Trick or Treat

Trick or Treat

Red and orange leaves floated silently from the ancient Red Maple tree, which had graced the edge of the pavement in front of my house for nigh on two hundred years. The light from the rising sun danced between them as they flittered to the ground, littering the pavement, which by now I no longer swept; for I knew that my feeble attempt would be thwarted by more leaves innocently falling, just moments later.

The date was October the thirty-first, Halloween. I had never been one for dressing up and going out to parties- I was more one who took advantage of an empty office after work to secure that all important promotion. This year was different, this year my family was coming to my house. I had done overtime countless nights in a row, at least this year my boss had noticed, he said he’d ring me later in the day to discuss a promotion.

I, however, awoke a lot later than usual, missing the beautiful morning scene - around ten. After having my rather boring breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs, I left my home and walked towards my car, noting the Halloween décor on my road.

My neighbour had outdone herself again, decorating the exterior with giant tarantulas and zombies. Children loved going to her house because they always got more than just sweets; she’d also give out toys and books. One year, a child even got a goldfish- the authorities told her not to give fish out again.

However, the trick-or-treaters had learned not to ring on my doorbell because I was never in on Halloween. I always left a bowl of sweets out by my door, though whether they ever got evenly shared I don’t know.

Once in my compact, I drove to nearby shops to pick up sweets and decorations.  Outside of one shop, lay a homeless man, begging for change.  I wanted to stop, but decided against it, worried I’d miss the call from my boss, confirming my promotion.

I entered the shop and picked up a jumbo bag of Moams, a few fake cobwebs and a severed head. I rushed back home and began putting up the decorations.

Three hours passed before the all-important call came, at two o’clock. I leapt from the chair I was standing on; my near perfect arrangement of fake cobwebs fell to the floor as I did and hurried to the phone.

The voice from the other end said in a low grumbling tone, “Trick or treat?”

I assumed it was my boss playing a joke for Halloween.

“Treat!” I responded whilst sniggering,

“I thought you would respond selfishly, so you get a trick!” the voice continued, “Every hour someone near to you will die. They could be someone you don’t know, they could be someone you love. If no one is near you, then you will be the one to die.” The phone went dead.

I wasn’t scared… well not initially. I assumed it was a prank call- but nonetheless I contacted the local police station to inform them. When they checked my phone records, they said that no calls to my residence had been made in three days. I was confused and getting a little bit nervous now. The police brushed me off and told me not to worry.

My family wasn’t due for another six and a half hours, so I decided to go for a stroll around the town to clear my head. The prank call still weighed heavily on my mind. As I passed the homeless man who I had seen earlier, the cold air bit at my skin. Again I wanted to give him money but I only had enough change in my pocket to buy myself a hot cup of tea. I spotted a café and set off towards it.

The café was warm and cosy, even if deserted. It was obvious that the owner had tried to make it scary but it didn’t quite have the right effect. I ordered a tea from the counter and thanked the old lady on the till for her kind service. She hadn’t done anything special, but she looked somewhat forlorn, so I was trying to perk her up a little.

After a couple of minutes the old lady walked, or more, tottered over to me with a steaming mug of tea. As I drank, the hot fluid flooded my body with warmth. I looked at my watch and was amazed to see that fifty-nine minutes had passed since the phone call.

The warm tea made me see sense. It had made me understand that it was impossible for anyone to guarantee a person’s death. I picked up my empty mug and walked over to the counter to place it on the tray, along with a few other dirty mugs. The old lady thanked me for coming as I turned to leave. Just before I made it through the café door, I heard the louder tick on my watch signifying the hour change.

The lady started to cough. I turned to help. She was spluttering. She started moaning in agony. I hurried out of the café to call for help, though the town centre had suddenly emptied. By the time I got back into the café the old lady was on the floor, her mouth covered in blood.

I rushed to the café’s phone only to find that the line was broken. I had left my mobile at home. I turned to go to one of the shops nearby but my body forced me to turn and watch the old woman die away. No matter how much I tried my body refused to move. I couldn’t scream out. I couldn’t run. All I could do was watch and let my tears roll.

In the shop window, I saw the reflection of the homeless man. Although I couldn’t see the homeless man’s face, I imagined it being unshaven and dirty. My eyes refocused on the old woman who was now lying dead on the floor surrounded by a puddle of blood. I felt my body become free; the first thought that came to my mind was to tell somebody. To tell of the events that had happened in the now blood stained café. As much as I wanted to do so, the darkest corners of my mind were yelling at me. Yelling at me to not tell anyone, for if I did they would surely assume that it was I who had done the deed. The thought possessed me and I couldn’t fight it. I left the blood covered lady, and left the scene which had been taken straight from a horror movie.

I walked briskly down a busy street. It was almost as if every eye was boring into my skull, trying to crack open my thoughts and spill them out for the whole world to see. I felt like Lady Macbeth, constantly rubbing her hands, ‘out damn spot’ fitted my actions perfectly as I tried to get the blood off my hands.

After what seemed like an eternity of walking, I reached my house. My neighbour’s home seemed more sinister now than it had before. I entered and threw myself onto my sofa. I sank into it as fast as I did my own thoughts. Why did I force myself to watch her die? Why was the town centre empty on a weekend at three o’clock? The question that struck me hardest was; should I stay alone and die or go out there and just let what will be, be?

The phone rang and I contemplated not answering it. It could be the man calling back to make my situation worse or it could be the man saying he’s going to stop the torment. In reality it was neither; it was my boss calling about the promotion,

“Hi Samuel, it’s John Roland speaking. I would like to congratulate you on being… my new executive assistant!” Mr Roland seemed positively thrilled by this new life-changing news. I however wasn’t. Normally I would be cheering down the phone, but I was no longer ‘normal’. I couldn’t act normally.

“Sam are you still there?” Mr Roland asked, a concerned tone to his voice. “Since my old assistant left I’ve been feeling down in the dumps - you know what I tried to do just a week ago - but now you’re here. In fact I would say that you have changed my life around. Come to where I am now and you will see the city that you will help me supply! On this rooftop you feel like the king of the world!”

I heard a loud tick from my watch and knew that it was the end for me. No one was around. No one could die. “Sam! It’s getting quite windy up here; I think I might just go in…” His voice trailed off. I slammed the phone down and started running.

I ran all the way to my place of work - the tallest building in the city. When I arrived, there was no one around - no matter where I looked, the town was empty once again. The shadow of the looming building concealed Mr Roland’s dead body.

I wanted to go to him, but my body refused to move. I was forced to watch as blood dripped from his head and trickled into a glossy pool of dark red beneath him. Again, I wanted to scream, to shout out to the world; my mouth felt as if it had been glued shut.

My mind was yelling at me, bellowing so very, very loud. Yet, as I watched the blood spill, that voice in my mind whispered, telling me of great power. I could control who should live and who should die. Those who wasted life should not deserve it. The people who waste their lives away drinking and breaking the law think they have the right to life. They don’t. Why should they live, when others are tormented by their existence?

No matter how hard I tried to rid my mind of this thought it just fought back shouting at me getting stronger and stronger. I was an Angel of Death. My body relaxed and although I knew that I wanted to confirm whether Mr Roland was dead or not, my mind insisted that I turned away and left his body in the cold street.

I had been walking for quite some time when I came across a drunken man defacing someone’s garden fence. I looked at my watch and saw that there were ten minutes until five o’clock. My heart dropped as my mind contemplated running and hoping he would not be the one to drop, and yet a small voice in my head told me to stay. My hands started to shake with nerves as each second ticked by.

I started to sweat; the small voice in my head was becoming a shrill scream but it was being bellowed over by the voice that told me this man had to be the one to go.  Five seconds until the man in front of me would die. Four. Three. Two. I screamed out at the man to run but… tick. As the man tried to run he fell, I heard his skull crack from the other side of the road. I saw the blood spill out of him all the time he was screaming, until… he stopped. He stopped screaming. He stopped squirming.

I hadn’t felt my body seize. My body didn’t refuse to do what I said, because I wanted to stay. I was scared, somewhere in my mind I wanted to see the man die, to know that he was no longer roaming the planet. It felt good. It felt more than good, I felt ecstatic. Why? Why was I feeling so elated at the man’s death? A part of me was crying inside but on the outside I was physically cheering. My darker being had conquered the good, but I knew that the old me was trapped inside, wanting to escape. Dark grey clouds started gathering pulling light out of the scene - as if mimicking my mind.

I stood in the same spot for nearly half an hour before I resumed walking. As I walked down the now busying road I felt as though I was being followed, of course this was absurd; no one could possibly know that it was because of me that the man along the road was dead. I walked on, trying to extinguish the guilt that was building up in my mind.

There was a bench amongst the scattered golden autumn leaves. The bench was made from a dark wood with ornate metal legs and arm rests. Adjacent to the bench was a bin, a large metal bin that quite detracted from the pleasant aesthetics of the bench. Posters adorned the bin, but those were ripped and tattered, tarnishing the image further. I sat on the bench and sighed as it began to rain.

A woman, with short blonde hair, wearing a smart business outfit started to hurry out of the rain. She tripped on her high heels and fell, dropping her leather clutch bag. A man rushed over to her and grabbed the bag, running off into distance as the rain fell heavier. I glanced at my watch and saw that there were only three minutes until six o’clock.

I got up from the bench and looked towards the running man. I sprinted after him, knowing that if I didn’t catch up with him I would be the one to die. The voices returned in my head. One telling me to stop the other telling me to go faster.

Neither voices wanted me to die, but both wanted to do things differently. The small voice was telling me to stop and just let whoever passes be the one to die, it told me that I should not have power over who should die. The other, more powerful voice, spoke to me of great power, great honour. I could be held in history as the one who rid the world of crime and evil.

Whilst caught up in these thoughts I ran into the thief, just as I heard the loud tick to signify the hour change. The thief stopped running; he staggered around in circles gasping for breath. My palms became sweaty and my eyes started to tear, yet inside I was thrilled. I have never been the sort to enjoy horror movies; I don’t like blood and I hate watching the characters die, even if fictional. But this wasn’t fiction, I wasn’t in a film or a book- this was real.

I was being mentally torn apart by the choices I had made. The man went limp and fell to the ground. I picked up the bag and made my way back to the lady. When I got there, she was not. Had she seen what I had done? She could have just been bored waiting for the return of her bag. I opened the bag and saw to my surprise that she had a picture of my house, me and my family. Was this a test? Was I even supposed to see what was in her bag? I decided, regardless of the answers to those questions, I could not let my family be harmed.

I arrived home and saw that the door was slightly ajar. Sitting on my sofa was the homeless man I saw when the old lady was dying. He had his hood up so that it concealed his face, but his dark tattered clothing gave away his identity.

“Greetings Samuel, how nice of you to join me- I have been expecting you.” He said in a soft, sinister voice. “You have made some very big decisions today. You have taken four lives, ripped their being from this planet. The first two were accidental- you didn’t know what you were doing- it was as if you were being controlled.

“But then you started to kill with a reason, thinking that you were the one on the moral high ground. You know why you’ve been granted the privilege of being an Angel of Death, Samuel?” I gulped; this man knew what I had been doing. If he knew, who else did?

“I would not call it a privilege,” I spat as the ‘homeless’ man chuckled to himself,

“Oh, but it is. You and I are a lot more alike than you think. See, I am an Angel of Death too. I’ve been one for quite some time- it’s quite fun isn’t it?” I stared at him with upmost disgust, “We’re immortal, the only way we can die is being alone when the hour changes - or of course if we’re with another Angel of Death. It’s amazing the power that we have- we can decide who deserves to live and who deserves to die. I gave you the power, knowing that you would find it hard, but also knowing that you’re selfish enough to use it. I knew from the moment you didn’t give me money on the street. I confirmed your selfishness over the phone when you begged for a treat. You’re just as powerful as I am. Now, let’s put on the news shall we.”

He picked up my remote and turned on my TV. He found a live news channel and watched my reaction as they were talking about four deaths that had happened in four hours. Another news reporter entered the scene as the clock struck seven. Both of the news reporters collapsed and the cameras were turned off. “Oops!” the ‘homeless’ man said as he turned off the TV.

“Why did you do that?” I shouted at him- the little voice in my head that had been telling me that I was wrong had finally overpowered the voice telling me that what I had been doing was fine. I was standing up and leaning over the ‘homeless’ man now. I spat onto his hood and said in a furious voice, “You are sick! You think you can kill anyone- God, you enjoy doing this. You are an absolute…”

“Now, now…” The man interrupted, “Swearing is a very naughty thing to do, and you don’t want to be a naughty boy now do you?”

“You arrogant, patronising little twat.”

“I thought, because you’ve grown so accustomed to your new powers that I’d give you a little test, your mother and father will be here just before eight- I arranged them to come early.”

I sat on the other side of the room waiting for my family to arrive. I wanted them to go, to save themselves and yet a part of me knew that if they did I would die. I felt sick as I realised that the man was right; I was a selfish man and even this realisation did nothing to make me want to save my parents over myself. I hoped they wouldn’t because part of me knew how this was going to end.

It was seven fifty when my parents arrived. My mum had baked me a cake and my dad had bought a case of beers with him. They entered the lounge and sat down on the soft armchairs. The atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. The ‘homeless’ man got up and left the room. I signalled to my parents that I wouldn’t be long and then too left the room.

The man had entered my bedroom and had sat himself on my bedside table- he had knocked everything onto the bed.

“Now, here’s your choice; you either stay in here and I die along with you, or you go back into your living room and pick which of your parents you want to die.” The man’s ultimatum was impossible- normally I would’ve happily sacrificed my life for my family, but since having this new power I had learnt how precious life really was. Before I could make my choice, it was made for me; my mum entered the room asking where we’d got to. My watch struck eight. With having two Death angels in the same room, my mother’s death was different from the others. She started to get wrinkles, her hair turned grey and her teeth fell out. She screamed with agony and fear. I tried to run- possibly stop the process, but that animalistic force prevented me. I tried to shut my eyes, but they were being forced open. I tried to yell for help but all that escaped was a whimper of fear.

My father had heard the screams from my mum and had rushed up- before even a word of confusion escaped his lips a light from my mum beamed over to my dad. Rather than age, my dad did the opposite.

He grew back a full head of brown hair and his beard started to detract into his face painfully. Then he started to shrink and grow acne that exploded into existence. A whole ten minutes of this process went on and at the end my mother was a pile of dusty bones and my father an un-grown foetus surrounded by a damp puddle. I tried to scream, to cry but I couldn’t.  I fought and fought the power possessed me until eventually I boomed out with anger, whilst tears flooded from my eyes. Through my bloodshot eyes I saw the Angel of Death watching with vile fascination.

I fell to my knees and bent over my parents. They weren’t even recognisable to be able to fully mourn over. I had killed my parents with the help of an evil so large that his fate was inevitable.

Even though I was distraught over my parent’s deaths, one thought was in my mind. I had to rid the world of two evils- two Angels of Death. The despicable man before me saw the hatred in my eyes and I knew he was scared; a face never lies. I dared him to run, to try and escape- he knew as well as I he wouldn’t make it. It was time for the both of us to meet our maker.

The clock neared nine o’clock and the man started to sweat, he looked around the room frantically. I had the pleasure of hearing him whimper, seeing the tears roll down his eyes as he lost hope of escape. His life would be over in a mere ten seconds. I didn’t care that I would die- all I knew was that as long as he was dead too the world was a better place. Five seconds. He leapt off the bedside table and ran to the window. He was fast, but I was more determined. I threw myself onto him and forced him to look at my face, to see the anger to see the torment he had caused. One second to go. The last thing he would see was my detesting face. The last thing he would hear was my heavy breath. The last thing he would feel was my sweaty palms on his arms. The last thing he would taste would be the salt of my tears. The last thing he would smell would be his own manifestation of pure evil. Tick.

Before today I had hoped there would be a Heaven, but now I have killed so many I am left simply hoping there is no hell.

End



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Thank you to all those who pointed out grammar, wordiness, flow, etc... issues- I am most grateful



MattAB16