Trick or Treat

‘I’m going to be a naughty nurse.’ The entire flock, which had been positioned around a diminutive coffee table, erupted with laughter and amusement as they persistent to hear their friend talk about the adventures of Halloween. That is all but one, Wynter.  She was a naive and unpretentious girl who had just moved away from her over protective parents a few days ago. She was seated outside of the social ring as she whispered under her breath the lyrics to songs even her grandparents hadn’t heard of.

‘What ya gonna be?’ quizzed one of the more alluring girls. She gawked at Wynter for a riposte, perplexed when she didn’t get one, she just moved on.

‘I heard once that there’s a way to find out about your one true love.’ She essentially aimed this towards Wynter, not in a malicious manner but as a polite friendly gesture.

‘What do ya need a boyfriend for?’ The girl’s boyfriend, Timmy strutted out.

‘Ya gots me ain’t ya.’ He was slumped in his chair, in a gangster like way, legs pulled wide apart, head afloat, soaring high in the sky and arms draping loosely by his side.

‘And as much as a perfect catch you are, I was actually thinking that Wynter could do with a boyfriend, at least a date for the Halloween party tonight. She can’t go alone.’

‘Again you mean,’ the boyfriend exploded.

Speaking for the first time in all the conversation, Wynter mellifluously answered,

‘I don’t need a boyfriend; I’m not gonna go to the party.’ The whole band of people whimpered for the nuisance of having to re – map their night out.

‘But we’re gonna have a bash. You gotta come.’

‘I’ve got way too much unpacking to do.’

‘We’re going to look at cute boys,’ one of the other girls said deviously trying to entice Wynter into it, whilst shunning her own boyfriend sitting beside her.

‘Sorry guys, I can’t.’ And with that Wynter broke the swarming circle that bordered the table and walked away, gritting her handbag close to herself. The other guys re – settled themselves, filling up the gap Wynter had exposed.

‘Is anyone going to play a trick or something?’ quizzed one of the more quite boys.

‘I have a perfect trick, that’s going to knock everyone’s socks off,’ whispered Timmy; he looked around to notice that no one had heard him. He then wilted back down again planning a cunning plan for the flawless nightmare for Halloween.

Later at night Wynter lay staring up at her ceiling absorbedly listening to the grand clock downstairs strike. Its noise piled the room. All Wynter was doing was counting the number of chimes, just waiting for the 12^th one.

DING!

It was officially midnight, officially Halloween; Wynter heaved a sigh.

She had never been very fond of Halloween, principally seeing that Halloween was the very day her father had died. For Wynter Gale Lynn Halloween was just an additional day of the year for her to be sorrowful on. Solemnly tears trickled down her face and splashed on to the pillow case. Her face heated up and her once pale and fragile face reddened against the severe heat of her anxiety. Her palms started to sweat mildly and her eyes twitched uncontrollably.

Wynter’s heart skipped several beats. Her breath became heavy as she wriggled in her bed sheets. A sturdy force was pushing down on her chest; it felt as if abundant hammers were pounding at her legs. She could feel her ribs being compressed inside of her, her blood flow gradually becoming slower as it circulated around her body weakly. Only minutes later she lost control over herself. Her bones were droopy and it felt as if her skin was rapidly sinking into the bed sheets. Pictures of her previously lived life flickered in her mind. Every feeling once felt was reflecting in her soulful eyes and she finally paused on the bed. Unable to move or think straight, Wynter shut her eyes tight.

The night was inexplicably sinister and the atmosphere had a sense of repulsion. The moon’s pulsating shine beamed gleefully through the gaps between the dusty curtains. It was the only source of light in the room; everything else was cold and absent in the coal like darkness. A frequent draft would burst through the cracks and holes of the ancient house’s walls. The stench of the mansion was described as a pleasant summer breeze; however Wynter was experiencing some rather bizarre odours. Right the way through the night smells of cooked flesh lingered in the room and other times the smell would be so strong and stinging that Wynter would cover her nose, only revealing her beady eyes. She could only briefly make out the heaps and heaps of boxes which were lazily dotted about the room, covering most of the surface. Wynter couldn’ help but stare at a young soldier’s portrait on the wall opposite her. She thought that the man’s eyes were staring right at her. Suddenly she glared at the man’s eyes and saw that drops of liquid were coming out, drops which could be defined as blood. She only then noticed the posture the solider was in before. He had somehow changed. She also saw that the picture was becoming larger in a sense as if the wall was closing in on her. She wrapped herself up tightly and prayed softly to herself.

The mansion itself was large and spacious but in the isolated mansion Wynter felt lonely and feeble. Her whole body was glued to the bed. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to, she shivered in the sheets. She was idly wondering about other insignificant things, when she hear a ear-splitting noise coming from outside. She twisted her head backwards and gazed for moments on end as the curtains danced in the moonlight, weaving and twisting. She saw trees swishing in the air and heard owls hooting however she found no origin for the noise. She simply slumped down again, sluggishly. Trying to drift off to sleep once again, she heard the same noise but coming from a different direction. A much closer direction! The noise continued to inconsolably disturb Wynter for numerous hours. It was getting stronger and louder every time. The sky was beginning to clear from the Halloween darkness when she heard something that made her jump. It was something that couldn’t be described at all.

Wynter had been trying to flout the bitter racket, which seemed to be emerging from the isolated downstairs, all night. She couldn’t justify it so she concentrated on other things. But the more she ignored it, the more convinced she became that there was something downstairs.

The mortified girl squirmed under her sheets, like a child, wrinkling up like a used napkin, trying to put her thoughts aside. Soon she was compelled to investigate the noise. She climbed out of bed, the icy cold floor making her shudder. She tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the stairs that creaked; mastered earlier that day.

Wynter couldn’t see anything apart from the epigrammatic outlines of definite objects which decorated the landing. Frames shimmered reflecting the light coming from various routes. The sounds she had been hearing had now become scarce. She could feel a frosty quiver scattering up her spine. As she raced her way down the stairs she saw a sly, shadow shifting around. Her whole body was disdainful as she drowned in her own sweat. Her possessed feet hauled her down the final step. She strode into the room from which she knew the peculiar clamour was coming from, the kitchen.

She saw a man. His face was camouflaged with a large mask hanging loosely at the back. It was dark but the dazzling stars’ shone on the man’s back. He was silent and floated from one corner of the room to the other. He must have been here before, Wynter thought to herself, mainly because he knew where everything was kept. He was rampaging in drawers and shifting things from one place to the other. Abruptly he twirled his head round towards Wynter, obtrusively looking at her.

Wynter saw his unmasked face.

She screamed as loud as she could, rattling the whole mansion. She ran up the stairs, tripping and looking back to see if she was being followed, but she wasn’t. When she reached her bedroom she locked the door, even when she knew that the lock was broken. She quickly grabbed her sheets and covered herself. Not long later she heard the steps thudding on the floorboards. It was then she peered over the sheets and saw that the man in the portrait had vanished in thin air. She closed her eyes, hoping her ordeal was going to be over soon and that everything was just a dream.

Timmy, dressed in vampire clothing, was drifting over Wynter’s motionless body. His shaking hands touched her pale face. He seized his phone and rang his friends to come quickly.

‘The girl, probably died round about midnight mate’, one of the ambulance man said looking at the weeping Timmy.

‘Cause of death?’ Timmy asked puzzled by his friend’s untimely death.

‘I’d say she died cuz of shock, most likely.’

Timmy clenched Wynter’s cold hand and buried his face in it, crying.

‘I only came to scare her, only a bit I didn’t know she’d be dead’. The other friends stood still.

Wynter’s ethereal figure stood nearby as a gust of wind blew fiercely through the opened windows, swishing its way through the room. Timmy had never believed in ghosts, but surely enough he was going to pay.