Section 2

God always protects his children when in the presence of the Devil. That is what Ophelia Beauregard was brought up in her house believing.

Ophelia yawned, sliding the drapes over her windows, shielding her ears from the harsh groaning of the wind and the crooked, barky fingers of the trees as they scratched against the glass with a fluffy, coffee stained pillow. The night fell fast upon the tucked in town of Thistleburrow, as the wide eyes of the moon ever saw over the landscape like an owl, scanning for a mouse weaving through the forests of tall grass outside. She flung open her drapes at the thump of a bat that splattered its brains onto her recently cleaned window. Ophelia groaned. Leaning out of bed, she felt around in the drawers of her bedside table for a small box of matches from the Merchant Reef Inn back in Florida, and lit the wick of the candle that rested in a stainless steel, cherub carved holder on the finely polished wooden tabletop. Coiling her fingers around the handle, she cursed under her breath. Rummaging in the cabinets for window solution at this hour? Oh, the nerve of that bat.

The door creaked open at her touch with a long, drawn out screeeeech as Ophelia stepped hesitantly into the shady halls of the Prosper Stone Apartment building, leaning her free fingers on the almost unseen wall. She gave a sigh of relief when she heard the booming of the base in her neighbor room’s music system, happy that someone was still up. She quivered in the blackness of the hall, before turning the knob of the stairs entrance, and her hand shook with the candle with every step down the dark, echoing staircase that she took.

Ophelia felt the chills of the cement as she traced the small dancing flame over the crudely stenciled number two by a plain yellow door. One more flight of stairs. She thought. I just feel like something’s following me. She continued in thought, hastily glancing back and forth, before sprinting the last flight, and she let her chest heave slightly as she slammed the base floor door behind her. The candle puffed out a few strings of smoke and went out, as she bit her lip, her feet echoing on the tiles of the darkened lobby, as she headed towards the apartment laundry room. She froze. The headlights of a car beamed in through the small windows of the lobby, and she; in all human curiosity, plastered her face against one of the panes for a better investigation. Her heart skipped a few beats. She placed her palm over her breast and paled. Stepping out from the car was an unnaturally lithe character draped in a thick black overcoat, leaning hunched with a silver cane. Scarlet spheres widened on its shadowed face, and Ophelia slunk down against the wall, hoping it did not notice her. Long black nails screeched down the window glass as the blackened face peered in out from the drizzling rain.

Ophelia crawled underneath the windows, and just as she was in front of the door, her heart froze to ten layers of ice. The door knob was turning and the door began to crack open. As in human nature, Ophelia screamed. She screamed so loud, scrambling to her feet, though she felt a sharp pain surge through her body.

The thing howled so unnaturally, it seemed to cause the air to frost.

It began a hasty gnaw on her leg.

It moved up, diving its hand into her chest.

Room 37 was empty the following morn.

No one knew what happened to Ophelia Beauregard.

Section 1

Wandering during Halloween Night has its horrors more terrifying than any elaborate costume. Thea McHowlen patted her bag of newly acquired candy and grinned in satisfaction. Not only did she have a full bag, but this was also the first year that her parents decided she could go alone. She lied. She told them she was meeting with friends. They were too stupid to know her intentions. Her intentions of tagging every house, and not just those that her parents limited her to because they were in the neighborhood.

Popping a Gobstopper into her mouth, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and made brisk, large steps down the winding, black paved road of Pumpkin Berry Lane, at 11:57 PM. Her parents were going to kill her. She said she would be back by 10:00, and it was almost 12:00. No one was on the streets.

She was alone.

Her breath quickened.

She heard footsteps in the nearby wood.

Not taking the chances of it being a Halloween prankster, she took quicker, smaller, shakier paces, and clutched her heavy bag tighter.

12:00:01. Uh oh, she thought harshly, and quickened into a light jog; all she could manage with a heavy bag.

12:01:38. There was the footsteps again.

12:02:27. A stout, shady character stepped into the street.

12:02:58. A car speeding down the road hit a small bump in the street, but just kept driving.

12:05:28. The woods were silent.