Haunting Redemption

He slowly snuck towards the big gates, his feet making no sound on the gravelly road.
It was the year of our Lord 1799, and Jack Slimm, was up to no good.
As he came to the heavy lock and chain barring the property from intruders, he sniggered foxily. Poor fools, leaving their goods guarded by a simple, miserable, rusty padlock. They thought their treasure was safe, but they hadn’t counted on a visit from ‘ole Jack, also known as the Oily Hand, known throughout the whole county.
There is even a sizeable bounty on my head, thought Jack happily, as he took out his tools and began working on the old rusty affair.
With a slight click, the lock gave way and the gates swung on their hinges, revealing Swanson Manor in all its glory.
The manor had been built over one hundred years earlier and was the residence of the Swanson’s, very rich people indeed. It was rumored that the head of the family had inherited a boatload of money from a distant aunt that he had had killed. The old ladies in town always talked about her ladyship as well: they said she was a witch, and that she held the company of mysterious gentlemen that only came on certain days of the month.
There were house servants, but apparently they never left the property, so all the towns gossip was never reinforced by fact.
But this didn’t worry Oily Hand Jack. He had been here all day, watching the property carefully, and had personally witnessed the Swanson’s leaving the property in their big coach. Probably off to a fancy all ‘allows dance, thought Jack happily as he crept towards the dark building.  He had patiently waited three hours till he ad seen the servants leave the premises as well, the old butler locking the gate with that ridiculous lock.
And now he was in! The richest property in the whole county, and it was his for the plundering.
All of the sudden, something grabbed his sleeve, and with an almighty oath, Slimm jumped away, the fear on his face illuminated by the light of the full moon. Only a few steps from him stood an old woman with a stick, looking at him with a quizzical smile on her face.
“ Hello dearie. And what might you be doin’ ‘ere at this time of night? And all alone?”
Jack wasn’t a brave man. Quite the opposite. He was a coward, the greatest coward in all of England, and if given a choice he would always escape from a battle rather than fight. But he was also, as many men such as him are, cruel. He didn’t even think as he threw the knife at the old woman. Not a sign of guilt or pity showed on his face, not a care.
Yet somehow, the knife missed. He blinked a couple of times, disbelief showing in his eyes and in his frown. He never missed!
“Dear me…you are quite the naughty one. Didn’t your mother teach you not to run a round with scissors? And it ain’t polite to trespass on people’s property either. So what do you have to say for yourself?” the old lady was tapping her foot impatiently on the gravel, a slight frown adorning her face.
“I’ll kill ya, ya ole hag!” said Jack as he rushed towards her, intending to strangle the life out of her.
But as he reached the spot were she stood, she vanished in a puff of smoke.
As he stood there bewildered, he heard a distant cackling, and words floated as if on the wind to his ears: “You need to be taught a lesson young man…have a pleasant night. Hahahahahaha”.
This was too much for Jack. Being a coward, and a superstitious one at that, he realized that it had been a very bad idea to try to plunder an old, mysterious manor on All Hallows night. He had been a fool.
His legs began wind milling furiously as he dashed for the open gate. As he was already savoring the sweet, safe road, the gates slammed shut with an awful clang, and, not being able to stop himself, he slammed into them at full speed. As he fell, his vision dimmed, and he knew no more.

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He came too, much later, and found that his head was resting on something soft. As his eyes focused he began to make out what seemed a ceiling, and…a chandelier?
With a great cry he jumped up, his head throbbing painfully. He was in the house! In the spooky manor! How had he gotten here? Who had carried him?
He started to slow down his breathing. “Come on now Jack,” He said to himself out loud, “it’s just an ‘ole empty house. There are no such things as witches and specters…it’s just nonsense, that’s what it is.”
“On the contrary my good sir. You’ll find that we are very much real, and quite alive, if such term can be used under the circumstances.”
He wheeled around, feeling for the knife that wasn’t there.
Standing in front of him was a skeleton, its empty eye sockets shining with an eerie glow. As Jacks’ mouth moved of its own accord to produce one long and loud scream, he couldn’t help but notice that the monster was dressed in what appeared to be a pink tutu, big black boots and a pink bow atop his head.
Nonetheless, Jack was only human, and a fairly simple minded fellow at that. So, although the skeletal figure would have incited curiosity in more learned men, Jack chose to adopt a more instinctual approach on dealing with it. Thus, still screaming like a toothless ground hog, he ran right at the skeleton, barging thorough it and sending bones showering everywhere.
As he sprinted up the stairs, he could just here behind him a disgruntled voice: “Great…just fantastic. Now how am I ever going to be able to get all those vertebras straight again? And look, he’s gone and crinkled the dress…how uncivilized.”
The thief reached the highest floor of the manor panting for breath, his fear causing him to shiver all over. Gods, what sort of hellish place was this?
He had to get out!
He leaned against the brass banister to catch his breath, his wheezing the only sound that disturbed the quiet of the house, save for a faint cursing coming from the lower floors.
As he looked around, he could see that two his left and right, two long corridors stretched, doors coasting them on either side.
Fearfully he began to creep along. He tried to make less noise possible, he really did. He put a special effort into it, the poor devil. However, unfortunately for him, every single floorboard in the house was old and grumpy. Therefore, he didn’t creep so much creak. Seized by a dismal desperation, Slimm started running once again. As he reached the end of the hallway, a door to his right opened and he was grabbed by an enormous hand, which dragged him yelling and kicking into another dark room.
“Well, hullo! We have visitor! How delightful! Thank you for bringing him in Jurga! Oh, this is wonderful, what a party! Hello sir, my name is Doctor Ips. What is yours’?”
Lights came on, revealing to the still screaming Jack, that he was seated in a shiny chair in the middle of a room filled with big fuming vats of unknown liquids and odd chromed rods. He could taste an odd metallic taste with his open mouth. Before him, a huge grin planted on his comely features, stood a short man in a white coat. He had shoulder length black frizzy hair, shockingly blue eyes and he was quite pale. Looming over him, stood, what appeared to be at least several women. Or rather, the parts of several women. She was gigantic, and stitches crisscrossed along all her body. She wore, oddly enough, a leather waistcloth and a simple t-shirt with the logo “Welcome to Swanson Manor, we have fresh eggs” printed in neat letters on the front. Around her neck, she wore a homemade wool scarf.
His screaming ceased at this point because, for the first time, he was breathless when confronted with beauty. He couldn’t help but find himself attracted to the patchwork Amazon, even though her hands were as big as his head and she seamed to be carrying a big hook on a pole.
“Well, dear fellow? Your name?...oh it doesn’t matter! Her try this!” And without waiting a second, the man splashed a glass of liquid down Slimms’ still open mouth.
The effect was instantaneous. He began sweating, as his skin changed color to a bright blue complexion, and his fingernails grew exponentially, soon reaching the floor.
“What a remarkable effect!” stated the odd little man with what appeared to be satisfaction. “We should see how it looks on the inside!” And saying this he went to a chest of drawers in the corner. After having extracted what looked like a drunk bat (“Twinkle, twinkle little duck, oh I bet you look like muck, up above the glass so high, I like my whiskeys really dry…*hick…twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, whinkle, and lots of health to you”), a pair of red boxer shorts and a purple stoat that seemed to be reciting Portia’s speech from Shakespeare’s’ Merchant of Venice, he finally found what appeared to be some very sharp surgical tools.
He then advanced on the terror-stricken blue thief with a great smile and said: “This will only hurt a lot, dear fellow. Now hold still.”
Jake was out in the hall and running before he even realized it, his overly long fingernails trailing behind him. He didn’t look back, but ducked into the first open door he found, closing it behind him.
He slowly slid down the door, his heart pounding. How could he have been so stupid? How, how, HOW?
When he finally had the courage to look around his heart caught in his throat and he let out a whoop of joy!
He was sitting on the floor of a room full of gold. He had found the Swanson treasure! He was rich!
He quickly made his way towards the great pile of gold, tasting the riches with his mind. However, he was stopped short at the sight of a creature blocking his path. In the middle of the floor, was a turtle.
Hehe, a turtle? What could a turtle ever do to…?
Then, it breathed fire.
The thief was unceremoniously catapulted from the room, a fireball singeing his buttocks and unmentionables.

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He must have lost consciousness because when he came to, he was in a dark room, only lit by the green light emanating from a bubbling cauldron.
He had been resting on a four-poster bed, and now he got up to look at his surroundings. The room was covered from top to bottom with occult imagery. Pentacles, odd writings, and occult jewelry decorated the walls.
By the fireplace, where the cauldron sizzled merrily, black leathery wings had been hung, as had strings of odd herbs. On the shelves were a selection of big jugs and bottles, many marked with the classic skull and crossbones motif. He was in the den of a witch.
He made his way cautiously towards the door, but as he was reaching for a latch, the opposite door burst open and in strode the witch herself.
She was quite beautiful to look upon and she wore a big black pointed hat.
She carried a broom in one hand and by her side stood a big black cat. The cat, was wearing a cowboy hat.
“That’s not nice. Our guest was leaving without saying thank you. What a slimy character. You’d almost think he was some type of toad,” said the witch with an odd gleam in her eye.
“Oh, no, nononononono…NO!” Jack yelled knowing what was coming next but being able to stop it.
The witch smiled gleefully and waved her broom. Magic filled the air and coalesced in a green foul-smelling vapor, which then landed on Jack.
He squatted down, his blue skin taking on a dark green tinge. Warts began appearing on his skin, and he found himself shrinking quickly. His eyes bulged and his fingers and feet became webbed. He let out a loud croak, and an instant later, all that was left of Jack Slimm, was a big toad, with, surprisingly enough, very long fingernails.
The witch bustled happily towards him and picked him up.
“You, Mr. Slimm, have been a very bad human being. You have done many terrible things in your time, and could do many more. However, we, the spirits of the Other world, have decided to give you a chance. Halloween is a time of endings and thus, new beginnings. We have decided to give you the possibility to change your wicked ways and become a better man. If you do this, you shall never regret it ‘till the end of your days. But” she said with a wicked gleam in her eyes “but, if you do not change your ways, we shall take our just revenge, and you shall suffer our undying wrath. For we are the spirits of Renewal and Change. If you do not make a change, we will make it for you”. And with that she threw him into the cauldron, cackling madly.

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Many hours later, Jack Slimm woke up outside the gates of Swanson manor.
He has changed his ways since that day, and now leads a happy life as a rock sculptor with a big happy family to love and care for.
Nevertheless, every Halloween he is careful to carve a pumpkin and set a big candle in it to last the night. Just in case.