Halloween Highlights
This is a collection of works written by the Fall 2022 Revellations staff members in spirit of Spooky Season and Halloween!
Keshav Tiwari
The Leaves that don’t crunch
One two, take a step forward
you find one curled up towards you,
scarred by its veins, now thin and skeletal
a pale façade, much a tempting veil
Three four, you are taking the step forward
your foot now floating mid-air,
expecting the corpse to make a sound
seeking satisfaction, a sizzling love affair
Five, you took the step forward
chill down your spine, the corpse didn’t scream
thinking the dead remain silent, or do they?
the ones half-alive are the ones that don’t crunch.
Pleasure or pain, take a step forward
they leave the choice to you, or do they?
Emily Gullord
Meet at the Swamp
I continued to pull up my jacket sleeve to unveil the small gold hands on my watch. 10:56. Where is she? I looked out at the misty swamp, the humming of the frogs, and the chirping of the crickets kept me in a trance. It wasn’t until I heard branches snapping behind me did I realize she finally made it. As I turned around I noticed this figure was tall and slender. Their face was hidden by the fedora that was tucked below the hood of their coat. “Um hello, can I ask who you may be looking for?”
“I’m looking for you of course.” The voice was cordial yet hoarse. He had a sense of politeness to his tone, but I could tell there was malicious ambiguity.
“Are you a friend of Candace’s?” The man continued to approach me without answering my question. The words seemed to have gotten caught in the marsh and spider webs that hid the trees. I grew a bit tense as the man continued to approach me. How on earth did he know I was here? This was Candace and I’s little secret.
“Mr. Rogers, I am not a friend, nor a foe, but I am the bearer of bad news. Miss Candace was here before you unfortunately, and the marsh of the swamp got to her before I could…” His voice trailed off as the words settled into the misty air. I could feel my saliva cling to every wall of my throat, keeping it from slithering down.
“What do you mean the marsh got to her? Are you telling me the marsh is alive?” My voice grew louder as I heard the absurdity of my words. What is this, a scary movie? I began to feel my chest cave in on itself. The fog grew denser and I slowly started to lose sight of the man. Was he getting taken by the marsh? Or was I getting taken? My vision became blurry and I swiveled my head trying to keep track of where the man went, but before I knew it his figure was standing directly in front of me.
“Happy Halloween Mr. Rogers, thank you for meeting at the swamp so punctually.” His laugh grew loud and sinister. His figure turned away, I slowly felt a mass grab hold of my legs and slowly reach up towards my spine. The last thing I heard was the faint whistling from the man as he made his way up the road…
Alexandra Gilden
The Soul of a Pumpkin Patch
Once a year, a pumpkin patch comes to life. Always on the same day, at the same time in the small town of Hollow Whean. The pumpkin patch starts as one seed planted at the end of the previous year’s pumpkin patch, for the next coming year. The seed now stays hidden away in the dirt, silently stirring, waiting for its perfect moment. On the first day of October, the seed starts to awaken. Slowly crunching, one crunch after another. After a few light crunches, it stops, silent in the dirt. Then…. BOOM! The seed explodes with magic and beauty, and an orange glow and sparkling dust now fizzles in the air around the newborn pumpkin patch. The dirt meadow is filled with pudgy, plump pumpkins of deep oranges, olive greens, and even some beige ones lying about the meadow. Beside perfectly crafted pathways for the everyday pumpkin patch go-er, the newborn pumpkins await their new homes. Excited to transform into spooky faces, cute characters, and much more. And just on time, its first guest arrives.
Jayden Roseberry
Rounding the corner, he found the bodies laying as he knew they would be. Circling around, all lay motionless as status of the work that had just been done. Craig stood still as he finished his round, and promptly began to scream. The police arrived hours after, and began locking down streets hoping to find the perpetrator among the nearby streets. Craig was taken in for questioning at the local station, a thought that made him increasingly worried, as if the killer found him, he would be the first on the list. The detectives entered into the room soon after he arrived, placing their coffees down on the table as they both simultaneously opened the file regarding the murders. “So, sorry to bother you Mr. Daniels but we will need but a moment of your time.” “No problem officer.” He replied, his voice trembling in fear “Everything is going well with the search, and we currently have a suspect in custody that we believe has been a mastermind behind the whole endeavor.” Hearing the words felt amazing, as Craig relaxed into his seat and let himself relax for the first time since the killing started. “We just have one question for you Mr. Daniels.” the other detective chimed in with. Craig’s attention was instantly focused on the smaller man, about the same height as Craig himself, and began formulating his response before the question could even be asked. “Yes Officers?” “Did you ever think to check for cameras?” Craig’s whole body froze, his fight or flight response kicked in. He saw the men in front of him. He knew they wouldn’t let him go now. He only had one option, but he never considered himself a bad person. His sweat covered the ground as he left the interrogation room. Looking up, he saw the camera in the hallway of the station, and he could do nothing but smile and laugh.
Juan Paraiso
Cryptic Haze
Ned had been lost in the city streets for hours. He should have known better than to go outside at night. Well, he did. But after six months of this two week quarantine, he had no choice but to go out. He would have thought the same people would come out, but turns out no one was in any mood to traverse the near-abandoned outdoors. Inside was his territory. The dimly lit city streets of Maluhia were part of another’s. Some went as far as to say that mystical forces had taken over after the pandemic. That would explain the recent notifications of gas leaks he had on his phone.
God, it’s about damn time he saw another familiar face. He turned to his left, a street only revealed by the gossamer beam of three decrepit street lamps. Only this person was not walking toward him. He was running, based on the sound of his footsteps. And he was getting closer. And closer.
When Ned squinted his eyes, he saw nothing but the sunken sanguine irises on the man’s face. Dear God, was that his eyes? Ned was close to drawing his gun, a Glock 20 that he kept by his side whenever he would do his nightly walks. Recent news articles had beckoned him to keep it on him at all times. The running man left a trail of purple smoke behind him. As Ned drew out his gun, he could see that the smoke had expanded, grown and surrounded the two of them. It was as though the rest of the world had been blocked off. Except him and the running lunatic.
“Bastard, I’ll shoot!” Ned warned. The towering shadow only took off his hat, and positioned it so that its rim faced him. Ned could now see that the rim shone in the night, the purple smoke reflecting off of it. It was made of some kind of steel.
Ned caught himself letting out a grunt of uncertainty. It was now or never. He shot one bullet. But by then the shadow had disappeared. He was not sure if the gun had hit its mark.
What he did know was that his throat hurt. It felt as though it had been torn open, the air in his body exiting as the noxious fumes of the purple smoke entered. The purple began to intermix with red that splattered around his clothes and on the ground. Ned had deduced what had happened: the hat. Its bite was red and cold. He looked up at the shadow above him. His smile was the last thing etched into his brain before it completely shut off.
Stephanie Collin
Haunted Mansion
They creeped inside the dark, stale air of the mansion. Flashlights swept through the long hallways, wooden doors swaying on the hinges. The camera followed the light, capturing their visit on tape, for everyone to see. This would be the night. The night they would get evidence of the paranormal. The creeks of their footsteps echoed, as the main door closed behind them.
They stopped in front of the mirror between the staircase and the grandfather clock that clicked quietly, back and forth every second. Light spilled over the reflective surface, showing the lines that flowed down the mirror, as if blood leaked over it. Fingerprints of a child’s hand stuck to the glass.
It was rumored that this was the most haunted object in the house, where spirits were trapped after they died. A portal between worlds, hanging forever between life and death. A purgatory for ghosts. Thirteen ghosts haunted this mansion, and they were going to capture them on film.
Phillip Leyva Ramirez
Bananas
Some guy ran a club of 30 or so sixth graders and they all decided to dress up as those minions from Despicable Me for Halloween. Unfortunately this led to a lot of chaos! On that night, there were dozens of children running in the streets, in their minion costumes wreaking havoc, chanting about the banana god. Overnight, they became cult-like and chastised anyone who spoke out against their little group. And then suddenly, the banana god became real! No way! The spirit, awakened by their cries, tore open the dark sky and cast a banana thunderstorm. It was raining bananas all night long. It was terrifying. The story spread like wildfire internationally. The FBI arrived that same night to investigate the situation. They pondered the extent to which this would become a threat to national security. Maybe Putin finally had enough and decided to attack. Pretty spooky, huh? Anyways, the sixth graders were all chased around by these officers. Minions, hiding under dumpsters, behind the bushes. They did anything to not get caught by these stupid fun-hating grown ups. But alas, they were all caught because they are all like eleven years old. They’re stupid too. Sorry. At least they could get some snacks nearby, these snacks of course being none other than the free Halloween cookies the bakery was giving out to everyone. Anyways, the banana god eventually had enough and left. He’s a pretty busy guy. You know who else got busy last night? The janitor. He had a rough time, slipping on all those banana peels on the street. And yet he insisted on not stopping until the mess was cleaned up. Damn, what a guy.
Alvin Jones II
“Hunt”
It was not Osland’s goal to be lost in the dark woods of Carterhaugh. Not on this night — the night of anniversary for sister’s birth. She had wanted to feast upon a porridge that made use of the meat of a deer, which he had set out to find.
But in the dark of Carterhaugh, he had found that he was not the only hunter.
He had only just finished strapping the body of the young doe onto his back when he heard the whispers around him. “He will be the one!”
“He will be just right!”
He gazed around in the black woods, only seeing large stretches of trees with the occasional critter scampering by to send fear and anxiousness up and down his spine, racing every which way almost as fast as his heart.
“He will suffice, grab him!”
Osland saw it jump down from the trees, though he did not look long enough to catch sight of what it was. All he could see was the dark red flesh from the tail end of his peripheral view before he turned away and began to run.
He sped through the foliage, gripping tightly to the piece of rope that bound the baby deer to his back, wheezing with fear as he took each panicked step. He could hear the two voices calling after him for some time as he ran, but he, with time and speed, began to hear the voices fade.
He ducked beneath a fallen log, holding his breath as he listened to the footsteps of whatever was after him. As the fear of being found came over him and the scent of whatever was after him. The crimson toes that approached smelt sweet like flowers, with an earthen waft that somehow smelt like kind dirt.
“Here he is!” it spoke, standing right before Osland’s eyes. He could only pray, but his prayers were rendered moot upon the lifting of the log. He looked up and saw what had been chasing him — a muscularly built hominid with four dark eyes peering down at him. It was dressed in only a loin cloth, with a similarly colored head of auburn hair.
Osland swallowed hard as it reached down toward him, praying for whatever was to come was painless. But he knew deep that it would be anything but.
Rhiannon Scray
Trick or Treat
Wendy couldn’t stop the tears from trailing down her face as her brother dragged her along to the next house. She wasn’t even worried about her make up anymore; the make up she had sat still for while her mother used brush after brush on her for what felt like hours. Her wings were slipping off her back, nearly touching the floor a couple times, but she didn’t care. She yanked her hand out of Weston’s and stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk.
“I want to go trick or treating. You promised you would take me this year. You lied just like last year. You just want to keep walking around with your friends and yelling at kids.”
“We’re not yelling at them. We’re scaring them. That’s the whole point of Halloween is to scare people. You wouldn’t know because you’re dressed up like a dumb fairy.” He had turned back around and towered over her, crossing his arms and huffing out into the cold air.
“No, the whole point is candy!” She yelled.
“You’re such a brat. Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand again and dragged her along. She whined as he dragged her, eventually crying so loud that other kids and their parents stopped to stare as they walked by.
“This isn’t fair! I’m telling Mom.”
“No, you’re not,” Weston said without even looking at her.
“Yes, I am. And I’m not coming with you anymore. I’m going trick or treating by myself.” She yanked her hand away again, pulling back down the street they came and walking up to the nearest house with its porch light on. He didn’t follow. She tried to ignore the hurt feeling she got when she didn’t feel him grab her hand again. But it didn’t matter. She got what she wanted.
She went house by house for several minutes, collecting candy and feeling proud of herself for standing up to her brother. Until one.
A clown answered the door of the next house. She should have known not to go up to a house that no one else was approaching. But there was a light on inside; that must have meant someone was home. And she was determined to get the most candy she could this year. The clown towered over her, his mouth splitting into a blood red grin. He leaned down close to her and asked her in a chilling voice, “Trick or treat?”
She thought, dimly, that that was what she was supposed to say, not him. She suddenly got a chill down her spine. This wasn’t where she should be. She needed to find Weston and get home. She didn’t care about the candy anymore.
She backed away, keeping an eye on the man to make sure he wouldn’t follow, and backed into something else. She turned to find a second clown grinning down at her. He had purple ringed eyes and extra teeth sticking out of his cheeks, sharp and ready to pierce into skin.
“He asked you trick or treat…” he sneered. She screamed, backing away again, onto the porch. She didn’t know where to go.
“Hey! Get away from my sister!” Weston’s voice rang out in the night.
The man turned, allowing her just enough space to run back onto the street, straight into Weston.
“Let’s go. No more scaring tonight. You can have my Halloween Candy and we’ll go home and watch Halloweentown with Mom.”
She held his hand all the way home.
Alexandre Cridlig
He had voyaged to this place under false pretenses; an important point, and one that he was only now coming to understand. It was an abandoned place, or nearly so, he thought. The man who had sent him the invitation had mentioned that it had been kept by a sort of custodian who came up in the winter months to make sure everything was running well: tend to the boilers, ensure that the roof wasn’t leaky, that sort of thing. And it was on that bright chill day of April that he saw how he had been misled. The great hotel, once a retreat for the wealthy on holiday, come to ski with business partners and colleagues, was in a horrible state. Not as a whole, no, but in a few… choice rooms. He would need to draft an angry letter to the man who had sold him the place, argue his point, try to get his money back! He wasn’t going to renovate this place, never mind live there, not after what he had seen within.
Marching stiffly out of the main hall, having just seen a bloodstain of incredible magnitude, he intook a raggedy breath. A person had to have died there! Who? Mountain patrol was all that could have been here, unless the man had lied to him more than he had initially considered. The cold stabbed at his lungs. What else was wrong? He would need to make his case, find enough that couldn’t be swept under the rug or fail to be categorically proven. If he failed to get enough, the courts would just throw his plea out! And what would he do? This was the investment of a lifetime, he had near bankrupted himself for the opportunity. Just to get swindled by the first person to appear to seriously consider his request. Hmph. What else was there? Casting his gaze about, he noted that there was a half-wrecked snowmobile by the hedge maze.
Perhaps there would be something over there? Cautiously following the barely-visible tracks in the snow, he found himself getting closer and closer to the meandering swirl of thornbush. He shivered. There was an air about the place. What? Rounding within was when he noticed. The torso of a man frozen solid, an expression of rage and pain all that was left of life that once beat. Christ. He needed that letter to be sent yesterday. Dashing back to the great study of the manor, shoving away a manuscript left behind by some previous writer, he began to type furiously on the typewriter. The clacking keys bothered him. What a bizarre invention. Finishing the line, he pressed enter and the machine ratcheted. He paused briefly to check that there were no errors, then was paralyzed by the sight.
All work no play makes Jack a dull boy.
What? How…? Must have been a lapse of his mind, odd… He retyped the first sentence, pressed enter once more.
All work no play makes Jack a dull boy.
This time, however, he continued, a feverish enchantment descending. He had to finish, get it sent! And so he typed, on and on…
All work no play makes Jack a dull boy.
All work no play makes Jack a dull boy.
All work no play makes Jack a dull boy.
Karishma Ramnath
Half-Asleep Rambles
The cyan lips release a strangled breath, choking on itself before giving its relief. There was no fighting, there was no holding onto that last moment. However, what occurred was a peaceful and almost consoling sigh- the last hug wrapping around the grieving family.
Jasper awoke with a start, coughing as wet wheezing scratches at his ears. Looking around the room he sees his wife and children dressed in white sobbing. At this moment, they probably realised that his life insurance won’t pay out because he “accidentally” named the wrong beneficiary.
Jasper starts to walk around the room looking at all the members of his family. His wife collapsed against his arm, his two sons whilst crying are off in the corner refusing to look at him, and his only daughter in shock staring at the paperwork outlining his will; which hereby states that all his personal assets will go towards cryogenically freezing his body, all in the name of screwing over them one last time.
Leaving the door and the life I onced lived, I can’t help but whistle a happy tune. There is something to be said about living a long life and raising children, but now it is time for me to rest after working myself to death.
The first order of business is to go to Nevada, the ‘Silver State’.
Jasper, reaching the Lovelock Cave, stretches and lays down staring at the soot on the ceiling thinking of the countless fires lit in here and the lore of the red-headed giants. Yet, the excitement of tomorrow’s heist left a thrum in his hazy chest as his eyes drifted to a soft close.
In the travels to the next location, Jasper catches a ride on some random four-wheeler, listening to some voracious teenagers hoot and holler. These moments might seem dull to others, but Jasper only had the sounds of nagging from his wife so anything is a breath of fresh air.
Getting semi-close to the area, Jasper decides to walk the rest of the way and see the sights. Small critters, snakes, and lizards dash around to a marathon only they are a part of. The hawks and other birds circle around a mother and a pup, whose spirit dances around her. The Joshua trees and other drought resistant plants become more scarce as the wired gates become visible over the horizon.
Jasper, testing out how to fly nearly stumbles and in righting himself sees the warning signs posted. The euphoria at finally being here after all these years has him leaping, and leaping, growing greater distances and finally touching the clouds.
Gently lowering himself to the ground, he straightens his spine, dusts off his shoulders and takes the first confident step towards one of the items on the bucket-list, or is it post kick the bucket-list?
“That’s one small step for ghost, one giant leap for ghostkind.” And in saying so, Jasper takes one step onto the base.
The non-existent blood rushes to his ears as the pounding increases making his mind hazy. The coloured spots covering his vision and argh his ears cannot discern if it is his own voice or that of another, but it does pick up the sentence “Code 2319: Spectral Intruder Detected”. There could’ve been a “detain” or was it a “destroy”.
In the panic, Jasper tried to recreate the steps to fly. Perhaps it was the anxiety that was preventing his flight or possibly part of the mystery surrounding Area 51. The blundering leads Jasper into running into a solid structure; that encloses around him?
Was that a hug?
A gurgle resounds. No, but it was too restrictive to be a hug. This moment did give him the necessary clearity, the panic subsided only to return as he was being placed in a pair of cuffs.
In the final moments of clarity, he is taken to a cell where the wonders of the world are gathered. Jasper, being the final trophy to complete the collection.
