30th October, 2024
Kelly Harris woke screaming.
She sat up, remembering she’d been on the couch, but not closing her eyes. The nightmare lingered in her mind, in her very soul. Dark entrances, a never-ending vista of shadowed trees, and the lifeless eyes of a young boy. The same boy she’d seen every night for thirty years.
Kelly wiped away the sweat from her brow, only for the tears to come. The painful realization that no matter what she did, no matter how many cups of coffee she drank, no matter how much she refused to sleep, the boy would always be there. To remind her of what she did.
What they all did.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
Kelly reached for her laptop and opened a new email message. She took a deep breath, urging her frantic heart to slow. It had been thirty years since that night, but twenty since she’d spoken to him, to any of them. Surely, she wasn’t the only one suffering? She started typing with trembling fingers:
Dear Dale,
I know it’s been a long time. I don’t even know if this is still your email.
I have to talk to you about that night. About what happened.
Every night I dream about it. Do you dream about it too? I don’t know how to get it to stop.
It’s guilt. I know it is. You regret what happened, don’t you?
Maybe if we all admit our guilt the nightmare will stop…
Kelly hovered the cursor over the SEND button, and stared at it for several minutes, agonized. The cavern’s mouth, the boy’s mouth click-clacked in her mind. She deleted the email.
Kelly knew the nightmare would not truly end unless she faced it head on.
Dale Dougherty had avoided Halloween for thirty years.
Two days before the holiday, he experienced the most vivid nightmare of his entire life, although he knew it wasn’t a nightmare but a re-enactment. A revisitation of his youth, to a night he’d tried everything to forget.
The dream wrenched him from sleep, and he screamed. His shirt damp, he reached breathlessly for someone to save him, but there was no one, nothing that could help, only bundled bedsheets and the echo of his empty bedroom.
He sat on the edge of the bed, desperately trying to slow his heart and push the lingering threads of the nightmare from his head. The golden light of a new day broke through his curtains, and he was grateful to see it, thankful for anything other than the dark.
He shook beads of sweat from his close-cropped blond hair and grabbed the cigarette packet from the pocket of his jeans on the floor. He hadn’t had a nightmare about Halloween 1994 for decades. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag. The smoke wafted about him, as did the nightmare’s last remnants: masks, laughter, and a solitary scream.
Why was he dreaming about the kid? Why now, after all these years?
Dale slipped on his jeans, left the bedroom, and walked up the hallway to the kitchen of his small apartment. There were beer cans, an overflowing ashtray on the bench, and dishes in the sink. He saw a cockroach and squished it with the hot end of the cigarette, the insect releasing a hiss as it died. The sound reminded him of that night. Blinking the thoughts away, he filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. He was about to light another cigarette when he heard a knock at the door.
He looked through the peephole and saw a female uniformed police officer and a man in a suit—no doubt a detective—on his front porch. Dale slipped the chain lock back and opened the door. The detective was already holding up his gold shield.
“Detective Garrett Hedlund, Charlton PD. This is Officer Russell. Are you Dale Dougherty?”
Dale cleared his throat. “That’s me. Is there something I can help you with, Officer?”
Hedlund put his ID back in his jacket. A chill breeze assailed the street, lifting the carpet of leaves on Dale’s front lawn into the air. Across the street, Dale glimpsed a neighbor hammering fake headstones into his grass.
“Do you think we could come inside, Mr. Dougherty? We have something of importance to discuss with you.”
Dale chuckled. “What’s this about? Do I have some unpaid parking tickets or something?”
Hedlund smoothed his pencil-thin moustache, unimpressed. “Do you know a Maxwell Young?”
A cascade of images assaulted Dale’s mind’s eye. Fourteen-year-old Max, wearing a poorly made robot costume, crying in the woods.
“Uh…yeah, I know Max. But I haven’t seen or heard from him since we left high school.”
Hedlund nodded. “Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Mr. Young was found murdered last night.”
The contorted, shrieking face of a child slapped Dale’s senses.
“Jesus… Murdered?”
“I’m afraid so. Again, Mr. Dougherty, can you invite us inside? There’s a lot more to talk about.”
Dale cleared the newspaper pages and television remote off the couch so the officers could sit. He thought of Max, dorky Max, with his love of Star Wars and Voltron and all that crap, dead, murdered. Dale sat opposite the officers in his weathered recliner and took a fresh cigarette from the packet.
“Do you mind if I…?” he asked them.
“Not at all,” Hedlund said. “So, Mr. Dougherty, when was the last time you spoke to Max?”
“Oh, man. It was like ’97 or ’98, when we graduated high school.”
“You two were close during school, though?”
“Definitely but, ah, I went straight into the Army when I finished high school. I’m not sure what Max ended up doing.”
“What’d you do in the Army?” Hedlund asked.
“I was a Ranger.”
“Thank you for your service,” Officer Russell said.
Dale nodded and smiled. “Yeah…thanks.”
Hedlund flipped through his notebook. “Uh, looks like Max got into IT, building computer systems. He worked for a firm in Charlton, but he was recently laid off.”
Dale winced. “Oh, that’s awful. A shame because I remember Max was great with computers, a real geek, you know?”
Hedlund took fresh notes as Dale talked and asked him a follow-up question without an upwards glance: “So, you grew up together, and lived in the same town, but you haven’t spoken to him in decades?”
“That’s right,” Dale said.
“Then would you have any idea why the killer carved your name and that of several others into Max’s body?”
Dale swallowed and put his cigarette out. “Carved?” He looked from Hedlund to Officer Russell.
“The killer cut several names into his chest,” Hedlund continued. “His name, yours, Kelly Farris, and a Ryan McCammon.”
A vision of Kelly dressed as a witch and Ryan as Superman flooded through.
“You know them as well, don’t you, Mr. Dougherty?”
“They were…they were all my childhood friends.”
Hedlund exchanged a look with his subordinate. “So, even though you all still live here in Charlton and were at school together for years, you’ve all lost touch? Why is that?”
Dale lit another cigarette and looked out the window to the street beyond—a street not unlike the one he and his friends walked that one Halloween night. The night that had haunted them all every night since.
31st October, 1994
Dale put on the cape and inserted the fake fangs into his mouth.
“I vant to suck your blud!” he said in his worst Transylvanian accent.
Kelly Farris recoiled but laughed as Dale lunged comically for her throat. “Ah, get away!”
Dale smiled a vampiric smile. He knew Kelly was saying, “get away,” but he knew she liked him—because he liked her, too. She looked so pretty in her long purple witch costume with pointed hat, all lace and taffeta, flowing in the chilly autumn breeze. He pulled his fangs free.
“Your costume looks great, Kell,” he told her.
“Thanks. My mom spent hours sewing it.”
“I can tell.” Dale flared up the collar of his cape so that it framed his head. “What do you think of mine?”
Kelly looked him up and down. “If it wasn’t for the cape and the fangs, you could be going to church.”
“What? No, I’m Count Dracula!”
Kelly raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say? Oh, yeah, you’re right. I see it now!”
Dale gave her a playful shove, and they both burst out laughing. They were getting closer, there was no doubt about it. But Dale didn’t want to come on too strong, so he turned away and looked to the street instead. Kids in white sheets, fairies and wolfmen mingled back and forth across the cul-de-sac, collecting candy. Carved pumpkins flickered with candlelight as the phrase “trick or treat” rang out into the night air. This was Halloween.
“Where are Max and Ryan?” Kelly asked with a slight scowl on her face.
“They said they’d be here by seven-thirty,” Dale said.
Kelly pulled back one of her sleeves to study her watch. “Well, it’s almost eight. My mom said I had to be back home by nine.”
“I’m sure they’ll be here soon, Kell.”
“Wait!” Kelly pointed to two boys rounding a corner. “I see them!”
One boy, Max Young, was a shambling robot, the other a much younger and skinnier version of Superman—Ryan McCammon.
“Wow, that has to be you under there, huh, Max?” Dale said.
“Yep, it’s me!” His robot—a construction of cardboard boxes of varying sizes, decorated with tin foil and painted red, blue and gold—covered his arms, legs and torso. A large box on his head had a rudimentary drawing of a lion. “I’m Voltron!” he added.
“Sure, you are,” Ryan said. “You just look like a big Lego.”
“I do not!” Max protested.
“At least he put some effort in, unlike you, Super-Ryan,” Dale said.
“Super-lame-Ryan more like it,” Max added with a grin.
“Check out the spit curl!” Kelly said, flicking it with a finger.
Ryan put a hand over his face. “Don’t touch it!”
The four of them laughed wildly, savoring the fun and joy of Halloween. The one night of the year when they could indulge and escape the monotony of their everyday lives.
“Okay, come on, you guys, let’s get going,” Dale said. “This candy isn’t going to collect itself!”
They ran into the street, dodging the slow-moving cars and screaming toddlers. They knocked on a few doors and collected meagre amounts of candy, which only infuriated Ryan.
“It’s all candy corn and marshmallows. Where are the chocolate bars?” he said.
“We’ll do better at the next house,” Kelly told him.
“No, we won’t! Oh, man, this is just so crap. I knew I should have snuck into the movie to see that new Freddy Krueger movie that just came out. Would’ve made for a better Halloween night than this!”
Ryan kicked out at a pumpkin in the house’s driveway. It exploded, sending a large chunk into the back of a standing skeleton statue, which toppled over and broke a Styrofoam headstone.
“Oh, shit!” Ryan said.
“Let’s get outta here before the owner flips!” Max told them.
They ran, almost knocking over another group of trick-or-treaters. They reached the corner, huffing and puffing, but their fears quickly turned to new waves of laughter.
“Oh, man, what a rush!” Ryan said.
“Yeah, but let’s not do that again,” Dale told him, laughing.
“Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on, Vlad,” Ryan replied, but his attention was already turning back to the street. “Hey, isn’t that that Barney kid—the retard?”
The others followed Ryan’s gaze to a short, rotund boy in a red devil costume—red cape, red face, red pitchfork, and a matching red horned headband.
“Yeah, that’s Barney Davis. He’s a middle school kid,” Max said.
“You shouldn’t call him a retard, Ryan,” Kelly scolded.
Ryan snickered. “Hah, look at him! Like he needs any more candy!”
“Ryan, come on, man,” Dale said. “Let’s get back to the trick-or-treating, okay?”
But Ryan ignored his friend and crossed the street to talk to Barney. The other kids followed, uncertain but curious about what Ryan was doing.
“Hey, Barney,” Ryan said, startling the boy. “How’s it going, man?”
“Uh, hello.” Barney stopped to lean on his pitchfork.
Dale grabbed Ryan’s cape. “Hey, what are you doing? Leave the kid alone.”
Again, Ryan ignored him. “You got quite a lot of candy there, Barney.”
“Yeah…”
“Not much of a scary Halloween, though, is it?”
Barney considered the revelers around him. “It’s fun.”
Ryan sidled up to the boy and put an arm around his shoulder. “Scary can be fun, too, though, right? It can be a real thrill.”
Barney’s red face gazed up at Ryan. “I guess.”
Ryan pulled him closer and whispered in his ear, “Do you want to see something really scary?”
Charlton was a small town of almost ten thousand people, nestled in the center of a valley. A vast forest of great fir trees surrounded the town, dark and rising high into the night sky. That night, Ryan led his friends and Barney into those woods, searching for a good scare. They left the safety of the streetlights and the joy of Halloween to venture into a world much more sinister. The trees, black sentries against the violet night, waited to see what unfolded.
“I don’t like this place,” Barney said, but Ryan grabbed him by the shoulder.
“It’s all okay. You’re here with friends.”
Barney considered Ryan and the others. “You’re my friends?”
Ryan smiled at him. “Sure. We’re all Barney’s friends, right?”
Dale stopped as they entered an open area of the woods. The leaves crunched loudly beneath their shoes.
“Ryan, what are we doing here? We should get back.”
Max took off his headwear. “Yeah, it’s too dark, and I’m finding it hard to move.”
“We should go home,” Kelly said.
Ryan shook his head. “Don’t be such a bunch of wusses. We’re just gonna have some fun.” He hugged Barney tight. “You’re not scared, are you, Barney? Not like these guys.”
Barney saw the trees. “It…it is kind of dark.”
“It’s all okay. You’re safe with us. Now, listen, here’s where it gets fun. Did you know there’s supposed to be treasure buried here in these woods?”
Barney’s red face turned to Ryan. “Treasure?”
“Yeah. Buried in an unmarked grave.”
“Ryan, stop this,” Dale said, and he reached out to grip his friend’s arm, but Ryan jerked it away.
Dale looked at Barney, at how excited he was, but deep down he knew what Ryan was planning was a bad idea.
“I’m just having some fun with Barney here,” he said through gritted teeth. “Some adventure. Like Indiana Jones. He lowered his voice and gazed back at Barney. “You like Indy, right?”
Barney chuckled nervously. “He was named after the dog!”
“Ha, that’s right, he was! He liked the treasure, didn’t he? He wasn’t afraid to go into tombs to look for gold, so you shouldn’t be either.”
Ryan led Barney towards a large tree just off the beaten path. The others followed cautiously. “See, just over there, through those trees?” He crouched beside the boy to point. “There’s an old cave. It’s been there forever. They say there was a bank robber or a thief who stole a lot of money. He got shot and hid in there, but he died.”
Kelly gripped Dale’s hand. “Dale, you have to stop this,” she said.
Dale moved to put a hand on Barney’s back. “Come on, Barney, let’s take you home.”
Ryan pushed Dale back. “Hey, man, I’m just trying to have some fun.”
“You’re scaring him.”
Barney shook his head. “No, I’m not scared.”
Ryan smiled. “See? He’s not scared. He’s not afraid of going into the cave to find the treasure.”
“I’ll do it,” the boy added and, before anyone could reply, he ran off toward the cave.
“No, Barney, wait!” Dale urged.
Ryan pushed his friend again. “Leave it!”
“You’re an idiot. You don’t know what’s in that cave. He could fall or—”
“That kid’s braver than you. You don’t even have the guts to tell Kelly you like her, but Barney just ran into a dark cave without a second thought.”
Dale’s cheeks burned suddenly, and he couldn’t meet Kelly’s gaze, even though she stood right next to him. “If Barney’s hurt, I’ll—”
Dale’s reply was cut short by a high-pitched scream. It echoed from the cave and out into the woods, radiating through the teenagers’ very bones, chilling them.
“Oh, shit,” Dale said. “Barney!”
They all ran towards the cave through the thick undergrowth. Even in the dark, Dale could discern the entrance to the cave, like a gaping maw. Yet, it was what lay outside the cave that terrified them even more.
Barney was on the ground, coiled up in rigor; a cadaverous spasm like an invisible flame had claimed him. His hands were contorted, framing a face stretched into an unnatural scream. When Kelly shrieked at the sight, it was as if Barney screamed his last breath all over again.
30th October, 2024
“What happened to Max, Detective Hedlund?” Dale said. Hedlund and Officer Russell exchanged a knowing glance, and when neither of them replied, Dale insisted. “You said the killer carved my name and the names of my friends into Max’s chest. You said he was murdered. But could he have…done it to himself?”
The suggestion turned Hedlund’s gaze. “Why would you say that, Mr. Dougherty?”
Dale shrugged. “I-I don’t know. You said Max lost his job. Could he have been depressed?”
“The autopsy determined his wounds weren’t self-inflicted. There were no hesitation cuts.”
Dale lit a new cigarette. “So, were the knife marks—the name-carving—what killed him?”
“No, it appears he was strangled,” Hedlund said. “But his face…”
Dale recalled Barney’s silently shrieking visage. “His face? What about his face?”
“His face was frozen in a scream. He was also wearing…” Hedlund raised an eyebrow in consternation, “a devil horn headband, and his face was painted with blood. Does that mean anything to you, Mr. Dougherty?”
“Jesus, no.” Dale tried to keep his concern from showing. Hedlund stood.
“Do you know of anyone who might have had a grievance with Mr. Young, or you or your friends? Anything perhaps from your younger days?”
“No…we never got into any real trouble,” Dale said. A cascade of images. Barney’s mouth frozen in terror. Almost a copy of the cave.
The detective put his notebook away and handed Dale his business card. “Well, I suggest that you give those possibilities some serious thought. Whoever this killer is, they might be looking to target you all. Stay home if possible, and keep your home locked at all times.”
Dale got out of his chair and followed them to the door. His fingers, slick with sweat, struggled to find purchase on the handle for a moment. He prayed the officers didn’t notice. “No problem.”
“Also, if you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call me.”
An hour later, Dale got in his truck and drove to the edge of town, a place he hadn’t visited for thirty years.
He knew the path so well he could have walked it blindfolded. It was the place where so many childhoods died, including Barney Davis’s.
The setting sun cast shards of fading light between the fir trees. The cold was so palpable he could almost see it. He stood in the open field space of the woods, which now featured a bench and chairs and an outdoor barbecue. The entire area looked like it was dying, too, depleted of all color. It was grey and listless, with hardly a leaf on the ground. Dale had just located the cave and considered moving closer when a voice brought him to a standstill.
“I had a feeling you’d come here.”
Dale turned and saw a tall, sandy-haired woman staring at him. He softened when he realized who she was.
“Kelly?”
She offered him a small smile. “Fancy seeing you here, Dale.”
He walked to her, and they shared an embrace, but Kelly felt stiff in his arms, tense.
“Hey,” he said, looking her in the eye. She was even more beautiful thirty years on. “What are you doing here, Kell?”
Kelly took a step back. “I would ask you the same thing, but I’m sure we’re both here for the same reason.”
Dale slipped his hands into his pockets. “You heard about Max, too, from the cops?”
“I saw them this morning. They spoke to you, then?”
“Yeah, what did they tell you?”
Kelly looked up at the trees. “That someone killed him. That I might be next.”
Dale chuffed a shoe in the dirt and scratched the back of his head. “I can’t believe this is happening. I mean, it can’t be, can it?”
She folded her arms. “Did someone in Barney’s family find out what happened here that night?”
“I never told anyone, not even my folks, and they went to the grave not knowing. Besides, the cops and the coroner all ruled the kid’s death was a freak heart attack. Natural causes.”
Kelly flashed him a look of contempt. “Nothing about Barney’s death was natural causes, Dale. You saw his face.” She paused, her expression suddenly pained. “It’s haunted me ever since.”
“As it has me, Kell. So, how the hell did Max get killed? Who knows?”
She threw her hands in the air and walked in circles in the dirt. “Maybe Ryan knows who it is?”
“Ryan? Last I heard, he was in jail for drug trafficking or overdosed.”
His friend went and sat at the picnic bench, and Dale could tell the conversation was wearing her down. “If he is alive, then the cops will want to talk to him. I think that detective’s going to figure out it has something to do with Barney.” She rubbed her temples. “What if they reopen the investigation?”
Dale sat opposite her and reached for her hands, only she pulled away. “If they do, it’ll be Ryan who ends up in trouble, Kell, not us.”
She scowled at him. “Are you kidding me? We covered it up. We lied to the cops that night, told them Barney just keeled over and died.”
“Because that’s what happened. We didn’t kill him.”
Kelly looked past him, over Dale’s shoulder at the cave. “The story Ryan told Barney about the cave, about the thief. Was that true?”
“Just an urban legend,” he said, shrugging. “Some crap made up a century ago to scare kids.”
Dale watched her bite her fingernails. He wanted to comfort her, but their rift had remained strong even after so many years.
“Something scared him to death, Dale,” she said finally.
“What? A ghost? Kell, there’s no such thing.”
“Maybe we created one when Barney died.”
Dale chuckled. “You can’t be serious.”
She leaned in close. “What if it’s Barney? What if his ghost came back to take revenge on Max and we’re next?”
31st October, 2024
Ryan’s hunger for a fix always seemed to be at its fiercest come twilight.
He shuffled through Charlton’s darkened streets and alleyways, scanning the equally haggard faces around him for the one with the look. The nobody who could give him what he craved. He walked past one sleeping beside a dumpster, almost tripping on a cluster of empty beer bottles. It was cold tonight, deathly cold, and the alley’s brick walls were slick with the beginnings of the frost yet to come.
Leaning against one of those walls, Ryan pulled a scrunched packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lit the only one left. It would have to do until he got that next hit. When it finally became dark, he hoped that more nobodies would come out to play.
A gaggle of laughter made Ryan turn. A group of kids walked by, dressed in brightly colored costumes. He could make out that one of them wore a wolfman mask as they passed.
“Halloween,” Ryan said to himself. “It must…be Halloween.”
Ryan remembered that Halloween a long time ago, not the exact details, and he’d decided never to celebrate the holiday again. Around the same time, he tried taking more risks—stealing cars, breaking into houses, doing drugs, and then dealing them. It all started after that Halloween.
“Fuck off, you trick-or-treaters!” he screamed into the alley. He knew the kids were long gone, but it still felt good to say it. “Fuck off, Halloween!”
Ryan chuckled to himself and slipped off the wall, landing in the detritus of the alley. He laughed at his clumsiness. As he got up, he saw a young boy and a man watching him.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” Ryan asked, but they didn’t move along, just kept on observing. Ryan got up and rushed towards them. “You think this is some kind of peep show?”
The boy wore a red cape, a red headband with horns on top, and carried a red pitchfork. Even the boy’s face was painted bright red, and the more Ryan looked at that face, the more familiar it became. The man standing behind the boy was less evident, harder for Ryan to distinguish in his inebriated state. The man seemed intangible, as if made from nothing but air.
Ryan stepped closer, his eyes trying to get a better fix on the boy’s face. He knew he’d seen it before—thirty years ago.
“B-Barney?”
The child replied with a loud and long scream that split his mouth at the corners, releasing a torrent of blackish fluid.
All Ryan could do was scream right along with him.
Kelly strode back to her car, Dale in tow.
“Kell, wait! You really can’t be serious about this ghost crap!”
She unlocked the car and got in the driver’s seat, but Dale reached out to keep her from closing the door.
“Let go, Dale!”
“Kell, this is ridiculous. Barney died of fright.”
“Then who murdered Max, huh? The police told me someone carved our names on his chest. Clearly, someone knows the truth.”
Dale rubbed the stubble on his face. “Okay, look, maybe there was someone else in the woods that night who saw us. Maybe they killed Max.”
Kelly scoffed. “Then why didn’t they go to the cops that night, or any other time in the last thirty years for that matter?!”
“I don’t know, but it sounds more plausible than Barney’s ghost!”
“Something scared Barney to death, something in that cave, and we let it happen. I’m not going to sit around waiting for whatever it is to get me. And you shouldn’t either!”
Kelly pulled the door free and slammed it closed. In a huff, she started the car and drove off at speed, leaving Dale in a cloud of dust. She hoped she’d never see him again. All that mattered now was that she protected herself from the evil seeking her out.
Dale kicked the dirt, frustrated that Kelly wasn’t listening to reason. He didn’t know who had murdered Max, but Kelly’s ghost theory was absurd, and he was going to prove it.
He went to the glovebox of his truck and retrieved his tactical flashlight. Behind him, the forest of fir trees loomed high, their peaks like blackened teeth, biting the night. He flicked on the flashlight, and it cast a long white beam into the woods. Dale wasn’t going to let some ghost story get in the way of the truth.
The flashlight darted left and right across the undergrowth, green ferns and leaves appearing and disappearing in and out of the black. Moss and creeper vines had taken over the cave entrance in the past thirty years, but its mouth still dominated the rock face, inviting strangers to venture inside. His flashlight illuminated the interior, painting over the craggy surface and casting deep shadows, but Dale kept moving in, eager to know who was behind Max’s death. After several minutes of searching, Dale had found nothing but rocks and dirt. There were no markings on the walls, no skeletons trapped under fallen boulders.
“It’s just a cave,” he said, and his voice bounced around the cave and back to him. “What the hell were you so afraid of, Barney?”
A scraping sound made Dale turn. The tick-tack-tack of pebbles falling. He cast his flashlight upon every wall surface.
“Who’s there?” Dale wouldn’t admit he was scared, but his heart told him otherwise. “Come out, you son of a bitch!”
He swung the beam about, and it passed over a shape, a figure swathed in red. Even thirty years on, the figure’s identity was unmistakable.
“Jesus Christ! Barney?” he staggered back, almost losing his footing on the craggy floor of the cave. Kelly was right all along. Dale was looking at the ghost of Barney Davis.
The dead boy’s red face was stark in the beam of light, but the boy seemed not to be affected by it. He didn’t even blink. Yet, his lips moved as if he was trying to say something.
“What?” Dale said, stepping closer. “What are you saying? I can’t hear you.”
Barney’s lips kept moving. Dale stared at them, trying to decipher what he whispered. Lip-reading was something he’d tried to master in the Army, watching insurgents scheming from a distance through a scope, but it wasn’t a skill he’d perfected. Still, he managed to get two words:
Kelly.
Grave.
Dale blinked, and Barney vanished.
“Wait! What about Kelly?”
He scanned the cave, but there was no sign of the ghost. Dale didn’t know what he’d experienced inside the cave, but he was sure of one salient fact:
Kelly was in grave danger.
Thirty years after he died, Kelly visited Barney Davis’s grave for the first time.
Visiting Barney on Halloween felt wrong, but the idea of standing before his headstone had always terrified her. Kelly and the other children could have attended the boy’s funeral back in 1994, but none had. How this never raised suspicion back then, Kelly didn’t know, but now, thirty years later, she was finally taking steps to correct a mistake.
Barney’s headstone was grimy, streaked with greenish-black mould, and Kelly noticed the others around it were slightly less so. There were flowers on the boy’s grave, but they were old. She surmised the boy’s parents were probably in their seventies or eighties now, too old and frail to relive such a tragedy. Or perhaps they’d moved far away to help them forget. That, Kelly realized, was what she should have done, but there was no escaping the guilt. Especially not now.
“Hello, Barney,” she said to the headstone.
The night was young—Halloween night. A chill wind was building, scattering orange and red leaves over the cemetery like falling tears. Kelly shed tears of her own.
“I’m here because I wanted to say…I’m sorry, Barney. What Ryan did, what we all did to you that night back in the woods was wrong. Completely wrong. We took advantage of you and, for that, I am sorry. I know it probably doesn’t mean anything but…I just wanted to say it. Right here and now. And I wanted you to hear it from one of us.”
The wind whistled in reply, sending more autumn leaves swirling around her. She crouched and ran her fingers over the etched letters of Barney’s name.
“What was it that scared you that night? What was it that made you come back?”
Kelly sighed and observed the cemetery with its grey headstones in rows and rows heading off into the distance. As she looked, a movement caught her eye, a shape watching her. She gasped.
The thing appeared to be a man comprised of grey, naked flesh. Its skin was translucent, showing the bones beneath. Mortified, Kelly was locked to the spot, unable to turn away as the thing’s face twisted and morphed into other faces—all of them screaming. Kelly backed away when the specter suddenly crossed the space between them to hover over Barney’s grave. Kelly shrieked and toppled backward, striking her shoulder on another headstone.
“Oh, my God!”
Dazed and in pain, Kelly looked up as the ghost peered at her. Its face changed again and again, in a sickening loop, and Kelly recognized every one. The faces belonged to Max Young, Ryan McCammon, and Barney Davis. All of them red with blood. She held up her hands to defend herself when the ghost lunged forward to show its true face.
“It’s you…isn’t it?” Kelly gasped. “The thing from the cave. The long-dead thief?”
The wraith hissed in reply.
“You scared Barney to death and, somehow…that set you free. Then you scared Max and Ryan, too…”
A gunshot rang out, and small fragments of damaged headstone struck Kelly. She turned to see Dale with a gun, wide-eyed, looking at her in disbelief and fear. Fear for her safety.
“Dale,” she said.
“Run!” he shouted.
Kelly screamed and scrambled to her feet to hide behind a large oak tree. The unnatural wind tore through the cemetery and tossed up a new swarm of leaves. Heart pounding, Kelly stared in horror as Dale tossed his useless gun away. The wraith leapt onto him, and his screams filled Kelly’s ears as it drained him, turning him into a lifeless husk. His body fell in a twisted heap amongst the headstones.
Then the wraith looked Kelly’s way. She screamed again and made to run, but the thing released an agonized shriek of its own. She braved a look over her shoulder. Above the cemetery, the collective ghosts of her friends ripped the wraith apart. The victims were fighting back.
Dale, Max and Ryan pulled at the thing’s arms and tore at its chest, all in a bid to keep Kelly safe. In turn, they were breaking down their own spiritual bonds, the pieces of them glowing threads of light that became thinner by the moment. Kelly glimpsed one more visage through the blinding display—that of Barney Davis.
He offered Kelly one final smile before joining the fray.
The wraith released a booming howl that knocked Kelly to the ground. When the sound and light faded, she realized the wraith—and her friends—were gone.
Thirty years later, Kelly, Dale, Max, and Ryan were finally forgiven.