Category: Fiction Factor

The line of people outside the President Ronald K. Graft Dollar Triage Urgent Care Clinic wrapped around the gray, crumbling sidewalk of the dilapidated strip mall. A pet supply store, consignment clothing shop and meat-and-three restaurant had long since been abandoned on the property, leaving only the emergency doc-in-the-box, Bunky’s Title Loan and Quicker Liquor Emporium as tenants.

The good news for those waiting to be treated, though, was that the line moved quickly. It usually did at Dollar Triage, where one buck would get you the best medical treatment one buck could buy.

The only requirement was possession of a President Ronald K. Graft Card, which was part of the commander-in-chief’s “Help Me Help YouSA” program that was owned and operated by the President Ronald K. Graft Family Foundation.

“Don’t worry, Marty, we’re getting there,” said Stu, helping hold his friend upright as he struggled to stay conscious. “We’ll be in the clinic soon and they’ll get you fixed up in no time. And thanks to President Graft, it’s only a dollar.”

Red Ridge City once stood as a small but bustling American  industrial town, but now it was little more than a polluted, noisy hub of AI data centers. There was little work to be found for the locals, and those who could had already left in search of greener – or at least cleaner – pastures. The main hospital had closed down three years earlier, so Dollar Triage arrived to fill the void. Medical insurance was so costly it was largely reserved for the wealthy anyway; these facilities were the only option for many.

“Hang on, buddy,” said Stu, who noticed the bandage wrapped around Marty’s hand was now completely soaked in blood. “Just try to squeeze it real tight. I heard somebody on the internet say if you did that, you wouldn’t bleed as much.”

People were going in almost as fast as they were coming out, and less than 20 minutes after joining the line, Stu and Marty were inside. There was no waiting room; in fact, there were no rooms at all. The space was free of walls and dotted by dozens of folding tables covered in cheap plastic spreads. And instead of doctors and nurses waiting to see patients, the staff consisted of “medical associates” dressed in red T-shirts with President Graft’s head shot emblazoned across the front. They also carried fanny packs that contained first aid supplies.

“Do you have your Graft Card with you?” a young man at the check-in table asked Marty, whose bloody hand was now hanging limp at his side.

“I’ve got it right here,” Stu interjected. “Wouldn’t leave home without it, like that commercial used to say.”

The clerk looked it over and handed it back.

“Why don’t you both have a seat and lemme check the records to see if you’re in the system. Yes … yes it says here Marty Clay – I assume that’s you – began making the $500 monthly payments on the Graft Card two years ago, right after the election. And we also have your direct deposit info, as well as home and auto title details. Now, what can we do for you today?”

“My friend’s hurt pretty bad,” Stu said. “We were playing Stabby Hand and I caught him right near his thumb with one of those knives I ordered from the President Graft Gift Shop. I poured some whiskey on it and wrapped gauze around it, but that didn’t stop the bleeding. The president always says if we need help, we should come here, and I trust his judgment.”

The clerk reached into his first aid kit and pulled out a box of gauze and a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He handed them to Stu, along with a small wastebasket.

“Just take off that bloody gauze and put in in the garbage. Then pour some of this hydrogen peroxide on the wound and wrap it up with the fresh gauze.”

“Stay with me, Marty,” Stu said as he peeled away the bloody wrapping. “I’m just gonna get this off, give you a splash of peroxide and bandage you up again.”

The clerk looked away and tapped his fingers on the table while Stu applied the new gauze.

“When you’re done just go to checkout and pay your dollar. There’s also a convenience fee of $100 and a mandatory $200 contribution to the President Ronald K. Graft Palace Reserve, but we’ll just take that out of your friend’s direct deposit.”

As Stu helped Marty up, he noticed the bandage was already bloody again.

“I think we need more gauze.”

The clerk looked at the hand and shrugged.

“Nah, don’t worry about it … it should be fine. But if you want to, you can buy some gauze and peroxide up front at checkout if you think you’ll need it later.”

Stu and Marty made their way to the front, paid a dollar, and then bought a bottle of peroxide and more gauze for $50.

“Hey,” yelled the clerk. “Are you guys going to the rally tonight at the stadium?”

Marty managed a weak smile.

“You better believe it,” Marty wheezed. “I’ll always support President Graft – no matter what.”

Wicked Halloween Emporium had been bustling ever since it opened to door-busting crowds in mid-August. What once was a spacious (and empty) electronics retail outlet was now a temporary depot of home-friendly horrors – each with a price tag.

For those looking to add just a bit of spooky garnish to their home décor there were laughing yellow jack-o-lanterns and screaming, bloody skulls. Buy both, and a banshee door decoration is thrown it free of charge.

More expensive pieces included everything from six-foot tall, glow-in-the-dark skeletons that danced at the touch of a button to animatronic witches who cackled while hovering over a cauldron full of bubbling green brew.

Jonathan Harker would’ve bought everything in sight if he could have. Over the years he had accumulated a museum’s worth of items from Wicked Halloween Emporium, and this year would be no different. His “House of Harker Halloween Hullabaloo” had become a major event for his friends and neighbors, and every holiday season the celebration became more elaborate.

He headed to the register with a buggy full of boo-inspired booty and smiled as a sales associate rang up the items. Wearing a name tag that read “Garth,” the employee appeared to be in his early 20s and had long, jet-black hair. Garth was adorned in dark attire and even wore orange sunglasses to complete the Halloween-inspired look.

“By the way, I want to rent a couple of items as well,” Harker explained. “I’ll need the karaoke machine no later than the morning of October 20, which is the day of a party I’m hosting, and a life-size replica coffin for display. That one I’d like as soon as you can get it to me.”

Harker handed Garth his credit card.

“Oh, wow. You have the same name as the dude in Dracula. How cool.”

Harker shrugged.

“It is now, but that wasn’t always the case,” he said. “I used to get teased about it a lot. Seems like anytime I told someone my name they had something to say about it – usually some smartass comment. But you know what? I finally learned to embrace it. I mean, there are a lot worse things in life than being named after a protagonist in a gothic horror novel … and it really works to my advantage this time of year.”

Garth bagged up Harker’s haul and handed him a receipt.

“By the way,” he said, “I also do deliveries after hours. We have a warehouse across town and I can pick up the coffin tonight if you want me to. We close at 9 and I could probably get it to you by 11 or so. Of course if that’s too late I understand – we can do it the next day.

“Nah, tonight would be great,” Harker said. “Plus, I’ve already got a lot of my decorations up … you can get a sneak peek.”

“Awesome!” Garth exclaimed. “As soon as I clock out I’ll jump on it. Thanks for your business Mr. Harker, and I’ll see you later this evening.”

Harker was waiting on his porch when the van from Wicked Halloween Emporium arrived at 10:50 p.m., and he waved as Garth – sans sunglasses this time – got out and moved toward the back.

“Is it just you making the delivery?” Harker asked.

“Yessir. There’s usually another guy that comes with me, but he called in sick.”

Garth opened the two doors in back of the vehicle and started to pull on the coffin.

“Here,” Harker said. “Let me give you a hand. I’ve been up these steps a million times so let me grab one end and backpedal and you can push from the front.”

Since the casket wasn’t real it wasn’t particularly heavy, but it still required two people to move it. So the pair got into position and carefully began taking it up the steps and toward Harker’s front door.

The coffin was halfway in when Garth lowered his end.

“You getting tired Garth … you need a break?”

“It’s not that,” Garth said – his eyes glowing a deep red. “I was just hoping you would invite me in.”

Harker had seen the hypnotic gaze many times before. And he pretended to be seduced by it – just as his family had done for centuries. The Harkers reveled in giving vampires a false sense of security before bringing them to their final resting place.

“Of course,” Harker said, staring at Garth while slowly reaching for his silver-bladed kukri knife. “Please come in …”

The Abita Springs Boo & Breakfast had carved out quite a niche, especially as the Louisiana heat abated and the calendar moved closer to Halloween. Oh, the antebellum-style home featured all the regular B&B amenities – comfortable accommodations, hot meals and friendly hosts – but a house this close to New Orleans required something extra to keep the crowds coming.

So, the owners – Martha and Mitch Guedry – had decided to present lodgers with a fun haunted house experience. The stay included a personalized tour of the grand old abode, and each room had its own horror story to tell.

You could pick the third floor bedroom where young newlyweds met a grisly end at the hands of a voodoo priest, or the second floor guest room, the scene of an unassuming door-to-door salesman who peddled shiny silverware and used those wares to kill his customers.

And diners were told to beware the breakfast menu; a long-suffering servant once decided to serve hot grits garnished with a heaping helping of rat poison to punish the owners for their cruelty.

It was all in good, creepy fun, of course; the tales of terror were simply made up and changed from year to year. Adding to the experience was the fact that the Guedrys had installed sound and visual effects that created the spooky atmosphere, and they made sure customers knew it was all for show. The booking confirmation clearly stated that “any ghosts or goblins are courtesy of the Phantom Inc. Halloween Company of Akron, Ohio, and strictly for the entertainment of our guests.”

For this season, an animatronic zombie had been placed in a closet in the foyer, reaching through the cracked door and begging for brains in a haunting, guttural voice.

Tammy and Lex Danner were quite familiar with the Abita Springs Boo & Breakfast, and had made it part of their anniversary celebration for the past several years. In fact, they had a rolling reservation each Oct. 1, and they’d spend their night and morning there trying to anticipate jump scares while socializing with the Guedrys.

“Hey, you!” squealed Martha, racing to give Tammy and Lex a hug as the couple entered the house with suitcases in tow. “Welcome back to your home away from home.”

Mitch bounded toward the front door to greet his old friends and customers.

“You guys look great!” he said, flashing a huge smile. “You two never seem to change.”

“Ah, but the Boo & Breakfast always does,” piped in Lex. “Which is why we keep coming back. The way you and Martha keep the experience fresh never ceases to amaze us. Speaking of which … can we have the third floor bedroom? Seems like last time we had to deal with a maniacal voodoo priest.”

“Oh, not this year – the Bloodthirsty Baron has moved on,” said Martha, with a wink. “Follow us upstairs and Mitch will tell you what fresh new hell awaits.”

As the foursome moved toward the stairs the door to the closet popped open, revealing a rotted arm from a hungry zombie. Both Tammy and Lex sprang backward and then let out a hearty laugh.

“Very good, guys, very good,” Tammy said. “That’s a nice way to get the party started.”

As Tammy and Lex reached their bedroom, they were told to watch for floating demons. Seems a malevolent entity had recently occupied the third floor, and was itching to devour the souls of any and all who entered.

“OK, we’ll let you two get settled in,” Mitch said. “Dinner is 6 p.m. with cocktails to follow. If you have any new campfire stories we’d love to hear ‘em, although I think Martha has lined up some pretty tall and terrifying tales for the evening already. Anyway, great to have you back and we’ll see you in a bit!”

Tammy and Lex sat down on the edge of the bed, gave each other a knowing glance and smiled.

“I gotta say,” Tammy said, “even though the Guedrys were killed here 10 years ago, this place still has such positive energy. They’re such good caretakers … and good friends.”

Lex nodded in agreement.

“Do you think they even realize that they’re ghosts?” he asked.

“Nah,” Tammy said. “Not yet, anyway. And it’s certainly not our place to tell them. I mean, they haven’t even figured out that we’re ghosts, too.”