Category: Fiction Factor

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.”

Ardelle Grove’s apartment at the Hoovestawood Independent Living Community was more than adequate for her needs. It had a spacious living room with a cushy recliner; a cozy bedroom with a bathroom attached; and a full kitchen with all the bells and whistles. Best of all, it featured a small balcony that overlooked the woods behind the apartment.

Whenever she was home – and she usually was – she’d make sure to be on the balcony to watch the sun set. Witnessing a sky streaked with pink, orange and yellow start to fade as the fireball extinguished itself for the day was always a joy, like watching an artist slowly cover a giant canvass.

Yet, it was the trees inside her abode that meant the most to Ardelle. There was Nellie, Sam, Sarah, Arturo, Melody and Clarence – names she had given the dwarf jades that she cared for. And her meticulous “care” for the  trees was the main reason that the first Wednesday of each month, she got a visit from a social worker.

This time when she heard the knock, she was doing some careful pruning of Nellie.

“Ah, you’re here again … just like clockwork,” Ardelle said as she opened the door to Rachel, the case worker assigned to her. “Come on in.”

Rachel smiled and gave the living room a quick onceover.

“It’s always immaculate in here, Ardelle,” she said. “A place for everything and everything in its place.”

“I’ve always been tidy,” said Ardelle, returning to her pruning duties. “Even as a child, I kept my room clean and organized. Fortunately, Nellie, Sam, Sarah, Arturo, Melody and Clarence like it this way. They do better in a tidy environment.”

Rachel walked to over to one of the bonsai trees.

“Which one is this?” she asked.

“That’s Melody. I moved here seven years ago and brought her over from the old house. I guess you could say she’s my oldest friend. Never could find the right combination of sunlight there, but she’s flourishing here. She’ll be around long after I’m gone. Hopefully, all of them will.”

Rachel forced a pained smile.

Ardelle had named her trees after friends who had passed away. Some of  them had been cremated, allowing her to add their remains to the soil. It was her way of watching them live on.

While Rachel was pleased Ardelle had a hobby – the trees were, in fact, all thriving – she believed anthropomorphizing them was unhealthy.

“I know you miss your friends and want to honor them, but is talking to these trees a good idea? You treat them as though they’re human.”

Ardelle shook her head.

“No, I treat them as living things, because they are living things. You plant them, water them, feed them, nurture them, and they grow. They depend on me. Just because they don’t talk to me doesn’t mean I can’t talk to them, or they can’t understand me. Would you be saying this to me if I had a cat or dog and talked to them? I bet you wouldn’t.”

“I’m just afraid you’re missing out on life, Ardelle,” Rachel said. “There are all kinds of activities here at Hoovestawood. There’s movie night, game night, trivia night, even a happy hour every Thursday … you could mix, mingle and make new friends.”

Ardelle put down her pruning shears and gave Nellie a spritz of water.

“I like people fine, I suppose,” he said. “Used to, anyway. But I like trees better. Did you know my friends here absorb carbon dioxide at night? They also filter indoor air pollutants … pretty sure no one at happy hour can do that. Plus, they don’t need much water, which is good since that dang AI plant down the road has used up almost all of it. I appreciate your concern, Rachel, but I only have a few years left. If I want to spend them with trees, is that so bad?”

Before she could answer, a rhythmic beep started echoing through the room.

“I think your smoke alarm is going off, Ardelle.”

“Nope,” she said, “that’s you … it’s your battery warning.”

Rachel grabbed the device strapped onto her left wrist, opened the battery compartment, and saw a red light flashing “23 percent.”

“I better get to a charging station before I power down,” she said, sheepishly. “But think about what I said … there’s more to life than trees. We’ll talk about this again next month.”

Rachel quickly left the apartment and closed the door behind her.

Ardelle chuckled.

“You hear that, friends – there’s more to life than trees. How would she even know?”