When Freddy woke up from his nap, he was ready for some fun. He had waited endlessly for this special day. As he got into his red and blue Spiderman suit and strapped on his flimsy mask, he reminisced about the days he wasn’t able to afford such a luxurious outfit. But now he was ready to somehow, someway obtain what he couldn’t get as a child.
Leaving his house filled with spooky decorations, Freddy locked the door with a smirk on his face. He went from house to house, but nobody would give him what he wanted. He tripped over jack o’ lanterns and received piercing stares from parents as well as from the pumpkins in their front yards. He looked like a hunched over fool, not Spiderman. Only a few people answered the door, and those who did closed it as quickly as they had opened it.
Freddy’s back stiffened as he left one house, and he collapsed on a family’s front yard, throwing his empty plastic basket across the lawn as he let out a scream in agony. The family who had so hurriedly slammed the door rushed outside to check on the poor man. They ran past their inflatable black cat to see him lying there. He moaned and groaned, wincing in pain. Kids came over with their parents to see the commotion. A father with fake blood dripping down his face offered his hand to help him get up, but he refused the hand. A kid who was probably a little too old for this was dressed as Ron Weasley. He didn’t need to do much to look like him.
A circle of children and parents looked down at Freddy. One child poked him with a black cardboard scythe. Then, as quickly as a vampire sucks blood, Freddy leapt up and grabbed the two largest baskets from the trick or treaters. As he sprinted away, he yelled, “I got the tricks, and I got the treats!” A stupid thing to say.
He ran off to the next street where he tried to hail a cab. But there aren’t any taxis in Hoople, North Dakota. Freddy gave up quickly and decided to run all the way back home. But when he returned home, something felt off. “Something feels off,” he said to himself.
As he walked up to his front door, he realized everything was silent. He glanced back and noticed every light in every house had been turned off. Rumbling sounds started to rise from afar. He stood and listened. The sounds grew louder. It was like the screeching sound of a subway car or the deathly scream of Marion Crane in Psycho. It felt like an earthquake in his mind. “It’s not earthquake season,” he said, trying to reason with himself. But there’s not really any such thing as earthquake season.
The noise couldn’t get any louder. Freddy grabbed his ears and fell to the ground. He started rolling around in the driveway. The candy from his baskets had spilled all over. He let out a scream, but the shrieking noise was too overwhelming. He couldn’t scream at all. It felt like he was drowning in space. He had no control. He rolled around with his mouth open, but he couldn’t emit any sound. Looking down at his legs, he saw blood spewing out of them. His eyes widened, and you could see the spewing blood in the reflection of his iris. Blood dripped down his eyes like tears. He kept wiping his eyes, but the blood tears wouldn’t stop. In an instance, all the noise cut off.
It was quiet.
Freddy stood up. Everything was still dark, but it felt more normal. His ears weren’t ringing. Everything was still. There was no wind out, and all the blades of grass stood up perfectly straight. He looked down his driveway and saw all his candy on the ground. He stood still. Next to his right foot, lay a Twix bar. He missed this smell. Bending down, he picked it up. A small smile grew on his face. A knife suddenly was forced through Freddy’s heart. The knife went straight through his back and out his chest. Blood exploded all over the place. The murderer grabbed the Twix bar that used to be in Freddy’s hands. A small smile grew on his face. “Now I’ve got the tricks, and I have the--“ A knife was forced through the murderer’s heart. He fell down, dead, on top of Freddy’s dead body. The new murderer looked around anxiously as he went to grab the Twix bar that had a couple drops of blood on the wrapper before a bullet hurled through the air and killed the guy. A neighbor, hiding in the bush, was holding a shot gun. He rushed over to pick up the Twix. He fumbled with the wrapper as he struggled to shove it in his mouth. As he chewed, he started coughing. His body lost control, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He coughed up blood everywhere until he passed out on top of the other dead bodies.
A few middle schoolers sat around a lunch table.
“That didn’t happen, Rufus,” Charlie said.
“It did, too, Charlie. I swear to God!” Rufus was defensive.
“Do you even believe in God?” Rufus wasn’t expecting that question.
The bell rang, and it was time for class. The kids grabbed their bags and walked through the hallway. Charlie turned to a girl he liked and said, “Rufus is a doofus.” Annabel turned to Charlie and said, “I think he’s kinda cute.”
Annabel walked into class. Charlie walked behind her with a frown. But nobody seemed to notice the old man in the pathetic Spiderman suit creeping in the corner. Freddy was alive, and he wanted some candy.
©2019 Jake Schick