Stories of Halloween

The Firebug: Behind the Mask

Holding the shotgun out in front of him, Smitty headed towards the bathroom. The light was on when he got there. He readied his shotgun and walked in. There was no one there. He threw back the shower curtain and still couldn't find whoever had flushed the toilet.

He walked back out into his hallway. A silhouette of the witch who came trick-or-treating stood at the end of the hallway. She bolted towards the living room and the pursuit began.

Smitty ran as quickly as his old legs would take him towards the end of the hallway. As he was passing his spare bedroom a foot stuck out of the darkness and tripped the old man.

The old man cried out in agony as he came crashing down onto the hardwood floor. The laughter of the three home invaders echoed throughout the house. Smitty picked himself up off the ground with much grumbling and groaning. He then ran into the spare bedroom where the foot had come from.

He flipped on the light switched and aimed his shotgun. Again, there was no one there. He searched the closet and under the bed, but he found no one hiding. "I'm gonna blast your damn heads off, you little bastards!" He screamed into the quiet of his home.

Creeping quietly he made it to his living room. There was no one there either. How were they moving so quickly? There was something unnatural about the whole situation, Smitty decided. He wanted no part of it any longer, so he grabbed his jacket from the closet, put it on and then opened his front door to leave.

There standing on the porch were the three trick-or-treaters. They were all holding their candy sacks out in front of them and watching silently. Smitty froze in his tracks.

They continued to stare in silence until the old man couldn't take anymore. He leveled his shotgun at them. "Get out of my way or I'm going to put some new holes in you," he barked.

The children remained silent and watching. "I warned you!" Smitty yelled. He swung the shotgun wildly at the boy in the skeleton mask. The end of the gun connected hard and knocked the boy's mask off of his head. The boy barely flinched.

Smitty gasped when he saw the boy'a face, or what was left of his face. The smell of burning flash filled the air as the boy's face was revealed to be a burned mass of skin. It was red, black, pink and charred. One of his eyeballs was missing. The teeth in his mouth were black.

In his terror, Smitty pulled the trigger of the shotgun. It hit the boy in the chest and knocked him off the porch. Smitty then fired a shot at the witch and at the devil. They, too, were knocked off the porch by the force of the blasts. All three children now laid dead upon his lawn.

In a panic, Smitty closed his door. He leaned with his back up against it breathing heavier than he ever had in his life. He had just killed three children. The neighbors had to of heard three blasts from his shotgun. The police would be on their way and he wouldn't be able to perform his grand finale at the Harvest party later that night.

The sudden knock on the door made his heart jump. The police or the neighbors were already there. They would have seen the dead children. It was over for him. He leaned his shotgun up against the wall, tried to compose himself and opened the door.

It wasn't the neighbors or the police. There, standing silently with their burlap sacks held out, were the three children he had just put a twelve gauge shell into. There was no blood on them. No wounds of any sort. The boy's skeleton mask was sitting perfectly on his face.

Smitty dropped to his knees and shrieked an ear splitting scream. Demons, he thought. They had to be demons. They had come to take their due on Halloween night. Just like something deep inside of Smitty always knew they would.

But Smitty wasn't done. He had to complete his life's work. He got up off of his knees and slammed the door shut and bolted it. If he was going out it would be on his terms. Not theirs.

He ran to his supplies that he was going to use on the middle school. He grabbed the gas cans and started pouring their contents all over his home. Before long his entire home was covered in gasoline. If these demons were going to take him away then he was at least going to set one last glorious blaze.

He took the lighter and stared at it for what seemed like an eternity. All of his focus was on that silver contraption that made flames. When he looked up he found that the three children were standing in front of him. He staggered back to his gas soaked couch and sat.

"Firebug," the witch said. The others joined in. "Firebug. Firebug. Firebug," they chanted in front of the old man. Smitty nodded at them and flicked the wheel on the lighter and ignited it. He then threw it onto the ground and the entire place exploded into flames.

The most agonizing pain imaginable shot through Smitty as the flames licked his skin and scorched him. He wreathed in agony for half a minute. Then he dropped to the ground lifeless as the three children stood unharmed from the flame, watching him die slowly and painfully. Just as they had from the fires he had set.

There was blackness. And then Smitty opened his eyes. He was laying in his own bed. He looked at the clock. 12:01. It was Halloween. The old man laughed to himself. It had all been a dream. He swung his feet over the edge of his bed and took a drink of water from the glass that sat on his night stand.

It had all been a dream, but it felt so real. He wiped the sweat from his brow and decided that he had to get more sleep. He closed his eyes, but they weren't closed for long.

He bolted upright in his bed when he heard the knock on his door. "No no no," he whispered to himself as he got out of bed and walked towards the door. There was another knock. "No, please no," he whispered again.

He stood at the door with his hand on the doorknob as he waited for another knock. When it came he steeled himself and turned the handle. He swung the door open. There, standing on his porch, were the three trick-or-treaters.

A single tear ran down the old man's cheek as he realized where he was. He was in Hell and he would play out this scenario with those children for the rest of eternity.

He told them to get off his porch, closed the door and continued their forever game.