All Hallow’s Tales 4: Too Ghoul for School

“Mortals usually don’t adhere to the dead, the rules of the dead, the rites, of the dead. But the unusual, those who have their beliefs, those who believe that there are those on the other side, that the dead do indeed return on All Hallow’s Eve. Those who believe, are indeed for a shock kiddo, cause I’ll tell you…. The dead are real, and they believe in you. So remember the rules at all times.”

Never Disrespect the dead. Never.

*

Playing her bass guitar, or rather just strumming the strings to kill time, letting her mind wander, Carrie-Anne still couldn’t believe she was going to playing for her school at the Halloween Dance that night. The disbelief wasn’t from sheer overwhelming joy, but rather self-confusion, Carrie-Anne having more than enough hatred for her peers that she would rather beat them to death with her guitar than play it for them. But for some reason, she felt compelled to do the show.

Though it had all been at the guidance counselor, Mr. Burton’s, suggestion to play the show, like it was going to be some form of helping therapy to help her get over losing Georgie. Just strumming away, her thoughts drifted to the boy who was gone, had been for two weeks to the day.

“Damn bastard,” she said to herself, fighting the tears that dared streak her cheeks, something she had furiously grown accustomed to since her late boyfriends passing, if it could be called that. Georgie’s mother upon returning home had found her only son hanging from the tree in the backyard, death by the noose he tied around his own neck. And he didn’t even tell Carrie-Anne goodbye. That was what hurt her the most.

“I hope that’s not your opinion of me,” the girl’s grandfather, Samuel said from her open doorway, having snuck up and been standing there for several minutes, Carrie-Anne never noticing. Startled, she gripped her guitar tightly, almost dropping it from a small jump she made in her seat, her head quickly snapping to look at the smiling, elderly man looking into the room at the girl.

“No grandpa, it’s not,” Carrie-Anne said, looking back to the guitar as she played a quick note then another. “I was just talking to myself. Shouldn’t sneak up on people anyways, nearly scared me half to death.” Samuel, walking into the room, sat on the bed, examining the many band posters that littered the teen girl’s walls.

“Tonight’s the big show huh?” the man asked, just making idle conversation.

“Sure is,” Carrie-Anne responded, halting the idle conversation.

“Listen,” Samuel’s voice grew serious and hushed, almost as though he only wanted his teen granddaughter to hear him. “I know you miss Georgie something terrible. I know you do. And, well, it being Halloween and all, I got reminded of a story. One from when I was damn near your age kiddo.”

“I’m not in the mood for any stories Grandpa.” Strumming the bass strings loudly, she wanted to be alone with her thoughts and teenage angst.

“I was out walking on Halloween night,” Samuel began, not caring whether or not the girl was in the mood to hear. She didn’t stop him, just kept strumming, but she was listening. She loved her Grandpa Sammy’s stories. “Passing down Mill’s Creek Road, you know, the ol’ country road leading into the woods there right outside the city limits,” his granddaughter nodded her head. Their family had been rooted in Poet, Washington for almost six generations, with Samuel’s great-grandfather being the founding patriarch of the family’s place in the town’s history.

“Anyhoo,” Samuel continued. “I was walking down, minding my own, taking in the air, when out of the corner of my eye, a faint light grasped my attention, and on the night wind, I could hear the faint whispering of a woman. Halting in my very steps, I listened carefully, even stopped my breathing to listen better. Coming from the woods, the voice being carried by the wind, I knew it. I knew I did. So I snuck up, crept as quietly as I could, hiding behind trees. Hell, those trees are still here today, I could point ‘em out too you, but that’s beyond the point.”

“I crept up, and peeking, it was Elizabeth King, a girl I went to school with. Standing there, with candles lit all around her, dressed in a gorgeous white dress, her chestnut hair held up with a white ribbon, she was chanting something into the All Hallows Night. Listening, making sure I wasn’t found, not sure what Elizabeth was up too, I picked up one thing that she said that night, and it’s stuck with me ever since. Well, and I wrote it down that night.”

Pulling out a leather book, undoing the leather strap that held it shut, the man set it on the desk that Carrie-Anne was resting her feet on. Kicking her feet off, leaning the bass guitar against the wall, she looked closely, reading from the page that her grandfather had left the journal open too, all while he said the words aloud.

“With All Hallows candle lit

The blood of thy fingers pricked

May your bonds be shattered from the Othersides

So revenge may be ours on this night.”

 

“Wow,” Carrie-Anne whispered, such a shudder running through her which was all too obvious to Samuel, who smiled and reached over to rest a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“I had the same feeling when Elizabeth had spoken those words. Such a shudder, a tingling in the air, like the night itself had come to life. But, I’ll tell you now, I know what was happening. I know kiddo.”

“What was that Grandpa?” Carrie-Anne was smiling, her grandfather being such a good story teller, getting into the tales, spinning the words with emotion, facial expressions. And Halloween was his favorite holiday, favorite time of the year, when he told his best stories.

“The Othersides were letting go of one of the Other’s. Releasing them into our world for exactly what those words said. Revenge. And that night, I saw someone who I thought I would never see again. Matthew Reed.” Upon speaking the name, Samuel paused, taking a moment to remember the face of Matthew Reed, a face that was burned into his memory that Halloween night. “And that night kiddo, what they would call the worst crime in Poet’s history occurred, and I’ll tell you I know it was by Matthew’s hands. I know it for a fact.”

“Are you talking about the Halloween murders of the Sterling family?” Carrie-Anne said, sitting up in excitement, fully drawn into her grandfather’s story at that moment. The murder’s that she was asking about had taken place in the fifties, with an entire family, the aforementioned Sterling’s, slaughtered in their home, found two days later by a neighbor. The grisly remains were almost beyond recognition. Samuel just gave a subtle nod. “If you knew it was Matthew Reed Grandpa, why didn’t you ever tell anybody?”

“Cause no one would have ever believed me,” Samuel said, grabbing the journal off the desk, standing and making his way to the doorway. Stopping, he let his granddaughter ask the obvious question.

“Why not?” Carrie-Anne asked, watching her grandfather prepare to exit the room.

“Matthew Reed died two weeks prior to that Halloween. Who would believe a dead man murdered an entire family?” And with that question posed, Samuel made his exit, leaving a teenage granddaughter to question the validity of the story, and to think about the poem she had just read to a grandfather’s narration.

 

*

 

Elizabeth stood in the woods, the candles lit, prepared to say the chant that her Aunt Rosaline had told her. Part of her was still in disbelief, but she had nothing to lose by trying. She was far enough out from the town she should be left alone, but even if anyone saw, they would pass it off as Halloween games.

Dressed in her best white dress, her hair up with the very ribbon given to her by Matthew, she prayed that the chant would bring him back. But how could it? She had asked her aunt, Rosaline merely telling her niece to believe in the magic’s of Samhein, and leaving it at that. So, Elizabeth was putting her faith in her aunt, and in Samhein.

Elizabeth knew the truth. And she was the only one who did. Matthew had told her everything. He had told her that Mrs. Sterling’s had been trying her hardest to get the boy to sleep with her, to relieve her of “her pent up sexual aggression, something her worthless husband couldn’t provide.” And by rare chance, Elizabeth had been walking by when she saw the accident. The wrecked car, Mrs. Sterling’s moving of Matthew’s body from the passenger seat to the driver’s seat. She would go on to tell her husband, everyone in Poet that the teen had forced her into the car, forced her to drive with him until he crashed. She swore the teen had been making advances on her for weeks, when her husband was at work, when Matthew would be tending to the family’s lawn.

Elizabeth had run to the car, tears streaking her face, and upon looking at the bloodied remains of her boyfriend, the girl was speechless, with nothing to say to Mrs. Sterling, though the woman had plenty to say.

“You tell no one what you saw,” the woman had sneered, inches away from Elizabeth, spitting blood and sweat in the teen’s face. “You hear me! You didn’t see anything!” And Elizabeth listened and didn’t tell anyone, knowing no one would believe her, not with Mr. Sterling believing his wife, and the man being the town’s judge, and the first choice for governor of the state in the next year’s election. So Elizabeth told no one, yet Aunty Rosaline still came to her with the chant and instructions, telling her that Matthew would be back.

“He’ll come back for what’s rightfully his,” Rosaline had said with a wicked tongue through a sinister grin, somewhat frightening her niece. But there Elizabeth was in the woods, preparing to follow her aunt’s instructions and say the chant.

With all the candles but the final one lit around her, taking a deep breath, Elizabeth was finally ready, having practiced the chant over and over in her head, under her breath in class, on the way home, at home while doing homework and chores. She had every word memorized. Taking the knife that she had taken from her father’s work table in the basement, she pricked two tiny dots on the first two fingers of her left hand, the stinging just bearable, small droplets of blood forming, Elizabeth squeezing them till they fell to the foliage floor at her uncovered, bare feet.

Lighting the final candle, taking the top off the carved Jack O’ Lantern in front of her, lowering the candle down inside, Elizabeth began the chant.

“With All Hallows candle lit.”

Replacing the top of the Jack O’ Lantern, the light from the candle that spilled forth gave the carved face an eerie life.

“The Blood of thy finger’s pricked.”

With the knife pricks still giving small droplets of blood, streaks were left on the pumpkin from setting the top back over the hole, the streaks making the Jack O’ Lantern appear ever more menacing.

“May your bonds be shattered from the Othersides.”

While the Elizabeth knew nothing of the “Othersides”, not sure of the meaning of the word, what or where it was, it didn’t matter to her. When asking her Aunt what the Othersides were, Aunty Rosaline merely left it at, “no need to know of the Othersides, leave it at that child.”

“So revenge may be ours on this night.”

Though the revenge was more so for Matthew, Elizabeth felt that whatever happened that night, if anything happened to the Sterlings, she wouldn’t give or feel any remorse for the family. They had it coming, the girl thought to herself, feeling an otherworldly chill pass over her, all the flames on the candles snuffed out, all but the Jack O’ Lantern’s light.

*

 

On November 3^rd, 1956, the newspaper headlines in Poet, Washington read of the deaths of the running up governor’s death, along with that of his wife and three daughters, all gruesomely slaughtered in their homes, the walls of their individual rooms painted in blood, and body parts found all over the home. Most noted and remembered by any who saw the scene, the one thing that escaped the headlines and newspapers articles…

“Lies, lies lies, see you on the Othersides…” written in the blood of Mary Sterling, with her severed head resting below the message that to this day still leaves the Poet police detectives confused, and sick to their stomachs.

 

*

 

Checking herself out in the mirror as she tied her black hair back in her pony tail, letting the pink streaks she had dyed in her hair hang down either side of her face, Carrie-Anne gave herself a smile, closed up the case of her bass guitar and headed out of her room and down the hall.

Stopping outside her mother’s bedroom, looking in on her mother in a moment of vainness, Carrie-Anne’s mother, Ellen, was looking good in her best little black dress. Though Ellen had always wanted her oldest daughter to be more of a girly girl, cheerleader and such, Carrie-Anne had gone for a darker path, taking on the punk look much to her mother’s dismay.

“I’m heading to the dance mom. Got a date tonight?” Since losing her father, Carrie-Anne hadn’t been the biggest fan of any candidates her mother had brought home for the possible “step father” role, and this newest man, Richard, was a mysterious character, though Carrie-Anne had to agree with her mother that the man was devilishly handsome.

“I do,” Ellen said, actually quite anxious as time just seemed to creep on as she waited for Richard to arrive. “And is that how you are going to the dance? You’re going to be on stage, why don’t you dress up some babe?” Ellen wasn’t a fan at all of her daughter’s attire choices for the evening, the girl going for the obvious “Punk Rock Queen” look.

“Whatcha talking about, I am dressed up,” Carrie-Anne said, setting down her bass guitar, taking a pose like an over-exaggerated model, blowing her mother a smart-ass kiss with a smile. Ellen didn’t have anything to say, just giving a smile right back, walking across the room to her daughter and planting a kiss on Carrie-Anne’s forehead.

“Have fun babe,” Ellen said, running her fingers through one of Carrie-Anne’s pink streaks. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Carrie-Anne said, picking the bass guitar back up. “And nice spider clip thingy. I dig it.” Giving one last half smile, Carrie-Anne made her way down the hall to the stairs without a second glance at her mother, rather surprised her mother would even wear the Halloween styled hair clip, her mother not being the biggest fan of the holiday, most likely burned out from all the years of Carrie-Anne’s grandfathers stories.

Down the stairs, Carrie-Anne was about to walk out the front door right as her grandfather and two younger siblings were walking in from trick ‘r treating. The younger sister, Samantha, was dressed up as Wonder Woman, much to Carrie-Anne and their grandfather’s disappointment, but Tommy made up for it with his simple sheet-ghost costume.

“TRICK OR TREAT!” Tommy shouted from under his sheet, jumping at Carrie-Anne who played being scared, then quickly dipping into Tommy’s candy bucket, pulling a few pieces out for herself, much to the boy’s disdain though he knew better than to speak up to his oldest sister.

“You guys have fun out there tonight with all the ghosts and goblins?” Carrie-Anne asked, opening up a bite size candy bar and munching on it while the kids gave quick accounts of their nights.

“It was okay,” Samantha said, looking up at Carrie-Anne, “but ol’ Miss Weikart gave us apples again this year.”

“Yeah, who gives out apples on Halloween!?” Tommy shouted.

“Yeah, really,” Carrie-Anne added, laughing as she finished the candy bar she had been chewing.

“Alright kids,” Grandpa Sammy interrupted the children’s conversation. “Head in the living room for some of Grandpa Sammy’s famous All Hallows Tales. No need to hold up your sister any longer.” The younger children, excited for the stories, hurriedly ran into the living room finding their spots by the unlit fireplace, leaving their grandfather and Carrie-Anne who was preparing to make her exit of the house.

“Have a good time tonight kiddo,” Samuel said to the girl, who was halfway through the front door. “And hey…” He said, getting her stop and look back at him.

“Yeah,” Carrie-Anne said, in a hurry but willing to hear what her grandfather had to say.

“Play a classic for me tonight, will ya.” And with that, he turned, and walked to the living room to join the youngsters, all the while whistling a tune that Carrie-Anne just couldn’t put her finger on right at that moment.

Getting out to the street, looking up and down it, she was waiting for her band mates, Nate and Ashley to pick her up. Finally seeing Nate’s van rolling down the street, Carrie-Anne smiled, nodded, and hopped in through the side door, resting her bass case on her lap.

“You sure to want to play for our ‘awesome’ peers tonight?” Ashley said the second Carrie-Anne was in the van and they were moving down the street towards the school, her voice so thick with sarcasm it was almost obnoxious.

“Absolutely,” Carrie-Anne said, looking at the case on her lap, staring at every one of the stickers that adorned the case. Every single one of them given to her by Georgie. “Let’s give these bastards one helluva show guys. For Georgie.”

“For Georgie,” the two in the front said in unison as Nate turned up his tune’s to deafening levels. Just the way the teen’s liked it.

*

“Tonight,” Mr. Ferguson, the principal of Poet High, said into the microphone to the mass of costume wearing teen’s waiting for the band to play. Some wanting to actually hear the music and dance, to enjoy the Halloween Dance. Some just waiting to laugh and mock. “We have a special treat for all you monster’s waiting to mash!” The man’s joke received maybe one or two laughs.

“Tonight,” Mr. Ferguson continued, “Our very own will be playing for us tonight, treating us with their musical talent. So, without any further delay, here is Prison Riot Soundtrack!” Upon saying the band’s name, the cheers were almost believable, though some were, but most were just mocking.

*

Making their final preparations, Carrie-Anne and Ashley tuning their guitars, Nate checking his drum set and making sure everything drum wise was secure, they were ready to play. Well, almost.

“I got it!” Carrie-Anne shouted, figuring out what song her grandfather had been whistling, wondering if it was a cryptic message that he was trying to tell her. Thinking about the story he had shared before she had left, and the poem she had read from the book, Carrie-Anne thought, why the hell not.

“You got what? You tuned?” Ashley asked, thinking that Carrie-Anne’s outburst was about her guitar.

“What, yeah. Nate, let me see your knife and lighter.” Carrie-Anne asked, and though the drummer of the band was confused, he adhered and handed over his pocket knife and Zippo lighter.

“Why do you need…?” And Nate would have finished his question of why Carrie-Anne needed his items, but her suddenly pricking her fingers stopped his words before he could finish his sentence. “What the hell C.A.?” Nate asked, not sure why the hell the girl had just committed self mutilation on herself.

“Yeah, what the hell Carrie?” Ashley asked, a bit disturbed by the act, small droplets of blood forming on her friends fingers, Carrie-Anne just looking at her wounds.

“Ashley, light that candle inside that Jack O’ Lantern,” Carrie-Anne said, handing the lighter to the guitarist, pointing to one of the many carved pumpkins that were decorating the schools stage, ignoring the questions her friends were asking. She wasn’t going to explain herself, I don’t need to.

Carrie-Anne had been told since she could remember the rules of Halloween. Every year her grandfather made her recite them like prayers. She knew the importance of the Jack O’ Lantern’s candle. Her grandfather had told her, how the light guided the Others, the ones from the Othersides, the monsters, ghosts, ghouls, all the creepy’s that wait for Halloween to come to our world for one day of tricks and treats.

Ashley, lighting the candle, placing inside the pumpkin, handed Nate back his lighter just as Carrie-Anne handed him back his knife. From the other side of the curtain, Mr. Ferguson was getting ready to introduce the band.

“Again C.A.,” Nate said. “Why the cutting of the fingers?” Spinning his drumsticks, the act had been overly strange, even for his tastes.

“It’s All Hallows Night guys. Why not get a lil blood on the bass strings.” As she said this, Mr. Ferguson presented the name of the band to the crowd, the band knowing the cheers were fake, the curtains opening, and the three waiting to play a bit nervous, but excited none the less. “Let’s rock the hell out of these bastards.”

*

After a pretty decent set of covers, the band not having any of their own song’s they were comfortable enough with to play in public, there had actually been a very good number of students dancing and singing along with the Prison Riot Soundtrack.

Preparing to play their final song of the evening before turning it over to the d.j. for good, the man having played a few songs while the band tuned between songs, Carrie-Anne recited the poem from the journal under her breath, all the while looking from the still lit pumpkin candle and the blood red bass strings on her guitar.

“Alright folks,” Carrie-Anne said into the microphone as the d.j. ended his slow song, finally getting the nods from Ashley and Nate that they were ready, the poem having been silently spoken by her, all but the final verse.

She had made the decision to play their final song at the last moment, with Ashley and Nate both surprisingly knowing the beat and chords, and neither asking for any reason why the song was added last minute. They just went along with it, Carrie-Anne the band leader and lead singer anyways.

“This last song is dedicated to my late boyfriend Georgie.” With her sentence, an uncomfortable silence, and nasty sneers from the preps, the jocks, the ones who made fun of his suicide in the hallways, as Carrie-Anne walked by them, heard their insults in class. Insulting the dead, as her grandfather would tell her, “is the worse damn thing you can do. And on Halloween, it’s even worse.”

“So revenge may be ours on this night,” Carrie-Anne whispered the final verse, and strangely, the lights in the auditorium flickered, and like a wind blew through, every candle that was lit around went out, all but the Jack O’ Lantern candle that Ashley had lit at Carrie-Anne’s request. Beginning a heavy bass riff, Ashley came in on guitar, and Nate with a soft drumming, all to Carrie-Anne’s opening dialogue of their final song for the night.

“He left, and you hung around, and bothered me….every night. And when I wouldn’t go out with you… You said things, that weren’t very nice…” The song that Carrie-Anne chose to be the band’s closing song, the song Samuel had whistled as he had left her to her exit from the house, “My Boyfriends Back” by The Angels.

And just like it was an invitation that travelled beyond reality itself, through the back doors of the auditorium that swung open violently on their own accord, with a heavy, heavy fog rolling in, a group, at first silhouetted by a beaming crimson light, seven figures made their entrance into the dance to the music being played on stage.

The seven figures, all getting stares from onlookers in the crowd, many stopping when they realized who was standing at the lead of the group, looked like they had walked out of a demented remake of Happy Days or Grease. With four males, three of them looking like greasers with their leather jackets, black shades and each with a cigarette in their mouths, they stood there with teeth bearing grins, the cigarettes held between clenched teeth.

The females, three of them, with their black hair all held in pigtails, their tight leather pants showing off unnaturally amazing curves, their shoulder-less pink shirts just as revealing of cleavage. But most odd of the three males and females, the tints of their flesh, the male’s grey and the girl’s crimson red, all of them having green, glowing eyes.

And the final male, standing out from the group with his Letterman jacket, red and white in color, black shades like the other males, only his were resting on top of his head, Georgie stood with his hands in his pockets, smiling as his peers wondered just what the hell he was doing standing in the auditorium with them.

Still playing her bass, singing the words to the song, Carrie-Anne wasn’t in as much of disbelief as everyone else, but she still couldn’t believe her eyes. Her band mates halting in their playing, they were quickly relieved of their duties when a grey male and crimson female made their way from behind the stage to scare Ashley and Nate away from their instruments, Carrie-Anne still playing along with her new otherworldly band members.

“My boyfriends back and he’s coming after you…” Carrie-Anne sang, the crimson female on back up guitar singing backups.

“Hey now, hey now, her boyfriends back!” she sang, her voice like a succubus harmony.

“It’s time to boogie gang,” Georgie said, the males snapping their fingers behind him, then leaping into the air to land in the crowd on top of screaming students. The females, all blowing kisses to other students, grabbed those closest to them, digging fangs that were hidden behind crimson lips into the throats of squirming, costumed teens.

Georgie, pushing through the panicking crowd, the doors of the auditorium refusing to open to anyone, he made his way to the front  of the stage, where he stood with a black rose in his hand, looking up at his performing girlfriend. Looking down at him, singing, Carrie-Anne could see the lynch marks on her undead boyfriends neck, and though he looked the same, his eyes were the same glowing green as the massacring Others.

“…My boyfriends back!” Carrie-Anne finished the song, but no cheering was heard, instead the screams of her classmates. Screams made by those whose throats were getting ripped out, screams from one student dressed as Zorro who was having his heart torn from his chest. Screams from trapped students watching their peers get torn to bloody shreds, all the while they waited to be the prey of these unknown ghouls.

“Get down here doll,” Georgie said, his girl obliging, setting her bass on the stage, leaping down into his waiting arms, her lips finding his, his kiss full of electricity, but so cold her body covered in goosebumps in seconds. “I heard your call all the way from the Othersides. Got here as soon as I could.”

“See you brought company,” Carrie-Anne asked, not at all phased by the gruesome carnage taking place around her, instead just happy to see Georgie.

“Just a few friends. I know, I know. They know how to crash one hell of a party don’t they?” Looking around, the reunited couple smiled as they watched their peers die at the hands of the Others. The ones that had been on stage playing with Carrie-Anne leapt, the female finding her prey to be Ashley, and though the girl had been both Carrie-Anne and Georgie’s friend, she had said things about Georgie and his suicide that had hurt the mourning Carrie-Anne. So seeing Ashley’s grisly demise, which would involve her throat being torn open with razor sharp claws, and gargling to death on her own blood, didn’t affect Carrie-Anne near as much as she might have thought it would have.

“Die zombie!” Nate screamed, running up behind Georgie, stabbing his pocket knife into the undead boys back. Though it didn’t cause any pain, more annoyance than anything, Georgie spun quickly, grabbing Nate by the throat, lifting the boy from the ground with little effort. Gripping one arm, tearing it free from the body, a spray of blood like a fountain, Georgie dropped the twitching limb and the screaming boy to the ground.

“Could you get that for me doll?” Georgie asked, in reference to the knife jutting out of his back. Carrie-Anne, gripping it, pulled it free, all the while examining the back of the Letterman jacket Georgie was wearing. Smiling, she couldn’t help it, reading what it said:

 

THE OTHERSIDES

#00

GEORGIE

 

“Here kid,” Georgie said turning back to his girl, but having to look back over his shoulder to the screaming, writhing Nate. “Shut up cry baby! You’ll be dead soon enough. Where was I?” he said turned back to Carrie-Anne. “Oh yeah, and so is this.” Handing her the black rose.

“How romantic,” Carrie-Anne said, actually flattered by the gesture. “It is good….” Pausing, Nate was still screaming, literally on her last nerve. Turning the blade point down in her hand, she bent down, stabbing the wide eyed boy multiple times till he was finally silenced and dead, his last thoughts why the hell his two friends, one undead, would torture, yell at and kill him. “Shut up Nate! I am trying to talk to Georgie!” Carrie-Anne shouted as she dug the knife in a few more times after his heart had already stopped beating, her clothes, face covered in the boy’s blood. “Now, where was I…” She said, standing up.

“You got something on your face,” Georgie said, wiping a few drops merely streaking them on her cheeks. “And you were saying it was good.”

“Right, it was good for you to show up. I almost thought I was going to have to actually find a date for this damn thing.” Kissing him on the cheek, the two were in their own little world. The screams of the teens, while still taking place all around, were somewhat covered up by the music blasting from the d.j. booth, which was being manned by one of the grey skinned Others, one who had grown bored of the slaughtering after ripping the heads off of three screaming cheerleaders, who hadn’t even put any effort into their costumes, just wearing damn cat ear head bands.

“What do you say we blow this pop joint babe?” Georgie asked, taking Carrie-Anne’s hand, his glowing green eyes looking into hers.

“Yeah. Let’s do that,” she said, letting him lead her to the doors that had allowed his entrance, the same doors opening up, allowing for only his and hers exit, leaving what was left of the high school student body with the corpses and Others that were having a gruesome, bloody blast.

At the front of the school, the sounds of the music and screaming long since not audible, Georgie led Carrie-Anne to a running, faded-yellow painted car, which Carrie-Anne noticed had the personalized license plate that read SWTDRMS.

“Your ride?” she asked, Georgie being a gentleman, walking her to the passenger side of the car, opening the door, the radio playing a cover of “Sweet Dreams” by the Eurhythmics, the vocals that of a haunting female vocalist.

“Borrowed it. By the way, Love ya doll.” Kissing her, Carrie-Anne wanted to more than anything to ask him why he had hung himself, but she told herself it she was better off not knowing. Here he was in front of her, holding her, kissing her. And inside the school were the bastards who had mocked his death getting what they deserved. Yeah, some of them didn’t do anything to deserve such a wicked death, Carrie-Anne thought as her tongue wrestled with Georgie’s. Maybe they’ll make it out. Who cares?

Getting in the car, Georgie shut her door, and made his way to the driver side, getting in, revving the engine, and looking at his girl with a grin. Throwing the cigar boat of a car into drive, he narrowed those glowing green orbs, and placed his hand on his girl’s thigh.

“Happy Halloween doll.” Georgie said, finally tearing out of the parking lot of the high school.

“All Hallow’s Night baby. All Hallow’s night!” Carrie-Anne shouted into the October night as she drove on with her undead boyfriend.

 

 

****Halloween Writing Contest Entry****