Jimmy Baker was eleven years old.
This would probably be the last Halloween he would go trick-or-treating. He knew as an older kid he’d still go out on Halloween, but it would be to go house parties, after which there would be minor vandalizing done to the property of some of the town grouches.
Jimmy thought dunking for apples and hitting piñatas filled with cheap candy was lame. And smashing pumpkins and throwing toilet paper onto people’s trees was something he didn’t think he could really get into.
What Jimmy was going to miss was the two hours of door-to-door camaraderie with his friends.
Still, as October slowly came to an end, rather than being sad, Jimmy was excited about this Halloween. He had a secret. He hadn’t told any of his pals about his plan to sneak into old Mrs. Blake’s house this year and he had been savoring this secret for weeks.
The kids liked Mrs. Blake. She always decorated her front porch and she let kids take as much candy as they wanted from the large bowl she offered.
But Jimmy had long suspected Mrs. Blake was a witch. He had done his homework and had pretty much convinced himself he saw signs of it.
This Halloween he was going to see if he was right. He would be in her house with her at midnight.
#
The big night finally arrived.
Jimmy and six of his friends started making the rounds about 7:00 o’clock, just as it started to be true dark. It was a little cool, but not so cold they had to wear jackets over their costumes. That would have sucked big-time.
When they got to Mrs. Blake’s house and his friends started up the sidewalk to the front porch, Jimmy veered off to the side of the house and went around the back.
Nobody in the group saw him leave.
He tried the back door and found it unlocked. Sneaking into the kitchen, he could hear his buddies yelling “Trick or Treat” and Mrs. Blake exclaiming how scary they all looked.
He tiptoed down the hallway and opened a door, hoping it was a closet. Unfortunately, it turned out to be the door leading to the basement, but Jimmy was forced to quickly step through it as he heard Mrs. Blake saying good-bye to his friends.
Jimmy looked down the stairs into complete darkness. He left the door ajar about an inch to allow for a little light.
“I don’t think Jimmy was with that group tonight,” he heard Mrs. Blake mutter to herself. “He’s always been with them before. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well. Maybe he went to a party. Or maybe…just maybe…HE’S IN MY BASEMENT!”
As she yelled that last, Mrs. Blake pulled the door closed. Jimmy heard the sound of it being locked. He frantically jostled the knob and whimpered when the door wouldn’t open.
A hand reached up from under the stairs through one of the open risers and fastened itself onto his ankle.
“Help!” Jimmy screamed. “Somebody help me!”
The hand jerked hard, causing Jimmy to lose his balance and fall halfway down the stairs. Now two strong hands with long sharp fingernails grabbed the sides of his head and pulled his face between the riser.
In the darkness, Jimmy couldn’t see anything, but he could sense a face inches from his own. A sour breath caused him to gag and renew his struggles.
While two hands still held his face, two other hands now grabbed his legs and tried to pull him down the stairs. Whatever was behind that first set of hands now snarled and pulled harder on his head.
Though already in the total darkness of the basement, Jimmy now felt a powerful new wave of darkness take his mind into oblivion.
#
“Jimmy Baker? No, I don’t remember if he was with his friends tonight or not, officer,” said Mrs. Blake at her front door. “I do remember the group he’s usually with came by early; around 7:00 o’clock, I think. It had just gotten dark…”
“Well, he didn’t come home after trick-or-treating and his folks are worried,” said Officer John Bailey. “Maybe he’s out with some older kids. If you see him, tell him to get on home.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll turn up sooner or later. They always do, don’t they?”
—
Roy Dorman is retired from the University of Wisconsin-Madison Benefits Office and has been a voracious reader for over 65 years. At the prompting of an old high school friend, himself a retired English teacher, Roy is now a voracious writer. He has had flash fiction published recently in Black Petals, Yellow Mama, Theme of Absence, Dark Dossier, Near To the Knuckle, Bewildering Stories, Shotgun Honey, and a number of other online and print journals. Roy is currently the submissions editor at Yahara Prairie Lights, which puts him in the enviable position of sometimes being able to accept his own work. That site is at yaharaprairie.wordpress.com
A scary story, Roy. Nicely done.
Thanks, David.