View Full Version : Your Halloween Story!

October 30th, 2010, 08:09 PM
Every year for the last 6 or 7 years or so, I have tried to write a Halloween story just in a couple of days.

I'm going to post the beginning of my Halloween story here; you can critique it if you like, BUT I would much rather you start a Halloween story of your own. If you post it here I will comment on it for you.

My rules (which I acknowledge can be broken at any time without any fear of retribution from me) are:

It has to (**GROAN**) follow the forum rules, i.e., no swears, no fornication, etc.
It must be your best attempt at being scary--not sarcastic scary, like "I dreamed that won the election and [worst fears are realized]" but your best attempt at scary writing, whatever it is.
If over 1500 words in length, it must be serialized (multiple posts). (NOTE: If you are not sure how to count words in a document, please message me and I'll tell you how to do it.)

That's all.

Here is my submission to the thread, which is the first part of my Halloween story (it has no title, just "Hallloween Story")--
Feeling calm and ready, Renato Sandoval put the finishing touches on his Halloween decorations, stood back, and lit a cigarette. As was usual for this time of year the weather was balmy and warmish; Renato stood in his shirt sleeves, smoking, just another homeowner in the neighborhood out decorating his property for the season.

It was odd how casual he felt now that he'd decided what to do.

Today he'd been out since just before noon putting black and orange crepe streamers and small plastic Jack-o-Lanterns with tiny lights inside first on the porch, the front gate and the sugar maple in the front yard, and then going around to the back and decorating the back gate and garage similarly. In the back he changed the white security light that illuminated the alley to a sickly green flood.

Of course, somebody else had already been back there decorating: His garage door was half-covered with graffiti and tags; his six-foot privacy fence was already completely covered, and moreover the vandals had torn down and trampled the last remnants of the clematis vine Hermine had tended so carefully when she had been alive.

He made sure not to give the graffiti and damage to the vines more than a second's worth of notice. After surveying his work, still puffing casually on his cigarette, now he picked up his scissors, tape, and staple gun, and let himself back into the back yard and went to the garage side door.

The wood was splintered around the doorknob where someone tried to kick or sledge the door, and the knob, brand new a week ago, was dented and rattled like it was about to fall off. The lock was holding but just barely. They'd done some more work on it over the past day or so he could tell. He pretended not to notice as he unlocked the door to his garage, but smoke from his cigarette got in his eyes because he was clenching his jaw so hard.

That's my contribution to the thread. When I add to the story, the thread will of course be bumped.

If you contribute your own story to this topic and it seems like I'm ignoring you or commenting on your work, please send me a PM and I'll fix that right away.

~~~ yours in Orderly Rectitude, [I]Scarlett

October 30th, 2010, 11:32 PM
nice detailed narrations of the layouts.
wondering what comes next.
i am working on my own Halloween story but not sure if I can make it out today

October 30th, 2010, 11:42 PM
It's him! I know it's him! Creak...creak...silence...

I awoke in the morning and prepared for school. The Frankenstein monster never showed up in my bedroom the night before. I wasn't worried about him in the morning when everybody was awake and moving around in the house.

I arrived home from school to find everybody in the backyard. If I wanted to change out of my school clothes, I'd have to go into the empty house alone. He'd be in one of the closets. It could be the Mummy. It could be Frankenstein.

I went to the front closet and stared at the doorknob. I reached out, turned it, and yanked. Nothing.

I checked all the closets. I changed into my dungarees and ran out the front door to find my friends.

I ran up to the back door of my best pal's house and knocked. His mother came to the door.

"Can Billy come out and play?"

"I don't know where Billy is. He was gone when I woke up this morning."

I ran to the house of my next-best pal and knocked on the back door.

"Is Jimmy there?"

"He's downstairs with Billy."

I walked down the stairs and there were Billy and Jimmy on the floor...dead.

I turned to run up the stairs but the Mummy was creeping down. I ran through the cellar door and there stood Frankenstein.

October 31st, 2010, 12:27 AM
^^^ ROFL.

Actually, it IS pretty scary upon the 3rd or 4th reading; it reminds me of Night Gallery, sorta. (Watch out for those ghoulish A&R guys!)

i am working on my own Halloween story but not sure if I can make it out today

No rush.

October 31st, 2010, 08:07 PM
I posted it, a puzzle actually.
Happy Halloween

October 31st, 2010, 08:29 PM
Here's the next piece of my story. I'll include the last paragraph from the prior section so you don't have to go scroll up and read it all over again:

... The wood was splintered around the doorknob where someone tried to kick or sledge the door, and the knob, brand new a week ago, was dented and rattled like it was about to fall off. The lock was holding but just barely. They'd done some more work on it over the past day or so he could tell. He pretended not to notice as he unlocked the door to his garage, but smoke from his cigarette got in his eyes because he was clenching his jaw so hard.

He had been visualizing the scene that would ensue when they came to get him at work: It would probably be around lunchtime, and a couple of dark-suited goons would approach him as he sat eating his lunch from the same flat black lunchbox Hermine had used to leave him those loving notes in would come up and say in low tones: "Mr. Sandoval? We're from the FBI and you need to come with us," and he would say (casually, in mid-chew): "What? Is there something wrong?" and they would say, "Mr. Sandoval, we're here about your great-nephew, Ganimedis Lustero."

And he saw himself saying, after that: "Ganny? I thought he was dead a long time ago! What about him, officer?" (And then the FBI agent would say in a hushed, distraught tone: "Hey! Don't call me 'officer', all right?!")


Ganimedis Lustero disliked his sandwich, even though he had paid almost seven dollars for it, and threw it down.

He felt jittery.

Even though his life was basically going great, he worried about things.

Here he was back in town, and it was like now he had to start all over again, getting the guys' trust back, throwing his weight around, being cool, being in demand. Even though he carried the mark, he was low man on the totem pole again, just like when he was 14: Selling dime bags to little junior high punks in the park, driving Dante's kid brother Gallito as he made his collection rounds, sucky, demeaning stuff like that.

Dante didn't trust him anymore, he could see that. Even though it was absolutely true that Ganimedis had been staying with one of his grandmas down state (to avoid the heat after that one big job they'd pulled where Taylor Russo'd got his stupid ass shot), Dante and other people would whisper and gossip that he had maybe been in jail, that people had seen him in lock-up, and that maybe he had ratted on some guys, or maybe he was in Witness Protection—stuff like that.

However, if he could figure out how to kipe that WWII stuff Old Man Sandoval had stashed in his garage and get it up to Dante—THAT would set things straight, that would definitely fix things. Dante was a HUGE WWII buff, hardly anybody knew that but Ganimedis. He knew Sandoval had not sold the gear and figured it was still there; he had spent enough time at that house as a little kid, the old man was a distant relative and he and his wife had worked nights; the wife, Hermine, who'd died last year, would watch Ganimedis and a few of the other cousins during the day when their parents were at work—or in Ganimedis's case, at the local bar getting trashed. Ganimedis had seen that junk a bunch of times; if nothing else, the old man liked to talk about the war.

Fastidiously wiping his hands on a paper napkin, which he then dropped out the car window to lie next to the half-eaten sandwich, Ganimedis started the engine of his 1994 Saturn and pulled slowly away from the curb.

There was a complication with the old man, now, too, though: Something or someone seemed to have tipped him off that it was Ganimedis who was trying to get in his garage, and not just some random kid; Ganimedis had gone over there on Saturday to offer to do yard work, something he'd done every other week or so since he was a little kid, and even though the old man had grunted "okay" through the screen door, he didn't come out, and didn't offer Ganimedis a root beer and a sandwich like he usually did, and every time Ganimedis would look at the house he would see Sandoval standing at a window, watching him.

So he hadn't gone near the garage that day, and made sure to express dismay over seeing the graffiti and damage to the vines when he went out to throw all the leaves he'd bagged into the dumpster, but not TOO much dismay. The old man had merely looked at him speculatively, handed him a five-dollar bill, and closed the door—and then walked to the window and watched Ganimedis until he walked off down the street.

But on the up side, tonight was Halloween. The old man had to work, and there would be lots of kids out, and there would be vandalism and stuff.

Ganimedis liked to visualize what would happen when finally, after all his plotting and planning and struggle and danger, he presented Dante with a footlocker full of authentic WWII gear—bayonets, a couple of helmets, some medals, some photographs, even a Walther P38 pistol. Dante's eyes would light up, and he would be speechless; then he would look up at Ganimedis with that look in his eyes that he used to get when Ganimedis would show up with his week's take, and they would be brothers again.
I doubt that I'll get this done in the next couple of days because of my job! But it's been pretty fun to write thus far.

November 14th, 2010, 09:02 AM
.....Dante's eyes would light up, and he would be speechless; then he would look up at Ganimedis with that look in his eyes that he used to get when Ganimedis would show up with his week's take, and they would be brothers again.

It made Ganimedis laugh as he drove down the tree-lined boulevard; it was getting to be rush hour now, lots of cars on the road and the sun already about to set because it was almost winter. He laughed because thinking of the love he would see in Dante's eyes when he gave him that WWII stuff—it made him choke up a little.

Luckily he was wearing his sunglasses.


So NOW the santero was saying that she had to change her name back to her Spanish surname, and of course it figured, but there was no way out. That was the only way you could get close to that family so you could deal with them, unless you were a blood relative: You had to take lessons from the santero, and be like his pupil or disciple or something for a certain amount of time, and then after that they would deal with you. They MIGHT deal with you.

It was sure better than those small-time losers, that Dante and his crew, that her son had gotten himself mixed up with.

But how could she tell him to stay away from them? She knew in her heart that she had not been a good mother to her babies, especially not to Ganimedis, whose dad had been the only one of her daddies to be married to her and give her and their son his name.

Agostina Knight (Lustero; she had to remember to start calling herself that again!) had an awful lot on her mind these days, not the least of which was her growing worry that her son Ganimedis was in some sort of genuine danger. He came and went from the house as usual, and was not the least disturbed in his sleeping or eating that she could tell, but every so often she would catch him brooding; when she would ask him what was wrong he would brighten and say, "Nothing!" in a cheery tone, but she was not fooled.

She had to admit that the magic the santero was teaching her was working, too—it was scaring her, in fact, to see it working so neatly and speedily after just a couple of months. She had taken the elixir and said the enchantment before going to bed to get a Real Dream, a week or so ago; the santero had told her this was a very opportune time for that type of work, as the Day of Death was approaching. The Day of Death was a beneficial holiday for travel to the other side and contacting those who were there.

And the dream she had had, that very first time, had shocked her in a most profound way.

In the dream she had seen Uncle Renato in his garage at home. She had seen him standing next to an open footlocker—a chipped and splintered plywood chest, painted Army green—looking down at it in a ruminative way. It was not like a dream at all, it was like she was looking through a window, at Uncle Renato in his work coverall. His back was to her, but it was most definitely him. There was a light on. She could not see what was in the box.

There was something that seemed horrible about the scene, and she started trying to wake herself up at that point but she stayed asleep and in the dream she saw Uncle Renato, with a very hard look on his face, not his usual easy-smiling, teasing self at all, doing something with a little thing that had green lights flashing on it, setting the thing on the workbench, moving it all around in a careful way as though for optimal positioning. Then he picked something else up off the workbench: A shotgun. He checked the gun's action, took a little vial of oil and lubricated a couple of spots on the gun.

She was struggling to awaken now, but her efforts continued to be in vain, and now she saw something else, the scene in her dream changed: It was dark, and she saw the alleyway in back of Uncle Renato's garage, lit in a sickly green glow, and she saw her son Ganimedis approaching the garage on foot, from the street. He had a hammer in his hand, and glanced back and forth, back and forth.


Yes, my work did intervene and I have not finished this story yet. For my own if no one else's amusement, I'll present some possible endings here:

Renato becomes possessed by a demon of sorts and messily slays Ganimedis. (Pwn.)
Via his mom, Ganimedis becomes master of all supernatural forces; he sacrifices his mom, devours Renato, and embarks upon a course of world destruction.
Agostina has some sort of one-upwomanship, PC type of victory, about which I'm too bored to write right now, but yeah: Men are, um, swine, or something like that, and deserve to be turned into same. (Didn't some guy write about that already, though? Is he still alive?)
The santero appears and wins the day in a sort of reverse deus ex machina scenario.
God appears and blasts everyone except Renato in a genuine dues ex machina scenario.
A ghost from the war relics scares everybody pretty good (thank you stonefly for some really good ideas) but nobody gets hurt, and no one is, you know, scared like TO DEATH, but even though it's sort of tame the story's a hit on the internet and everyone pays so much attention to me for a week that my head is totally turned by it but then after I've spent $1000 (USD) on party supplies for me and my friends so we can celebrate I suddenly realize that it was only internet notoriety and I'm still as broke—no, even MORE broke—than before.

But all in all I think the ending I actually wrote into the story (which is none of the above) is the best.

After thinking it all over I realized I could not present the entire story here after it's all written out because of supernatural stuff in it, and also some gore. It's not much gore, but there is some and it might be somewhat beyond PG13. Er, sorry.

Some more intel I'm glad to give you is: Besides the three characters already mentioned, there are a few more:

A preteen kid, a boy about 12 years old who idolizes Ganimedis and, unbeknownst to Ganimedis shadows him everywhere, including to the climactic scene in the story.
The santero from whom Agostina is taking direction.
Two young urbanite type people in the "fixer-upper" down the block from Renato's house; they are getting ready to go to a Halloween party. One of the people is a young college-aged guy who has just bought the house from under several roommates, and has only that week taken sole possession of same, and a college-aged female he's attempting to impress.

Regarding the horror aspects of the story, I'm not really going to get too explicit here, but I have put a lot of thought into it, and I think when the story is actually finished, it's going to be pretty scary—but we'll see!