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Speaker 1: Halloween night was always a bit too much for me,

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not because of the holiday itself, but the constant doorbell

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ringing and the throngs of children demanding candy. My five

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year old Abby loved it, of course. She'd been buzzing

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around in her little princess costume since this afternoon, her

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plastic pumpkin pail swinging on her arm. I, on the

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other hand, was eight months pregnant, exhausted, and could barely

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keep up with her. My feet ached from standing at

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the door holding out candy to kids who never seemed

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to stop coming. By ten PM, I'd finally put Abby

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to bed, her pail of candy tucked under her arm

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like a teddy bear. I'd hoped the constant stream of

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trigger treaters would stop, but they didn't. Not until nearly

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midnight did the doorbell finally stop ringing. The streets outside

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were silent, now only a few faint laughs in the

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occasional car in the distance. I sat down in the

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living room, candy bowl on my lap, app absently munching

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on the leftovers. Pregnancy cravings had a way of justifying

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late night candy binges. I turned on a horror movie,

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something cheesy and predictable. I'll picked to relax after the

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long night. About fifteen minutes in, just as I was

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starting to unwind, there was a knock at the door.

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I froze, staring at the screen as though the knock

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had come from inside the movie. Who the hell would

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be trick or treating at this hour? My heart gave

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a small, reluctant thud as I stood up, shuffling to

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the door.

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Speaker 2: Through the peep hole, I saw him, a.

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Speaker 1: Man dressed in a werewolf mask, standing silently on the porch. Seriously,

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I muttered to myself, opening the door just a crack

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enough to glare at him a trick or treat. His

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voice was low, almost mocking. I squinted at him. My

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patience was worn thin.

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Speaker 2: Go home, or I'll call the police. Stupid pranksters.

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Speaker 1: It didn't move, didn't say anything else, just stood there,

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staring at me through the cheap plastic mask. I felt

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a flicker of unease in my gut. There was something

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wrong about the way he just stood there, the way he.

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Speaker 2: Watched me go away.

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Speaker 1: I snapped louder now and slammed the door shut. I waited,

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listening for his footsteps. Nothing After a few more seconds

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of silence, I double locked the door, flicked off the

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porch light, and told myself to forget about it. But

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sleep didn't come easy that night. I tossed and turned

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Abby's soft snores from the next room, where the only

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sound in the house. I kept waking up as my

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mind kept flashing back to the masked man.

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Speaker 2: Who was he?

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Speaker 1: Why was he here? I couldn't shake the feeling that

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something was off. It was around two am when I

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woke with a jolt. My heart pounded as though I'd

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been running for hours. I couldn't place why. There was

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no noise, no reason for the sudden feeling of dread

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that gripped my chest like a vi. I slid out

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of bed quietly and moved toward the door. Maybe it

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was just a mother's instinct. Maybe I just needed to

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check on Abbey, make sure she was okay. I patted

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softly down the hallway. The air in the house was

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colder than before. As I reached the top of the stairs,

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I froze. He was there, the man in the werewolf mast,

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crouched on all fours at the bottom of the stairs.

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His head was tilted at an unnatural angle, staring up

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at me. His breathing was shallow and raspy, filling the

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silence of the house. I stood there, unable to move.

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Only my pulse thudded in my ears. For a moment,

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neither of us moved. Then, without warning, he let out

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a low, animalistic growl, like a dog about to pounce.

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Speaker 2: My body reacted before my mind could catch up. I

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turned and sprinted.

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Speaker 1: I could feel him chasing me, his footsteps heavy and fast,

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but not like a man running, more like something crawling.

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I glanced back, and my blood turned to ice. He

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was coming after me on all fours, like an animal.

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His hands and feet scrambled against the stairs, his body

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twisting unnaturally as he chased me, and the sounds he.

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Speaker 2: Was growling, snarling, howling like a wolf.

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Speaker 1: I reached Abbey's room just in time, slamming the door

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shut and locking it. My hands were shaking so badly

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I could barely dial nine one one. Please help me,

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I whispered into the phone. My voice was barely audible

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over his scratching at the door.

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Speaker 2: There's someone in the house.

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Speaker 1: He's trying to get in the operator's calm voice tried

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to reassure me but it was drowned out by the

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bang ache, the scratching, the low guttural growls.

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Speaker 2: Coming from the other side of the door.

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Speaker 1: The door shuddered as he kicked it again and again,

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harder each time. I was shivering like a leaf as

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I pressed my back against the door, holding Abbey tightly

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in my arms, praying for the police to arrive. Then,

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just as the door was about to give away, I

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heard it, the distant wail of sirens. The banging stopped,

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the scratching when silent. When the police arrived, they found

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the front door broken, the lock mangled by what looked

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like a metal rod. But the man was gone, disappeared

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into the night like he'd never been there. They searched

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the house, checked the neighborhood, but there was no trace

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of him, no clue as to who he was or

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what he wanted. And I'll never forget the way he

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looked at me through the mask, the silent, patient stare,

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like he was waiting waiting for me to open the

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door again. Halloween night at Greenwood always seemed to bring

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out the best in our neighborhood. Kids running around in costumes.

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Hell's is decked out in spooky decorations. It was my

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favorite time of the year. This year, though, Jack Marlowe

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and his wife Lisa really outdid the rest of us

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with their haunted house. They were hosting a small get together,

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so I was an hour or so early to help

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out and enjoy the night. Rick Thompson is my name.

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I'd been good friends and business partners with Jack for

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all these years, and Lisa was his girlfriend. We shared much,

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but things had started getting a bit tense between him

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and Lisa lately. I knew about Lisa's affair with a

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younger woman named Diane. Not my place, so I tried

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to keep it light hearted, not to allow the awkwardness

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to spoil the evening. By and by the evening wore round.

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All of us were drinking and laughing, affecting not to

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notice the deeper undercurrent of tension. Ten pm, before we

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knew it, there was a tinkle at the door bell.

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Trick or treats, came the muffled voice from the porch. Jack,

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always being an obliging host, stood up and take the

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bowl of candy. I get it, he said, going to

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the door. There was something that did not feel right.

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I tracked him into the foyer, but kept well back,

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hiding behind the shadows of the hallway. This horrible feeling

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crept over me that something bad was going to happen.

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Opening the door, Jack expected trick or treaters. Instead, a

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figure in a grotesque mask stood there holding a brown

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paper bag. Before Jack could react, he pulled out a

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gun and shot him in the face. Jack collapsed instantly,

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and candy spilled everywhere. I stood frozen in terror, holding

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my breath as I stared at the scene from the

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dark hallway, screaming. Lisa stood by, but there was something

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strange about her though. It was almost as though she

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had been waiting for this moment to arrive. The masked

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intruder entered another step into the house to look for

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witness My heart stammered and I shrunk back into the

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shadows further.

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Speaker 2: How someone fund of police.

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Speaker 1: She finally screamed, breaking out of her trance. Diane sped

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from the living room, panic etched across her face. She

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had dashed right into the masked figure. It started to

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raise the.

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Speaker 2: Gun once more. No witnesses.

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Speaker 1: The figure hissed. My survival instincts kicked in. I turned

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to run and bumped into a table, sending a glass

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crashing to the floor. The shattering sound would give me away.

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The intruder's had jerked in my direction, and I knew

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it was my turn. I sprinted toward the back door

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as the killer pounded down behind me. I leaped out

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into the backyard, clearing a low fence into the next

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yard over, as the neighbor peered out across his property line,

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looking irritated.

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Speaker 2: I couldn't breathe.

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Speaker 1: But didn't stop as I weaved through the maze of yards.

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I hit the street and saw a police car parked

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at the end of the block. I signaled them down,

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breathless and frantic.

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Speaker 2: Half my friend's d hut. The killers after me.

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Speaker 1: I gasped, pointing back towards Jack's house. The cops didn't wait.

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They sped toward the house with me in tow When

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we arrived, the house was deathly quiet. Inside we found

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Lisa cradling Jack's body, sobbing uncontrollably. Diane was gone, and

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there was no sign of the masked intruder. I took

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my statement and elaborated on the masked man who had

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given me this ride and the horrifying chase to the police. Next,

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I mentioned Lisa's weird reaction and Diane's disappearance in a flash.

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The cops assured me that they would investigate all these leads.

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Days pass and then, finally, with a dare to be potent.

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The investigation peels off the dark secrets of the Marlowe household.

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As Lisa and Dianne continued to facilitate the romantic affair

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between them, resentment toward Jack continued to grow. The killing

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attack was definitely premeditated. It didn't take long before Diane

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was discovered and, under pressure, confessed to her role the plot,

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implicating Lisa and revealing the identity of the masked killer,

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a hit man hired to get rid of Jack. The

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murder proved to be a gruesome, horrific crime. The trial

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that followed gripped Greenwood. It chilled to the bones to

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hear details about the Halloween murder. Lisa and the killer

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who she hired got a life sentence in prison. Diane

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had cooperated with the law and thus was given a

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lesser sentence, but would never outlive that fateful night. I

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fought against the pain, but gave it to justice. I

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promised myself to live with the memory of Jack, haunted

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by the events he witnessed, and having his life snatched

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away from him on an evening that could have been

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just another innocent night. It is the tale of a

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Halloween intruder, a legendary reminder of how familiar faces mask

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impenetrable darkness, and of the hairline thickness of a line

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separating love from infidelity. And every Halloween, as kids roam

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the streets in their costume, I go back to that

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night and my lost friend. Every Halloween, our street turned

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into a blur of costumes, laughter, and flashing porch lights.

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Kids ran from door to door, their candy bags growing

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heavier by the minute. I loved it, the excitement, the

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sugar rush, the feeling that we were part of something magical,

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if only for one night.

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Speaker 2: But there was always one house at the end of

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the block that.

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Speaker 1: No one went near, the old McFadden house even during

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the day.

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Speaker 2: It gave off a creepy vibe.

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Speaker 1: Its paint had long since peeled away, leaving rotten wood exposed.

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The front yard was overgrown, and no one had seen

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the McFaddens in years. Some said they'd moved away, Others

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claimed they were still inside, hiding the kids had a

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different theory that the house swallowed the children whole. My

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friends and I made a game out of telling stories

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about the place. Each Halloween, we dared each other to

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not on that door. No one ever did, of course,

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until that year. I was twelve, full of bravado and

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hopped up on too much candy. My best friend Darren

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double dared me, and, in a moment of adrenaline fuelled stupidity,

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I took the challenge.

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Speaker 2: I'm gonna do it.

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Speaker 1: They laughed, but I could see a flicker of something

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else in their eyes, fear, maybe adoration. Either way, I

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couldn't back down. As I walked toward the McFadden house,

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the sounds of the neighborhood seemed to fade. The laughter

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and music from the other homes became muffled, like I

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was slipping out of reality and into something darker. The

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door looked worse up close, splintered and warped, as if

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something had tried to claw its way out. I reached

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for the rusted doorknob, and to my surprise, it turned easily.

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The door creaked open, revealing a long, narrow hallway bathed

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in dim yellow light. I hesitated The air inside was thick,

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stale dust. Motes floated in the weak light, like the

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house hadn't been disturbed in years. But I'd already come

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this far. I stepped inside. It didn't look like the

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house of some crazy old couple. In fact, it looked

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like someone had been expecting me. There were Halloween decorations,

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cheap plastic spiders and fake webs hanging from the ceiling.

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A row of jackal lanterns lined the hallway, their carved

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faces twisted into sinister grins. But what struck me most

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were the photographs they lined the walls, old black and

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white pictures of kids in Halloween costumes. Some of them

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looked happy, too happy. Others there was something wrong with

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their eyes, hollow, almost vacant. I moved closer, squinting at

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the nearest photo. The boy was about my age, grinning

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from ear to ear, but his eyes were dead, and

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to my horror, I recognized him.

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Speaker 2: No way.

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Speaker 1: It was Tommy Hartwell, the kid who disappeared last Halloween.

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We'd all heard the stories, but everyone figured he'd just

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been kidnapped. I stared at the picture and not forming

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in my stomach. That couldn't be right. Tommy was gone,

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but how could he be here smiling in a photo

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that looked decades old.

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Speaker 2: I heard it then, the sound of soft laughter.

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Speaker 1: It echoed from somewhere deeper inside the house, the kind

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of giggle that made the hairs on the back of

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my neck stand up. I took a step back, but

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the door behind me slam shut with a bang that

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shook the walls. My heart pounded. I was trapped. I

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backed away from the door, and as I did, a

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cold breeze swept through the hallway, flickering the jackal lantern's candles.

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The shadows stretched, growing long and distorted, and from the

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corner of my eye I saw something move.

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Speaker 2: Who's there?

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Speaker 1: There was no response, just more of that eerie, distant laughter.

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Then out of the darkness a figure emerged. It was Tommy,

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his clothes torn and dirty, his face twisted. But it

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wasn't the Tommy I remembered. His skin was pale, almost gray,

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and his eyes they were empty, empty black pits, staring

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right through me.

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Speaker 2: Tom He didn't respond.

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Speaker 1: Instead, he raised a hand and pointed at the far

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end of the hallway. His voice came out as a rasp, heavy.

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You have to help us, I was frozen us. I

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looked around, and suddenly the faces in the photos seemed

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to be watching me. The hollow eyes followed my every move.

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Tommy stepped closer.

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Speaker 2: If you don't.

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Speaker 1: Help, you'll become us like you. Tommy nodded, his face

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contorted with pain. The walls around me seemed to close in.

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Speaker 2: What do I have to do? He pointed at the

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door at the end of the hallway.

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Speaker 1: It looked just like the one I'd come through, but

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this one had something carved into it my name.

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Speaker 2: No, I didn't want to go in.

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Speaker 1: Every instinct screamed at me to turn back, to find

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another way out, but the look in Tommy's eyes, those dark, empty.

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Speaker 2: Eyes, told me there was no choice.

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Speaker 1: I reached for the doorknob, my hand shaking as I

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turned it. The door creaked open, revealing a narrow, dark staircase.

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Speaker 2: I stepped through, and the house seemed to sigh.

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Speaker 1: The light behind me disappeared, swallowed by the darkness. I

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kept walking and walking, and then I was back outside.

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The house was silent, its windows dark and lifeless. I

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ran back to my home and told my parents everything.

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I was shivering, but they just thought I was spooked.

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By Halloween. But the next morning the street woke to sirens.

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The McFadden house was ablaze, engulfed in fires reaching five

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stories high. That is when I saw the look in

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my parents's eyes, unable to believe, but.

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Speaker 2: No in their heart, that I spoke the truth.

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Speaker 1: The kids who had disappeared over the years, they were

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never found, and to this day, every Halloween, I wonder

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what would have happened if I hadn't opened that door.