Halloween Stories

I decided to share two Halloween-related stories today.

The first one I wrote specifically for a Halloween-themed micro fiction competition (that I did not win), which was limited to 250 words. I have written several flash fictions under 1,000 words, but 250 was another level of difficulty, and I guess that does show in how sparse I had to be with the details. The second story was another piece I wrote for my writing workshop, and I just wanted to post it here.

Earth Revisited

Amanda pressed her nose to the viewing port. “Are we there yet?”

Her father chuckled. “Just a few more hours.”

Amanda, her parents, and four other families traveled in an interstellar liner using a Kilo-Euler Drive, traveling at 2,718.28 times the speed of light.

“How long will we stay there?”

“One Earth year.”

“A whole year?! But Sarah’s party…” She started to sob.

“One Earth year is only about three months for us.”

“Oh. That’s not too bad.” Amanda left the room and returned to the viewing room a few minutes later dressed like a Zaltory alien. She resembled a pile of mud. Amanda tried to, unsuccessfully, sneak up on her parents.

“Flarg!” she yelled.

Her parents feigned surprise. Amanda giggled.

“Remember what we said about saying ‘flarg?’” her dad said.

She removed her mask. “But it’s what they say!”

“It’s insensitive. Just say ‘Boo.’”

“Why can’t we celebrate Halloween on our planet?”

“Because this is our duty and privilege to return to Earth.”

“They should have the biggest city ever!”

“Not quite. Once we discovered the Euler Drive, humanity left for the stars. We abandoned Earth and let nature proceed without us.”

“Then nobody’s there?”

“Just one administrative outpost on an island. We’ll relieve them of duty and stay one year.”
Their ship broke the atmosphere and landed at the spaceport. Amanda, dressed like a Zaltor, disembarked and approached the door of the outpost. Several people opened the door in greeting.
Amanda rushed forward. “Fl— er, trick or treat!”

A Grave Performance

We asked Steve if he wanted to go camping with us. We used to be a perfect quintet—harmonious to all the ears and the talk of the town every Friday night. But Steve went and caught a cold, and ever since then, there’s been a discord in our Grazioso performances. It was embarrassing. So we did the most sensible thing to do and went on a camping trip.

It was just us five, and we sang around the campfire. Of course, Steve was off-key. It seemed as though he attempted to commune with a wendigo. The subtle screech in his voice resembled the Ad Libertum performance of a novice. We didn’t hang out to listen to America’s-Got-Talent rejects. We were a respectable barbershop quintet—well, a barbershop singing group at least.

Bob heard enough and finished his glass of whiskey. “Let’s do something crazy!”

“Like what?” asked Steve.

Bob went to his truck and pulled out five shovels. “Let’s dig a huge hole.”

Steve was confused but agreeable. We walked a few paces from the fire, but the nearly full moon helped illuminate the glade we camped in. We grunted, had some more drinks, and laughed while we dug at a moderato tempo. Then accelerando as we made progress and could all put our shovels in the earth. Ritardando as it got to be about 3 feet wide and deep and about 6 feet long. Fine—the whole was dug, and we wiped sweat from our brows that glistened with silvery moonlight.

Steve looked around us. “What now?”

We remained tacet—not a peep. Jeff heaved his shovel in the air, animato, and brought it down on Steve’s head. He fell, a forte scream escaping like a banshee. This was the coda, the end, of our quintet. It was for the best anyway. Whose stupid idea was it to make a barbershop quintet in the first place?

We covered the hole and became a quartet. Our regular listeners asked us what happened to Steve, but we told them we didn’t know where he went. He must have started singing solo elsewhere.

Steve’s scream continues to haunt my nights ever since. Pianissimo at first, but it grows with a Crescendo, and I can no longer sleep through the nightmare. It’s assailed my health, and I recently caught a cold. I feel my throat itch, and it’s harder to sing.

“Do Re Mi Fa—” I cough. I can’t even finish a basic exercise. I am sure the other guys will understand. This will pass. And besides, I think a camping trip with the guys will do me good. Bob invited me out tonight, and I am sure the fresh air will do well for my health.

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