|
 |
||||||||||
|
|||||||||||
|
|||||||||||
The Haunting of Marvin Gale
A "Halloween Contest" Honorable Mention
by
Mark Robyn
Marvin listened to the shuffling of feet and the explosion of whispering on the front porch. A loud knock made him jump. A high-pitched voice outside, obviously a little boy, trilled, "Trick or treat!"
For what seemed like the tenth time that night, Marvin set his gun magazine down on his lap and tried to control himself. It was getting harder each time.
He rubbed his baldhead and made fists with his big, meaty hands.
Why couldn't the little rotten creeps figure it out? Lights off, dark porch; it means no one’s home. It means 'no candy here, go away'. Still they kept coming, all night long, like little snot-nosed tormentors, pushing his doorbell and banging his screen door.
How he hated kids. Why did adults have to come from kids? Rotten, greedy, grasping little monsters, they were always whining and begging for something. And if they didn’t get it, they turned nasty. They threw things at your windows, scrawled things on your house or called you dirty names.
He stood up to all of his six foot eight inch height and threw his magazine on the chair.
“Calm down, Marvin”, he said to himself; “you don’t want to go crazy again. The things you did to that kid last Halloween, sick things. You could barely recognize him afterwards. Good thing no one saw; good thing you buried him in the basement and no one ever found out. Next time, you might not be so lucky…”
Marvin closed his eyes and counted to ten, but it didn't help; the fury continued to rage through him like a freight train. He gave up and stormed over to the front door.
It wasn't as if the little brats didn't get enough candy. They already had more of the stuff than they could eat in a month, more than they could carry. But was it enough? Oh no. And oh boy, don't the candy companies love it.
He threw open the door to see an ocean of little masks floating in the darkness. Paper bags and plastic pumpkins were held aloft.
"Trick or Treat!"
Marvin tried to put on a friendly smile, but it came out a sickly grin. He looked at the sidewalk, where the rain was pouring down, pelting it with a thousand tiny explosions. Lightning lit up the sky. Didn’t the little idiots realize that it was a miserable, wet night to be out walking the streets? Were they that hard up for candy?
On the sidewalk, parents huddled under umbrellas in a line up watching.
He turned back to the kids.
"Uh, look, I ain't got nothing. The lights is out, see? That means no candy."
"Ah. C’mon, mister. Don’t be a cheapskate."
They all stood there, looking at him.
“I ain’t got none, see? Nothing. So beat it.”
Bags dropped and little goblins and witches began to turn around.
"See?" A voice floated out of the crowd of ghouls and goblins. "I told you the creep wouldn't have any candy."
"Hey," Marvin said, his ears burning.
"Yeah, what a loser."
Marvin clamped his together. Which one of the little creeps said that?
"Cheapskate! Cheapskate!" A little girl trilled.
"He's the real neighborhood monster," another boy said. "He's probably a child molester."
That was it. Marvin took a step forward, his hands balled into fists. He looked at the sidewalk. The parents were frowning, pointing and talking. About him, he was sure. He shook his fist in the air. "Get out of here! All of ya! And take your rotten kids with ya!"
The parents looked alarmed. They grabbed their children and hurried down the street muttering. As the last boy trundled off, he shot back one last remark. "Hope you get what's coming to ya, loser. Happy Halloween."
Marvin stood, impotent with rage. Through gritted teeth he said, "Halloween is for stupids. Believing in ghosts and goblins and dressing up in stupid costumes is for idiots. And walking around in the pouring rain is for morons! Grow up, you stupid kids!"
From the sidewalk, the kid’s father spoke. "Leave ‘em alone, mister. They're just having a little fun. Would it kill you to get into the spirit a little?"
"I been in the spirit all night, whether I liked it or not," Marvin shot back. "Every time I sit down to read my magazine, another bunch of your greedy scroungers is banging on my door. Ain't there enough people giving out free candy already? What do you want to do, bury your kids in it?"
The man put his arm around his son and started walking away.
Marvin slammed the door. “Rotten kids and their rotten parents.” In his mind, he relived last year’s Halloween night. He grabbed the whiny kid again; he dragged him in the house and began beating him, his mind a red haze. He rehearsed each blow, until a warm glow infused his heart. How that kid had wailed! Until he got quiet, and Marvin knew he’d gone too far. Marvin realized suddenly how much he wanted to do it again.
He finally managed to calm down enough to return to his chair. And for a while, it seemed as if they finally got the message. No one came to his door for an hour, then two. The wind howled past the house like a banshee. A can rattled in the street. A shutter on the front window banged against the house, the sound somehow comforting and scary at the same time.
He heard kids' voices outside, but they passed on by, going down the street. A grim joy spread over him like an electric blanket, but also a wistful desire. Bring me one more kid all alone, a real jerk, so I can get real angry…
Soon the cuckoo clock on the wall was the only sound, its comforting ticks each a mini explosion in the dark room. Each one seemed to add ten pounds to Marvin's eyelids. They began to lower, lower, and then they closed. He began to drift off.
"Happy Halloween, sucker."
Marvin sat up, instantly fully awake. Who was that? The voice was right next to his ear, a sinister husky whisper full of wicked mirth. He looked around, his heart pounding.
His living room, always so comforting before, seemed sinister now in the darkness. Someone was in the room; or had he just dreamt it?
He scanned the semi-darkness. Everything seemed normal. The wood bar in the corner with its dusty mirror, his thrift store dining room table and mismatched chairs, his old console television.
He looked to his left. In the corner hung his favorite painting, of the nude Grecian women on the chaise eating grapes. In its gaudy gold-painted frame, it had been a real find at a local garage sale.
But now, looking into her eyes, it seemed like she was looking back with a strange hunger in her eyes. He looked away, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was like she was watching him.
He gripped the armrests of the chair until his hands hurt. It was all this Halloween nonsense; it was giving him the willies. And it was too quiet. He needed some noise. "C'mon Marvin", he laughed to himself, "don't start breaking up. It’d be a shame to end up in a looney bin being fed pudding and making baskets…"
He stood up. It really was dark. He should have left some lights on. He hurried over to the lamp in the corner and flipped it on. The sudden light was like a life preserver to his sanity. He sighed.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Someone knocked on his door, hard. Marvin jumped and his heart skipped a beat.
"Damn kids." He said aloud. “This time I’m gonna show ‘em good!”
He walked to the door. There was somebody there, a presence on the other side; he could sense it. But it didn’t feel like a kid; it felt dark, evil…
“Just a kid; it's just a damn kid.”
He smiled. Maybe this one would be all alone. It would be his chance to pay them all back…
Through the frosted glass on the right side of the door, he saw a shadow. It was short. It was a kid.
So why did he feel such dread at the idea of opening the door?
"I don't have to answer it," he thought. "I can just go back and sit down. The kid can stand out there all night, for all I care. He can rot and die on my porch until there’s nothing left but a scrawny skeleton in a mask lying there. That’d be a laugh." Marvin tried to do just that, laugh, but it caught in his throat. He turned to move away from the door.
The knock came again. Marvin was sure it must have left a dent in his door.
Fury boiled up in him. That was it! He pulled open the door and peered onto the dark porch.
A lone hooded figure stood there, dressed in a ragged blue cape and filthy blue jeans, looking at the floor. An evil warmth filled Marvin’s heart. The kid was alone, not even a parent watching on the street. This was the kid. This was his chance.
“A fat one, too. Probably from a poor home,” Marvin thought. “Probably has no friends and nobody likes him cause he’s fat.” Marvin felt a pang of sympathy. The kid was just like Marvin when he was young. Painful memories came flooding back of his own torture at the hands of his fellow classmate. But quickly the feeling died a lonely death.
"So he’s a fatty, just like I was", Marvin thought with a chuckle. "He can take it, just like I had to. He’s used to being picked on. That’s nothing compared to what’s gonna happen to him now."
Marvin looked at the street, but it was deserted.
"What do you want, you little fat pig? Ain't you had enough candy already? Oink, oink! Get down on all fours and oink like a piggy, and I'll give you something good."
There was no reply. A thought tickled the back of Marvin’s mind; something was familiar about this kid.
"I got some old corncobs in my trash. I'll get 'em for ya. And some old potato skins. You can eat ‘em right here on the porch, oink, oink." Marvin laughed at his own joke.
“Better yet, why don’t you come inside? We’ll have some fun.” Marvin reached a meaty hand out to grab.
The head turned up. Marvin stopped. His mouth dropped open like it was on a rusty hinge.
He stared at a boy’s skull. Strips of flesh hung down from it, rotting. Things crawled through the eyes, nose and mouth, small, white things…
A strangling noise escaped from his throat and he stepped back.
The mouth of the skull opened and a voice came out, the same one Marvin had heard in his ear earlier that night.
"It’s Halloween, Marvin. Time for trick or treat."
Marvin's body went rigid. He slammed the door then stared at it, fear galloping through him like a dark horse.
“Get a grip, Marvin, it’s just a kid in a costume. Boy, but what a realistic mask!”
“I thought you were gonna grab him,” Marvin thought to himself. “He’s just a kid. Teach him a lesson for making such a sick mask.”
But Marvin didn’t open the door again. The kid was still out there; Marvin could see the shadow. He clicked the deadbolt into place and backed up towards the living room again.
From outside the voice came again.
“No treat? Then it’s time for your trick, Marvin.”
“Go home, you rotten kid!” Marvin yelled back. “You can’t scare me!”
Marvin hurried back into the living room. Damn kid, trying to scare him. He should stop being a wuss and go out there and grab that kid, beat him to a pulp, bury him in his basement like he did the other kid. Why didn’t he do it, right now?
After a drink, he thought. What he desperately needed was a drink. The front porch squeaked. The kid was waiting. Why didn’t it go away?
A loud crack split the night, setting Marvin’s teeth on edge. A loud crash followed. “Just a tree,” Marvin thought. “Hell of a storm out there.”
He went to the bar and found a bottle of whiskey. Grabbing it, he worked frantically at screwing the cap off.
Suddenly Marvin went blind. He had just been in the process of drinking, and he choked on the whiskey. His hand opened by reflex and the bottle fell, smashing on the floor with a loud crash.
“Damn!”
Lighting flashed outside the window, illuminating the room for a split second. It was a power outage, that’s all.
“Marvin…”
Marvin froze, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. It was a real voice, inside the house!
“Who’s there?”
“Remember your grandfather, Marvin? The one that used to beat you when your parents were gone?”
He looked towards the front door. An apparition floated there, gray and translucent. It was an old man with large, sad eyes, a long face and long nose. It was his grandfather! Half the skin of the face was gone and the skull shone through in chalky white. The face looked angry, mean.
The old man’s hands came up, reaching for Marvin.
“Mama’s not here to protect you, Marvin. Time for some fun, just you and me…”
“Get out of here! You’re not real!”
Marvin ran for the kitchen behind him. Matches, that’s what he needed, there were matches in the drawer. Candles; did he have any candles? No, but there was a lantern in the basement.
Marvin careened off the dining room table, barely feeling the pain that shot through his leg. He slammed into the wall then made it through the archway into the kitchen.
There was something on the counter, something bright and cheery. It was a pumpkin!
He never bought pumpkins at Halloween. Carving them was just another marketing gimmick to make people spend money. So where had it come from?
It was carved with a traditional Halloween face, triangle eyes and nose and grinning mouth. It had a lit candle inside which cast an unearthly glow.
“Happy Halloween, Marvin. You like my pumpkin?”
The voice laughed evilly. Marvin’s insides tightened.
As Marvin watched with sick horror, the eyes, nose and mouth of the pumpkin began to transform, to melt into ragged holes. A sound began to emanate from it, a strange, mournful moan.
And then the roaches began crawling out.
Something dropped on him! He screamed, reached up with his hand and picked it up. A big, black slimy roach!
“Aah!” More fell! He could feel them crawling all over him.
“Roaches, roaches everywhere! And slimy maggots. And worms. Halloween’s guests of honor.”
He ran, dusting at his head and shoulders with his hands. He felt them crawling all over him, burrowing down under his shirt. His mind screamed. He rubbed his body, trying to find them all. He freaked out and went into hyper-speed, tearing his shirt off and yelling.
Finally it seemed like he’d gotten them all off, though his back still felt their slimy presence. He ran, opened a drawer and began fumbling for the matches.
He felt something slimy. He moaned. Then he found the matches. He ran for the hallway leading to the basement.
“Hey Marvin!”
Lightning flashed again. In the hallway by the front door, a body hung in a noose.
“Say hello to your mother, Marvin. Your father drove her insane remember? She misses you, Marvin. She can’t wait to see you again.”
The lightning flash ended. In the darkness, he could still see the silhouette of the body against the window.
“Marvin! I’m coming!” His grandfather was in the kitchen!
Marvin didn’t have time to light the matches. He fumbled through the dark hallway looking for the door to the basement, terror constricting his throat. His hand tingled, wondering what he would feel next…
He found the doorknob; it was cold in his fingers. He turned it with all his might. The door popped open and stopped, hitting his foot.
“He’s over here, Grandpa!”
Marvin moved his foot and hurried through the doorway. He pulled the door shut behind him and locked it.
“Damn Halloween! I wished it had never been invented! It’s cause of Halloween that I killed that kid! He came to my door and started the whole thing!”
Marvin pulled a match off the book, struck it, but its shaft bent. He cursed and grabbed another one.
Something knocked at the door. Marvin felt like puking. He struck the match. A small pocket of light sprang forth.
He peered down the stairs into the basement. Gingerly, he walked down hoping there were no more surprises.
“This ain’t real, Marvin, it just ain’t real. It’s only Halloween. Tomorrow, it will all go away. Oh, how long can it take?”
He made it to the floor. He looked around. Around him in the meager light, he saw sacks of cement, shelves full of gardening supplies, shovels and trash. Everything looked normal.
The match went out. Hastily he grabbed for another one.
Suddenly the room lit up. The lone bulb hanging in the middle of the basement had come to life. The power was back on. Marvin sighed with relief so strong that legs buckled. It was all going to be all right.
He looked around the room.
His father stood there, his body burned, just like it was when Marvin had buried him last year after the fire in the garage. Next to him was Mrs. Haskins, his first grade teacher. She looked just as mean as always, though her left eye was gone and her arm was crawling with worms.
All around him stood people from his past, all dead, all small horrors from his childhood, and all rotten and decaying.
And in front, the little boy with the grinning skull stood. Marvin looked at the boy’s clothes and it finally dawned on him. They were the ones the boy he’d killed had been wearing…
He heard the roaches crawling across the floor. He saw them coming towards him.
“Happy Halloween, Marvin. It’s time for your trick.”
The little boy reached up and switched out the light.
TO COMMENT ON THIS STORY CLICK HERE
© Robyn, 2006
Mark Robyn lives in Fircrest Washington with his wife Laura and two children Isaiah and Benjamin. He presently (that is until his big break in writing) works for the Navy as a civilian work inspector. He has been writing for about five years now and has had some minor successes, including inclusion in the November/December '06 issue of Chimera World 4 for his story, "Lenny", and the September '06 issue of the Writer's Post Journal for, "Toby and the Egg".