Uncle Al's Halloween Hoedown Day Twenty-Nine: THE MAN THAT ATE NEWBORNS

The Man That Ate Newborns
by
Al Bruno III

Don't squirm so much my wee one. Don’t struggle. Let me hold you close while I work up my nerve. Only a day old and you're fighting to live, well so am I. Isn't that what we all want in the end? Life, a warm place to sleep and a full belly. Well, that's what you've got and what do I have? Nothing I'm just a middle aged man, used up and waiting to die.

Just like you, not that you realize what's coming next of course.

Then again maybe you do understand, you may be blind and confused but maybe you do know somehow. Is that why you keep trying to get free?

This is all because of Eve. We had known each other since college. She was already halfway towards becoming a lawyer and I was a well respected graduate student. You should have seen her. She was so damn beautiful with creamy skin- just like yours. I first saw her in the college library, I was so smitten that I followed her home. Just to see if she was married or living with a boyfriend or something like that. I spent the next few days tracking her, learning whatever I could and once I was sure I knew enough to pass for her soulmate I made my move.

I played my cards just right and won her heart. It was a whirlwind romance, the kind of thing you'll never know my wee one. Maybe that's just as well, maybe if you could you'd thank me for sparing you the heartbreak.

Even now I don't know what went wrong. Was I too agreeable? Too clingy? It doesn't matter. She found someone else. The breakup was an ugly thing, uglier than you my wee one.

She tried to be gentle, she told me we could still be friends. I was so angry, I said terrible things but in the end I took her up on the offer of friendship and hoped she might come to her senses.

I'll never understand women. They're called the fairer sex but everything they do is unfair. How is it time and time again they're drawn to the wrong men? Why couldn't she see that her new boyfriend was all wrong for her? And why for God's sake did she marry him.

Now don't get me wrong, I tried to move on. There were other towns, other girls and no matter how much I learned about them before I made my move I never got as far as I had with Eve.

Was that why I kept coming back to my home town? Was that why I stayed her friend even though the sight of that ring on her finger left my skull pounding with rage?

Calm down now my wee one. I might drop you if you keep struggling so. Is that what you want?

I stayed her friend, I prayed for her to divorce but then it got worse. They were tears of joy in her eyes when she told me she was pregnant. I smiled at the news but in the back of my mind I was calling her a bitch. She never cried for me but she had a fountain of tears for a baby that wasn't even born yet. A baby that at this point was just a lump of cells no better than a tumor.

Some say life begins at conception but I don’t think it begins until you have your first real thought. Until then your just a thing that eats and crawls mindlessly.

It was during her final trimester that I decided something radical needed to be done. I would steal her little baby and I would keep it away until she promised to leave her husband and love me forever.

We would raise the child together. Even though it was another man's I would raise it as my own.

Thanks to things like email and her husband's Facebook page I knew when Eve started to go into labor. I waited about twenty-four hours, and then made my move.

As always I had done my homework, I knew the hospital's routine. I went at night, wearing stolen scrubs and an official-looking ID badge.

I made my way to the nursery convinced that no suspicious eyes would turn my way. I suppose love blinded me in that respect. I barely had the baby in my arms before someone raised an alarm. Escape wasn't easy but I managed to get out of the building. Then I found myself in the middle of a car chase. I knew I could evade the police if I made it to the state park and drove with my headlights off.

The crash was a directionless blur, I thought I was running parallel to the ravine but I ended up careening right into it.

Now here I am, pinned in my car with broken bones poking through the flesh of my legs. I had dared everything and I came away empty handed. Doubtlessly Eve and her husband are cooing over their baby and cursing me for what I had tried to do.

I'm not sure why no one has found me yet, I mean they must be looking but it's been two days and I'm still waiting alone.

Well, I was waiting alone until you came along. The flies must have laid you while I was drifting in and out of consciousness but now my wounded legs are crawling with maggots.

This isn't cruelty, it's just that I'm so hungry and you’re all I have. I'm going to eat you first and then once I’ve gotten the taste for it your brothers and sisters will be joining you by the handful.

I'm going to live through this, and somehow I'm going to get my Eve back.

Somehow. Somehow I'll do it.

Just don't squirm so much my wee one. Don't struggle.

Uncle Al's Halloween Hoedown Day Twenty-One: IN THE PIT

In The Pit

by

Al Bruno III

Science had long ago replaced the faith of Professor Mercer Conrad’s childhood. With no prayers to comfort him he could only whisper scraps from his latest thesis to keep madness at bay. “...in order to pursue my examination of the convergence of post millennial social degeneration and economic disruption...” he said, “...I will approach the subjects directly and establish a dialogue...”

The pit they had thrown him into was eight feet deep and barely a yard across. It had been dug out of the concrete sub-basement of a half-completed house. Serrated ridges were carved into the walls of the pit and the simple act of moving was enough to cut bare flesh to ribbons. A thick iron lattice had been placed over the mouth of the pit and was bolted down. When Mercer shook the bars they didn’t even rattle.

Somewhere a halogen lamp blazed, it cast dark, sharply defined silhouettes along the walls and ceiling of the sub-basement. From his vantage point in the pit Mercer watched the fate of his friends and co-workers unfold like grotesque shadow-plays that ended when the puppets were reduced to scraps.

There were other pits nearby, most were empty but not all. A shape drifted past, the cloaked shaman was about to choose a new victim. 

“Hey!” Mercer shouted, “Please talk to me!”

But there was no answer, none of his captors had spoken a word this night. They had committed each of their atrocities in silence.

Mercer said, “...in times of social and economic despair religiosity inevitably takes hold of the general public but in this era of skepticism and spiritual nihilism those impulses have become...”

The clang of a nearby gate being flipped open startled him into silence. Then there were the familiar grunts and cries as another one of sacrifice was dragged away.

What would it be? Flaying or spikes? Or perhaps something far worse. Mercer cursed his foolishness. Where others had seen unsolved mysteries and unreported disappearances he had only seen right-wing fear-mongering and urban myth-cycles.

His teaching assistant Farkas had tried to warn him but Farkas had been the first sacrifice. They had let him keep his tongue and he had shrieked and begged until his voice became the choking gurgles of a half-drowned man.

“...legends that spread over social networks, so-called evidence that is nothing more than here-say and poorly doctored photographs...” Mercer breathed, “...they are the embodiment of middle class fears, the terror that a lost job or economic setback will throw them down amongst...” 

A cry rose up and dwindled. There was a sound that reminded Mercer of celery stalks being torn from the root.

A week ago Mercer had convinced a group of friends and students to join him in Las Vegas for what he had promised would be a ‘working holiday’. They would spend a few days enjoying the sights and the shows, then they would head off to Vantage Acres with digital cameras and notebooks.

The cloaked shaman drifted past again. Mercer called out, “Listen to me! People know where we are!”

That was a lie, both he and his captors knew it, but wasn’t that all part of the ceremony? Weren’t sacrifices supposed to beg?

“...the recent wave of foreclosures have left the city of Las Vegas with one of the highest concentrations of empty houses. Pools have become stagnant breeding grounds for biting insects. Vermin infestations are common as are encroachments from larger animals like bobcats and coyotes but rumors abound that human beings are responsible for the most terrible...”

Mercer heard the sound of someone blubbering, then a struggle and a brief chase. The chase ended with the muffled ringing of metal pipes crashing down on soft flesh.

At first Mercer and his friends had found exactly what they were looking for, downtrodden families living in forgotten homes, foraging for food in the garbage of the financially solvent and stealing what they needed from local stores. As wildlife slowly reclaimed the abandoned neighborhoods some families and clans had begun hunting and trapping.

A crowd of strangers had approached Mercer and his friends shortly after sundown. He had marveled at their piercings and their warpaint and most of all how young they were. Most were little more than teenagers in dirty designer clothes but some of the older ones wore faded military fatigues with the insignias torn away. Farkas and the others had wanted to retreat but Mercer made them stand their ground. He needed to speak to these people, to understand and explicate them. His conversation was rambling and one sided as he had tried to draw them out by talking about class warfare and economic angst.

“... they are called many things such as Urban Headhunters, White Savages and, most often, the Pilgrims. Supposedly they roam the countryside snatching up unwary children and stealing wi-fi. What truth is there behind the terrible legends that have sprung up around them? There are...”

The shaman passed by again, rough fabric trailing across the bars of the pit. Mercer grabbed at the hem of the dark robe and caught it in his bloodied fingertips. He held tight.

There was a soft tear as the cloaked figure stumbled and turned back. The face beneath the cloak was bespectacled and cherubic, it stared indifferently at him.

“Talk to me!” Mercer demanded, even now he was sure that if he could just establish a dialogue he could save himself and his career, “Please. Just say something.”

The cloaked shaman paused thoughtfully, then spoke with a soft, sickly voice, “You're next.”

HALLOWEEN PRAYERS: nosleep

HALLOWEEN PRAYERS

nosleep

by

Al Bruno III

The living room is quiet and dark, the only light comes from the laptop screen. The children are asleep and morning is hours away. I have more than enough time.

The header of the web page reads;

“/r/nosleep - Because you weren’t planning on sleeping anyway....”

I skim the titles and the stories knowing that I will find nothing new, nothing unique or groundbreaking. I love it anyway, no one comes to this site expecting anything more. The stories here are old as the hills, hackneyed legends with new names. Before the Internet they traveled via hushed phone conversations and hastily scrawled letters. Before that they were passed back and forth across campfires, exchanged like currency.

“...and some say that broken bones taste best to Kara Muerte...”

I never had much patience for stories of any kind, not when there are so many deep red truths to explorer, but this place, this /r/nosleep holds my attention because the tales and their tellers insist that their words be treated like gospels.

That’s why it says on every page;

“Everything you read in /r/nosleep is true...”

Every time I see that I want to laugh out loud but for now I will content myself with a chuckle. After all the children are sleeping...

I thought I heard something. I went to check the house and the doors. I have to learn to be careful, this story will change my entire world.

Where was I? Everything is true.

Everything is true. Do any of the consumers or contributors to /r/nosleep even understand that no story can ever be true? Simply by trying to describe an event we adorn it or scale it back, just like a fisherman bragging a lost catch.

“/r/nosleep - Because you weren’t planning on sleeping anyway....”

The foolishness of it all makes me chuckle quietly. What is the difference between a memory and a story? They're all just words, words and ideas traveling from one mind to another like a mania or virus. Do you really think every city has an escaped lunatic with a hook for a hand? Do you really think there are vengeful child-ghosts stalking the lost places of the world?

“...it slouched in the darkness like some great beast waiting to pounce on the weak and unwary...”

Most reasonable people would scoff, but the readers here on /r/nosleep want to believe and sometimes that is more than enough.

All of us here. We read, we remember, we try to believe and slowly, ever so slowly the stories burrow through our minds like a cancer, ruining and re purposing.

Until...

Until...

“Everything you read in /r/nosleep is true...”

What is it the more religiously inclined people are want to say? Faith manages.

Yes, it does.

“...something yowls in the moonlight...”

Scraps of tales cloud the edges of my vision, childish fears, adult dreads and cruel impossibilities. Tell me /r/nosleep, what have we created? What can be worse than a nightmare?

Let me tell you this;

There is a dead woman at my feet. Her blood has soaked into the carpet, a stain spreads out from her head like a halo. Her husband is by the front door, an icepick in his chest. Neither of them ever had time to cry out, their faces are still and surprised.

Perhaps that is cruelest and most untrue story of all, that Mommy and Daddy will protect us from the monsters but we know better don’t we my fellow contributors?

“The living room is quiet and dark, the only light comes from the laptop screen. The children are asleep and morning is hours away. I have more than enough time...”

Everything you read in /r/nosleep is true.

HALLOWEEN PRAYERS:The Man That Ate Newborns

Halloween Prayers

stories of faith and fright

The Man That Ate Newborns
by
Al Bruno III

Don't squirm so much my wee one. Don’t struggle. Let me hold you close while I work up my nerve. Only a day old and you're fighting to live, well so am I. Isn't that what we all want in the end? Life, a warm place to sleep and a full belly. Well, that's what you've got and what do I have? Nothing I'm just a middle aged man, used up and waiting to die.

Just like you, not that you realize what's coming next of course.

Then again maybe you do understand, you may be blind and confused but maybe you do know somehow. Is that why you keep trying to get free?

This is all because of Eve. We had known each other since college. She was already halfway towards becoming a lawyer and I was a well respected graduate student. You should have seen her. She was so damn beautiful with creamy skin- just like yours. I first saw her in the college library, I was so smitten that I followed her home. Just to see if she was married or living with a boyfriend or something like that. I spent the next few days tracking her, learning whatever I could and once I was sure I knew enough to pass for her soulmate I made my move.

I played my cards just right and won her heart. It was a whirlwind romance, the kind of thing you'll never know my wee one. Maybe that's just as well, maybe if you could you'd thank me for sparing you the heartbreak.

Even now I don't know what went wrong. Was I too agreeable? Too clingy? It doesn't matter. She found someone else. The breakup was an ugly thing, uglier than you my wee one.

She tried to be gentle, she told me we could still be friends. I was so angry, I said terrible things but in the end I took her up on the offer of friendship and hoped she might come to her senses.

I'll never understand women. They're called the fairer sex but everything they do is unfair. How is it time and time again they're drawn to the wrong men? Why couldn't she see that her new boyfriend was all wrong for her? And why for God's sake did she marry him.

Now don't get me wrong, I tried to move on. There were other towns, other girls and no matter how much I learned about them before I made my move I never got as far as I had with Eve.

Was that why I kept coming back to my home town? Was that why I stayed her friend even though the sight of that ring on her finger left my skull pounding with rage?

Calm down now my wee one. I might drop you if you keep struggling so. Is that what you want?

I stayed her friend, I prayed for her to divorce but then it got worse. They were tears of joy in her eyes when she told me she was pregnant. I smiled at the news but in the back of my mind I was calling her a bitch. She never cried for me but she had a fountain of tears for a baby that wasn't even born yet. A baby that at this point was just a lump of cells no better than a tumor.

Some say life begins at conception but I don’t think it begins until you have your first real thought. Until then your just a thing that eats and crawls mindlessly.

It was during her final trimester that I decided something radical needed to be done. I would steal her little baby and I would keep it away until she promised to leave her husband and love me forever.

We would raise the child together. Even though it was another man's I would raise it as my own.

Thanks to things like email and her husband's Facebook page I knew when Eve started to go into labor. I waited about twenty-four hours, and then made my move.

As always I had done my homework, I knew the hospital's routine. I went at night, wearing stolen scrubs and an official-looking ID badge.

I made my way to the nursery convinced that no suspicious eyes would turn my way. I suppose love blinded me in that respect. I barely had the baby in my arms before someone raised an alarm. Escape wasn't easy but I managed to get out of the building. Then I found myself in the middle of a car chase. I knew I could evade the police if I made it to the state park and drove with my headlights off.

The crash was a directionless blur, I thought I was running parallel to the ravine but I ended up careening right into it.

Now here I am, pinned in my car with broken bones poking through the flesh of my legs. I had dared everything and I came away empty handed. Doubtlessly Eve and her husband are cooing over their baby and cursing me for what I had tried to do.

I'm not sure why no one has found me yet, I mean they must be looking but it's been two days and I'm still waiting alone.

Well, I was waiting alone until you came along. The flies must have laid you while I was drifting in and out of consciousness but now my wounded legs are crawling with maggots.

This isn't cruelty, it's just that I'm so hungry and you’re all I have. I'm going to eat you first and then once I’ve gotten the taste for it your brothers and sisters will be joining you by the handful.

I'm going to live through this, and somehow I'm going to get my Eve back.

Somehow. Somehow I'll do it.

Just don't squirm so much my wee one. Don't struggle.

HALLOWEEN PRAYERS: Sugar-Coated Sacraments

Halloween Prayers

stories of faith and fright

Sugar-Coated Sacraments

by

Al Bruno III

They wore no costumes, just dark clothes and black greasepaint.

Don hit the kid in Frankenstein costume from behind, sending him flying. The kid hit the ground and sat there for a moment stunned and then started bawling as only an eight-year-old could. Roaring like animals Pete and Timmy ran up to the crying boy pushed him back down and stole his bag of candy. The kid screamed even while the three teenagers scurried back into the shadows, laughing hysterically and shouting, "Happy Halloween!"

*

Seventeen minutes later and halfway across Schenectady they hid behind a car and prepared to strike again.

"Check it out the kid in the skeleton costume over there!"

"Nah over by the alley is better, there are four of them. See?" Don whispered.

"Where?" Pete asked.

"Right over there!"

"Ohhhh. See any parents?"

"Nah."

"How old do you think they are?" Timmy said.

Don laughed, "Who cares? Lookit the size of those bags! "

The four children moved down the street, stopping at each house to ring the bell and chant 'Trick or Treat!'

In a few moments the brightly costumed foursome scampered in front of the parked car. Don darted out from hiding, running by and snatching a bulging pillowcase from one of the shocked children.

The kids were screaming by the time Timmy and Pete were on their victims. Timmy snatched the bag from his prey easily, Pete was having a bit more trouble. The girl in the princess costume was hanging onto her treats for dear life. Everyone winced at her high pitched screams.

Don and Timmy were halfway up the street when they turned to see their friend involved in a tug of war with a girl half his size.

A fat man stormed out onto his front porch, his voice a meaty bellow, "What are you doing? Hey you kid!"

Don gasped, “Aw crap!"

Several things happened at once. First the fat man called into his house, "Call the police Ellen!”

Then the faded blue pillowcase tore in half, spilling candy and one lone apple onto the street. Without thinking Pete bent to scoop up a handful and received a swift kick in the nose from the little girl. Pete fell to his knees. The four enraged children pounced on him.

The other candy thieves doubled back and started shoving and throwing fourth graders in every direction.

"Hold it right there!" The fat man was running across his lawn, puffing like he was in the middle of a marathon. "Hey you kids!"

Don pulled Pete up onto his feet and the three boys started running, the voice of the fat man driving them forward.

*

There was a small, nearly abandoned cemetery on the outskirts of town where no tombstone offered a date beyond 1940. A frosty wind wove its way between the dying trees, toppled headstones and defaced mausoleums, carrying in its wake the sound of laughter.

"The nose didn't hurt so bad. It was when the other one kicked me in the balls. That's what hurt!" Pete snickered through a mouthful of Milk Duds, "It hurt so bad I couldn't move! I thought I was gonna die."

Don had three lollipops stuffed into his mouth, "Is that why we had to carry you while we were running from that guy."

They sat in a small clearing; the unkempt grass was tall enough to mask their presence among the broken grave markers. Timmy ran his hands through the rapidly thinning pile of candy, "This's gotta be the best Halloween we ever had!"

Don bit down, chewed and then spit three bent white sticks out of sight. "Here's to tradition."

They had been doing this for four years, an idea born on an October afternoon when on of them had commented "I want to get candy, but Trick or Treating is so stupid."

The rest was history.

Don sifted through the pile of sweets, cursing at the unbelievable amount of candy corn they had. "Who eats this shit?"

"Not me.”

"Can't stand it."

The other two looked to Don as their leader; mostly because he could always get them beer and was gifted with an almost magical way with the girls.

"Anyone want a toothbrush?" Timmy asked. Timmy was the tough guy of the trio, nobody messed with Don or Pete because of his presence among them. His reputation began in junior high when he stabbed an upperclassman in the knee. It had all been an accident but once the school rumor mill had spun out a much more dramatic story. "Man giving away toothbrushes on Halloween is so gay. It's worse than putting razor blades in apples. Hey catch!"

The toothbrush struck the side of Pete's head, "Ow!" He picked a bag of jellybeans and threw, Timmy ducked and the plastic bag bounced off the side of a tombstone.

"Hey!" A smirk spread across Pete's features "Quick- tell me who I am."

He began to waddle in place, thrusting his stomach far forward, "Hey you kids stop! Stop it right there! I mean it!"

Don and Timmy laughed till they were sick.

Pete had been playing the part of the clown since nursery school; he knew by instinct how to make people laugh. It always seemed to casual observers that he didn't quite belong with his two friends. Why would this gentle faced, giggling boy hang out with a pair of hoodlums? And consequently why would they put up with him?

The simple fact was they had been hanging together since grade school and facet of growing up had been able to separate them. It was unimaginable to them that they could ever be anything else.

Suddenly Don hissed, "Shhhhhhhhh!"

"What?" Timmy grinned, "What?"

"Be quiet! I heard something!" Don whispered frantically. "Something like this?" Pete leaned over and let loose a dry rasping fart.

"Shhhhh!"

"Oh wow. I just got a great idea!"

Don was scanning the dark cemetery for with wide, nervous eyes, "Will you guys fucking listen?"

"You got a lighter Timmy?"

"Sure why?"

"We can take turns lighting our-"

"Somebody's out there! Somebody's out there!" Don was trying to whisper and shout at the same time.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I. Heard. Some. Body. Out. There!"

And in that moment of silence that followed they all heard it; footsteps, moving quickly through the long grass.

Timmy turned pale and tossed the beer can he held out of sight. "I hope that it ain't the friggin' cops." He whispered, "I'm still on probation."

"I'm gonna go see what it is.” Don announced, "If it's the cops I'll make lots of noise." And then he disappeared into the long grass.

Pete and Timmy looked helplessly at their surroundings and each other. Toying with the silver ring on his left hand, Timmy tried to block thoughts of the consequences of breaking probation. He'd already spent two months in the JDH; it had been a savage, nightmarish experience. The thought of going back terrified him. The wind picked up speed, bending the sickly green blades of grass back and sending a shiver through the two boys' bodies.

For the first time they truly became aware of where and when they were; their stomachs were sick with butterflies. Pete shifted uneasily away from the tombstone he'd been leaning against, unconsciously trying to get closer to his friend.

Timmy stood, "He's been gone too long. I'm gonna go an see if I can find him."

"No!" Pete half- shouted as he grabbed the taller boy's shoulder and forced him back down into a sitting position, "He's only been gone five minutes!"

"No way."

He flashed his watch, "It's true. Calm down."

Pete tried to remind himself that this place was a popular local hangout and if anything Don would be coming back with some other eager partiers; maybe even some female partiers. The fantasy was distracting but it vanished quickly. For some reason Pete was reminded of a poem he'd heard when he had been half-paying attention in English class, something about a burning tiger in a fearful cemetery.

"Dudes!"

Pete yelped and Timmy grabbed his chest at the sound; then Don stepped into view.

"It weren't no cop." he said, "It was a kid."

Pete's face creased as he read his watch, "A kid? At eleven o'clock?"

"Shhhh. He's still around, an he's- No waitaminute, you guys gotta see this yourself."

*

A child half-ran, half-skipped through the shadowed graveyard, clutching an empty pillowcase in each hand. The store-bought skeleton costume and mask made the wearer indistinguishable from any other of the kids they'd seen tonight.

"I thought you said the kid had two full bags." Timmy whispered from behind the cover of a tombstone.

Don watched the small figure recede "He did."

"Well maybe he was realllllly hungry." Pete snickered.

Without warning Don clouted Pete upside the head, "Fuck you."

"Ow! What did I do?"

"Maybe the kid lives here." Timmy suggested.

Pete laughed, "No one lives in a cemetery."

"No duh!" Timmy sneered, "I meant maybe he lives close by the cemetery."

"Maybe he's got a tree house or somethin' around here." Don stood, "Lessie if we can find it."

He lead them back along the path the costumed child had come from until they found themselves standing in a clearing. The darkness made the landscape surreal; the boundary between shadow and solid reality seemed to twist and blur. It took their eyes a few moments to realize what occupied the center of the clearing.

When realization came it kept them standing there, struck dumb by awe and greed. A crude table had been made from a trio of tombstones, and scattered around it was candy.

Candy of every conceivable, size, flavor and type carpeted the ground in clumsy mounds some as deep as three feet. Foil wrappings glittered darkly as the wind picked up a trio of Yummyburger gift certificates and carried them out of sight.

For the three boys it was not unlike seeing the pyramids or Stonehenge for the first time; they were speechless with wonder.

"Do you guys see what I see?" Timmy said numbly.

"I don't know. " Pete whispered, "What do you see?"

"I asked you first."

"I want to find out if your seeing what I'm seeing before I say anything."

Both were silenced by Don, "Look at all this fuckin' candy!"

Pete and Timmy breathed a sigh of relief.

"Will you look at all this fuckin' candy!"

"How could one kid get all of this?" Timmy asked no one in particular.

"Maybe he steals it like us." Pete guessed.

Don was still shaking his head, "This is a lot of fuckin' candy!"

The small shape in the skeleton costume stepped into view and began to sing.

Each of the boys issued a gasp. Pete thought to himself that he was going to have a heart attack before this was over.

"Who are you?" Timmy shouted, angry at allowing himself to be frightened by a kid.

Another child, dressed identically to the first left the cover of the treeline and joined in on the singing.

"OK." Don said, "This is weird."

A third similarly dressed child joined the others.

Then another.

And then another.

By the time there were seven of them Pete stopped counting, "I think we should go." He started to get really creeped out; he swore he could see some of the candy... moving?

"You kids get out of here!" Timmy shouted, "No one saw us take anything!"

"Guys?" It was like watching an avalanche in reverse, the small brightly wrapped packages were rolling up the mound of sweets.

Don stared bewildered at them, "What the?"

The sound of paper and plastic rustling became loud, almost deafening in its intensity, drowning out the sounds of the children singing.

The heap of candy surged upwards and took on a shape that was huge and undeniably humanoid. Seven feet tall and still solidifying; with huge hands it snatched Timmy up and swallowed him whole.

Screaming the two remaining boys broke into a run.

It gulped the last of Timmy down and set off after more. It gave chase, its every movement marked by the crackling of cellophane and foil.

Pete heard Don cry out and fall, without thinking he ran to help his friend. He threw an arm about Don's waist and pulled him to his feet. "Come on. Come on." He panted.

Before they could take a mutual step it had them both.

They were lifted into the air by claws made of Hershey Bars and rolls of Lifesavers. Pete pulled and pried at them but all he managed to do was tear the waxy paper and expose the sweet smelling candy beneath.

It placed Don's screaming head in his mouth and bit. Pete's hands flew to his ears but there was no masking the cracking tear. It spat the severed head away and gulped at the jets of blood that sprayed from the ragged, red hole till it was dry.

Dropping the headless body it turned its attention to Pete, he had gone mad and he giggled fitfully at the nightmare before him. His laughter became more intense as the huge face loomed in front of him. It was a face made of sourballs with a pair of shining lemon drops for eyes; its ears were candy apples, its teeth a gaping maw of candy corn.

The thing split him open and began to suck out his soft filling.

*

After a while the screams had died down. The costumed children waited patiently at the gravestone altar. The masks had been taken off revealing soft faces and disheveled hair. They were scared, scared even though their dreams had promised that the Confection wouldn't harm them.

But how could they hear screams like that and not be afraid?

The Confection stepped out of the woods, licking its fingers in a self-satisfied way. Its stomach of Kit Kat bars and Pixie Sticks bulged. Instinctively the children resumed their dream-hymn. Grinning the Confection made its way through the identically dressed throng, pausing to pinch the occasional cheek or pat the occasional head. "All in all very fine." Its voice was a dignified rustle, "But next year, less quantity, more quality. Something younger, something plumper."

The children nodded. It stepped up onto the gravestone altar and looked out over them. The Confection raised its arms and the singing stopped. Over a dozen little skeletons surged forward. They tore the Confection limb from limb. Then they tore those limbs apart piece by piece and filled their pillowcases and store bought bags with candy. Curiously none of the sweets were streaked with blood or dirt.

And when the morning came they knew they would find more treats mixed in with the candy, wrinkled currency and tarnished trinkets of gold and silver. Each of the children paused a moment at the gravestone altar to offer thanks and whisper a wish. Already some were making plans for next year, figuring out ways to lure cruel adults and schoolyard rivals into this dark and scared place.

Next year was going to be the best Halloween ever.