All hallows dead, p.1
All Hallow's Dead, page 1
ALL HALLOW’S DEAD
Bryan Smith
ALL HALLOW’S DEAD
By Bryan Smith
First Digital Edition
Copyright 2015 by Bryan Smith
All Rights Reserved
www.thehorrorofbryansmith.blogspot.com
Cover design copyright 2015 by Kristopher Rufty
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the permission of the author. All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
This one is for Ryan Harding, the slasher authority.
ALL HALLOW’S DEAD is also dedicated to 80’s slasher cinema in general.
1.
Seven days until Halloween
Willow Springs, TN
The wind kicked up again and sent scores of yellow and brown dead leaves skittering across the quiet two-lane road. It was a few minutes past six in the evening and most of the light had faded from the sky, with only a shading of light gray lingering at the horizon. Lloyd McAfee sat shivering in the creaky chair behind the pumpkin stand and watched what remained of the day fade away. He’d set out this morning attired only in jeans and a flannel shirt. The day had started out bright and sunny, with the temperature in the mid 70’s, but it’d turned out chillier than he’d expected.
The sharp shift wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary for this time of the year. This was the season of transition, a period when the weather vacillated wildly between a warmth more typical of early summer and chilly harbingers of the colder months ahead. He’d grown up in this area and was well acquainted with how conditions could suddenly change. He had no one to blame for failing to take that into account but himself. Tomorrow he’d make a point of bringing a light jacket along to wear later in the day, regardless of how warm it was at daybreak.
Lloyd’s family had been operating the pumpkin stand at this same roadside location for generations. In his opinion, it was no longer a good spot, despite being conveniently located just a few miles from the family farm. Times had changed. People had changed. More folks lived and worked in town these days, causing the rural population to decline precipitously. As a result, the traffic along this stretch of state road was significantly lighter than it had once been. It was lighter every year, or so it seemed to Lloyd.
Today, in fact, had been one of the worst days he could remember in his fifteen years of operating the pumpkin stand. The traffic had been worse than light much of the day. It was simply nonexistent for long stretches of time. Most of the few vehicles that did come along zipped by so fast he doubted the people driving them even noticed him. He could only assume the people in them were on their way to somewhere far more interesting than here. Only a handful of people had stopped to take a look at the pumpkins. Of those, maybe half actually bought one. The entire haul for the day was just over twenty bucks. It hardly seemed worthwhile.
Just as he was thinking this, headlights appeared around the bend in the road about a quarter mile away. Lloyd cursed his laziness, hoping the car wouldn’t stop here. He should have closed up shop an hour ago, but he’d procrastinated, knowing his return home to the farm would likely be marred by unpleasantness before long. He and his father didn’t see eye to eye about much of anything anymore, the pumpkin stand being the least of it. Still, he’d been anticipating the pleasure of cracking open that first cold beer of the night for hours, and now it’d have to wait a little longer.
The car slowed down and pulled off the road. Muttering a curse, Lloyd reminded himself to smile and try to seem friendly when the potential customer approached. The silver minivan parked alongside his truck. A moment later, its doors opened, disgorging a family of six. A youngish, presumably married couple and their brood of four squalling brats. Lloyd guessed the youngest kid was maybe five and the oldest probably no more than twelve. The father was lean and handsome. The mother was a pretty, slender blonde. Both were attired in a manner that marked them as corporate types. What they were doing out here in the middle of nowhere, Lloyd had no idea.
But that mystery was solved when the mother approached the stand and engaged him in conversation. Turned out they’d learned of the McAfee pumpkin stand from an elderly acquaintance and had decided they could do with a bit of rustic flavor this Halloween season. Lloyd clenched his teeth at her use of the word “rustic”, but he managed to maintain his fake smile while launching into a brief but extra-folksy account of the pumpkin stand’s history. He embellished the tale with an anecdote about a giant pumpkin he’d grown years back that had gotten almost as big as his truck. This was pure bullshit, but Mr. and Mrs. Corporate America ate it right up. Meanwhile, the kids swarmed over the pumpkins arrayed around the stand, squealing and arguing at ear-piercing volume about which pumpkin was the perfect one for their porch.
Recognizing an obvious impasse when he saw one, the father snatched one up at random and paid for it. Lloyd commended him on his choice, saying he had a good eye. More bullshit. Soon they were on their way and Lloyd had a few more dollars to show for his day’s work. It wasn’t much, but what the hell, it was better than nothing. And now it was high time to secure the stand, load up his truck, and head back to the farm until it was time to do it all over again tomorrow.
He rose from his chair and yawned as he stretched his limbs. Another long day of sitting on his ass had left him feeling stiff-legged and tired. He couldn’t wait to get back to the farm and start drinking. Knocking back a few cold ones always improved his mood. There might be a few of the usual mutters of disapproval from his kin, but he didn’t care. He deserved to get a little drunk after so many pointless hours of sitting out here all on his lonesome.
Lloyd let down his truck’s tailgate and began loading pumpkins into the blanket-lined bed. The tedious process would take the better part of an hour. He again cursed his procrastination and vowed to close up shop earlier tomorrow. He was only a little ways into the job when a sense of being observed made him stop cold and turn toward the dense stand of trees bordering the other side of the road. At first he saw only dark woods and chalked the feeling up to an attack of inexplicable paranoia. Unless another car came along, there was no one else out here. It was just him and the pumpkins.
But he kept staring at the trees and that feeling of being watched stayed with him. There was still nothing to see, but his other senses told another story. There was another presence here. Something malign and predatory. He didn’t know why he should feel this way. It made no sense. He’d never had the gift of precognition. Nevertheless, he was gripped by a powerful urge to get in his truck and head for home at high speed. The only reason he didn’t was knowing how enraged his father would be upon learning he’d left the stand unsecured and all that merchandise unattended.
He stared at the line of trees at least another full minute, waiting for…something. At last, he let out a breath and chuckled nervously, telling himself out loud to stop being so stupid and paranoid. He was about to begin loading pumpkins into the truck again when a dark figure emerged from the line of trees and began to cross the road.
Lloyd’s heart pounded. Whoever this was couldn’t be up to any good. The son of a bitch had been lurking and watching. That was creepy behavior no matter how you looked at it. Where had he come from? And where was his car? The whole situation was too weird to be anything but bad news, yet Lloyd remained rooted to the spot, held there by a combination of helpless curiosity and the enduring prospect of his father’s rage.
The stranger reached his side of the street and kept coming closer, his dark eyes and pallid, expressionless face fixed on Lloyd. His hands were shoved deep inside the pockets of a black trench coat. The stiff wind whipped his longish black hair about, leaving it in disarray. He had a slim build and was maybe a couple inches above six feet tall. There was something almost familiar in the lean, angular planes of his pale, hollow-cheeked face. But if he’d ever known the man, Lloyd couldn’t quite place him.
Lloyd forced another smile as the stranger came closer still. “Can I help you?”
The stranger nodded. “I need thirty-one of your best pumpkins. Only the very best, mind you. Nothing less will suffice.”
Lloyd’s first reaction upon hearing this was a tenuous excitement. Thirty-one pumpkins all in one go? That would redeem the hell out of this otherwise miserable day. And it would make a heck of an interesting story to tell at the dinner table when he got home. But the excitement faded almost instantly. He took a slow, pointed look around at the vicinity before focusing his gaze on the stranger again. “Listen, mister, I’d be happy to sell you thirty-one pumpkins. Hell, I’d be thrilled. But where’s your car?”
The stranger smiled for the first time. One of his hands began to emerge from a pocket of his trench coat. “Good question, Lloyd. Glad you asked. I came out here in a stolen car. Ditched that back up the road a piece and made my way up here through the woods in order to retain the all-important element of surprise. I’ll be taking your truck, by the way.”
Lloyd frowned. “The hell you will. Hold on a minute. How do you know my name?”
The stranger’s hand fully emerged from his pocket. Moonlight glinted off a long and shiny blade. He came at Lloyd fast and slammed the big blade into his abdomen up to the hilt. The pain was instant and searing. Lloyd screamed. The stranger yanked the blade out and slammed it in again. Lloyd dropped to his knees when the knife was again removed from his gut. Blood spilled from the holes in his belly and pattered on the dusty ground.
The stranger moved away from him and examined the selection of pumpkins. He picked one and knelt on the ground near Lloyd, who watched with a mixture of terror and incomprehension as the man plunged the knife into the top of the pumpkin and began to cut it open.
The man glanced Lloyd’s way and caught his gaze. “It’s too bad you don’t remember me. If you did, you might have some idea why this is happening to you.”
Lloyd looked at his truck. His keys were in his pocket. The part of him still desperate to survive urged him to dig them out, somehow find the strength to get to his feet, and lurch his way over to the truck. It might not be too late. If he could get to a doctor, maybe he could be saved. But what was left of his strength was draining away too fast.
Lloyd fell over on his side and stared blearily at his murderer.
“Who…are you?”
The stranger scooped out pumpkin guts. “I’m the Ghost of Halloween Past. I’ve come to visit vengeance upon this town and those who hurt me long ago. Starting with you, Lloyd. Thirty-one will die by my hand this week. You have the honor of being the first.”
Lloyd peered intently at the man’s face a moment longer as his life drained away.
And then, at last, a spark of recognition. He spoke his last word as his eyes fluttered. “Oh.”
He died knowing who his killer was.
The man in the trench coat dragged the body out of sight, stashing it behind the pumpkin stand. While crouched down behind the stand, he took a meat cleaver from another pocket of his trench coat and performed a necessary bit of surgery on Lloyd’s corpse. With that out of the way, he loaded the pumpkins he needed into the truck and drove away.
Before departing, however, he left a gift for the investigators. Something they could search the area for, like the Halloween equivalent of an Easter egg hunt.
2.
Twenty-five years ago
Willow Springs, TN
After deviating from his usual route home for over a week, Elliot Parker decided to chance going that way again when school let out the day before Halloween. It was Friday and he had a whole weekend ahead of him away from the many classmates who liked to taunt and tease him. Elliot loved Halloween and he looked forward to spending the next couple nights watching horror movies with his sick brother, Robert, who had spent most of the last year confined to his bed. His alcoholic parents refused to talk honestly with him about his brother’s condition, but Elliot suspected this would be their last Halloween together. It made him sad, but he was determined to do whatever he could to make Robert’s remaining time as happy as possible.
Someone had to try, at least. His parents certainly weren’t up to the job. They spent most nights fighting and drinking themselves into a sloppy stupor. These fights were mostly conducted behind closed doors, but the drunken histrionics rendered any attempt at discretion ludicrous. Elliot’s thirteenth birthday was still a month away. The ways of adults and the workaday world they inhabited largely remained a mystery to him. But he knew enough to understand that Linda and Mark Parker were not like most parents. The deep rift between them had started long before the onset of Robert’s illness. Both boys had been accustomed to hearing their mom and dad scream at each other for years. It wasn’t right. Their eldest child was dying and all he was to them at this point was an inconvenience. In his darkest moments, Elliot was sure they wished Robert would hurry up and die so they could get on with their lives. When this thought occurred, Elliot found himself hating them with a scary intensity. Sometimes he fantasized about killing them and making it look like an intruder had done the deed. That way he and his brother might wind up in the care of their grandparents in Georgia, who at least weren’t hateful drunks.
A car honked as he walked down the sidewalk. Elliot glanced to his left and saw Mr. Spurlock, a science teacher at his school, seated behind the wheel of his Hyundai. Clinton Spurlock was a kindly, bespectacled older man. Elliot thought he was probably about fifty. The teacher had taken a special interest in Elliot a while back, often intervening when other kids bullied him. Elliot was grateful at times, especially when Mr. Spurlock’s interference headed off a certain beating. The problem was it only led to a deeper level of resentment among those who harassed him. The taunts always became more aggressive afterward, the threats against his personal safety scarier. He was called a “teacher’s pet”, a “sissy”, and worse. Sometimes the other kids insinuated Mr. Spurlock was a pedophile and was “diddling” him on a regular basis. It was bullshit. The teacher was just kind and had taken pity on him. But this distinction meant nothing to his antagonists.
Elliot knew why they picked on him. He was a lonely, awkward child. Socializing with anyone outside his family circle had always been difficult for him. Often it was virtually impossible. He was skinny and kind of weird-looking and just plain different. And in the middle school he’d just started attending this semester, there was no greater sin than being different.
Mr. Spurlock hit a button, lowering his passenger side window. “Hey there, Elliot. On your way home?”
Elliot continued down the sidewalk at a slower pace, with the Hyundai gliding along next to him. “Yes, sir.”
“Need a ride?”
Elliot’s brow furrowed as he considered. A ride home with the teacher would eliminate the possibility of being jumped by Lloyd McAfee and his asshole friends again. However, despite his fear of the bigger, meaner boys, there was a part of him that hated feeling like such a coward. He imagined going through life always being afraid of people like McAfee and his cronies. The prospect simultaneously filled him with self-loathing and ignited a level of fury that frightened him. When he got that mad, he entertained more murderous fantasies. He pictured Lloyd and the others tied to chairs and at his mercy, crying and quivering with fear as he did things to them with a knife. Sometimes the fantasies were so vivid he could almost feel the blade sliding into their tender bellies.
Elliot shook his head. “Thank you, Mr. Spurlock, but I’d rather walk.”
Mr. Spurlock pursed his lips a moment before saying, “You sure about that? It’s only a couple miles. I’ll have you home in a jiffy.”
Elliot smiled at the teacher’s use of the word “jiffy”. It was such a dorky old man thing to say. There was something strangely endearing about it. Not for the first time, he wished his father was more like this man. Better yet, he wished Mr. Spurlock was his father. But like Mark Parker always said, Wish in one hand, shit in the other, see which one fills up first.
Elliot nodded. “I’m sure. I like the weather this time of year. It’s nice. And I like the scenery.”
Mr. Spurlock glanced around at the tall trees lining the sidewalks on either side of the street. The leaves on all had turned varying shades of yellow, orange, and brown. There were drifts of leaves everywhere. “I guess it is pretty.” He sighed. “Well, you just be careful, Elliot. You know I worry about you. Remember, you can always let me know if you’re having any trouble.”
Elliot smiled. “I know, Mr. Spurlock. Thanks.”
Mr. Spurlock nodded, said goodbye, and drove off with a wave.
Elliot felt only a mild pang of regret as he watched the teacher’s taillights diminish in the distance. He would have been safe inside that car. No doubt about it. But he thought the odds were in his favor. A week and a half had passed since the last time he got jumped by Lloyd and his cronies. They obviously didn’t know about the longer, alternate route home he’d been taking. After this long, they wouldn’t be lying in wait for him at the usual spot. It would be pointless.
But about that, Elliot was very wrong.
He was still another mile away from home. There were no houses along this stretch of the route back, just an unbroken expanse of trees lining both sides of the road. The patch of woods off to his right was deeper than one would think, given its proximity to a sprawling residential area. He knew this from traipsing through them with his brother back in better days, when they would pretend to be soldiers in war-torn Europe a half century ago, slinking around from tree to tree with modified fallen branches they pretended were machine guns. The branches were stripped of all tiny offshoot limbs and broken down to manageable size. Because their parents never spent money on the really cool toys, the Parker boys always had to improvise. The austerity fostered a vivid imagination in each of them and for a time both showed signs of becoming gifted storytellers. Elliot still had notebooks full of handwritten tales about aliens and lost worlds populated by dinosaurs and cavemen stashed away in the back of his closet. But, as with so many other things, the habit had fallen away with the onset of Robert’s illness, though Elliot occasionally attempted to cheer his brother up by spinning a yarn while sitting with him at his bedside.
