Speaker 1: Halloween night was always a bit too much for me,
not because of the holiday itself, but the constant doorbell
ringing and the throngs of children demanding candy. My five
year old Abby loved it, of course. She'd been buzzing
around in her little princess costume since this afternoon, her
plastic pumpkin pail swinging on her arm. I, on the
other hand, was eight months pregnant, exhausted, and could barely
keep up with her. My feet ached from standing at
the door holding out candy to kids who never seemed
to stop coming. By ten PM, I'd finally put Abby
to bed, her pail of candy tucked under her arm
like a teddy bear. I'd hoped the constant stream of
trigger treaters would stop, but they didn't. Not until nearly
midnight did the doorbell finally stop ringing. The streets outside
were silent, now only a few faint laughs in the
occasional car in the distance. I sat down in the
living room, candy bowl on my lap, app absently munching
on the leftovers. Pregnancy cravings had a way of justifying
late night candy binges. I turned on a horror movie,
something cheesy and predictable. I'll picked to relax after the
long night. About fifteen minutes in, just as I was
starting to unwind, there was a knock at the door.
I froze, staring at the screen as though the knock
had come from inside the movie. Who the hell would
be trick or treating at this hour? My heart gave
a small, reluctant thud as I stood up, shuffling to
the door.
Speaker 2: Through the peep hole, I saw him, a.
Speaker 1: Man dressed in a werewolf mask, standing silently on the porch. Seriously,
I muttered to myself, opening the door just a crack
enough to glare at him a trick or treat. His
voice was low, almost mocking. I squinted at him. My
patience was worn thin.
Speaker 2: Go home, or I'll call the police. Stupid pranksters.
Speaker 1: It didn't move, didn't say anything else, just stood there,
staring at me through the cheap plastic mask. I felt
a flicker of unease in my gut. There was something
wrong about the way he just stood there, the way he.
Speaker 2: Watched me go away.
Speaker 1: I snapped louder now and slammed the door shut. I waited,
listening for his footsteps. Nothing After a few more seconds
of silence, I double locked the door, flicked off the
porch light, and told myself to forget about it. But
sleep didn't come easy that night. I tossed and turned
Abby's soft snores from the next room, where the only
sound in the house. I kept waking up as my
mind kept flashing back to the masked man.
Speaker 2: Who was he?
Speaker 1: Why was he here? I couldn't shake the feeling that
something was off. It was around two am when I
woke with a jolt. My heart pounded as though I'd
been running for hours. I couldn't place why. There was
no noise, no reason for the sudden feeling of dread
that gripped my chest like a vi. I slid out
of bed quietly and moved toward the door. Maybe it
was just a mother's instinct. Maybe I just needed to
check on Abbey, make sure she was okay. I patted
softly down the hallway. The air in the house was
colder than before. As I reached the top of the stairs,
I froze. He was there, the man in the werewolf mast,
crouched on all fours at the bottom of the stairs.
His head was tilted at an unnatural angle, staring up
at me. His breathing was shallow and raspy, filling the
silence of the house. I stood there, unable to move.
Only my pulse thudded in my ears. For a moment,
neither of us moved. Then, without warning, he let out
a low, animalistic growl, like a dog about to pounce.
Speaker 2: My body reacted before my mind could catch up. I
turned and sprinted.
Speaker 1: I could feel him chasing me, his footsteps heavy and fast,
but not like a man running, more like something crawling.
I glanced back, and my blood turned to ice. He
was coming after me on all fours, like an animal.
His hands and feet scrambled against the stairs, his body
twisting unnaturally as he chased me, and the sounds he.
Speaker 2: Was growling, snarling, howling like a wolf.
Speaker 1: I reached Abbey's room just in time, slamming the door
shut and locking it. My hands were shaking so badly
I could barely dial nine one one. Please help me,
I whispered into the phone. My voice was barely audible
over his scratching at the door.
Speaker 2: There's someone in the house.
Speaker 1: He's trying to get in the operator's calm voice tried
to reassure me but it was drowned out by the
bang ache, the scratching, the low guttural growls.
Speaker 2: Coming from the other side of the door.
Speaker 1: The door shuddered as he kicked it again and again,
harder each time. I was shivering like a leaf as
I pressed my back against the door, holding Abbey tightly
in my arms, praying for the police to arrive. Then,
just as the door was about to give away, I
heard it, the distant wail of sirens. The banging stopped,
the scratching when silent. When the police arrived, they found
the front door broken, the lock mangled by what looked
like a metal rod. But the man was gone, disappeared
into the night like he'd never been there. They searched
the house, checked the neighborhood, but there was no trace
of him, no clue as to who he was or
what he wanted. And I'll never forget the way he
looked at me through the mask, the silent, patient stare,
like he was waiting waiting for me to open the
door again. Halloween night at Greenwood always seemed to bring
out the best in our neighborhood. Kids running around in costumes.
Hell's is decked out in spooky decorations. It was my
favorite time of the year. This year, though, Jack Marlowe
and his wife Lisa really outdid the rest of us
with their haunted house. They were hosting a small get together,
so I was an hour or so early to help
out and enjoy the night. Rick Thompson is my name.
I'd been good friends and business partners with Jack for
all these years, and Lisa was his girlfriend. We shared much,
but things had started getting a bit tense between him
and Lisa lately. I knew about Lisa's affair with a
younger woman named Diane. Not my place, so I tried
to keep it light hearted, not to allow the awkwardness
to spoil the evening. By and by the evening wore round.
All of us were drinking and laughing, affecting not to
notice the deeper undercurrent of tension. Ten pm, before we
knew it, there was a tinkle at the door bell.
Trick or treats, came the muffled voice from the porch. Jack,
always being an obliging host, stood up and take the
bowl of candy. I get it, he said, going to
the door. There was something that did not feel right.
I tracked him into the foyer, but kept well back,
hiding behind the shadows of the hallway. This horrible feeling
crept over me that something bad was going to happen.
Opening the door, Jack expected trick or treaters. Instead, a
figure in a grotesque mask stood there holding a brown
paper bag. Before Jack could react, he pulled out a
gun and shot him in the face. Jack collapsed instantly,
and candy spilled everywhere. I stood frozen in terror, holding
my breath as I stared at the scene from the
dark hallway, screaming. Lisa stood by, but there was something
strange about her though. It was almost as though she
had been waiting for this moment to arrive. The masked
intruder entered another step into the house to look for
witness My heart stammered and I shrunk back into the
shadows further.
Speaker 2: How someone fund of police.
Speaker 1: She finally screamed, breaking out of her trance. Diane sped
from the living room, panic etched across her face. She
had dashed right into the masked figure. It started to
raise the.
Speaker 2: Gun once more. No witnesses.
Speaker 1: The figure hissed. My survival instincts kicked in. I turned
to run and bumped into a table, sending a glass
crashing to the floor. The shattering sound would give me away.
The intruder's had jerked in my direction, and I knew
it was my turn. I sprinted toward the back door
as the killer pounded down behind me. I leaped out
into the backyard, clearing a low fence into the next
yard over, as the neighbor peered out across his property line,
looking irritated.
Speaker 2: I couldn't breathe.
Speaker 1: But didn't stop as I weaved through the maze of yards.
I hit the street and saw a police car parked
at the end of the block. I signaled them down,
breathless and frantic.
Speaker 2: Half my friend's d hut. The killers after me.
Speaker 1: I gasped, pointing back towards Jack's house. The cops didn't wait.
They sped toward the house with me in tow When
we arrived, the house was deathly quiet. Inside we found
Lisa cradling Jack's body, sobbing uncontrollably. Diane was gone, and
there was no sign of the masked intruder. I took
my statement and elaborated on the masked man who had
given me this ride and the horrifying chase to the police. Next,
I mentioned Lisa's weird reaction and Diane's disappearance in a flash.
The cops assured me that they would investigate all these leads.
Days pass and then, finally, with a dare to be potent.
The investigation peels off the dark secrets of the Marlowe household.
As Lisa and Dianne continued to facilitate the romantic affair
between them, resentment toward Jack continued to grow. The killing
attack was definitely premeditated. It didn't take long before Diane
was discovered and, under pressure, confessed to her role the plot,
implicating Lisa and revealing the identity of the masked killer,
a hit man hired to get rid of Jack. The
murder proved to be a gruesome, horrific crime. The trial
that followed gripped Greenwood. It chilled to the bones to
hear details about the Halloween murder. Lisa and the killer
who she hired got a life sentence in prison. Diane
had cooperated with the law and thus was given a
lesser sentence, but would never outlive that fateful night. I
fought against the pain, but gave it to justice. I
promised myself to live with the memory of Jack, haunted
by the events he witnessed, and having his life snatched
away from him on an evening that could have been
just another innocent night. It is the tale of a
Halloween intruder, a legendary reminder of how familiar faces mask
impenetrable darkness, and of the hairline thickness of a line
separating love from infidelity. And every Halloween, as kids roam
the streets in their costume, I go back to that
night and my lost friend. Every Halloween, our street turned
into a blur of costumes, laughter, and flashing porch lights.
Kids ran from door to door, their candy bags growing
heavier by the minute. I loved it, the excitement, the
sugar rush, the feeling that we were part of something magical,
if only for one night.
Speaker 2: But there was always one house at the end of
the block that.
Speaker 1: No one went near, the old McFadden house even during
the day.
Speaker 2: It gave off a creepy vibe.
Speaker 1: Its paint had long since peeled away, leaving rotten wood exposed.
The front yard was overgrown, and no one had seen
the McFaddens in years. Some said they'd moved away, Others
claimed they were still inside, hiding the kids had a
different theory that the house swallowed the children whole. My
friends and I made a game out of telling stories
about the place. Each Halloween, we dared each other to
not on that door. No one ever did, of course,
until that year. I was twelve, full of bravado and
hopped up on too much candy. My best friend Darren
double dared me, and, in a moment of adrenaline fuelled stupidity,
I took the challenge.
Speaker 2: I'm gonna do it.
Speaker 1: They laughed, but I could see a flicker of something
else in their eyes, fear, maybe adoration. Either way, I
couldn't back down. As I walked toward the McFadden house,
the sounds of the neighborhood seemed to fade. The laughter
and music from the other homes became muffled, like I
was slipping out of reality and into something darker. The
door looked worse up close, splintered and warped, as if
something had tried to claw its way out. I reached
for the rusted doorknob, and to my surprise, it turned easily.
The door creaked open, revealing a long, narrow hallway bathed
in dim yellow light. I hesitated The air inside was thick,
stale dust. Motes floated in the weak light, like the
house hadn't been disturbed in years. But I'd already come
this far. I stepped inside. It didn't look like the
house of some crazy old couple. In fact, it looked
like someone had been expecting me. There were Halloween decorations,
cheap plastic spiders and fake webs hanging from the ceiling.
A row of jackal lanterns lined the hallway, their carved
faces twisted into sinister grins. But what struck me most
were the photographs they lined the walls, old black and
white pictures of kids in Halloween costumes. Some of them
looked happy, too happy. Others there was something wrong with
their eyes, hollow, almost vacant. I moved closer, squinting at
the nearest photo. The boy was about my age, grinning
from ear to ear, but his eyes were dead, and
to my horror, I recognized him.
Speaker 2: No way.
Speaker 1: It was Tommy Hartwell, the kid who disappeared last Halloween.
We'd all heard the stories, but everyone figured he'd just
been kidnapped. I stared at the picture and not forming
in my stomach. That couldn't be right. Tommy was gone,
but how could he be here smiling in a photo
that looked decades old.
Speaker 2: I heard it then, the sound of soft laughter.
Speaker 1: It echoed from somewhere deeper inside the house, the kind
of giggle that made the hairs on the back of
my neck stand up. I took a step back, but
the door behind me slam shut with a bang that
shook the walls. My heart pounded. I was trapped. I
backed away from the door, and as I did, a
cold breeze swept through the hallway, flickering the jackal lantern's candles.
The shadows stretched, growing long and distorted, and from the
corner of my eye I saw something move.
Speaker 2: Who's there?
Speaker 1: There was no response, just more of that eerie, distant laughter.
Then out of the darkness a figure emerged. It was Tommy,
his clothes torn and dirty, his face twisted. But it
wasn't the Tommy I remembered. His skin was pale, almost gray,
and his eyes they were empty, empty black pits, staring
right through me.
Speaker 2: Tom He didn't respond.
Speaker 1: Instead, he raised a hand and pointed at the far
end of the hallway. His voice came out as a rasp, heavy.
You have to help us, I was frozen us. I
looked around, and suddenly the faces in the photos seemed
to be watching me. The hollow eyes followed my every move.
Tommy stepped closer.
Speaker 2: If you don't.
Speaker 1: Help, you'll become us like you. Tommy nodded, his face
contorted with pain. The walls around me seemed to close in.
Speaker 2: What do I have to do? He pointed at the
door at the end of the hallway.
Speaker 1: It looked just like the one I'd come through, but
this one had something carved into it my name.
Speaker 2: No, I didn't want to go in.
Speaker 1: Every instinct screamed at me to turn back, to find
another way out, but the look in Tommy's eyes, those dark, empty.
Speaker 2: Eyes, told me there was no choice.
Speaker 1: I reached for the doorknob, my hand shaking as I
turned it. The door creaked open, revealing a narrow, dark staircase.
Speaker 2: I stepped through, and the house seemed to sigh.
Speaker 1: The light behind me disappeared, swallowed by the darkness. I
kept walking and walking, and then I was back outside.
The house was silent, its windows dark and lifeless. I
ran back to my home and told my parents everything.
I was shivering, but they just thought I was spooked.
By Halloween. But the next morning the street woke to sirens.
The McFadden house was ablaze, engulfed in fires reaching five
stories high. That is when I saw the look in
my parents's eyes, unable to believe, but.
Speaker 2: No in their heart, that I spoke the truth.
Speaker 1: The kids who had disappeared over the years, they were
never found, and to this day, every Halloween, I wonder
what would have happened if I hadn't opened that door.