the hook.
“Come on, Verick. Follow me and watch your step,” Dad says.
           Air sticks in my throat like mud on the walls of our house, as Dad takes a running jump across the moat from which my uncle is fishing. My hands twitch helplessly while his fingers grasp a rope that dangles from the grimy stone siding. His feet scrape the sides before they turn outward to gain hold on the slim rock foundation under him. He gives a hard tug on the rope and a door opens. Then in one swift movement, Dad swings his body onto the falling door and waves me forward.
 “This way, son.”
           I’m relieved I don’t need to jump the moat as well. I would’ve surely fallen into the pit. The ophidians may be delicious, but their bite is deadly. I glance at my Uncle as I cross the bridge and he smiles.
 “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he says.
          After I cross the drawbridge, I realize we have not entered the house yet. With watchful eyes, we make it to the front door. In the archway, Dad holds up his hand, and I wait as he removes dirt from his pocket. He sprinkles it on the stone in front of our feet and some of it bounces off of something suspended in the air. On closer inspection, it appears to be a dark cord hanging between the framework. Dad taps me on the shoulder and points up. I follow his hand and am shocked by the contraption looming over our heads. It appears to be holding massive size rocks.
       “Should we let Uncle Etan know?”
 Dad shakes his head.
      “He’ll see the dirt, plus he knows to watch where he is walking. You just remember this if you need to leave the house without me.”
 Concern has crept back into my dad’s face. “I’ll be careful,” I assure him in a weak voice. Could I leave here without him? Could I make it back home by myself? Those questions roll around in my brain as we trespass further into the house.
          We make it another two feet before we are approached by another creature the xecerptavode brought to our planet. It’s smaller than the vodepod, but is fierce. This beast has gills that open and close rapidly. Although its mouth doesn’t have tentacles, when it opens its jaws, six rows of teeth move back and forth within its maw. My mind races as Dad skillfully takes the beast down. This creature will now feed our family for a few months is called a seavode, because they can live in and out of water.
        Dad looks up from the dead beast and says, “Why don’t you search the house for some fabric. Remember, don’t take too much, but enough for a few new tops and bottoms will do.”
          Because we’ve killed the seavode, we’ll need to leave a door open. The aliens who own this house will think the beast just ran away.
        “Verick.”
 I stop and face my dad. There’s blue blood dripping from his knife.
       “There may be more seavodes or vodepods roaming in the house, so stay on your guard. I’m heading for the kitchen next, so meet me there.”
I respond with, “Yes, sir,” as I turn back and place my hand on the stone railing which leads up a massive spiral staircase, thankful that lit lanterns illuminate my ascent.       
          Sheep, like all other animals, died out centuries ago. Xecerptavodes grow the only plants from which fabric is made. I would like to stuff at least one of my sacks with cloth. One sack is already filled with the meat from the attack on the road, and I’ll wait until I meet back up with Dad to fill the third sack. When I round the final few stairs, I spot two smaller xecerptavodes sitting still in the long passageway. They, too, are in stasis. I believe they are both female and appear to be playing some sort of marble game. I want to swipe the marbles from the floor and bring them home to my sisters. I wonder if the females would know they were missing. Would they be upset if their toys disappeared? I’ve decided to mull this over as I make my way to the first room. Perhaps I’ll snag the goodies for Thea and Rylee on the way back. 
           I’m amazed by the items that adorn the creatures’ walls. Paintings and clay works align the space, whereas, at home one sees nothing but cracks and holes in the mud that holds our structures together. I resist the urge to place one of these items in my bag as well. I finally find what looks like a linen cupboard. Everything the xecerptavodes produce is in shades of gray, brown, and sometimes green. I grab a handful of different size towels and blankets, and cram them into the bag. With my sack half full, I search for the resting quarters. During my quest, I stumble upon a xecerptavode woman. I can tell it’s a female by the hair. She has something in her hands. I edge around her, careful not to touch her. She’s holding a book. I bend to read the spine, but it’s written in their native tongue, and I have no clue what it says.
          I’m wasting time, so I move on to find other fabric. With a few tops and bottoms from the resting quarter’s safely in my bag, I go in search of the smaller females’ rooms. I bet Thea and Rylee can fit in some of their clothes. In another room--not the one I wanted--I find candles and a few more matches. Just as I add the wax to my sack, a loud crash comes from downstairs. I take off running. “Dad? Dad, are you okay?” I receive no response. My feet race down the unremitting hallway, past the two girls and pound their way to the first floor.
          On the main floor, I search for my dad. Neither he nor Uncle Etan are in sight. As I make my way in the direction in what I hope is the kitchen. I stumble, losing my balance. I slam onto the hard stone floor and the sacks spill from my hands. The impact knocks the wind out of me. Blood pools in my mouth. Gasping to replenish my lungs with air, I wipe blood from my jaw. As my eyes refocus, I find my father battling a spirit in the center of the room. A renewed sense of strength washes over me. The spirit has Dad by the neck. His face is turning a dark blue. Back on my feet, I start moving toward the soul. I dig into my pocket to retrieve the matches Dad gave me, only to find I must have broken them during my fall. I can’t light any of them, and still have enough flame to throw it on the deranged soul. Instead, I reach for my knife.
          The spirit is unaware of my approach. Dad is unconscious. I can only hope he’s still breathing. Just before the ghost throws Dad into the wall, I strike. Bits of flesh fall to the floor and a hollow scream echoes through the castle, as the full bodied ghost spins around to face me. The soul charges and I attempt to cut at it again. “Uncle Etan!” I cry. I thought he would be inside by now. With a lucky few swipes, I hack away at the creature again. That’s when I notice chopping the ghost was not a good idea. The pieces of flesh have begun to regenerate. No one has shared this information with me. I guess this is why we burn the souls back to the other side. Now, instead of fighting off one soul, I must contend with three.
        Uncle Etan has to be on his way. I only need to make it out of this room. As I step backward, the ghosts draw near. I reach and try to pull one of the lanterns from the placement in the wall, with no luck. I need fire. Just as I’ve almost made it to the entrance of the room, I hear a grisly sound behind me. I dare to sneak a peek at what has made the noise. My heart, the one I doubted could beat any faster, stops. I’m surrounded. Behind me, coming up fast is a huge vodepod.
          I have to think of something. Scanning the room, I remember Dad still has matches on him, and I have matches in the sacks I dropped in the outer hallway. One way leads me to face the vodepod, the other way the three spirits. I believe the ghosts to be the lesser of the two evils. I just need to make it a few yards. I know I can do this. As everything seems to close in on me, I take a deep breath and then it hits me. The lanterns on the wall! Those are lit flames. Heat from the one nearest to me on the wall warms my face. With no matches to use, I rip and tear a few shreds of cloth from my jacket.
        A sharp grounding noise echoes in the hallway behind me, but I do not stop to check the distance between myself and the impending attack. While my eyes never leave the ghost, my hand reaches up and runs the three strips of fabric into the lanterns. Salty, burnt mold fills the air as tatters of my jacket catch fire. I need to move fast, before the clothes burn me and not my three pursuers. As I go to release the strips, something sharp pierces my leg. I fall forward, letting out a scream.
           The vodepod pulls harder on my leg, and I fight to free myself. With a quick jab with my left foot, I kick the beast in one of its scent glands. It causes the animal to release me. Before the creature strikes again, I fling one of the burning cloths at it. It shrieks and the hallway flashes blue, as the vodepod retreats, flames bouncing off its scaly back. I have no time to celebrate. Twisting backwards, the last two pieces of jacket leave my hands just in time. Both wicks land on the spirit closest to me. He bursts into flames, screeches and flays his arms, hitting one of its clones.
      My hopes of all three souls taking each other out go up in smoke. The third spirit avoids its brothers by diving towards the ground as the middle ghost begins to thrash about. Our heads smack, making an awful hollow thud. I reel backwards and roll to my side. There’s a loud hum in my ears and the room is spinning. I wheeze, saliva thick in my mouth, as I try to crawl away. Dad is still sprawled on the floor. He hasn’t moved, but his color seems to be returning.
          “Dad?” it’s such a small cry, it doesn’t even echo off the stone walls. I inch my way closer to Dad, with a sharp pain shooting through my leg. As I near, he stirs and his eyes open. A weak smile settles on his lips before his sight shifts. Panic washes over Dad and his hand shoots out, pointing behind me.
           “Verick!” rushes from his bruised lips and a hot pain zips up my leg. I yelp and my arms buckle. Fingers gouging into the bite from the vodepod draw spots to my eyes. The distance between Dad and I widen as I’m pulled backwards. My hands grasp at the cracks in the flooring, only ripping the nails away from the skin. The xecerptavode spirit yanks me closer to him and flips me over on my back. A knife looms over my head. I must’ve dropped my knife during the struggle. Putrid gases spew from the ghost’s mouth, and his tentacles brush my upper lip and cheek. He’s missing an eye and one of his tentacles. That had to have occurred before his real death.
            Behind me, Dad whimpers. I recall him saying he won’t go home without me. He was there the night his brother died. The family doesn’t talk about it often, but Dad blames himself. He shared once, how he was nearby, and yet, could not make it to help his brother. I can’t let there be a repeat. Struggling under the soul’s grip, I fumble for the broken matches in my pocket. I don’t have to throw the match far to vanquish the spirit. The only problem is I’m going to burn myself in the process.
          With one hand, I fight to hold back the knife—my knife—in the ghost’s clutches, while after a few attempts the other hand finds the top of a match. I give one hard shove, granting me room to pull my salvation out and rake it across the floor. The scratching sound of the match lighting sings in my ears and I flick the flame onto the ghost. Bluish-green flames fill the room along with the cries of the spirit. But before I catch fire too, the ghost is jerked from on top of me. The knife clinks to the floor next to my head, and Uncle Etan’s face appears.
          “Well, that was close.” He reaches out his hand and helps me sit up. “I would’ve been here a little sooner, but after someone set the vodepod on fire, it triggered the rocks in the entryway. There was no other way in, so I had to clear the doorway.”
            His gaze shifts from me to Dad. I turn and see Dad is trying to stand up. Uncle Etan and I move to help him. My leg still hurts, but I ignore the pain and go to my dad’s side. Dad reaches out to steady himself using my shoulders.
“What happened to your leg, son? Is anything else hurt?” Dad’s voice comes out as a harsh whisper.
            One hand comes to rest on my chest, to feel my heart finally pumping at a normal rate, while his eyes probe over me. “I’m okay. The vodepod that triggered the wire bit me.” Uncle Etan drops to his knees to examine the wound. I take the time to check Dad out. There’s purple and brown bruising in the shape of handprints around his neck, a huge gash on his chin and his bottom lip is split in four places.
         Uncle Etan stands, “Let me get some saltwater to clean the wounds. We need to get moving soon. Will you both be ready?”
        Dad and I nod and Uncle Etan retreats to collect the water.            
       “Jason?”
       All movement stops.
      “Yes, I’m in here.”
      “Jason? What are you doing?”
          Lillian enters the room and finds Jason sitting right where she left him a few hours ago. He turns and gives her one of his breathtaking, make-you-forget-your-name-and-what-you-wanted-smiles. Lillian’s face flushes and she turns to hide the effect her best friend has over her. As she busies herself with a string on her outfit, she attempts to speak in a normal voice.
      “I can’t believe you’re still playing that silly game.”
 Jason laughs. “I play Halloween Xe, every year.”
      “Yeah, I know. Well, it’s time for the party. You’re going to make us late if you don’t put your costume on soon. You know I hate bobbing for apples after other people have had their mouths in the water.”
 Jason laughs again. “All right, I’ll finish playing later. Give me a few minutes to get changed and we can go.”

 Jason watches Lillian leave the room in her Lydia Deetz’s costume, then hits save on the game, before putting on his Beetle Juice attire for the school Halloween party.

Thank you for reading Frozen! If you liked the short story and would like to learn more about Verick, (of course with an alternate ending), check out the novel: