November 1st

Family Dinner

You'd arrived at 11:00 at night, October 31st. While you can't remember what exactly they made you eat (your chocolate hunch is starting to wane by now) you know they can't have asked you to have dinner at that hour.

You don't know what time it is right now. The only clock in the house—rabbit-shaped, of course—moves way too quickly to be correct. All the curtains are closed as you walk through the dim parlor. The furniture is faded, scratched, and the cushions have lost their spring. Most heinously, the wallpaper is the most tacky floral pattern you've seen in your life.

You glance at your feet and your brow knits. The floor isn't much better: a tangle of bright purple hexagons that almost makes your head ache. It's like the house is trying to clash with itself. Though given its residents, you shouldn't be surprised.

You feel relieved, in fact. You're out of the cellar.

The rabbit has invited you to dinner. At this point, you couldn't care less if it kills you.

You can't tell where the light is coming from, though it's certainly not daylight. Daylight isn't this yellow, this nauseating. This haunting. You suppose that for a household "business" that revolves around Halloween, that would be a perk, but you don't suspect it's intentional. These things must be creepy by nature.

Or by design. You did see those eyes beneath the pumpkin rabbit's face.

"Hi!"

You yelp and jump at a loud voice to your right. A giant five-foot clown doll is bouncing on its wooden clogs beside you with an eager smile and wide, dark eyes. It looks to be made of porcelain, with bushes of red yarn for a wig and a frilly suit striped yellow, purple and blue. It stares at you, its shoulders heaving while it bounces, like a panting dog. You stare back, immobilized. Terror catches in your throat. Your arms are frozen, clutched defensively to your chest, your feet rooted to the ground, your heart pounding against your ribs.

Silence. The clown does nothing, save for the bouncing—after a long pause, it takes a shallow breath and blurts,

"I'm Billy!"

Still with that wide smile. Its voice is garbled, like it's speaking with a mouthful of water. Its beady white pupils ricochet around, taking every little detail of you in. The way it moves, bounces in place, sucks in labored breaths gives you the feeling that it has trouble speaking, let alone speaking normally.

It doesn't seem to realize you're afraid. It doesn't seem to realize much, other than that you've been here before. It must not be often that guests last more than one night at this house.

Despite everything, you feel a pang of sympathy for this huge doll. Or whatever it is.

You lower your guard just slightly. Billy, the clown, is just one of the rabbit's "friends." Could he really do you much harm?

"You won't hurt me," you say firmly after a moment. Your hands are clenched into fists at your sides. Your thumbs dig into the hem of your shirt. You take a small step back as you wait for Billy's response. He bounces a bit more before saying clumsily,

"Won't keep today!"

You blink. Your gaze flickers up at the door at the end of the parlor.

The front door.

Run.

You look back into Billy's black eyes. He's faltered, just a bit. You hold back a wince. You looked for too long.

"Don't need to keep," Billy says, low and pleading. His clogged, uneven voice manages to crack your heart; it almost sounds like he's holding back tears. He slowly shakes his head.