It was my turn to tell a Halloween story as we sat around the campfire The stories before mine had been tame and most were ready to call it a night I picked up my knitting and smiled Thinking of my story and how boredom would be the least of their worries With each row of knitting, the tension grew made unbearable by the mysterious sounds Of rustling coming from the trees behind us When the screaming began, my story lost listeners I cut the yarn, leaving the old branch it was tied to To rot in the woods… ©JayeMarie2021
It was the night after Halloween and I imagined that all the ghosts, spirits and ghouls would be safely back where they belong.
The moon shone clear and bright and there were no bats or beasties to be seen. So why had I just spotted the face of a skeleton peering through my window?
I dismissed the accompanying chill, thinking it must be one of the neighbours’ children, unwilling to bin their costume and smiled at the thought.
Later that evening there was a knock on the door. I decided to ignore it, thinking the child was pushing his luck.
When they knocked again, I felt a pang of guilt, wondering if there really was a small child standing on my doorstep in the middle of the night. I peeked through the curtains but saw nothing but the tendrils of mist gently swirling through the streets.
The next morning, I opened the front door on my way to work to find a strange white pumpkin on the step. As I stooped to pick it up, I saw the blood still dripping from the corners of the curved mouth…