Trick or Treat

A Short Horror Story

Bells echoed throughout the house as more trick-or-treaters sprinted up the cement pathway to the front door, grouping up with their friends who constantly replayed the bell tune until someone answered. Sarah, excited to see more kids in costumes, left her lookout post of the living room window and ran to the door. She grabbed a handful of candy from their large bowl, unlocking the deadbolt and pulling the heavy door open.

“Trick or Treat!” shouted all the kids, off-key.

Sarah smiled at the lot, counting eight in total, all wearing different costumes for the night. A police officer, ghoul, werewolf, robot, some celebrity, skeleton, zombie, and a less creative pillowcase ghost. Sarah gave each kid two chocolate candy bars, letting each know how much she liked their costumes.

“Where’s yours?” asked a boy to her right.

“I haven’t put mine on yet,” Sarah replied eagerly, “But I’m going out later with my friends!”

“Oh! Go down Maple Street,” said a girl in the back, “There’s a family handing out king sizes candy bars!”

“Okay!” Sarah replied ecstatically.

“And watch out of the hooded child!” warned the tallest boy.

“Hey, don’t scare her like that,” said someone next to him, “She’s just a kid.”

“Oh, come on,” said the tallest boy, “It’s just a little fun!”

“Who’s the hooded child?” Sarah asked, but the group didn’t hear her as they rushed off to the next house.

Sarah closed the door, putting away the extra candy back into the bowl. She saw her father roam into the kitchen and followed him in.

“Dad? Can we go out now?” Sarah asked as politely as she could.

“Almost sweetheart,” her father replied, “Just have to finish one more thing with work, and we can go out. Keep watching out for trick-or-treaters. Don’t want to miss any.”

“Okay, Dad,” Sarah said, disappointed in having to wait longer, but she didn’t show it.

Running back onto the couch to peer outside the living room window, Sarah watched the trick-or-treaters run by on the other side of the street. Decorations flooded the area of almost every house. She was happy to live on a street that took the holidays with pride. It made it more fun for everyone and made their street a regular route for trick-or-treaters as well as those that enjoyed Christmas lights once Christmas time came around.

A long and unfulfilled time later, Sarah found herself reclining on the couch, letting her eyes wander around the front of their house. She looked at all the pumpkins she and her father carved several days ago. She couldn’t see their faces from her angle, but she remembered each one perfectly. Some scary, some funny. It made her smile at the results of that activity. They really didn’t come out well.

Following the pathway up to their house, looking at each decoration she helped either make or put up, Sarah noticed a person standing at her front door. They hadn’t rung the doorbell yet, so she wasn’t sure if she should answer the door or wait for the bell. However, Sarah remembered her first time trick-or-treating and how scary it was to ring the doorbell. Perhaps it was just a nervous child.

Sarah got off the couch and ran over to the front door. She grabbed some candy and unlocked the deadbolt, swinging the door open as she smiled at the child. Her smile vanished when she saw the hooded child, their face covered by a black hood attached to a trench coat-like apparel. They were bleeding, dripping blood onto the ground.

“Trick-or-Treat,” the boy said in a soothing yet icy tone. They didn’t attempt to reach out for candy, just kept their head facing downward.

Sarah hesitated. She felt chills run wild in her veins and a desperate need to call for her father. But something stopped her from doing so. A curiosity, perhaps.

“Trick-or-Treat,” repeated the boy, this time with tension behind his voice, as if he was getting annoyed to be waiting.

Sarah cautiously reached her hand out to give the boy the candy. At first, the boy did nothing in response. Only when Sarah’s hand was within a foot of the boy that he reached up to meet her hand. But it wasn’t what Sarah was expecting.

A rotting, boney hand met hers, a stench releasing from the exposed hand gave a foul odor that instantly made Sarah nauseous. She wanted to scream as the boy’s boney hand clutched hers, sending cold streaks down her arm. But something held her back — something out of her control.

The connection was brief but had a lasting effect on her. She collapsed at the door, looking up at the boy.

“Thank you,” he said as he left her there.

Sarah felt tired, ready to go to bed, even though only moments before she felt energetic to go trick-or-treating. Her tired and aching body didn’t want to move from her position as Sarah closed her eyes.

The last thing she heard before sleep took her was her father’s scream, “Sarah!”

With darkness consuming her, her dreams filled with the boy’s figure and his grotesque hand. The sensations came to her again and again. All she could see was him. All she could smell was his terrible odor. All she could feel was his coldness.

“We are one,” the boy echoed in her mind, though she knew he had never said that to her before. How was he communicating with her? “Connected.”

Sarah didn’t understand, nor did she try to reach out to him for clarification. She didn’t need to. She was no longer in control.

“You will see in time. Rest now, my servant. Preparations for next Halloween begin soon.”

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