Everybody Likes Yikes

It's Good to be Afraid-- 01, November

2011-11-01T00:13:00.000-04:00

01,November- Day of the Dead

Theboy stepped in line with the procession. A trail of spirits woundthrough miles of town streets. They were going somewhere, he knew,moving on. He was following some ancient instinct, one that wentbeyond survival.

Hisfather had gone on ahead. He had been unable to resist the urge andformed up with other spirits before William could even reach thequeue. He couldn't see his father now, but he didn't worry. All hecould think about was taking step after step as they moved towardtheir inevitable destination. A drowsiness came over him, and heknew that he and the world were drifting away from one another.

Afterwhat felt like hours of walking, he found that he was coming to thehead of the procession. Up ahead was a strange sound, stone onmetal, followed by a swoosh. Slow, long grinding noises, then alwaysthat whoosh. Every time the whoosh sounded, the procession movedforward.

Afterthe pattern repeated a dozen or so times, William could see theirdestination: A figure, hooded, with a skeletal face. Its body wascloaked in black. It held a long scythe. Even in his drowsy stupor,William knew who this figure was.

Theywere next to the river, and there waiting with a small raft wasCharon, the ferryman.

Death was sharpening his scythe with a grindstone. As each spirit steppedup, the grim reaper made a mighty slash with his scythe across itsmidsection. Then the spirit would crumble like a shed snake skin. After that, Death would take the deflated spirit in his bony hand andtoss it onto a growing pile aboard Charon's ferry.

Williamwas horrified, but his feet wouldn't stop, and the procession movedever on.

Someoneoutside of the line drew up next to William. “How do ye like medeal now?”

“Jack,”William said sleepily. “You killed my dad, Jack.”

“Iheld up my end o' the bargain,” Stingy Jack reminded him. “ButI'll leave it up to ye if ye want to hold up yours. Take a walk withme, or join ye brain-dead friends here. No hard feelings.”

Anotherof the spirits went down under Death's scythe and was deposited onthe ferry.

“It'sso scary, Jack.”

“It'snot your only option.”

Thegrinding of the stone. Another ghost slashed across the chest. Charon's raft bobbed under the weight of its cargo.

Williamtook Jack's hand and left his place in line.

Acrosstown, the scarecrow was paying a visit to an old acquaintance. Themagic of the sabbath was leaving his body. This was already thelongest he had managed to stay conscious beyond the hours ofHalloween. His left leg had reverted to straw and old rotting pants. The straw was stiff enough to support him, but he had to drag theleg behind.

Whenhe came to the witch's abode, he found her packing things up.

“Goingsomewhere?” he asked.

“Oh, scarecrow. You're still around, are you? It's time for me to headout of town. There's riper pickings to be had.”

“Ripeindeed,” said the scarecrow. “Ripe like a deal you made with OldScratch.”

“So,the boy really was your friend, then, was he?”

“Stillis,” the scarecrow said. “Your deal was never delivered on. I've come to make sure it never will be.”

“How'sthat now?” the old woman was growing visibly nervous. Thescarecrow liked it.

“AsI understand it, Scratch gave you two options. Since one is no longeravailable, I wanted to see to it you make good on the other.”

“Now,just--”

Thescarecrow slipped the sickle behind her neck, touching the apex ofthe curve to her spine. Before she could raise the strength tofight, the scarecrow placed his right hand, still missing a portionof the little finger, against her face, then yanked the curved bladetoward himself. Past the bone, there was very little resistance. Her head hit the ground heavily. Her wide eyes stared up at thescarecrow, blinking rapidly.

“Welldone, young friend,” said Old Scratch. He held a palm gingerly tothe back of his still-healing cranium. He had been waiting in theshade of the old pine tree William had cowered under so many nightsago.

“Justfulfilling a duty,” the scarecrow told him. “You're no friend ofmine. I'll be seeing my real friend next Halloween.”

Hetossed the sickle into the brush, then dragged his softening leg downthe street. Straw was beginning to fall out of his torso now,slipping out between the buttons of his shirt, falling out in clumpsfrom his sleeves. One glove dropped to the ground, then the other. At last, he was a pile of clothing in the dirt. A cold November windstirred and carried some of the loose straw into the sky.

Shakinghis head at the scarecrow's sentimentality, Old Scratch strode to theWitch's body. He picked her head up by the hair and held it beforehis face. She blinked her eyes at him fearfully. Her mouth gaped. Without lungs, she had no ability to scream.

Scratchgrinned at her. “Welcome ta Hell!”

And that's Halloween 2011. I hope those of you who survived had a great time! Comments are welcome. Of course, horror never dies, so there's more content coming up soon!

It's Good to be Afraid-- 31, October-- Halloween night

2011-10-31T01:03:00.001-04:00

31,October–Halloween Night

Farbelow, in the nave of the church, Jack was putting into place thefinal portion of his plan. He could only hope that the wee one'sfather was holding up to his old nemesis. He just needed to stallthe old devil for a little while.

Usinga pair of tongs, Jack removed the burning coal from his lantern andset it down at the base of the alter. In the open air, the cinderbecame white hot, and the wooden alter was blazing in mere moments.

Hereplaced the cinder back into the smiling pumpkin, then quickly fledthe burning building.

Above,the church bell rang loudly as Michael's head was smashed against it. His bleeding eye was pinned by the pitchfork, and Scratch was usingthe tool to drive his head against the heavy metal again and again.

“Youthink those are wedding bells?” Scratch asked loudly over theringing peals. “That's your death knell. Scratch has come, andthe only thing you get for being in his way is Misery!” he smashedMichael's head against the bell once more, “And pain!” Smoke wasbeginning to pour up from below.

Michaelslipped off the pitchfork at last and feel to the floor, bloodpouring down the right side of his face. He could hear Williamcrying. The boy had started with a horrified wail when the violencebegan and hadn't stopped since.

Scratchbegan to step over the man's motionless body, but Michael seized theold creature by the hoof and held on tightly. The floor below himhad become hot, and the gasses from the fire were burning hisnostrils, but his grip was iron.

Roaringin frustration, Scratch reared back and drove his hoof down on theman's midsection. “You idiot! I--” and then the floor beneaththem was gone. The boards gave way in a huge crack, and the twobodies tumbled into the blaze below. The church bell gave out onefinal ring, then followed them down. The sound of its clamor on theway down drowned out the boy's horrified call for his father.

Jackwatched the blaze from outside. In the smokey skies above thechurch, the witches scattered like a flock of frightened birds. Thescarecrow had joined him only moments before the bell tower gave way.

“Whathave you done?” The scarecrow asked his old partner.

Jackdidn't bother to answer. He cupped his hands to his mouth andshouted, “WILLIAM! Come down! Come down to us!”

Thenthe boy was there. He looked utterly crushed. Jack had so verylittle time to explain. “Don't think about it yet,” he said tothe boy. “You're not safe yet. Nobody's safe--”

Thesound of rending wood was deafening. The old church's ruined roofsplit and fell away. A figure emerged. It was striding straight forthe three of them. The scarecrow started to move forward, but Jackput a hand on his chest. “It's fine,” he said.

“Youknow fire means nothing to me,” Old Scratch said. “What did youfools hope to--”

Jackpointed behind him. Another figure had appeared, forming from thesmoke of the fire. It was misty, ghostly white, but with a darknessdrifting within it. It was large, maybe 10 feet tall. Its legs werenearly shapeless, and yet somehow it seemed to be stridingpurposefully. As the smoke cleared away, the face of MichaelSamuelson become recognizable.

“Anotherdistraction?” asked Scratch.

“He'sa ghost?” William said. “A ghost like me?”

“Notlike you,” the scarecrow answered in awe. “Something different. His spirit merged with the intense emotion he died with. He's aspirit of vengeance. One of the rarest. Your father has become awraith.”

“Iknew your ol' da had it in him, boy,” Jack said. “A monsterkiller to the core. Old Scratch never could grasp the concept ofhuman caring.”

OldScratch had turned by now to face this new foe. He held hispitchfork across his chest. It was a matter of one thrust, and hewould send this violent thing to the abyss with the others. Then hecould finally claim his Halloween prize.

Thewraith advanced on him, and Scratch drew his weapon back. Michaelstopped just in front of him and spread its hands to either side. Itwas a gesture recognizable all the world over: “What are youwaiting for?”

Scratchdidn't wait a moment longer and shoved his weapon forward one finaltime. The wraith's shape tore itself apart, and mist could brieflybe seen rocketing around either side of the old demon. Before it hadtime to react, Michael had reformed himself behind Scratch. Hegrabbed one of the devil's horns in each hand and pulled the oldman's head back to look upward into his eyes.

“Youdon't get to hurt anyone else today,” Michael told the demon, thenyanked the horns apart. Old Scratch's skull split midline betweenthe two points, spilling blood, soot and a nightmarish cocktail ofsteaming juices onto the ground as he screamed in fury and, maybe,even a little fear.

Michaellet the grotesque corpse drop to the ground, then turned to face hisson and his two odd friends.

Williamhonestly felt fear of his father's new form, and the rage it wascomposed of, but he had already withstood so much fear this fall. Hedidn't dare back away now. The wraith approached him and dropped toits knees. Even still, William had to look up to meet the spirit'sgaze.

Thenhe was grabbed up in its embrace. “I love you, boy,” said thewraith, and William could feel it. He could feel his father's touch. He could feel the warmth of this lifeless creature radiatingthroughout him.

Theboy returned the hug.

“Humancaring, Jack?” the scarecrow asked sardonically. “Really now, Inever imagined you knew of such a concept.”

“Ibeen around a long time,” Jack said. “I seen a lot of strangethings.”

Stay tuned, folks. The epilogue comes tomorrow, on the day of the dead!

It's Good to be Afraid-- 31, October-- Evening

2011-10-31T00:53:00.003-04:00

31,October–Evening

Williamwalked slowly through the streets of his home town. The terribleevents of the night had calmed down somewhat, as some of thecreatures feared the sunlight, which was ample this cold autumn day. Others were still out and terrorizing the local populace. Thecreatures from the cemetery were still out and about, clawing atpeople's houses, pounding on their doors, overturning cars.

Williamhad expected zombies, but these were something different. They werevicious, agile, able to leap huge distances. They had superhumanstrength, and he had seen some levitate in place, drooling blood allthe while. They were more like demons than anything else.

“William!I say!”

Itwas the scarecrow. He appeared bounding around a corner. Hetrampled dead leaves underfoot as he cross the street toward hisfriend.

“Thisisn't like I thought it would be,” William told him.

“Normyself,” the scarecrow said. “Scratch has unleashed someterrible magic on this town. These monsters should be nothing morethan shambling corpses, but they've been possessed by the demoniccompanions of that old creature. The fearful things even make menervous.”

“How'syour plan coming?” William asked him.

Thescarecrow had no words.

“Cometo the church later. Maybe Jack's plan will work after all.”

“William.. .”

“Idon't have any choice, scarecrow. Scratch is going to get me.”

“I'mgoing to keep trying, but I promise I'll see you there. Be careful,dear friend!” With that, the scarecrow was off once again. William continued on toward the old church. He reached the oldchurch before sunset. Inside, he walked through the nave and came toa staircase. At the top of the stairs were a ladder, which lead upto the belfry. He would have to wait here for whatever Jack hadplanned.

Thesun went down, and hours passed. He heard horrible sounds comingfrom all around. Things howled in the night. Far below, he saw oneof the ghouls being chased by some huge loping creature. They haddisappeared into darkness, then there was a loud cry and the lopingthing returned with half a ghoul dangling from its jaws.

Ahuge spider had climbed the bell tower while William huddlednervously below the bell. It had begun encasing the entire thing inwebbing, when, impossibly, something even bigger grabbed the spiderup and carried it off into the sky. Whatever had grabbed it wasaccompanied by a horde of flying witches on broomsticks, cackling.

“Allmanner of things. . .” it was Jack, at last. “Have ye ever seenanything like it?”

“Haveyou?” asked William.

“It'srare ye see a Halloween like this one. All manner of beast are outthere. On the way here I seen spirits, thousands of them, rising upfrom the ground like mist after the rain on a hot day. They're outthere now, spooks, darting every which way. I seen your friend too--Old Scratch-- He's out there, pluckin 'em out of the air with hispitchfork. He's on his way here, now. He's only got a few morehours.”

“Sowhat are you going to do to protect me, exactly?”

“Itain't up to me any more.”

“What!”

“Itold ye last night, I dispatched a letter. Yer protector had betterbe on his way. It's out of me hands now. We can only wait and see ifhe shows.”

“Welldid he answer you? Do you know if he's coming?”

“Onlyone coming for sure is Old Scratch.”

Thethere was a sound in the abandoned church below. The doors hadbanged open. Now someone was making their way across the churchfloor. The sound echoed up the bell tower.

“I'llbe outside,” Jack said, then abruptly disappeared down the ladderinto the bowels of the church.

Hemade no sound as he left, but another could be heard momentarily--that of footsteps ascending the staircase. William pressed his backto the windowed wall. Part of him wanted to leap out to freedom, butseveral of the witches were still circling the belfry on theirbrooms. Despite already being dead, the old women scared him almostas much as Scratch.

Hestood in place instead and watched as 2 hands appeared on the toprung of the ladder. They groped inward toward the wooden floor, andthen a familiar face appeared.

“Dad!”William shouted.

Michaelstared at his son in shock. “Will, are you okay?” He quicklyclambered up the rest of the ladder and dashed toward William.

Theboy backed out of his reach. It was such an impossible question hehad just been asked. “Dad, I'm dead.”

Michaeltried to smile, but his eyes expressed that he hadn't been hoping forthe best. “That's crazy. You're right in front of me.”

“It'sHalloween, dad. You can only see ghosts like me on Halloween. I'mdead. . . I've been dead for a while now. I've been dead sinceeveryone was looking for me. I'm sorry I caused trouble. I. . .”he had no idea how to communicate the thousands of things he neededto tell his father.

“It'sokay, William, you don't have to—” His father leaned in for ahug, but his arms came away with empty air and goosebumps. Hisfearful expression changed to one of shock.

“Itold you, dad.”

Michaelslumped to the floor in front of his son. “I'm sorry. . . I'msorry I couldn't-- I was supposed to protect you. I was neverthere.”

“Ineed you to protect me now, dad.”

“What?It's too late.”

“Dad! I don't have time to explain but. . . this guy, well he's not a guy,but, he's like a demon, or the devil or some kind of thing. He's OldScratch. He's coming to get me.”

“What?”

“He'sgot a pitchfork, and there's this place called the abyss, but, like,I mean it's Hell or something, and he says he wants to get me andburn me there forever. You have to find a way to stop him.”

“Yougotta be lucky to do that,” said a voice from the shadows, “Andno one's that lucky.” The shape of Old Scratch appeared in therear of the belfry. “You're my special project, little child. Itold that old witch, either I could take her or she could deliver meup something special. I never thought she could do it. She's ahas-been, an ancient relic from the early days of this great nation,but wouldn't you know she cooked up something special.”

Michaelgot to his feet and stood between the boy and the demon.

“Youwere mine before your body cooled, boy,” Old Scratch said. “Getthis ugly human out of my way before I take the both of you.”

Hetouched his pitchfork to the base of Michael's sternum and pressedever so lightly. The points penetrated his shirt, but would go nofurther.

“Goahead and try,” Michael warned the devil.

Scratchgrimaced with effort, but the pitchfork wouldn't progress. “I seeyou haven't partaken of the witch's brew, but I have other ways todeal with you. Step aside before I start.” Scratch trailed thepoints of the pitchfork up Michael's body until the center tinerested just below his right eye. “Might be I can't kill you, but Ican cause pain. Pain's always free.”

“You'rejust a ghost story, old man. I'm not afrai--” Michael suddenlyscreamed as the pitchfork pierced his eye.

It's Good to be Afraid-- 31, October, Early Morning

2011-10-31T00:42:00.002-04:00

31,October–EarlyMorning

Michaelshoved Dawn's gurney ahead of him as the horde of vampires chasedbehind, tearing through the curtains of the intensive care unit.

Thefirst of them had arrived hours before. One by one, CountessBorsala's former victims had come into the hospital via variousentryways. The staff had actually put up a valiant fight for thebetter part of the night, but each creature had the strength of 10men and could change form at will. The hospital staff possessednothing that could kill the creatures, and as time wore on, a war ofattrition was won by the vampires.

Michael'sfeet were slipping in pools of blood now as he tried to keep thegurney from crashing against the hospital walls. Three people werein the elevator ahead of him. Two were trying to restrain the onewho was attempting to hold the doors for Michael. Both of them wereshouting perfectly legitimate arguments to the third that holding thedoors was suicide.

Beforethe argument could be won, Michael barreled through them with thegurney, and the doors slid closed behind them. Only moments later,the vampires could be heard beating on them. One of them screamed infrustration.

Theelevator started to descend, but Michael slammed on the stop button.

“Whatare you doing?” asked one of the survivors.

“We'resafe in here,” Michael told them. “Something I noticed aboutthese things earlier-- they seem to have problems with thresholds.”

“Areyou nuts? They came into the hospital just fine.”

“Thehospital's open to everyone, but I spent an hour trapped in a breakroom with a doctor. Those things stood outside and stared at us, butthey couldn't get in. The door wouldn't even shut properly.”

“Soyou think they can't come in here, either?”

“Notif we don't let them. We just need to wait it out until morning.”

“Heyman,” said one of the others. “We just got into this town lastnight. What in the hell is going on here?”

“HappyHalloween, I guess.” Michael took a letter from his jacket pocketand looked at it once more. On it were a time and place-- the oldchurch by the cemetery, Halloween night. Above them this were 2words: “Your son.”

It's Good to be Afraid-- 31, October, Night

2011-10-31T00:39:00.001-04:00

31,October–Night

Thepriest savored the last spoonful of the fantastic stew he'd gotten atthe fall festival. There seemed to be a sweet hint of pork to theentire thing, although he didn't remember that being mentioned as aningredient. Nevertheless, it matched the the stew's saltinessperfectly and made the most savory meal.

Itwas a late night dinner, but he had been having trouble sleeping. Hefeared waking up again with indigestion and decided to spend a littletime reading while his stomach settled. As he settled into hisrecliner, the front door suddenly burst inward.

Afigure strode in, his feet clomping on the hardwood floors. He wasnothing but a black shadow. His head was half-haloed by the red gashof the midnight moon in the sky.

“Oldpriest,” Scratch said. “I've waited to make you the first tobleed, just so I could savor the act. I hope you've made your peacewith God, because it's the last word you'll ever share with him.”

Thepriest shoved himself away from the chair as he got to his feet. Heraised a crucifix and pointed it squarely at the devil before him. “Foul creature!” He called. “Be gone from this place!”

“Foul,indeed,” Scratch replied. “That is a most foul smell.”

Thedevil was right. The priest had difficulty not recoiling from thestench pouring out of the crucifix. The solid metal had gone soft inhis hand and began to fold in on itself. The former holy symbolsmelled of days-old rotten pork.

“Yourtool reflects the aberration you have committed against mankind,”Scratch told him. “You have no power over me.”

Thepriest dropped the rotting mass of meat to the floor, where it burstopen, spilling maggots across his rug. He backed away from the devilbefore him, who tromped forward with the pitchfork held at waistlevel.

OldScratch stabbed outward and impaled the man through the stomach. Blood ran down the pitchfork's tines and dripped to the floor. Somewhere far away, perceptible only to Scratch, there was a deepearthquake, and a fissure split open.

“Thegates to the abyss are thrown wide,” Scratch told the priest. “Mychildren will be free to inhabit the bodies of the dead. Yourabhorrent course of action made this come to pass. Were I a gratefulperson, I would say thank you.” Instead, he twisted the pitchforkcruelly, and the old priest died.

Faraway, in the cemetery, the earth shifted. The ghouls who had beendigging for the tasty corpse inside skittered backwards and hooted ateach other in fear. One of the braver ones, slavering, a long strandof saliva hanging from his gaping mouth, pushed forward and reachedinto the open grave.

Theothers turned and fled at the sounds of terror it made as it was tornapart by the frenzied creature inside.

It's Good to be Afraid-- 30, October

2011-10-30T00:08:00.002-04:00

30,October–Night

CountessAmbrus Borsala felt her senses returning. There was a rush of paincoming from her chest. She tried to gasp, but found herself chokingon blood. Her heart had resumed beating, but her left lung was stillcollapsed. There was a sharp twinge of pain as the point of thestake pulled back through her breast.

Ona second attempt, she finally pulled in a staggering, wet breath. “Mr. Uzor,” she said. “Thank you.” Then she opened her eyes. “Oh no,” she said. “Not you.”

Jacksmiled his now gap-toothed smile. “Happy to help,” he responded. “But it does look like you owe me one.”

“Youcould have left me.”

“I'dnever do a thing like that It's already been a whole day ye beenpinned there. I couldn't leave ye forever. Next time I have achance, I'll come by your castle, and we can settle up.”

“Awhole day? Where is Mr. Uzor?”

“Thepolice took him,” William said. “They started trying to takeyour body down, and he wouldn't let them. There was a fight, andthen they took him away in handcuffs. Then things got really nutsout there. Some kind of call came in, and they all went running totheir cars. They just had the place sealed up with tape since then.”

Thecountess still appeared to be trying to catch her breath.

“I'msorry, Ms. Borsala,” William told her. “I didn't want anythingbad to happen. I didn't want you to get hurt, but I didn't want youto hurt my dad, either.”

“Thatwas your father? He is very strong.”

“There'ssomething about this Samuels family,” Jack interjected. “Thatman's a born monster killer if ever I seen on”

Ignoringhim, William asked., “Are you really okay, Ms. Borsala?”

“Iwill be. Tonight I will rest, and tomorrow night, I will return tomy homeland. I have done my work here. My children will free Mr.Uzor and carry out the Harvest, according to their nature.”

“Yourchildren? Do you mean the 13. . .”

“Thirteenvampires set loose on the city streets. Tomorrow night they willdine on those who are foolish enough to be out of doors. That policecall you heard must have been their doing last night. Upon my death,they awoke and set to sewing terror. Thanks to the actions of thatwoman. . . and your father, the Harvest has started early.”

Thefront door banged open, and the scarecrow suddenly came bounding in.“Goodness!” he said, looking at the chaos around him.

“Wherewere ye?” asked Jack.

“Iwas overseeing things at the graveyard. The ghouls' work is comingalong nicely. However, I see things have gone to chaos without mypresence.”

“It'sthanks to the wee boy's da.”

Williamlooked ashamed.

“It'salright,” Jack comforted. “A monster killer's just what we neednow, isn't it, wee lad?”

Theboy didn't answer.

“Haveye had any time to think about me deal?”

“Holdon now, what deal is this?” the scarecrow asked.

“Ican offer the boy protection from Old Scratch,” replied Jack. “I've made him a fair deal in exchange.”

“Ican protect you, William,” the scarecrow said. “Don't make anyhasty choices.”

“Howcan you protect me?” William asked.

“I'llthink of a plan.”

“Tellme now! I don't have much time. I saw him last night. He took thespirit of that asylum guy away.”

“Themadman?” the scarecrow mused. “It seems that course of actionhas been doomed from the start.”

“Perhapsif I had put better people in charge of it,” Borsala suggested.

“Perhaps,indeed,” the scarecrow replied. “Regardless, our duty now is toprotect young William.”

“Ioffer no protection!” the countess protested. “Tomorrow night Ileave this land. Jack, come to my castle when you have time. I willrepay you so that my debt will be settled, but do not expect a longstay. Hospitality has not rewarded me lately.” Then she was gone,disappearing down into the cellar where her coffin awaited.

“Seeya then, Amy,” Jack chuckled.

“So,”said the scarecrow, “We need a plan for this Scratch situation.”

“I'vestarted work already,” Jack said. “Me plan is already movingahead.”

“What?”asked William. “I never agreed yet!”

“Iknew ye'd have to eventually, boy. Ye don't want to spend eternityin that black hole.” Then he knelt down and winked at the boy,“'Sides, I weren't going to let that old man get his hands on yeeither way. I done some research on ye and yer family, especiallyafter I saw how yer ol' da handled himself last night. A letter hasbeen dispatched.”

“Whatdo I need to do?” William asked.

“Allye have to do is wait at the church by the cemetery. Wait in thebell tower. Old Jack's taken care of everything.”

Thescarecrow turned and strode from the room, away from theconversation. He banged through the front doors once more on his wayout.

“Whereare you going?” William called out.

“Towork out a plan that will work after Jack's fails,” the scarecrowreplied. “You can count on me, William.”

Williamtried not to think about the fact that his fate lay in the hands oftwo horrendous murderers.

It's Good to be Afraid-- 29, October

2011-10-29T00:09:00.000-04:00

29,October–Night

Williamran. Through twisting corridors of the land of the dead, he chargedtirelessly now that he no longer had muscles that needed to be fed. The madman was behind him, unbelievably. If only he knew how to callDullahan.

Yesterday,the dead man's spirit had erupted from his body, tearing itself freelike an enraged demon. It was unbound now. Just as the madman hadalways wished, he was now faceless.

Ithadn't come for William immediately. He spent a long time watchinghis daughter, first. Eventually it either came to terms with thefact that she was in the past, or it just finally felt comfortablewith waiting. Then the stalking had begun. William was miles away,but he felt its malicious intent from across town. Over the courseof the day into the evening it closed the distance, and now it was onhis heels.

Williamflew past the haunted graveyard and took a left. He was in the homestretch for Countess Borsala's now, but someone was in his pathahead. William couldn't afford to slow, but as he drew nearer itbecame clear that the person was a creature of some kind. His kneeswere folded back like a goat's. His small horns and tiny beard weremade him think of the animal as well.

Inhis right hand was a pitchfork.

Williamskidded to a halt in front of him. “Oh, no,” he said.

“Why,what an innocent looking young ghost,” said Old Scratch.

“You!”The boy responded.

Themad spirit was gaining from behind. It drew Scratch's attention. “You!” the old man said.

Eventhis crazed creature was stopped by Old Scratch's appearance.

“Sucha perfect specimen for the Abyss,” Scratch said. “And yet, youdo such good work on Earth. I may have to release from time totime.”

BeforeWilliam could react, Scratch lunged with the pitchfork and plungedthe tines into the madman's torso. Despite the apparent size of themadman, he was raised into the air on the old tool. Scratch admiredhis capture for a moment, then jerked the pitchfork forward onceagain, and the madman was gone from sight.

Williamresumed running. He didn't want to hear another word Scratch had tosay. He felt completely surrounded by horror. If only it had been adream all those nights ago when he woke up at home. Maybe itwouldn't have even been so bad to be trapped on the farm after all. There was death and chaos all around him, and nowhere safe to go.

Thisbecame even more apparent as he reached Countess Borsala's. Astrange car was pulled up onto the lawn, and shouting was coming frominside.

Hehad no choice but to go inside.

CountessBorsala was within. She was standing on the balcony with her armscrossed. Below her was an intruder. She had a gun and it waspointed at the countess. She held it in a right-handed shooter'sstance, and in her left, stabilizing, hand was a wooden stake.

“Igot your man,” the woman was saying. Her voice was familiar toWilliam.

“Ido not have a man,” Borsala responded. “I find romanticrelationships tiring. If you're speaking of my servant, Mr. Uzor, Iask that you leave him be. He has committed no crimes that you couldknow of.”

“Youknow damn well who I mean. Matthew Navarro. Your tool. I knowyou're behind this all. Him, your wolf man, and the 13 bodies wehave down in the county morgue. You think just because you're deadyou don't leave fingerprints?”

“Wedidn't used to have to worry about such things. Still, you aremistaken. None are employed by me, save for Mr. Uzor.”

“Whatever,I'm here to stop you.”

“Betterthan you have failed.”

Williamcrept along the wall to where he had a good view of both of them. Herecognized the woman now. She was out of uniform, but she wasclearly the police officer that had shot the madman. Was that whoshe was calling Matthew? It looked like she had a hit list, and shewas moving through all of the scarecrow's other friends. Williamwondered if she knew how to stop Jack.

Asecond vehicle could be heard outside. This one sounded like atruck.

“Dawn!”a man yelled from outside.

“Keepyour distance!” she yelled, never taking her eyes off the countess.

Aman rushed in through the door wearing the soft blue of an EMT. William couldn't believe it.

“Dawn,wait, I went to check, like you said.”

“Michael,I have her.”

“They'regone, Dawn. I stopped by the morgue. They're--”

“Mine!”Countess Borsala responded. “That you were right about, young one. They have all been made my children, and they have risen to feed onyour heartless town.”

Dawnfired once, but the countess was gone before her eyes. A bat circledthe ceiling once, then dive bombed toward the two invaders. Michaeldodged out of the way and hit the floor, then the countess appearedbehind Dawn.

“Youthink you would be my destroyer?” She had Dawn by the shoulders,yanking her back against her chest. “Then you know nothing of thecreatures of the night!” Her fangs tore into Dawn's neck, and thepolice woman screamed in pain.

Thebite wasn't meant to feed, but rather to kill, and the wounding wasover in a moment. The countess discarded the dying body to the flooras blood gushed from the torn artery in her neck. Then she movedover to Michael and began to reach down.

Williamcouldn't wait any more to pick a side. As the scarecrow had saidabout his body, family was also a bond created at birth. As thevampire bent over his estranged father, William screamed out, “NOOO!”

Ofcourse, Michael could hear nothing from this dead creature which hehad been searching for tirelessly since that night at the asylum. However, the sound struck Countess Borsala full on, and she wasdistracted momentarily by his cry of anguish. Michael grabbed thestake from Dawn's limp hand and shoved it upward into Borsala'schest. It was a difficult angle, and for a moment he could feel thetip grinding against rib bone. Then he put his shoulder into it, andthe thin round wood found a gap and slid home to her heart.

Borsalastumbled backward, screaming, blood running down from the corners ofher mouth. Her back slammed against the closed doors to the diningroom. The stake had not passed fully through her heart, and with theremaining blood being pumped to her limbs, the countess was weaklytrying to pull it out.

Michaelknew that in only moments she might succeed, and he would neverescape her after this transgression. He still had the pistol he'dtaken during the chaos at the asylum. He had made a perfect shot oninstinct that night. Adrenalin, fear and shock fed his reactiontime, but made his aim unsteady. He pulled the gun from the back ofhis pants and didn't bother to look down the sites. His quiveringhand would make that pointless. He trusted that he would make theshot, solely because it had to be done.

Hepulled the trigger, and the bullet struck the base of the stake justnorth of center. The wood split half way to Borsala's chest, but thestake held together, plunging through her back and nailing her to thedining room door. The vampire's hands fell away from it, and hereyes closed.

Michaeldropped to Dawn's side. He didn't have time to put on a pair ofgloves. Quickly, he reached into her open wound with his right handand pinched the gushing artery shut. Her eyelids fluttered. Hedoubted she could be at all conscious, but just in case, he let herknow, “We got it done, Dawn.”

Hecouldn't move her and risk taking his hand off the wound site. Withhis left hand, he fished out his cell phone out of his pocket anddialed 911.

It's Good to be Afraid-- 28, October

2011-10-28T00:06:00.000-04:00

28,October–Night

Aday's worth of tracking, and now it was 3 a.m. The boy had followedpath after path through the land of the dead like a bloodhound. Hewas surprised to find that, even without a body, he could still feelexhaustion. Looking for the released madman was consuming all of hisenergy.

Violentcrimes had a feeling-- a scent given off that could be perceivedhere. William had seen a dozen horror shows as he followed thetwisted path of human's violence toward one another. As he continuedon, the scent became more acute, and he knew he was in the wake ofthe madman.

Thathad lead him here: 1369, a house on Cunningham Street. The boywatched from the center of the driveway. He had no reason to hide. People came and went, mostly young adults. It seemed they werehaving a party. They were most likely college kids celebrating aThursday night.

Thenhe saw him-- the madman was watching the house as well. He wasstanding perfectly still in the shade of a tree, staring straightahead, perfectly immobile. He was tall, at least 6 feet, and wellmuscled. The boy had no idea what he could do to stop him as ahuman, let alone as an immaterial ghost.

Hewas distracted by the sound of the garage door trundling upward. Hehad time to see two large boys lead a girl bundled in a blanket intoa van.

Themadman also was watching this activity, and as soon as the vanstarted and left the driveway, he began to follow on foot. Williamtook this as a sign of his intent. Taking a couple steps, the boymanaged to enter the van as it passed by.

Thegirl in the blanket was laying across the back seat. The driver andfront passenger were talking to her.

“It'snot that we don't believe you, Bren. We know he's after you. Youknow the police can protect you better than anyone!”

“Youdon't understand,” the girl said. She sounded resigned. “Nobodyunderstands.” Her eyes blinked, but she had a 1,000-yard stare. She looked like she was gazing into the abyss. “He's going to killyou now. If you take me to the police, he'll kill the police. Theycan't stop him. You can't stop him. No one can--”

“STOP!”the passenger screamed.

Thevan suddenly went sliding sideways, skidding across the road. Thepassenger wheels struck the raised sidewalk, and like a wounded best,the vehicle fell to its side in the grass.

Somehow,the madman had gotten ahead of them. He had been standing in thecenter of the street, awaiting the approach of their vehicle. Thedistracted driver never had time to properly react to his suddenpresence.

Thegirl fell on her back against the wall and was left staring out thedriver's-side window. The masked face of the madman appeared in thatwindow now. He had a hatchet in his right hand. He began to hammerat the glass with it.

“Justlet him get me this time,” the girl was saying. “Let him get me,and maybe it'll stop. Let him get me.”

Thepassenger was crawling out of the shattered front window. Thedriver, not wearing a seat belt, had fallen and broke his neck whenthe vehicle tipped.

Williamexited the van and watched from outside. He had no idea what to do. He had come all this way to find this scene, but now he saw no courseof action but to stand by and watch this girl die, horribly.

Thepassenger crawled around the van. He gave the back latch a couplekicks, then managed to yank it open just as the madman shattered theglass of the window. The passenger grabbed the unresisting girl bythe shoulders and yanked her from the van. As he stood up, themadman turned and raised his hatchet, prepared to split his head.

“Stop!”William yelled. The madman looked at him.

So,he was one of these special humans after all. Like the witch, hecould see the dead. William wondered for a minute if he watched thespirits of his victims depart. Despite his own lifelessness, Williamcouldn't help but quail from the madman's emotionless stare.

Fortunately,the distraction had been enough, and the passenger now had the girlsafely away from the van. Sirens were already in the distance. Theboy had thrown a wrench in the murder's proceedings, and help was nowon the way.

Themurderer leaped from atop the van and began to approach the fleeingpair of young people. He approached them slowly, his blank maskhiding any sense of intent, but his hatchet making his purpose plain.

Theman was hiding behind a mask. William considered the concept. “Hey!”he said to the man.

Deliberately,the white face turned to look at him. “I'm scarier than you,” hetold the madman. Surely, he was afraid of something. He wouldn'thide behind a mask if he wasn't. But what did being behind a maskprotect him from?

Williamhurried to the center of the street and positioned himself betweenthe murderer and his victims. “I said I'm scarier than you!” herepeated.

“Why'dhe stop?” the young man asked.

Williamsummoned his memory of the man from their brief meeting at theasylum. He remembered his eyes, his chin, the way his hair drapedacross his forehead. The boy began to transmogrify. His shapestretched, warped, taking on a milky appearance as it grew taller. Then, he re-solidified, and the John Doe from the asylum was staringinto a duplicate of his own countenance.

Themadman took a swipe with the hatchet, which passed easily through theapparition. He swiped again, then again.

“Iknew it,” William said as the madman tried fruitlessly to cut himto pieces. “It's you you're afraid of. Who are you? Who wereyou?”

Hishands shaking in fury, the madman reached up and tore the white maskfrom his own face. After crushing it, he threw it to the ground,then reached out to strangle his copy-- but his doppelganger wouldonly stare at him as sirens approached from the rear.

“Dad?'the girl asked. “Dad?”

Atlast, the madman lost interest in William and began to stride forwardagain. He towered over the girl. The young man with her could onlycower in his shadow. Tires screeched on pavement as emergencyvehicles pulled up behind the scene.

“Dad,oh my god, why? You killed them all.”

Acar door slammed.

MatthewNavarro advanced on his only daughter, raising the hatchet. He hadbeen replaced-- his wife found a new husband and a new father for hisdaughter, and he had come to take them all back.

“Dropit!” A female officer was in a shooting stance and had her gundrawn.

Matthewgrabbed the young man by the hair and pulled his head to the side. It would only take one swing with the hatchet to split his neck.

Itwas a difficult shot for Dawn Kirkley. The escaped lunatic had theyoung man held in front of him at an awkward angle. The girl wasspread out on the ground. Even if she managed to miss when shefired, a ricochet could injure or kill either of them. She hadn'ttracked this man all over town just to let him keep killing, though.

Thehatchet was in the air, and her finger instinctively squeezed thetrigger.

Williamsighed with relief as the considerable bulk of the madman struck thepavement.

It's Good to be Afraid-- 27, October

2011-10-27T00:02:00.002-04:00

27,October–Night

Jackmet William on the top floor of Countess Borsala's residence. Theroom the boy had slept in nights before had been set aside as aprivate place for him to haunt, and the others knew that they couldfind him here at times.

“Hello,wee spirit,” the old man said. His lower lip was heavily scarred,and several of his teeth were missing, but the wound packing andhandkerchief were gone.

Theboy didn't respond. He was staring out the window toward town.

“Haveye been. . . getting up to things?” Jack asked.

Theboy looked at him quizzically but still did not respond.

“Ilike to talk, as ye know, but I'm not so good at a conversation. What are ye doing up here alone?”

“I'mmissing the cake my grandma used to make every fall. Since she'sdead, and I'm dead, I was wondering. . .”

“She'dbe too far gone now. Ye leave the world o' the livin', then youleave the land o' the dead, and ye go beyond.”

“Toheaven or hell?”

“Orsomewhere.”

“Youdon't know?”

“Weknow as little of the worlds beyond as the living do of the land ofthe dead.”

Williamturned away from the window at last. “But you know there's a hell,because you got away from there.”

“Whatye call hell, wee one. . . it's a prison. It's a black abyss tohold lost souls Old Scratch finds wandering. He takes them downthere for company, and for light. He burns the souls like a candle.”

“Dobad people go there?”

“Badpeople are known to find their way straight in, aye, and they burn,but they only make smoke. Old Scratch wants the souls of theinnocent, because they burn so bright. Some say that's the worst,because when they light up the abyss, all the prisoners can seewhat's around them, and the abyss is the one place seeing is worsethan fearing.”

“Sothat's what he came up here for?”

“Aye,the old man's come up with his pitchfork, workin' on his own harvest.But I can protect ye, boy, for a price.”

Williamfeared where this was going. He had never heard of Jack making adeal with anyone that worked out for the best. “What's the price?”

“Comewith me.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere! On me travels. I tour the world, wee lad. I seen everything atenth time already. With you, I could see it again, but throughyoung eyes, and I won't. . .” he trailed off.

“Won'twhat?”

“Won'tbe so lonely. I'm not like ye scarecrow. No one looks forward to mecomin' back to town each year. They all just me co-workers.”

Theboy turned back to the window. “You can't buy a friend, Mr. Jack. You're alone because you lie, and you make bad deals with people.”

“Thisbe a good deal, boy. Ye see the world, ye be safe with me. What areye going to do around here after the harvest? Walk up and down thestreets by yeself? Ye think yer friend the scarecrow will still bearound? He shan't be back for a full year.”

“Iguess I'll move on like the other spirits. Maybe I'll find mygrandma.”

Beforehe even finished the sentence, Jack o' the Lantern was chuckling. “Ye think it'll be so nice? Just up and move on? Did ye have agood time dyin' before?”

Williamthought of the boiling pot.

“It'llbe worse for ye. Worse than what she did. The old witch is kind inher way. She's only human. She only knows the limits of humansuffering. There's worse beyond, ye know. Worse than ye've seen.”

“Yousay that because you're afraid.” The boy turned and pointed at theold man before him. “Afraid! That'swhy you stayed the same so long, and why you're all alone now.”

“It'sgood to be afraid, young one. It's kept me alive, strong, wealthy. It'll keep ye out of the pit, if you're smart. It's in yer bestinterest to consider my deal. Scratch don't make deals, and I comeup with a way to stop him.”

Williamsighed. “First, can you tell me why we did what we did?”

“Whatare ye talking about?”

“Atthe asylum. When we let that man out.”

Jacksmiled. “'Twas a good night. I knew ye were one of us, the way yehandled yourself. We were setting free one of our fellows, that'sall.”

“Butwhy? You and scarecrow put a lot of work into it.”

“'E'sa friend.”

“Youalready told me you don't have friends. Stop lying to me, or I'm noteven going to think about your stupid deal.”

“Okay,boy.” Jack came closer and knelt down on the floor. “Okay. That man in there, he don't know his own name, but it might as wellbe Kill. Ye give him a knife, and he goes to work. If he don't havea knife, he'll make do with whatever. An he's a man. All of us,when the harvest comes on Halloween night, even when we're mostpowerful, we cannot enter the living's abode. They close theshutters and pull the blinds, an' we can't do a thing. He can gowherever he wants. He's one o' them. He can march right in their house and send the harvest to us.”

“Akiller,” the boy said. “So he's out there right now. He's outthere killing people right now.”

“He'sa hard worker,” Jack confirmed, “and loyal to his cause.”

Andsuddenly the boy was gone. He had faded from the room before Jackhad time to dissuade him.

“Ye'llbe back,” Jack said to no one, laughing. “When ye see OldScratch, ye'll be back.”

It's Good to be Afraid-- 26, October

2011-10-26T00:14:00.001-04:00

26,October–Day

Here,now, the leafless trees swayed in the sun on a cool autumn day. Theboy paid it no mind. He wished he knew how to summon Dullahan theway the scarecrow had. His friends were all holed up in Ms.Borsala's for the day. William had slipped out.

Hehad to know.

Williamturned the corner toward home and was greeted by a changed sight. The entire corn field had been harvested. The farm house, whichnormally would have been hidden by the golden rows, was a bleak shapeat the top of a hill. A cool wind came up and rippled the grassaround it.

Williampressed onward. He became apprehensive as he crossed the field. Thescarecrow had warned him that he could become trapped here. He hadto shake the feeling off, though. If he didn't find out now, thefear would eat away at his sanity.

Hewent directly to a side window and peered into the kitchen. Nobodywas around. Hesitantly, William moved to the back door and let hishand rest on the handle. Was he still allowed to do this? Now thathe had left, would the bond of the family keep him out like the othercreatures of the night?

Ashe pondered this, the door unlatched and swung inwards. He hadn'teven turned the door handle.

Thisdoor opened into a pantry. To the left was the door to the kitchen. It was usually locked if nobody was home, but it opened beforeWilliam just as easily as the exterior door had. He followed theopen path around to the refrigerator, then stood before it.

Hedidn't even need to open it. This time, even the white box of therefrigerator could not prevent him from feeling the call of his oldbones. Somewhere inside were boxes of stew containing his formerflesh.

Ashe concentrated, William saw the handle of the fridge depress, andthen the door swung wide. Sitting on the top shelf was the familiarwhite tupperware box, yellowed by the hideous contents inside. Concentrating still, he managed to make the box slide outward inch byinch, making the tiniest scraping sound on the metal shelf.

Itwas accompanied by a low squeal from somewhere behind. Williamlooked over his shoulder and saw his sister. She had been sitting atthe kitchen table the entire time, and he never noticed her. She hadbeen coloring. Now she was staring at a fridge that had openeditself and a white box moving of its own volition. A tiny squeal wascoming from her throat. She was too panic stricken to cry.

Thenit came.

“MOOOOOOOOM!”she creamed. “The ghost, the ghost, the ghost!”

Thewords damned him over and over. William covered his ears, but theydid no good. It was true. He was a ghost, and he was haunting hisold home.

Hismother came charging in from one door. His grandfather appearedalmost simultaneously from the living room. They both stared at thefridge.

“There'sno ghost, honey,” mom said, denying the truth in front of her.

Williamcontinued urging the container forward. They had to know. He knewit was scaring them, but the alternative was unbearable. He wasstill staring at his mother when there was a sloshing bang, and heknew the container had dropped to the floor. It didn't spill open.

Heforced himself to look down at it. There was still a seal wrappedaround it-- a brown fall ribbon reading “Good Treats for Eats.” Good news. His family hadn't eaten him yet.

Grandfatherrushed over and retrieved the box from the floor.

“Wheredid you get this?” he asked.

“Atthe festival, dad,” his mom responded.

“Doyou know who this is from?”

Hismother ignored the question and tried to distract William's sisterwith the picture she had been coloring.

“It'sfrom that witch!” grandfather continued on his own. “That oldhag that lives on Schaffner Street. She's been peddling shady stuffsince I was your kids' age.”

“Dad.. . Witches and ghosts. Halloween is really getting to you guys.”

Grandfathertossed the container into the trash.

“Dad!”Mother went to retrieve it.

Asthe two argued, William moved around to see what his sister had beencoloring. It wasn't a picture from a coloring book like usual. Itseemed she had drawn this one on her own. The bottom was a hugesquare of brown that must have been the ground. In the center was aline of green trees. Cut off midsection in the left margin was halfa grave stone. In the middle of it all was a crudely drawn horse andbuggy. Atop it was a boy with his arms thrust to the sky.

Williamlooked closer. The coachman clearly had no head.

“I'msorry I scared you,” William told his sister. “I'm watching outfor you guys now. Can you tell them I'm okay?”

Hissister stopped coloring and stared off into space. She didn't lookat William, exactly, but she didn't look at anything else, either.

“I'llsee all of you again, sometime, in a long time.”

William'smother had the white container, and she was carrying it across theroom. “We're at least going to dispose of it properly,” she wastelling grandfather. She broke the seal on the container, thendumped the contents into the sink. William watched as his remainsswirled away down the garbage disposal.

“Tellthem everything's alright,” he requested of his sister.

Shedidn't respond, but she made a final finishing touch on the drawingof the boy. She added two eyes and a smiling mouth.

It's Good to be Afraid-- 25, October

2011-10-25T00:15:00.000-04:00

25,October–Day

JamesMurdock was a set of watchful eyes. He was drifting down Main Streetnow. The weekend's festival had been a bonanza for him. Unfortunately, rather than fulfilling his desire, it had fed hishunger.

WhileJames had had voyeuristic tendencies in his life, this new plane ofexistence had presented so many opportunities for him that it becamethe meaning for his existence. While the human body could no longerstir the sexual desire in him he had felt as a living man, he nowfound that he thirsted for the hunt. He had spent countless timeprowling the streets, unable to enter houses, but able to peer inthrough every window, watching. Sometimes he would have to wait forhours before finding what he wanted.

Thefall festival had made it too easy. Everything was public. Everything was open to the prying eyes of the dead. Public toilets,changing rooms in the shops, they only made him regret that hecouldn't be in more than one place at a time.

Nowit was over. The sense of having to hunt prey had lost its luster. He supposed after all this time, maybe he didn't want to look so muchany more. Maybe he would like to touch, or even talk to one.

Hisaimless drifting continued. His toes hung inches above the ground. His arms sagged to his sides like dead weights. His head was awilted flower on a broken stem. Then something grabbed him.

Herecoiled in shock, but the grip was strong. James looked down to seea strange creature had him by the right wrist. Its shape was nearlyindescribable. Most of it was made up of a series of oblonginsectile abdomens, but their connection to each other was transient,giving it the appearance of writhing even as it held still. Asingle, long, finger-like jointed appendage protruded from somewherebelow the mass of bodies, and the end of it was wrapped aroundJames's wrist.

Hecouldn't discern a face, but he knew the thing was looking at him. James yanked on his arm, but the appendage sent searing pain throughhis wrist. While he was terrified, he was also exhilarated at thissudden ability to feel things-- even if it was pain.

“Havingsome trouble there, Mr. Murdock?”

Someonewas talking to him from behind. James turned his head to find yetanother strange figure. This one was mostly human, but his legs wereclearly deformed. He also had 2 small protrusions on either side ofhis head. Along with his white pointed goatee, they gave his head atriangular appearance.

“I.. . I'm caught,” James said.

“Takemy hand. That's all you have to do,” said the old man.

Jamescould see there were more of the strange creatures behind him. Hetried not to look at them. The situation felt hopeless.

Hereached out. The old man took his hand, and the pain in his otherwrist was suddenly gone. James almost had time to smile, but thenone by one, everything was gone. Buildings faded away, then colorfaded out of the world. The road below and surrounding trees fellinto a haze, then vanished. At last, the blue sky above becameblack.

Helooked back at the old man. He was James's only link to anythingnow. His grip on his hand was the one thing suspending him above theblack abyss.

“Wemust be a million miles up,” said James.

“Amillion,” replied Old Scratch, “And a million more.” Then helet go.

It's Good to be Afraid-- 24, October

2011-10-24T00:21:00.001-04:00

24,October–Night

Thescarecrow approached the center of the grave yard, alone. The planhad been for William to meet him here. He didn't know if he couldcount on the boy to show up, but he hoped he wasn't going to wastetoo much time waiting.

Ashe passed the rows of stones, he came across a tall, thin figureleaning his back against a tree. A cigarette dangled from his mouth. His features were hidden by the tree's shade.

Thescarecrow put his hand to the sickle inside his shirt. He had spentthe entire season managing to stay hidden. He could stand stockstill and hope, but he knew this man had already seen him. He strodeforward purposefully. People usually reacted with fear, butsometimes they chose to fight back on sight. He planned to give theman no time to decide on a course of action.

Hewas only a few steps away from the man now, and the scarecrow wassurprised he had not reacted yet. As he came within arm's reach andraised the sickle into the air, the man took the cigarette from hismouth and tossed it.

“Neattrick,” the man said.

Thescarecrow was so surprised by the statement, he let the sickle hangin the air for an extra moment.

Theman was gone. Before him stood William, the ghost. “Don't youthink?” The boy asked.

“What?”

“Prettyneat trick, don't you think?”

Thescarecrow put the sickle back into his shirt. “I see you'reexploring your abilities at a fast rate. The ability to appear aswho you want, where you want, when you want is more than a neattrick, William.”

“It'sfun,” the boy told him. “I can have a lot of fun now. And I canlearn a lot of things.”

Thescarecrow motioned for the boy to follow, then began to lead the waythrough the rows. “What else have you learned since our lastmeeting?”

“Things,”the boy said. “Like, I learned the witch didn't need to eat me forsurvival.”

“Oh?”

“She'sselling me, I mean my body, at the fall festival.”

Thescarecrow stopped. He had things he wanted to show William, but thiswas more important. “What do you mean?”

“Shehad these boxes of stew, and she was selling them to the people intown. I could tell it was made from me-- I could feel it!”

“I'msure you could,” the scarecrow said, pondering. “The spirit andbody are a marriage made at birth, a bond not easily broken. Was sheselling to a lot of people?”

“Shewas pretty busy. It's over now, though. The festival ended thisafternoon.”

“Atown full of cannibals,” the scarecrow said, mostly to himself. “Unwitting, but still. It may be why this town was chosen.”

“Chosen?'

“Forthe Harvest. I'll tell you more later, but I'll need to look into afew things first. For now, come with me, please. I have something Iwanted you to see.”

Theboy followed the scarecrow through row after row of tombstones. Upona hill was a small growth of trees. The scarecrow took a position intheir shade and pointed to the graves below.

Williamfollowed his direction, but the night was so dark, he could barelysee what was happening. Vaguely, he could make out movement belowthe gravestones.

“Gocloser,” the scarecrow told him. “They can't see you.”

Curious,William descended the hill. The scarecrow was probably right aboutthem not being able to see him, and even if they could, they wouldn'tbe able to harm him. Still, he couldn't help but feel nervous andkept his distance.

Therewere three creatures over a grave. They were almost like small,twisted men. They were bent far over their work. Their spinesstood out from their gaunt, pale backs. Two long, thin armssupported them as they continuously dipped their faces to the earth. They almost looked like birds hunting for worms.

Oneof them heard something and raised its head to look around. As muchas their bodies looked like those of men, their faces were as farremoved as possible. Their eyes were close enough together that theywere almost joined. Their brow protruded in a hard, sharp edge. Their mouths were an open round hole surrounded by tentacles thatnervously plucked at the air.

Williamturned and ran back up the hill. The scarecrow met him with a smile.

“Nothingto fear, dear boy.”

Heknew the scarecrow was right, but he also knew that if he still had aheart, it would be hammering away. “What are they?” he asked.

“Ghouls,”the scarecrow answered. “I thought you ought to be familiar. Youknow, ghosts and ghouls. Halloween creatures,” he said, savoringthe term.

“Whatare they doing down there?”

“Lookingfor corpses. In their attempts to get to the bodies below, theiractions provide a valuable service in loosening the soil.”

“Bodies?What do they want bodies for?”

“Oh,well, much like your townsfolk, they have a taste for the flesh ofthe dead.”

“Theyeat them?”

Suddenlya new voice spoke up from the shadows. It was low and gravely. Whoever was speaking was mumbling so badly, they were hard tounderstand. “Among other things,” the voice added.

“Jack,”the scarecrow acknowledged with a very short nod.

Theold man stepped out of the shadows. He had a handkerchief tiedaround his head. It held a packing in place against the side of hismouth.

“Whathappened to you?” William asked.

“Ourfriend Henry decided to exact a toll on Jack for his little trickeryat the asylum,” said the scarecrow.”

“Oh,”the boy said. “Good. Maybe he learned a lesson.”

“MaybeI did, wee one,” Jack said. “Maybe I learned not to leave mytools laying around after a job. Next time I'll put them awayproperly before they can come back and hurt me.”

“I'mnot afraid of you, Mr. Jack. I'm already dead, thanks to you.”

“Yeshouldn't be afraid o' me, boy,” Jack mumbled. “Ye should becoming to me for help.”

“Howcould you help me?”

“Icould help ye stay out of the pit, seein' as none done it but me.”

“Jack,what are you on about?” The scarecrow had been planning on having afun evening, and Jack's sour attitude was ruining it as usual.

“There'sa new player in town. Old Scratch, he come up from below, lookingfor prey. Young, untarnished pray, like ye present company.”

“OldScratch,” the scarecrow mused. “So it is true. However, I thinkyou may be wrong about his intent, Jack. It seems the old witch hasbeen feeding the townspeople their compatriots.”

“Whatin hell does that mean?”

“Thepeople visiting the town's fair. Their dead friends and neighborshave been hidden in her stew, and it sounds like they've been buyingit by the gallon.”

“Abomination!”Jack said, happily. “No one's safe after an act like that. So,they pig out on each other, then 'e comes up and has himself asmorgasbord on them.” Jack made a sound then. It was a bubblinggurgle coming from deep in his throat. The old man winced and heldthe packing tighter to his face, then started to make the noiseagain.

Williamcouldn't believe his new laugh was even worse than the old one.

It's Good to be Afraid-- 23, October

2011-10-23T13:04:00.002-04:00

23,October–Night

Fifteenmiles southeast of the town center lay 25 acres of abandoned land. It was overgrown with tall grass and thorny wild flowers. Woodssurrounded it on almost every side. From the road, only thenarrowest path was visible leading up to where a house had oncestood. The only thing breaking up the foliage was a rectangularpatch of concrete. Only it was left to tell the story of thebuilding it had once supported.

Inpoint of fact, several houses had stood on this land. Pioneerserected a log cabin here in the early days of America. In a rare actof desperation, bravery and hunger, a pack of wolves slipped silentlyin through their open windows one night and devoured them all, downto the last trace of blood.

Theland was forgotten about for many years, until the town itself wasfirst established in the early 1800s. The cabin was an overgrownruin by then. It was demolished entirely and replaced by a modestfarmhouse and barn.

Ona fine summer day, the weather turned sour. Heavy clouds drew overthe region and a funnel cloud formed. Before the first drop of raincould warn the family within, a tornado reached down from the sky andcrushed the home with everyone inside.

Townsare quick to rebuild, though, especially in those days as theindustrious moved west. More families moved in, more houses wereconstructed. Families feuded with neighbors and amongst themselves. Houses were abandoned, rotted, rebuilt.

Forthe last family who lived in this home, everything went perfectlyfine for 15 long years. Children were born and grew up. The oldestwas ready to move out and begin a new life elsewhere. One night, thedoors locked themselves. Open windows fell into place, and heavywooden shutters blew closed over them. The fireplace blazed to life,and the flames spread to every corner of the home.

Inthe morning, a blackened circle surrounded a concrete square, andsomewhere miles below, Old Scratch smiled. After blood spilling onthe ground, human misery, misfortune and fire, the sigil etched intothe ground forever by the heat of the blaze was the last steprequired to ready the land for his return.

Asthe hour passed midnight, a crack began to form in that patch ofconcrete. As it deepened, dust and chips of cement fell into it. The crack doubled in surface size, then doubled again. It became afissure. Entire chunks of concrete dropped into an abyss, until atlast the rectangle was a gaping maw.

Scratchedclimbed hand over hand, just as he had for the last 10 years. Theway had been long, but he was tireless. Nothing had occupied hismind this past decade but the climb, and, rock by rock, he was nowhere.

Hishands grasped the edge of the concrete, and he pulled himself up. One cloven hoof touched the Earth, then the other. His crooked, bentknees struggled and eventually pushed him to his full height. Helooked all around and smiled at the night. Then, looking back downinto the hole he had crawled out of, he spit into the abyss.

Thatwas when the first of them made itself known. Low to the ground, thething crawled out of the woods. It paid no mind as its belly draggedthrough the thorny brush. More followed, approaching from all sides. Skin dark as the night sky, they were twisted creatures whoseappearance made no logical sense. Warped and mutated by the taintedland they lived on, the creatures belonged to him.

Thefirst one to show itself, the bravest one, drew near his leg.

“Myloving servants,” Old Scratch said with a smirk.

Anine-fingered hand reached out of the brush and began to caress hiscloven hoof. Scratch reared back and crushed the thing's hand underfoot. The servant squealed in horrified joy.

Scratchtook in another lung-full of crisp air. He had a week and a day toenjoy. It was so little time, but he intended to make it feel like alifetime.

It's Good to be Afraid-- 22, October

2011-10-22T00:03:00.000-04:00

22,October–Day

Thesun was out. The boy couldn't feel it, but he could see the amazingthings the sun's rays were doing. After the past couple of nightstouring alongside his friend, the scarecrow, the boy had learnedmuch. The world was at least 10 times as vast as it had ever beenbefore. Now that he was dead, he was more awake than he had everbeen in his life. He had no need of sleep any longer. He couldwander day and night with no fear. Not only could he leave his homewithout permission, but, much like the event he had experienced inthe graveyard, the geography of the world was changed to him.

Theland of the dead was labyrinthian and made no logical sense. Hecould enter the cemetery and emerge in the woods on the other side oftown. He could follow a straight path north and wind up 30 miles tothe east. The world of the dead was, ironically, a living thing, anda constant mystery.

Theboy had plenty of time, though, so he wandered.

Somuch went on around the living that they had no idea about. Williampassed family homes that were full of spirits. They watched him fromthe windows. Most of them were indifferent. Occasionally one waspleased to see him, and they would wave through the glass. Morecommonly than that, they hated him. These figures were usuallywarped, their features torn apart by anger. They would stand at thewindows and lash at him like a caged animal.

Theboy knew he had nothing to fear from them. He couldn't reach them,and they couldn't reach him. Within a house, the bonds of family andrelation created a home. A home was a barrier to the supernaturalwithout. The beings inside were bound to it like gravity.

Withoutthe scarecrow's help, William wondered if he ever could have left thefarm on his own.

Theboy found himself at the town center after a while. It was Saturday,and a huge fall festival was being held. There were a few carnivalrides at the middle of the intersection. Around them, on all 4joining streets, were various stalls.

Onestreet held tents for local churches, and a farmer's market was setup, selling corn, gourds and apples. Another had tables set up forthe red cross and other local nonprofit organizations. The thirdstreet was full of food vendors-- which were unfortunately no longerof any interest to William.

Thefourth road, Hammond Street, housed tents and pavilions of peopleselling arts and crafts, t-shirts, jewelry, flowers, pumpkins andhome-made baked goods.

Williamwandered through it all. A little ways away from everything, a rowof Porta-Potties were set up. He appreciated not being able to smellthis area. He watched as a woman emerged from one, then went to joinher waiting friends. Moments after, another spirit emerged fromwithin, watching the woman leave.

“Iknew it!” William said. “They dowatch you!”

Thespirit grinned at him toothily, then slunk off into the crowd.

Evenif William had the ability to inform the woman, he wondered whetherhe really should. Perhaps she would be better off never knowing whatwas really going on around her.

Theboy forgot about it quickly, as there were so many other sights totake in. He stopped at every art stall to see what people had made. Most of it was pretty boring. One pavilion was stocked withhome-made stuffed animals. They had certainly been sewn togetherwith a lot of care, and yet they were boring and featureless.

Eventuallyhe reached Hammond Street and its food vendors. It was on this roadthat he felt a strange pulling. There was a familiar sensation, likesomething lost, a plan forgotten. He didn't know what was drawinghim, but he followed it.

Hecame to a black tent. Only a few people were around, but he heardthe sounds of business being conducted within. Shortly, a womanemerged, placing a Tupperware container into a bag. William peeredaround the tent flap. There were 3 more people within purchasing thesame containers. He could see they all contained some sort ofreddish brown liquid.

Oncethe three of them made their purchases, he could see her: the witch.She sat behind a table, looking satisfied with her recenttransactions. She was surrounded by piles upon piles of containersholding her stew.

Itwas here that the pulling sensation was coming from-- not the tent,but the dozens of boxes. He knew it was the pull of his bones,ground up, mashed, liquefied.

Thewitch looked at him, smiling. She could see him. She nodded slowly,confirming his horror. Pint by pint, she was selling him.

It's Good to be Afraid-- 21, October

2011-10-21T00:02:00.000-04:00

21,October–LateEvening

Theboy found himself traveling in the most fantastic manner. The nightbefore, the scarecrow had insisted that they head to Count Borsala'sresidence at once. William had been reluctant to make such a journeyso soon. In fact, he had found more and more, as time passed, thatthe idea of leaving the family home was nearly unbearable.

“Spirit'sagoraphobia,” the scarecrow had named it. “Those who die withgreat fear are often infected with it. It deepens over time, untilthe spirit is anchored to a place like a ship crashed on the rocks. It can be broken, though, if you act early enough and are willing toresist its power.”

Hehad taken the scarecrow's hand without a second thought at thatpoint. The idea of roaming that single cornfield forever was farmore frightening than anything that lay without. Before he knew it,they were standing on the side of the road. The rows of corn werebehind them, waving in the breeze. William did not return the wave.

Theboy was ready to move off down the road, but the scarecrow held himby the shoulder. “You have another mode of travel available to younow, William,” he had said. “Look now.”

Williamfollowed his direction, and indeed there had been something moving atthem down the road. His jaw had dropped in awe.

Andnow they were in it once again. They had spent the day at CountessBorsala's residence, as the scarecrow had suggested. The countessherself was not seen, being asleep in the basement within her coffin. Jack was nowhere to be found, and Mr. Uzor was as quiet as ever. Ithad been a long day of waiting, while William was once again anxiousto go on that fantastic ride.

Thescarecrow had some way of calling it. It appeared this night beforethe stairs leading to the countess's abode. It was a black coach. The walls, which were minimal to allow as much visibility from withinas possible, were inlaid with white intricate designs. It was onlynoticeable on closer inspection that the white was, in fact, bone. The roof was mounted with human skulls at every corner. Two hugeblack steeds, larger than any William had ever seen, stood at thefront. Behind them, in the driver's seat, rode a massive man in ablack overcoat buttoned tight to his collar. He wore no hat. Infact, one might notice on closer inspection, he had no head to seatone on. Instead, his head road in the seat beside him. It saidnothing and moved not at all. Only its eyes would roll around tofollow any action in the vicinity.

“Dullahan!”The scarecrow had called. “We have need of your service onceagain.”

Theheadless man-- this Dullahan, had waved toward the coach, then pickedup his riding crop. It appeared he was as anxious as William to beoff into the night once more.

Nowthey were hurtling through the wooded lanes surrounding town. Despite the ancient wooden wagon wheels, the vehicle traveledsmoothly, ghostly across the rough ground.

“Imust say,” said the scarecrow, “It is a pleasure to have yourcompany once again, William. It could get quite gloomy around herewithout you.”

“Yeah.. .” as much as he was enjoying the ride, William couldn't quiterespond the same to the scarecrow. “I wish I hadn't had to die todo it, scarecrow.”

“Everyman must die.”

“Evenyou?”

Thescarecrow looked at him squarely. “I am no man, William. I am thescarecrow. I ask you not to forget it.” This was the first timeWilliam had seen the scarecrow appear remotely angry. “Many of mysupposed friends seem to be doing so, of late.” He seemed to growcalmer after this, but an edge had crept into his voice. “You werea part of the Harvest. Early, no doubt, in season and in age, butyou will come to appreciate it in time.”

“TheHarvest?” William asked.

Thescarecrow nodded. “Imagine if your grandfather were to plant afield, water it, and then watch it rot away into oblivion. Has heever done that, dear boy?”

“No,of course not.”

“Hetakes from it what is valuable before it can decay into nothingness. A golden ear of corn is produced from what would otherwise be a drystalk, rotting in the sun. The spirit of man is planted. It growsstrong in knowledge and becomes robust with life. One day it must beharvested, to become something new.”

“Soyou let the witch kill me so I could be harvested?”

“Ididn't let the witch doanything, mind you. If you recall, you disappeared with no way forme to follow.”

“Jacklead me away,” William corrected.

“Nevertheless,the witch did what she does to survive.”

“Tosurvive!?”

“Witcheseat children, you know. You are aware of that, are you not?”

“Iam now that I was eaten by one. I just wish she would have been'harvested' before me.”

“Shemay wish that, as well. She made some deal to the contrary long ago,and now her spirit decays.”

Decay,”the boy tasted the word. “Is Jack. . .”

“Jackis an enigma. He has secrets, kept from us all. Even if he told usone day what they were, likely no one would believe it was the truth.His spirit, if it can be called that, is as solid as it ever was.”

“Sowhat is it like for someone like the witch?”

“Yousaw for yourself in that house: Her stooped form, her advanced age,her disproportionate frame. . .and besides how she appears. . . thelong, slow descent into madness. But you are not entirely wrong, mydear boy. Had I been there, she would have known you were protected,one way or another.”

“Areyou going to get her for me, now, then? She's just an old rottingwitch, so what good is she doing anyone?”

“AsI said, she has done what she has done to survive. You simplyneedn't worry about her again. She is from your past life, and it isbest you move on from that.”

“Idon't feel dead,though. Maybe there's some way you could make her help me. If shehas spells, or potions, or my bones. . .”

“DearWilliam!” The scarecrow boomed very loudly. “Allow me to speakplainly. Of life and death, my boy, you stand not upon theprecipice. You stand plainly on the side of death, of the night, ofmystery and fear. There are many small wrongs in one's past, andwhile they may have fed one's spirit, to dwell on them is to losesight of the greatness before you. Do not tread back into shadow ofmemory. Stride forward. Understand that you have risen above whatailed you in the past, and give those ails no regard now.”

“Strideforward,” William considered the words. “Or ride?”

Thescarecrow grinned. “Dullahan, dear fellow! I believe the boyrequires more speed.”

Awhip crack was heard from ahead. The horses' hooves crashed into thepath below them, sending up plumes of earth behind, and the coachhurtled into the night.

It's Good to be Afraid-- 20, October

2011-10-20T00:21:00.000-04:00

20,October–LateEvening

Thescarecrow went traveling. He marched through the town center. A fewhouses had Halloween decorations up. This was usually his time toreflect and relax. He was a planner, and everything for this year'sHarvest was in order. Normally he would just sit and watch thingsunfold, but this time he had another death on his mind.

Hehadn't personally killed Henry Talbot, and yet he could nearly feelthe dagger in his hand. He had to wonder how much Jack really wasrubbing off on him. A deceit here and a murder there; he was doingit in the name of a shared cause, but how long before he wasbetraying for personal gain? The truth was Henry would recover intime, angrier and with more knowledge than before. The real regretthe scarecrow felt was over the personal road he had taken, and howlong he had been on it.

Andthen there was the boy, and what had become of him. Hope for hissafety was a lark. The truth of the matter was there was likely verylittle they could have done for him, even at the house under CountessBorsala's care. Yet Jack had stripped him of even that measure ofsafety and turned him away into the world.

Howmuch blame did the scarecrow share? He knew Jack perfectly well, andhe knew he would never have followed the scarecrow's own plan to theletter. Being straightforward wasn't in the man's nature. The factof the matter was, the scarecrow was dooming decent friends for thesake of a liar and in the name of an ancient goal.

Perhapsthat was why here, now, he found himself at the edge of the oldfarmer's field. Corn stalks hissed lightly in the breeze. Thescarecrow took a deep breath of the crisp air, remembering what itwas like to revive here all those nights ago.

Hewaded into the corn and began to move amongst the rows. The soil hadgrown hard and packed. He walked up hill until he reached theclearing where his old station had been. Indeed, the pole was stillthere, unoccupied, and there was something crouched at the base ofit.

Quietly,the scarecrow drew his sickle and approached. The thing was barelymore than a shape, and yet it gave off an aura of familiarity thatdisturbed the scarecrow. He reached forward with the sickle andtouched it gingerly.

“Youagain,” suddenly the thing spoke.

Thescarecrow leaped back agilely.

Thething in front of him seemed to reconfigure in size and shape. Ittransformed in front of him, going from something that could havepassed for a rock in the earth to a humanoid shape, then at last, theboy.

“William,”the scarecrow said. “Dear boy, I guess I was hoping to find youhere, in one form or another.”

“Youdidn't find me. I'm dead. Nobody can even see me now. I tried andtried to get their attention, but then when I start to, they just getscared. So, I stopped trying. I've just been hiding out here in thecorn, because I don't want to scare my mom any more.”

“William.. . you are a creature of the night now. The living will fear youfrom now on, because you have the shape of death. I'm sorry, but youare one of us now.”

Theboy pondered this. He thought about the long lonely days he hadspent roaming the house and drifting through the corn fields. Attimes, he wondered if it was really so different from his livingexistence.

“It'sjust. . .” the boy said, “I can't go back. It's all gone.”

“Theland of the living is closed to you,” the scarecrow agreed, “Buta thousand new worlds have opened up.” He gestured grandiosely intothe night. The moon was a gash in the sky surrounded by stars. Naked tree limbs jabbed up at them like spears. An owl called fromthe darkness, and a frightened rat dashed through the field. Thescarecrow held out his hand to the boy. “Come with me, William.”

Theboy regarded the scarecrow's gnarled hand. He stared particularly atthe stub of bone protruding where his pinkie should have been. “Areyou going to be able to protect me better this time?”

“Dearboy, you don't need protection. You are, after all, a ghost. Youneed not fear again. Now, you are fear.”

It's Good to be Afraid-- 19, October

2011-10-19T00:05:00.000-04:00

19,October–LateEvening

Heburst through the front doors. Vilmos Uzor recoiled in horror. Jackand the scarecrow were lurking under the balcony, discussingsomething in hushed tones. The discussion stopped when the doorsslammed against the walls.

“Henry,”the scarecrow said. “I see you've made your way back to us.”

HenryTalbot hurled a balled up piece of metal at their feet. Jackretrieved it but looked puzzled.

“Abullet,” Henry said. “From my head. Thanks to your guys' twisted plan. I know to expect deception fromJack, but not you, Scarecrow. You've never played anyone like thisbefore.”

“WhileI apologize for not being entirely upfront with you about the plan, Iassure you that the mess the night became was entirely due to Jack'simprovisation.”

Henrylooked at the old man.

Jackshrugged. “I have nothing to hide. The scarecrow wanted ye tostay in your cell, hooting and hollering. Instead, I took a recruitwith me and got things stirred up.”

“Consequently,”the scarecrow added, “He was able to dupe our young friend intodoing the dangerous work for him while Jack snuck around unhindered. While the Harvest did get off to a good start, it also resulted inthe loss of the dear boy and your unfortunate circumstances.”

“Youknow I never liked this Harvest business,” Henry told the two.

“Ofcourse,” the scarecrow said. “And, of course, we understand yourdual nature prevents you from taking a side. Your curse separatesyou from the world of man, and your immortality prevents you fromappreciating the Harvest. Consequently. . .”

“Consequently,”Henry interrupted, “I'm shutting this thing down.”

Frombelow his muddy, worn jacket, a pistol was suddenly in Henry's grip. His hand was calm, relaxed, and the first shot was perfectly clean. It tore through the center of Jack's heart, exited his back andlodged in a thick wooden support pillar. With the moment of surpriseover, Henry had to quickly adjust his aim and fire again. The bulletwas off its mark but still a good shot, taking the scarecrow roughlyin the midsection. It passed through even more easily than Jack'sbullet, disappearing somewhere through the back wall of the house. It was chased by a splatter of blood and straw.

Therewas a moment of hushed silence after Henry's attack. Then shescarecrow said: “Surely you must be joking.”

“Youreally did it this time,” Jack said, bemused. “And ye actuallythought it'd work.”

Henryhad feared this scenario, but failed to plan for it. The two beganto advance on him. The open door was behind him, but even if hefled, he knew there was no where to go.

“Ibled me last drop over 100 years ago,” Jack told him.

“I'ma scarecrow.” The scarecrow shrugged.

Henryraised the gun once more and fired again. The bullet smashed intoJack's mouth, rocking his head back on his neck.

“Atleast we can have a little quiet before I go.”

Jacksmiled. His gap-toothed mouth now resembled the carved pumpkin hecarried. Henry was annoyed at his ability to still appreciate a goodjoke. Jack closed the final distance between them very quickly, andHenry felt a dagger go in under his sternum, then up toward hisheart.

“Seeyou next full moon, old boy,” The scarecrow said from behind Jack.

Henrystumbled backward and collapsed onto the front porch.

“Ipromise we'll patch things up then.”

Theman's eyes closed as his heart stopped. Jack retrieved his knife.

“Mr.Uzor!” The scarecrow called.

Theold man appeared almost immediately. He had clearly presupposed howthe evening was going to play out, as he was already dragging aflatbed trolley behind him.

“Hideour old acquaintance,” The scarecrow instructed him. “Just besure to leave him where he will have a pleasing view of the sky comenext month.”

“Andyou!” The scarecrow jabbed a finger at his other acquaintance. “That last bullet's done you a favor. See if you can keep frommaking a mess of things any more this season.”

It's Good to be Afraid-- 18, October

2011-10-18T00:05:00.000-04:00

18,October–Night

“Fancyseeing you here,” Michael said. “Must be my lucky night.”

“Nosuch thing as luck,” Dawn responded. “Us cops have ways offinding things out, you know.”

“Ohyeah? Like what?”

“Likeyour favorite hangout spots.”

“Really? You found that out on one of your cop computers?”

“No.. . actually I just asked one of your co-workers. So do you mind ifI take a seat?”

“Ofcourse not. The waitress is going to be pissed she has to set outanother place setting, though.”

Dawnseated herself across the table from Michael. “Don't be silly,”she said. “This dump doesn't have waitresses. I only need acoffee, anyway.”

Michaelonly knew Dawn via chance encounters, much like Aaron Russell, theman who had since been interred within a closed casket in pieces. Michael had been content to keep the living world at a distance sincehis divorce, but tonight he couldn't help but feel grateful forDawn's presence. The world had become so strange and unfamiliarlately-- he hated to admit it, but he was starting to be afraid to bealone.

Evenhere, in the warmth of this late-hours restaurant, there was no trueescape from the night outside. The wind blew up in a gust, rattlingthe windows and momentarily dimming the lights.

“Strangenight outside,” Dawn said.

“Strangetimes,” Michael agreed.

“Howare you holding up? You know, lately.”

“Well,”Michael took an extra moment to swallow his food, then shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I mean, you just keep trucking, right?”

“Sure. If you're a trucker.”

“So,I just keep on ambulancing.” It was lame. He was lame.

Dawnlaughed anyway. It was brief and died away too fast, but the soundmade Michael smile.

“Didyou find that girl yet?” He asked.

“Ohright,” Dawn said. “You weren't on shift last night were you?”

“No.” He was worried by the question.

“Therewas another set of murders last night. A group of college kids thistime. I shouldn't even be telling you about this, but. . . it lookslike one of them was the Navarros girl's cousin. We found a hairbandat the scene. Hair color is a match.”

Michaelshook his head slowly. “She can't be a suspect. Unless she's beenpumping iron and eating HGH, she didn't do what we saw to thosepeople. She couldn't.”

“Eithershe's involved, or she's real lucky. Twice now she's the only one tosurvive one of these attacks. Maybe an accomplice. We got peoplelooking out for her all over town, but these damn woods around here,people disappear.” Dawn sighed. “Strange times. You're right.”

Michaelnodded. “I seen some shit. I seen some realshit lately.”

“Tellme about it.”

Thewaitresses brought over a hot cup of coffee and sat it down in frontof Dawn.

Michaelsmiled at the woman and waited for her to leave before answering. “You wouldn't believe it. Not even now.”

Dawn'seyes lit up. “You were at the asylum, weren't you? You saw whatwent down there? Aaron?”

“Isaw him,” Michael confirmed. “I saw him get torn into 3 pieces.”

“Michael,what did it?”

She'dsaid it. Michael's heart leaped. She said “What.” Not who, nothow, she asked what did it. Before he could stop himself, itcame out. “It was a beast. . .”

Dawngripped her mug in both hands and urged him to go on with herexpectant expression.

“Itwas a wolf man.”

“No!”

Hecouldn't allow himself the time to ponder whether she was surprisedby the revelation or his idiocy. He went on instead. “It was awolf on two legs, man-like features and it had claws like nothing,Dawn. Like nothing on earth,” and then he stopped himself. Hecouldn't finish the story. He liked Dawn, but he really only knewher from a meeting here and there. He couldn't safely tell her aboutthe gun he pocketed. Not yet.

Dawnwas quiet for a time, just sipping at her coffee. She set the mugdown and stared at the table.

“You'rereally not taking this like I thought you'd take this,” Michaelsaid.

“I'veseen some things too, Mike,” she admitted. “The last few weeks. Every couple days we get one of these. I've been to a few callsmyself now, and I've gone to the city morgue to check on some of theother bodies.”

“Define'one of these' for me.”

“Amurder,” She said. “But not like any violent murder I've everseen. Two puncture wounds.”

“OhJesus.”

“Inthe neck. Surrounded by light bruising. Coroner doesn't think it'sfrom the impact, though.”

“Noway.”

“Hesays it's from sucking on the skin.”

“Nope.”Michael was waving his hands like an umpire trying to declare safe.

“Thebodies are totally drained. Every one of them.”

“Dawn,”

“Michael! You're not allowed to do this! You don't get to not believe meafter the story you just told.”

Mikesighed, leaned back in his chair and pushed his plate away. Hisappetite was ruined for the foreseeable future. “So what the hellis going on?” he finally asked. “We got a werewolf on the loose. We have a vampire out there, too?”

“Anda madman.”

“What?”

“It'sbeen kept out of the news, but the other night at the asylum. . .after the bodies were all accounted for, someone was stillunaccounted for. One patient. A John Doe with a violentbackground.”

“So,you have a prime suspect after all. God damn it, Dawn, what are wesupposed to do?”

“Mike,don't tell anyone I said this, especially not anyone who'll let wordget back to the force, but I'm scared.”

“It'sscary shit,” he admitted. He was once again acutely aware of thewind rattling the windows. It was overcast outside, and light wasdim. He could barely make out naked tree branches swaying.

“Theway I figure it,” Dawn said, “When creatures of the night come totown, you have two choices. Either you get the hell out of town, oryou stay indoors.”

“Andthen you got people like us,” Michael said. “People with jobs todo.”

Dawnsmiled wryly. “On the graveyard shift.”

It's Good to be Afraid -- 17, October

2011-10-17T09:29:00.000-04:00

17,October–Night

Theboy woke up. He couldn't believe it. Above him was his bedroomceiling. He pressed his hands down to either side of him and foundfamiliar, cold sheets. He couldn't believe it had been a nightmare.

Buthow much of it? Everything? The scarecrow coming to life. . . itseemed unlikely. Not just unlikely, it was impossible. He was alittle surprised when he realized there was a pang of sadness at itall being fiction, but it was certainly better than being boiled todeath. A hell of a lot better!

Hethrew himself out of bed in elation. He stood in place on the floorfor a moment, just enjoying the reality of it all. And yet, hecouldn't help but wonder. . .

Beingcareful to not make too much noise, he pulled the closet door openand turned on the light inside, then began to dig. He didn't see itright away, so he pulled out a box of old toys and dug deeper, andthen, fruitlessly, even pawed through his hanging clothes.

Thesmall battery lantern was gone. For that matter, so was hisbackpack.

Real?

Hewasn't sure which was harder to believe. If it was all real, thenhow did he get home? And, if it was all real. . . then they were outthere. The witch was out there, the madman, the coffin man. Jack o'the Lantern was out there somewhere, creeping around in the shadows.

Williamhurried out of his bedroom and down the hall. He didn't care if hewoke his mother now-- in fact, that's just what he needed. He cameto her door and flung it open-- harder than he meant to. It slippedfrom his hand and slammed against the wall.

Shewoke up with a start, then slowly sat up in bed. She staredconfusedly into the dark. “Who's there?” she said uncertainly.

“Mom,it's me. I'm sorry.”

Shecontinued staring at him, not answering.

Fromdown the hall, another door opened, and his grandpa emerged. “Whatthe hell was that?” he asked.

“Dad?”his mom answered. “I don't know. I think the door.”

“Itwas me,” William answered them.

“Thewind,” his mom said.

“Ohmy God,” the boy said.

“Doesn'tseem that windy,” Grandpa said. “Maybe the spooks are out earlythis year.”

“Don'tsay that, dad," chided the boy's mother.

Williamtook hold of the door once more and ever so slowly began to pull itshut.

“Ohmy God, dad, look! Its doing it again.”

Hismother and grandfather were very impressed with his ability to closea door. Far more impressed than they should be. His grandpa put ahand out and stopped the door's motion.

“Wind,”said his grandpa.

“Grandpa?”William asked him. There was no response, just as the boy expected. His mother had gotten out of bed by now and joined her father. Theyboth stood near the boy, but did not comprehend his presence.

“I'mdead,” he said. “I'm dead and you can't even hear me!”

Hefound his legs carrying him away from his two family members as theydiscussed the magical moving door. His path crossed a curio cabinetwith a mirrored back, and he stopped to stare at it. Within he sawantiques, framed pictures and the reflection of the wall behind him. His presence was as absent there as it was to his family.

Williamgrabbed the top edge of the curio and yanked it to the ground. Glassshattered, antiques broke, picture frames went flying. It wassatisfying. Dead or not, he wasstill here, and he wasreal. As real as the scarecrow. As real as the witch.

“Ohmy God! Dad! What's happening!?” His mother was yelling. Hisgrandfather could only stare with horror at the mess on the floor.

“I'mDead!” William yelled. “That's what's happening!”

It's Good to be Afraid-- 16, October

2011-10-16T00:07:00.000-04:00

16,October–Night

MichaelSamuels pulled up in front of the King Street residence. The housewas already awash in blue and red from the surrounding police cars. An officer was visible turning the neighbors away while a womanprotested her concern. At the sight of Michael's ambulance, her eyeswent down to the ground and her protesting stopped.

OfficerDawn Kirkley spotted him at the same time and waved Michael over. Mike added his flashers to the police's, then joined the woman.

“Threemore,” she said. “Whole family.”

Thiswas the second house in as many nights. The open front door, thecircus of cops outside and the anxious hush that had fallen over thecommunity said it all: Murder.

Dawnentered the house but blocked the door before Michael could follow. “For the record, I asked them to send someone else.”

Michaelshrugged. “Third shift lunch break. Is it a 900-pounder orsomething? You didn't think I could do the pickup?”

Dawnlooked resigned, then lead the way into the house. They camestraight into a hallway with open doorways leading off in alldirections. “Whole family,” she said again. “Mother, fatherand. . .”

Michaelsaw where she was going. The night before had been an elderlycouple, mercilessly killed. The old man had a dozen stab wounds tothe back. The lady had a metal lamp wrapped around her head.

“Teenageson,” Officer Kirkley finished.

“Hey,I'm a professional,” Michael reminded her. Dawn looked at him, andhe couldn't tell if it was doubt or just sadness he saw on her face. Had the thing he said outside the asylum gotten around? About seeinghis son? Or was it just simple pity and shared grief for a missingchild?

“Thefather's in the kitchen.”

Michaelfollowed Dawn to the right across a linoleum floor. The father wasslumped against the counter, his elbows against it, his legs splayedon the floor. A large kitchen knife was buried in his head rightnext to the bridge of his nose.

“Christ,”Michael said. “Right through the bone.”

“There'smore,” Dawn said. “Living room.”

Hefollowed her back across the hall.

Inthe living room, half hidden between two chairs, was what must havebeen the mother. The fact that it was even a woman was onlyidentifiable from her body shape. Her head was nothing but a crushedmess. Next to it was the cast iron frying pan used to destroy her.

“Likelypoint of entry was the side door leading into the kitchen,” Dawnsaid.

Michaelwas no detective, but he could see the whole thing play out in hismind. The killer walking calmly in through an unlocked door andpicking up a knife from the kitchen counter. Dad turns around justin time to get it straight to the face. Then the killer grabs thenext thing available-- a frying pan from the stove-- before marchinginto the living room. Michael wondered if the wife even had time toscream. Then the killer headed upstairs.

Dawnand Mike followed his trail.

Thekid wasn't as bad. At least his face was intact. He was shirtless,with a serene expression. The only thing ruining the picture of aresting teenager was the broken broomstick in his neck.

“Lookslike they kept after him to clean his room,” Mike commented. “We're going to need a second van to clear all the bodies out.”

“It'llbe a while before we wrap up anyway,” Dawn said.

Anotherofficer joined them at the top of the stairs. Michael didn'trecognize this one. “We got a positive ID,” the man said. “Navarro family. Two parents and a kid.”

Dawnnodded.

“Oneproblem, though,” the man said. “The Navarros didn't have a son. They had a daughter.”

Dawnlooked confused. “She wasn't home? Then what was this kid. . .?”

“She was home,” Michael said. He pointed across the room to theopen window.

“Ourfirst suspect?” the man asked.

Dawnshook her head. “More like another victim. Whoever did this camefrom the kitchen door. We have boot prints going in both directions. Size 12, male. It's someone else out there. . . doing this.”

It's Good to be Afraid-- 15, October

2011-10-15T00:01:00.000-04:00

15,October–Night

Acold cell. The boy shivered. The witch had brought him a bowl ofcold stew 3 times during the day. He had been afraid of who mightbe in it, but he ate anyway. He had barely had anything to eat indays since leaving his house.

Thehouse outside the cell looked warm. A high fire was under a cauldronin the center of the room. The witch bustled about adding spices andvarious ingredients to the boiling water. She had no pluming in thehouse, and had to fetch it from a pump outside.

Everytime she went for a fresh bucket, the boy searched all around thecell for a way to escape. He had found none. There was a barredwindow he was able to see out of when he stood on tiptoe. He hadheard an occasional passing car during the day, but now that it wasnight, the world outside was silent.

“Almosttime,” The witch said. “Past time, really.” She was staringup at the clock. “No matter, though. The greater the hunger, thegreater the meal.”

Williamsaid nothing. She banged on the cell bars with her broom stick,causing him to jump. The witch laughed at his fear.

“Don'teat me,” the boy said plainly. He was running out of arguments. He had tried pleading and bargaining. A simple request was all hehad left.

Thewitch came close by and put her hands on the bars. “Maybe. . .”she said, pressing her forehead against the cold metal. Her longnose protruded into the prison. “Maybe I won't,” She said. “ButI'll still cook you, either way!” She yanked her head away fromthe bars and guffawed at the ceiling.

“Thescarecrow wouldn't like what you're doing, you know. He was tryingto protect me before I came here.”

“So,you know the scarecrow, eh?”

“He'smy friend.”

“Oh,yes. The scarecrow makes so many friends every year. I wonder howmany of them end up like you. If he was really your friend, wouldn'the tell you not to go out in the dark?”

“Hedid,” the boy said quietly.

“Hewould have told you to be afraid.”

“Hedidn't say it. . . but I think he tried to show me.”

“Didn'tlisten!” The witch said, banging her broom on the bars again. “Didn't listen!” Bang went the broom. “Didn't listen! Nowyou're for me, and whoever wants to sample my stew. Fire's almostready.”

Williamran across the cell and leaped to the window. Grasping the bars withhis hands, he thrust his face through and screamed for help. Someonewould come now. How farcould the scarecrow be? Jack was always out somewhere. Henry Talbotprowled this road-- William had seen it for himself. Time wasticking away, and now would be the perfect time for them to show up,if they weren't here already, plotting how to get him out.

Thenhe heard the cell door open behind him. She was coming in.

Thenhe heard it: Footsteps outside in the dark. They were coming closerjust as the witch neared from behind. William looked over hisshoulder at his approaching adversary.

“Myfriend is here!” He yelled at her. “You better leave me alone!”

Shestopped in her tracks, but only to laugh.

Williamturned back to the window and saw who had come to rescue him. Paleface, top hat, a tight-lipped expressionless mouth surrounded by ablack beard. The coffin man stared in at him without emotion.

“No!”

Williamdropped from the window. Fear threatened to paralyze his body, buthe couldn't let it. It was his last chance. No one had saved Hanseland Gretel. They had shoved the witch into her oven themselves.

Hecharged across the cell and threw himself at the old witch. All hehad to do was hit her just right-- just right and she would tip overbackward, stumble, and the witch would be her own stew.

Williamlanded perfectly, his arms wrapped around her neck, his feet firmlyplanted against her torso. And the witch laughed. She didn't movean inch. She turned in place, instead. Over her shoulder, the boysaw the coffin man still staring in at them.

Justas William had been told, the second time he saw the coffin man, thistime, there would be no choice. The old woman peeled William off ofher body with one hand. She held him by the scruff of the neck highin the air. He could feel the steam from the boiling water dampeninghis pants. He couldn't stand to look at the old woman's hideousface, so he made eye contact with the coffin man instead.

Andthen she dropped him.

It's Good to be Afraid -- 14, October

2011-10-14T00:12:00.000-04:00

14,October–Night

Theboy was hiding under a tree. He had found the road, impossibly, afterso much time searching. After all of his time creeping through thedark woods, he had found the road that lead home. He had followed itfor hours as it wound through the trees. Then he had come to a spotwhere the passage widened, and the open space was terrifying to him. He feared so many things now: The coffin man, the creature Mr. Talbothad become, the madman they released from the asylum, and now evenJack-- he knew Jack was no friend to him. Jack had thrown William tothe wolves to accomplish whatever goal he and the Scarecrow set outto accomplish.

Andthe scarecrow. William didn't know what to think about him. Was hejust a merciless killer, taking advantage of him?

Hissmall lantern couldn't cut the blackness of the forest around him,and that had given him comfort. It made him feel like whatever wasout there couldn't see him any easier. Then the old willows, oaksand maple trees framing the road gave way to a small pine grove, andbeyond that was a bleak open passage of land, where he would be astark figure visible to all the eyes of the night.

Asthe boy stood in place under the shelter of trees, he had becomeaware of a sudden vacuum to his right. The blackness had partedthere, and a small trail was visible leading to a house. The boy hadno memory of this house from the many trips he'd taken with hisparents in and out of town. He thought it possible that he had justnever noticed it from the speeding car, but still. . . He foundhimself drawing near one of the trees, watching the house through thespiked needles.

Thehouse was one story, squat and wide, with green siding and a grayshingled roof that looked black in the night. The windows wereilluminated with a stark yellow, and the black silhouette of afigured was moving about inside. It was the first person the boy hadseen all night, even if they were nothing more than an obscureshadow. His feet hurt, there was a long time until daylight, andthe sight of another human being was, for the first time, a comfort.

Sohe had sat below a tree, flicked off his tiny lantern and made a nestfrom the pine needles. Here, he curled up with his arms below hischin and alternated watching the road for passers-by and the figurein the house.

Noone ever came by on the road, but the person inside was constantlytoiling, working; never-ending motion as they applied their self tosome demanding project. Their constant effort dazzled him. The latehour was like a 100-pound bag on his eyes. Soon, he found they wereclosed, and next he was in the abyss of sleep.

“BOY!”

Heawoke with a start in total shock. The passage of time wascompletely unknown to him.

“Boy,come out from there! I'm hungry!”

Itwas a woman's voice, but only barely distinguishable as such. Thedoor to the tiny home stood gaping. What had only been a smallshadow at the window was a huge black figure now. The boy drew upagainst the trunk of the tree as something began to probe toward him. It scraped across the ground, leaving a wide arc in the pineneedles.

“Myspice's scents are strong,” said the old woman, “But the scent ofyour bones is stronger!”

Theobject drew closer, and the boy could see now that it was a broom. The handle reached far away into the tree, disappearing into witheredhand.

“Ineed the marrow for my soup!” The old thing continued. “I betyour ribs taste of vanilla. I can smell the scent. There's pumpkinspice in the bones of your toes. There's cinnamon in your knuckles,boy! I need a femur for my stew.”

Theboy was found, and it was impossible for him to hide. This womansurely knew everything of the area, and he knew nothing. He reachedup at last and flicked on the lantern. Atthe same moment, the old woman took two pine branches in her handsand yanked them apart like double doors. The lantern illuminated herface. It was sickly green, with a protruding brow, a huge bulbousnose with a few faint gray whiskers trying to hide in the hardleathery wrinkles around her mouth.

Theboy looked out at the street behind him as the old woman closed in. Now was the perfect time for the scarecrow to return. He would becoming up the road on his way back to the field right now. SurelyMr. Talbot was out here somewhere, still snooping around the woods,changed back to human by now. Even Stingy Jack would be okay. Aftereverything that had happened, Jack wouldn't be so bad.

Theold woman closed in on the boy, and he broke from the tree at last,fleeing toward the road. His feet were stamping on the soft pineneedles, then onto the earth outside the shade of the tree. He feltpavement under the sole of his shoe one time before his feet weresuddenly no longer under him.

Theboy's body spun through the air, and then he was face to face withthe witch. She held him suspended in the air with one hand wrappedaround a single ankle. He was amazed at her strength. She'd gonequiet now that she had him. She eyed him only momentarily beforeturning abruptly and marching back to the house.

Oncethrough the door, she flung him under-handed across the room where hecrashed against a wooden wall. He dropped to the floor, dizzy, theroom spinning, his body aching. He heard a heavy slam as she closedthe front door. A clock began to chime, hours ringing away into thenight. As he lifted his head, another door slammed-- the iron barsof a prison cell.

Helooked up through the metal bars at the witch. She stood wringingher hands, staring at the chiming clock. “You have one day tolive, boy!”

Thefinal chime rang out the witching hour.

It's Good to be Afraid-- 13, October

2011-10-13T00:04:00.000-04:00

13,October–Night

MichaelSamuels parked his ambulance in the empty lot next to the 24-hourdrive-through. The neon sign on the post above flashed back andforth between Liquor and Lottery. He closed his eyes and let theworld alternate black and red.

Afew days ago, the most interesting moments of his life wouldn't havebeen out of place in any average working man's. A bad day at workwas when a pickup was pushing 500 pounds, were out of their mind ondrugs, or both on a lucky day.

Now,he felt like he had taken a wrong turn. He found his mind runningover countless miles of road, trying to think if he'd made adeviation he'd never made before. Maybe he altered his morningroutine. Perhaps one day he put on deodorant before he brushed histeeth, and the alteration dropped him into another world whereeverything was the same, but wrong.

Hischild was missing. It had been several days, and the chance offinding him was plummeting. His ex-wife only talked to him enough tolet him know he shared as much blame as she.

Then,the attack last night. The thing he saw. He could only think of itas a “thing.” It bore no resemblance to any living creature he'dever seen. If he hadn't been parked out there after a transport lastnight, he knew he never would have believed the tales coming out ofthe place, but he'd seen for himself.

AaronRussell had drawn on it first. He was a 4-year veteran of theSheriff's department, and had come in to take a report on adisorderly who had checked himself in earlier. Michael knew Aarongoing back years. Their jobs crossed paths plenty of days. Theyboth hoped they'd never need the other's service, but were equallyglad to know they were only a call away.

Duringthe chaos, Aaron got his gun out, but he hesitated. He was probablystill trying to make sense of the animalistic shape in front of himwhen its claws tore into him. Two sets of claws went into his torso,a set of powerful jaws went around his throat, and the man was inthree pieces before he had a chance to gasp.

Thething had turned to lope after someone else, and Michael had run overto his dead friend instinctively. There was no need to take a pulse,of course, and by then the thing was turning around. Michael tookAaron's service revolver from the ground. The only thing he knewabout this creature was that hesitation meant death. He fired off asingle round one-handed, not even taking the time for a firingstance. The beast took the bullet squarely in the left temple, did aquick 180 degree pirouette, then plopped down on its chin.

BeforeMichael could cock the gun for a second shot, the beast was suddenlyobscured by people fleeing the mental facility. By the time thecrowd was passed, he had only a moment to glimpse it pulling itselfover the cliff's edge.

Then,of course, the real shock. Michael doubted there would be many timeswhen a rampaging beast would play second fiddle in the surprisedepartment. He had seen the boy for the barest of seconds, and itwas dark, but his size, the shape of his hair silhouetted in thenight, everythigng about him was so similar to William. What was anyyoung boy doing running around a psychiatric facility in the middleof the night? He was out of place, if nothing else.

Michaelhad been pulled away from the boy's trail bya co-worker and his senseof duty. Many people were hurt, and the idea that it could beWilliam-- really be William,seemed impossible. He took the time to attend to the wounded untilmore help could arrive, then he left to follow the child'spath.

He never found the boy, even though there was only one main road inand out of that area, and he thoroughly combed every side street. Whoever it was didn't want to be found.

AndMichael still had the gun. He knew there were other parts of Aaronthey never found. Eventually they would stop looking for it. Itstayed in his glove box for now. He was confident that he mightstill need it, because he knew enough about dead bodies to know thatthey didn't drag themselves away.

It's Good to be Afraid -- 12, October

2011-10-12T00:04:00.000-04:00

12,October–Night

Midnightpassed, and the world was a mess. Henry Talbot dragged himselfacross pavement and gravel with his one good arm. He was in astrange state now. His body was covered in fur, but his left arm wasthat of a man's. The upper teeth of his snout hung out in the air ina hideous overbite. A quarter of his lower jaw had retracted to theshape of a human mandible.

Footstepswere pounding the asylum parking lot behind him. Even now, with abullet working its way back out of his skull, Henry knew the sound ofan angry mob when he heard it. Blood spilled down his forehead,obscuring his eyes. His human arm was the only limb working, and heused it to blindly grope forward. He could sense the tree-line justahead, could hear rain bouncing off the bare branches, hopefullywashing away his trail of blood.

Hestill couldn't understand what had gone so wrong, or who had donethis to him. The logic of the plan was simple enough. To protectthe people of this town, the scarecrow had instructed him to check into the mental institution on the cliff.

“Howam I going to do that?”

“Simpleenough,” the scarecrow had said. “Just tell them the truth.”

“Itwould be easier to get myself thrown in jail.”

“Easierin,” the scarecrow had pointed out, “But not so easy out.”

Andso he had. He would spend the night in the cell, hidden away, and onthe following day, Mr. Uzor would come to retrieve him.

Thewalls were heavy stone, the door was iron. It was the perfect placefor him. Night came and the moon rose. Henry paced his cell. Hismetamorphosis had only begun when he heard the most terrible sound. The tumblers in the lock of his door disengaged.

Inshock, he reached out, barely touched the door, and it swung wide. Outside, in the hallway, was the boy he had saved from the graveyard. Had Henry's vocal cords still been human at that point, he wouldhave asked him, “Why?”

Asusual, he had nearly no memory of the following events. Everythingwas a bloody mess. Metal grates were torn off walls, ceilingfixtures pulled down, office doors smashed in two, and everywherebodies torn to pieces.

Hefled the scene now the only way he could, one hand dragging himtoward the oblivion of the cliff. Some wonderful person had gottenthe sense to put a bullet in his head and cut short the rampage. Hisfunctioning left arm made one final heroic effort now, and his bodytumbled unseen over the cliff.

Jackshoved the boy ahead of him. They stepped carefully over the bodiesand took care not to slip in the blood, but they were in a hurry. ToWilliam's right, a man was pinned to the wall. The legs of a tablehad impaled his chest, and he was hung there like a fly in an insectcollection.

“It'sone of the things that makes him special,” Jack said. “He's notjust a savage killer. He does it with art. Once a month, he's worthhaving around.”

Williamcould only stare slack-jawed. Jack gave him another shove frombehind, and they continued on. “This place won't be empty forlong, lad. Keep moving.”

“I'mgoing to puke,” William warned him as they walked.

“Keepit in. Ye just have one more door to unlock before we're done.”

Thetwo of them stopped at a hall intersection. Jack put his back to thewall and withdrew something from a bag. “Third door on your left. I'll keep lookout here. Just unlock it, and give this tohim.” William looked at the object. It was a blank whitemasquerade mask, expressionless, the type you were supposed to paintyourself.

“Thirddoor on your left,” Jack reminded him. “Go!”

Athis urging, the boy ran. The hallway was deserted, but Henry had notbeen here, so there was no damage. There was nothing special aboutthis third door on the left. Just the same, William stared at it fora moment. He had to wonder what was behind this one. Was thisentire building a series of locked horror shows? He was completelytrapped, though. The hospital staff would surely arrest him now. Jack was the only one who knew the way out, and the wolf man wasstill a deadly force possibly prowling the halls.

Heturned the key in the lock and yanked the door open. A large man wasstanding only inches from the door. His hand was out immediately,palm up. It was huge and scared. He pressed the mask into thewaiting hand. He had only the briefest glimpse of the man'sunremarkable face before the mask was in place, and then William ran.

Jacksmiled as he watched the boy dash past him. He took one look aroundthe corner to see the Madman don the mask and begin to stride towarda fire exit. He signed with relief. “Your first Harvest, boy,”he said, even though William was long gone. “You won't forget it.”

Williamburst from the front doors of the asylum. Rain was poring down, andhis surroundings were only visible during brief flashes of lightning. He was free, though. Jack had told him he was free to go afterdoing this, and their business contract was complete.

Therewas a crowd of people out here. They appeared to be searching forsomething. Heedless of capture, William charged through them. Heslipped once and went to the pavement. In a spark of lightning, hesaw it was a trail of blood leading to the treeline. William turnedand fled the other way. He only had to find his way home now. Hebrushed past a man in his flight, then disappeared into the foliage.

“Whatwas that?” asked Michael Samuels.

“Ididn't see it,” replied the other man. “Come on, we have to findthat thing.”

“Iput a bullet in its head. We can wait for morning. We're not goingto find anything but a dead body. Besides, I thought. . . I couldhave sworn I just saw son.”

Theman looked at him with pity. “You have a lot to deal with rightnow, Mike, but your kid wouldn't be wandering around up here in astorm. The most important thing we can do right now is make surethat, wherever he is, that thing we saw isn't going to get him.”

Mikerelented, but he couldn't help but think of what his ex-wife wouldsay.

It's Good to be Afraid -- 11, October

2011-10-11T00:40:00.000-04:00

11,October–Night

Theboy had spent the entire day in desperation. He exhausted himselfcrying. He wanted to go home. He had missed a day of school now. They would know he was gone, and so would his mother. There was agood chance she had even called his father. The two of them might beout looking for him.

Thehouse had no phone, and it was fully secured. While the internals ofthe house had been let go, someone had gone to extreme measures toshore up all entry and exit ways, and the first floor windows wereblacked out, as well.

Thenight before, scarecrow and Jack had gone out to do business onceagain. When the boy asked the scarecrow what Jack had been talkingabout, scarecrow simply tried to smile and said it wasn't for him toworry about.

Hehad spent the day with nothing to do and only Mr. Uzor moving aboutthe house. He wasn't much for company and either didn't know whatwas going on or wasn't permitted to tell him. After a long,stressful day, the boy had finally gone to sleep.

Hewas awake now, though. It was late night, and he knew something waswatching him. The candle was out, the lantern was off, and he was inperfect night. Slowly, fearfully, he rolled over in bed and tried tomake sense of the wall of blackness before him, but nothing wasthere. Then, a knock came at the door.

Bythe time William had sat up in bed, the door opened. Candle lightspilled in from the chandelier, and a woman entered. She had a paleface, thick but narrow eyebrows, long, thin blond hair and wore ablack dress.

Shecurtseyed politely, then said, “Young Villem, I am sorry we couldnot speak earlier.”

“Oh,”was all the boy could say. After the day he had and the news he'dbeen told, the last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment was astranger. Also, despite her politeness, he could not help be afraidof her. Her facial expression was hidden by the room's darkness, andshadows painted a deep frown dripping down her chin. She had adistinct aura about her. William couldn't help but feel that she wasa devourer.

Shemoved across the room and was suddenly at William's bedside. Thecamping lamp on the table switched on, and for a moment he honestlythought it had been magic, until he saw her hand on the switch.

Inthe light, he saw that she had a softer face than he had originallyimagined, with freckles. “I am the countess Ambrus Borsala,” Sheintroduced herself. “May I sit?”

Williamnodded.

Shetook a seat on the far corner of the bed, and asked, “So, Villem,how do you feel?”

Heshrugged.

Thecountess smiled in response, and her fangs were bright white. Despite the predatory teeth held within, it seemed like an honestsmile to William. “I don't want to die,” he told her.

Ambrus'ssmile faded. “I know, little one. And, contrary to what you aretold, we do not like to prey on little children. A child's spirit isa strange thing, unbound by years of society's training, and it doesunpredictable things. So, we will do what we can to protect you.”

“Whatis it?” William asked. “What's out to get me?”

“Iam to understand you were in the cemetery, and you met a man there.”

“Abad man. Who is he?”

“Heis. . . the coffin man. An undertaker. You do not have this legendin your time?”

Williamshook his head.

“Hewill appear to you twice. Once, he will beckon, and then be gone. Another time, he will appear, and that moment will be your moment todie.”

“Doeshe kill you?”

“Theysay he does not kill, but only shows the way.”

“Sohow can I be safe here?”

“Villem,this is my house, and that makes it a house of the undead. Especially this time of the year. Do you understand?”

“Whythis time of the year?”

“AsHalloween draws close, when the Harvest comes, we children of thenight grow in power. We grow stronger, and places special to us alsobecome powerful.”

“Likeyour house?”

“Likemy house, and like the graveyard that you were in. You were luckythat our friend, Henry Talbot, came upon you. Deep in the night,this time of year when spirits linger just out of sight, a place likethe graveyard becomes a wilderness of darkness, longer, deeper andwith a more winding path than you could ever see in the daylight. You entered there one night, and emerged on the other side the nextnight.”

“Yeah.. .” William said, “So that's what happened.”

“Youtraveled in the world of the night.”

“Itwas scary.”

Ambruswinked and said, “You get used to it, believe me. I will let youget some rest, now. In the morning, I will have Vilmos bring yousome games to play, okay?”

Beforeshe could get up, William asked, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Thecountess smiled again. “You are a friend to the scarecrow, and heis a friend to us all. You were kind and gave him comfort. I think alot of the people he must travel with cannot do that. Also, a childwho seeks us out so bravely as you have is an unusual thing. I. . .am sorry that it brought you to danger. Do you have any otherquestions?”

Williamhad millions, but he couldn't think of any way to put any of them into words. Everything was so strange now. He felt like if this womancould explain everything for him, he wouldn't be so afraid. He couldthink of one thing, however. “Ms. Borsala, who's Scratch?”

“Whydo you ask?”

“Isaw it written under a bridge. A bunch of times, over and over. Itsaid he's coming. He must be important.”

“Ohyes, Mr. Talbot told me about that.” She steepled her hands andtapped her fingertips togther below her chin. “Very interesting. He has not been seen in many decades. He is important to some, butnot to you. He isn't a danger to the living but he isn't a friend,either. You shouldn't worry.”

Williamdidn't feel like any of that really answered his question, buteverything was so confusing right now. Maybe what she said wouldmake sense in the morning. “Thanks for being nice,” he said,“But now, I just want to go home. I need to see my mom before shegets too upset.”

“Villem,”she began.

Anotherknock came at the door, surprising both of them. “A moment withthe wee lad?” It was Jack, returned for the night. “It'simportant.”

“Imust be attending to business, anyway,” the countess said. “Iwill leave you. Do not keep him up too late.”

“Whateveryou say, Amy.”

Asshe passed by him, she stopped to say, “Jack, you have a verystrong disrespect for authority.”

“It'swhat got me where I am today.” He smiled.

Onceshe was gone, Jack knelt down beside the boy's bed. “So, lad, Ihave a business proposal for you. What would ye say if I could getye out of here as soon as tomorrow?”

It's Good to be Afraid -- 10, October

2011-10-10T00:03:00.001-04:00

10,October–Night

Theboy was gently nudged awake. He was disoriented, confused and had noidea where he was. The room around him was almost entirely wooden: Grey wooden walls, long wooden rafters on the ceiling and woodenplanks making up the floor, broken up only by the occasional throwrug. The room was dim. There seemed to be no electricity, but asingle candle burning in the window, and there was a battery-poweredcamping lantern on a table. A clock's pendulum tick-tocked away onthe wall. William could see the hand dipping just past the II. Hewished it displayed the day.

“What'sgoing on?” He asked.

Thesmall man next to his bed bowed. “I am Vilmos Uzor,” heintroduced himself. “The countess will be ready to see you soon. Please, prepare your things.” He gestured toward a vanity screen inthe far corner of the room.

Williamrealized that below the blankets, he was wearing only a large shirtthat went to his ankles. “Where am I?” he asked.

“Youare in town. The countess has acquired this property for the season. You were asleep,” he added helpfully, “When Mr. Talbot carriedyou in. It was a long night, yes?”

“Somethinglike that. I'm still confused,” William admitted.

“Changequickly,” Mr. Vilmos suggested. “The countess has little time,and there is much to do.” With that, he left the room.

Williamhad no choice but to go and change behind the vanity mirror. It wasdark and dusty behind it, and the flickering candle in the windowcast strange silhouettes onto it. His clothes had been washed. Hisbackpack hung from a hook on the wall.

Williamput on the fresh shirt and pants, but left the backpack where it was,then followed Mr. Uzor's path into the hallway. He emerged on arickety balcony overlooking the dark first floor. The wood motifcontinued here. Most of the paint had stripped from the walls toreveal the original material beneath. A chandelier hung, at least,and was lit. From somewhere below, he could hear voices.

Hewas about to go down to them, but Mr. Uzor put a hand on hisshoulder. “Please wait,” he said, “Until her current audienceis done.”

Withnothing else to do, the boy listened intently. He couldn't make outthe words being said, but there were at least 3 voices. He heard Mr.Talbot-- he seemed to be the closest. There was also a woman's voiceand maybe 2 others.

HenryTalbot suddenly appeared below, heading toward the front door. Another man appeared just as abruptly and put a hand on Mr. Talbot'sarm before he could go. William recognized him before he even had achance to speak.

“Yermaking the right choice,” Stingy Jack said.

“I'venever heard anyone make that phrase sound so doubtful,” Mr. Talbotreplied, then was gone. William couldn't help but feel a little sadfor him. It seemed kind of like he was in trouble, and after he hadbeen so helpful to William. He still wondered why, although maybe hewas just honestly a nice man.

Jackturned and talked to somebody else obscured by the balcony floor. “That one doesn't trust us,” he said.

“Ibelieve you're at the root of that, Jack, as you are with mostdistrust.”

Itseemed too good to be true, but the voice was astonishingly familiar. He bolted from under Mr. Uzor's hand and dashed down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, he wound round a pillar and raced straighttoward his friend. “Scarecrow!” He yelled.

“Ah,dear William,” the scarecrow replied. “I see you are awake. You've had a long rest, and well earned. How do you feel?”

“Ifeel kinda weird,” William admitted. “Where am I? When can I gohome?”

“Thisis the countess's temporary residence,” the scarecrow told him. “Iam her guest, and you are here under my orders. For the time being,I need you to remain until further notice.”

“Hellothere, wee lad,” Stingy Jack said. “Haven't seen ye in a week.”

Williamwaved to the old man sheepishly.

“Youshouldn't have come out so late at night, dear boy,” The scarecrowsaid.

Williamcouldn't help but feel that he looked sad, despite the limited amountof emotion his stitched face was capable of showing. “Youshouldn't have left without me,” William protested. “Or youshould have said goodbye.”

“Ifeared that following me would lead to a bad end,” the scarecrowsaid. “I thought my absence would protect you. Had I only known. I had thought that a healthy fear of what lay outside in the darknesswould keep you at home. Now, I fear these walls may be the onlyplace you are safe until the season passes.”

“Andthat's a maybe,” Jack offered, unhelpfully. Then, offhand, henoted, “Hey, old Amy's gone.”

Mr.Uzor appeared from behind them. William had no idea he had even comedown the stairs. “The countess could not tarry,” the small mansaid. “She is very busy, and I'm afraid her time for an audienceis at an end.”

“Bah!”Jack said. “You'd think she could have spared some time for theboy.”

“Oh,really, it's okay,” William said. “I don't even know her, so Idon't know why I would expect a countess. . .”

“Still,”Jack cut him off. “It's not every day ye find out you're going todie.”

It's Good to be Afraid -- 09, October

2011-10-09T00:08:00.000-04:00

09,October–Night

Henrywas tired from walking, but it was the only way he knew to get realthinking done. The proposition the scarecrow had come to him withduring the previous night was a lot to think about. The creature wasa little strange, as always, but not unreasonable. The problem was,he couldn't help but feel there was also a trick to it, which wasdecidedly unlike the old fellow. Henry worried that after the years,Jack was beginning to rub off on him. They were always the first twoto arrive in a town for Halloween, and consequently, they wound upworking together a lot, despite their opposed personalities.

Ashis friend, the moon, rose above a passing cloud, Henry found that hehad come to an all-together appropriate place to do his thinking. Hesmiled at the irony of pondering life in a place that celebrateddeath, and took a left into the cemetery. The scarecrow'ssuggestion was repeating in his head.

“Checkyourself into the hospital,” He had said.

“Idon't think they have the cure for my condition just yet,” Henryhad replied.

“Notthat hospital. I have a different one in mind. There's one just tothe far side of the river. It's. . . quite secure.”

Henryhad smiled at that. “Now I know what you're talking about. Thewhite building on the cliff? I passed it on the way into town theother day. The asylum. I'm not crazy,you know.”

“Onno, Mr. Talbot, not at all. You only lose complete control ofyourself once a month. Indeed, they cannot treat your condition, butthey have heavy doors and heavier walls. You will be secure inside,and those without will be safe as well.”

Henrythrust his hands into his pockets as he walked. It wasa good idea. The problem was, he couldn't help but wonder whyscarecrow would suggest it. It wasn't in scarecrow's nature tosuggest hiding his other side, and certainly not locking it up.

Histrain of thought was broken when he suddenly stumbled acrosssomething that should not have been in the path. He would havethought it nothing more than an errant stone, except it gave soeasily when he struck it, and then it let out a whimper.

“Iwon't go,” said the object.

Henryleaped back, startled. “What?” he said.

Theshape suddenly drew up to its feet, and he could see that it wasactually a boy. It turned and started to flee, but Henry's hand shotout and grabbed it by the shoulder.

Theboy screamed.

“Holdon!” Henry said. “You shouldn't be out here.”

“Letme GO! I won't go with you!”

Henrywas struck by the familiarity of the boy's voice. “It's youagain?”

Theboy continued to struggle, but he looked back now.

“It'sme,” he told the boy. “It's Henry. Henry Talbot.”

Theboy relaxed at last, though he still appeared wary.

“Well,William, can you tell me why I always find you out wandering atnight? And usually in trouble, it seems.” Now that he was sure theboy wasn't going to flee deeper into the graveyard, he released hisshoulder.

“I'mlooking for my friend,” he replied.

“Youshould look in the daylight.”

“I'mnot sure he's out then. . .”

“Whoexactly is this 'friend?'”

“You'dnever believe me. No one would. You'd think he's. . . not real.”

Henrysat down and put his back to somebody's tombstone. It felt good toget his tired legs out from under him, even if the ground was cold. “I think you'd be surprised. How about you just tell me, and we'llsee what I believe.”

“Noway. Besides, you don't know him.”

“Well,let me tell you what I am, William. I'm only telling you because youstrike me as the type to understand. Any kid who'd go poking througha graveyard late at night this close to Halloween is somebody I thinkmight believe me.”

Theboy considered him for a moment, but he couldn't hide his interest. “So, what are you?”

“William,once a month, on the full moon, I change and become something else. Can you guess what it is?”

“Doyou. . . grow hair?”

“Ido.”

“Doyour teeth get longer?”

“Theydo.”

“Doyour nails get longer?”

“Theydo.”

“Wow.”The boy said nothing for a moment. “A real. . .”

“Yes,William, a real one. So you see, now you know I'll believe you,whatever it is, so why don't you tell me who this friend is?”

Williamsaid, “Okay, he's a scarecrow. And sometimes he's with his friend,Jack.”

Henryseemed to contemplate this for a moment. “A scarecrow, huh? Andwho is Jack, exactly?”

“Sting--er, Jack O' the Lantern.”

“Okay. Did Jack tell you to come out here?”

“No,the scarecrow did.”

“Didhe really?”

“Well,not exactly, but, you see, he told me to meet him, and then I nevershowed up, and he disappeared, and I've been looking for him eversince. I'm not going back this time until I find him.”

“Don'tyou have school in the morning?”

“Noton Sunday.” The boysounded like he was beginning to doubt Henry's intelligence.

“William,this is Sunday night.”

“Noit isn't. I only left a while ago. . . it was Friday night. Ithasn't even been daylight yet!”

Henrylooked puzzled. “Can you tell me everything that happened afteryou left?”

Williamfilled him in on the trip across the fields, over the bridge and intothe cemetery. When he got to the part about the man with the coffin,Henry's face went white.

“William,you didn't see his face, did you?”

“Ofcourse. He had a big beard, and he was wearing a suit.”

“Didhe say anything to you?”

“That'sthe thing. He won't shut up. I can still hear him now, far, faraway. He keeps asking me to come into the coff-”

The boy's arm wasnearly yanked out of its socket as Henry grabbed him and beganpulling him from the graveyard.

“Thisis a dangerous place!” Henry was saying, pulling the boy alongbehind him. “We have to leave. Now.”

“Whereare we going?” The boy had gotten his legs under himself and wasmanaging to keep up.

“We'regoing to find your friend.”

It's Good to be Afraid -- 08, October

2011-10-08T00:49:00.000-04:00

08,October–Night

Williamleft the Miller Street bridge behind by 1 am. This side of thecemetery was fenceless, and entrance was no problem, but the boy felthimself creeping along slowly, regardless. While the moon was movingtoward being full, tonight it was obscured by a black wall of cloud. The cemetery was unlit, and every monument, tree and stone lookedlike a moving figure until William stood still and examined it. Hemoved thus from one tombstone to the next, crouching behind it andfully inspecting his surroundings before moving on.

Ashe neared the center of the graveyard, off in the distance he couldbarely make out a shape he had not seen so far. It was vaguelyrectangular with edges that sloped out, then in again toward the top. He stared at it intently. Movement was clearly visible in thecenter of it, he was sure. Something was alive this time. The shapeitself, he couldn't help but think, strongly resembled an oldfashioned coffin, nothing like the modern caskets used in graveyardstoday. The movement was constant, rhythmical. A white shape hoveredin one spot, growing and shrinking steadily. The boy was afraid, butthe night was a mystery and his curiosity was immense.

Slowly,he began to creep toward it. He moved in a crouch, keeping his headbelow the tops of the tombstones around him. The moving white shapedidn't slow or alter in any way. He drew closer one row at a time,stone by stone. After passing the fifth row of graves, the figurebegan to take shape: That of a finger, white and bony, but withenough girth to be covered in flesh. The finger, of course, belongedto a hand, and the hand belonged to something else.

Still,the boy fought his fear and drew nearer. What choice did he have? The movement of the finger and the hand that bore it was a beckoningmotion. Slowly, over and over, the finger would point at him, thencurl upward until its sharp nail was stabbing skyward. Then it woulddrop again, and repeat, and once more.

Williamfollowed its command as the pantomime spoke to him, “Come here,come close, come closer, boy.” As he did so, more and more of thefigure became visible in the night. It seemed to be dressed almostentirely in black, but there was a white V down the middle with a tiein the center, suggesting the thing wore a suit. Above the V, thetop of a face was visible, high-set cheekbones and pair of eyes. The lower face was obscured by a heavily curled beard and mustache.

Whenthe boy was less than 10 feet away, the figure suddenly stepped tothe side and revealed that he had indeed been standing before acoffin all along. The lid was swung wide, revealing a plain woodinterior. The man gestured toward it grandiosely, his gesticulationcontinuing to speak as words, “Step inside, boy,” but whenWilliam did not comply, he spoke with his actual voice: “Enter,boy, and forget all.”

“No,”William said. Either the sound of the man's voice or William's ownfear had broken the spell over him, and he began to back away.

“Whywait?” the man asked. “To refuse is to delay. You will return,and it will never again be a moment of your choosing.”

Theboy turned and ran. He knew the church was on the far side of thecemetery. He only had to run until he could see its steeple, then hewould know where he was. The man called after him, “Return!” hesaid, “Come!”

Theboy ran on, putting row after row of grave markers between the two ofthem, but the man's voice wouldn't fade. Soon it was in his head,just as loud as ever, “Come, boy, enter the coffin, and rest! Worrynot again, fear not again, and find peace forever!”

Williamturned as he ran, facing the direction he had come from. His legswheeled violently to carry him backward toward the church, and heyelled back as loud as his voice was capable, “NO!” His heel hita low gravestone, and he was suddenly flung over backward. He hitthe ground rolling, and the last sound he heard, still in his mind,was the coffin man's laughter.

It's Good to be Afraid -- 07, October

2011-10-07T00:03:00.000-04:00

07,October–Night

Fridaynight, school was done for the week, and William had to pay his dueslocked in front of the living room TV with the rest of his family. Time ticked away slowly as one sitcom bled into the next. His sisterannoyed him with tales of what the younger kids were up to in firstgrade.

Witha whole weekend ahead of him, mom leaving for work early in themorning and his sister dropped off at a friend's house, the boy knewthis was his best chance to find the scarecrow. Every night's searchhad been met with failure, but he only failed when he gave up andwent home. This time, there was no going home until he found him.

Asthe last show ended at 10 pm, his sister bolted off the couch, headedfor the bathroom. Once she was gone out of sight, he slunk off thecouch and began to head for the hallway.

“Whereyou going, Will?” His mother asked.

“It'sbedtime,” he told her. He was almost out of the room when she saidsomething that surprised him.

“Isanything wrong?”

“No,I just. . . school wore me out today,” he answered.

“You'vebeen looking kind of ragged,” She responded, “Is something goingon at school?”

“No,nothing is going on at school.”
With that, he disappeared aroundthe bannister and headed up stairs. Since she was suspicious, heknew he would have to wait until she went to bed before he snuck out. Her concern was surprising to him, and he felt some guilt aboutgoing out without telling her anything, but he had a friend he wasworried about now, and there was a lot of ground to cover on the wayto town.

Hehad checked out a book from the school library today. It was on townhistory, small and mostly useless, but there was a detailed map inthe back. It was hand-drawn and crude, but it gave him an idea ofthe layout while most other maps reduced his town to a pinprick.

Hewas going out with so much equipment now, he had gotten to the pointof dumping out his school backpack every evening and stuffing it withsupplies. He had a flashlight taken from the basement, sparebatteries, a glowstick and now the map. This time, he was alsopacking some snacks into his school lunchbox.

Hestashed the gear below his rear window and began the wait. It was10:45, and his mother would be in her room by now. She would be upby 5 in order to go to work on time, and this was already a latenight for her. It would still be a little while before she wasunconscious, so he took the map back out of his backpack and began tostudy his route.

Asmuch as he didn't want to admit his fear, he had no desire to goacross the stone bridge again, so his route took him far to thesouth, paralleling the river through several fields. Just past thePresswood's field, the river took a turn and went under the road. The boy was familiar with that pass, and it was below a sturdyconcrete bridge with only a narrow pipe for the water to passthrough. Nothing very big could be living in a small pipe like that.

Beyondthe river, he knew he could track back toward town by going through,appropriately, the cemetery. On the other side of the cemetery was achurch. The boy figured if he picked up anything nasty in thegraveyard, he could hide from it in the church. And, just maybe, ifhe was really lucky, he would find the scarecrow in the cemetery. Itseemed a likely enough place for Jack and him to have work.

Williamplaced the map back into his backpack. He didn't have a compass, buthe was planning on guiding himself by landmarks, and it may well havebeen too dark at any given time to see a compass, anyway.

Nowit was 11 pm. His mother was asleep for sure. The night outside wascalm and unusually warm for October. The boy pushed the backpack outthe window ahead of him, then followed it. Outside, once he was onthe ground, he pressed into the field, walking toward the southernroad.

It's Good to be Afraid -- 06, October

2011-10-06T00:36:00.000-04:00

06,October–Night

Thescarecrow stepped off the raft behind Jack. Jack was moving hislantern left and right, turning the scenery around them into an agedyellow painting. From behind, he heard the cracking of bones as theshrouded figure of Charon extended his skeletal hand.

“Jack,a few coins,” The scarecrow said.

“Huh?Look who yer asking,” replied Jack.

“Iknow exactly who I'm asking. That's why it was polite of him not tomake us pay in advance, and it is exactly why I know you have coinsin your pocket right now.”

“We'reabout to bring him plenty of business. Maybe he should do us a favornow, aye?” Frustrated, Jack dug in his pocket and removed a fewpence, then tossed them toward the scarecrow. “Only because I knowye'll never shut up.”

Thescarecrow paid the river man, and the two parties moved off inopposite directions-- Jack and the scarecrow headed off into thewoods, as the river man poled his raft back into the shadowed water. On the hill above them, the lighted windows of their destinationreflected off the water below.

Thepair worked their way up the hill, weaving between trees andvegetation. The rain-loosened soil made climbing treacherous, butexposed roots provided ample footing.

“Sothat's it,” Jack said as they reached the top. “The oldnuthouse. What do we do now?”

“It'snot my plan. We have to wait for her to show up.”

Thetwo camped out behind the treeline, waiting as the night passed. Itsprinkled once, briefly. Jack folded his arms tightly across hisstomach and stayed near the weak warmth of the cinder in his lantern. The scarecrow was indifferent to the cold.

“What are ye made of this time, anyway?” Jack asked.

“I'mflesh, as always,” answered the scarecrow.

“Nah,I know ye got flesh and blood on ye, but yer still a scarecrow atheart.”

“Straw, mostly.” The scarecrow admitted.

“Iremember the one time, ye was stuffed with mostly corn. Ye wasscritch-scratching everywhere ye went.” Jack laughed. “Do youthink, then, yer made of enough straw, this cinder could set ye ablaze?”

“Notwhen I'm wet from the rain, Jack. Why would you even suggest it?”

“Enoughyears on this Earth, you get curious about things.” Jack held thejack o' lantern aloft and angled it toward the face of the scarecrow,who promptly turned away.

“There'shardly need for us to fight, Jack.”

“Yeah,ye know where that goes,” Jack said, raising his chin and reclininghis head. What had once been a deep gash was now a mass of scartissue. “Hard to turn me neck correctly now. Ye said wasn't noneed to fight then, too, but ye did.”

“Anyonewould, when pressed.”

“Imade $20 on a bet that night.”

“Thatwas a silly wager, Jack. Carrying around a pumpkin and your headsimultaneously would keep both of your hands filled. How would youhold onto your money?”

“Gentlemen!”a voice startled the both of them.

Adark figured seemed to materialize from the shadow of a tree. Jackflipped his lantern around to shine on the woman, but the scarecrowknew who she was immediately.

“CountessBorsala,” the scarecrow said, standing. He bowed slightly.

“Ah,Amy,” Jack said, recovering from his start.

“That'sAmbrus, you child” the woman replied. “Or should I call youStingy?”

Thescarecrow doubted many people would refer to old Jack as “Child.”

“Goahead if it please ye. I trademarked it. I'll be making 12 penceevery time ye say it!” Jack laughed.

“Idon't believe you have a strong grasp of copyright or trademark law,”Ambrus responded.

“Well,ye can call me what ye like, and I can call ye Batsy, how about?”

“You'vemade enough noise for tonight, Jack. Both of you gentleman have, forthat matter. If the security personnel inside that building weremore alert, our business here would be at an end.”

“Itwould be nice to be done with it,” Jack suggested.

“You'reonly prolonging it,” the scarecrow told him. “Please go on, Ms.Borsala. What is our task?”

“Gentlemen,There is a man from within I wish to recruit to our cause.”

“Someonefrom the institution?” the scarecrow asked.

“Apatient?” inquired Jack.

“Amadman,” responded Ms. Borsala.

“Isa madman really something one can recruit?” asked the scarecrow.

“Heis a man of a most singular purpose,” Ms. Borsala said. “Asingular purpose which has, whether he knows it or not, alreadyaligned our goals with his. He's far inside, under lock and key. Even without the lock, as you both know, I have no permission toenter the premises.”

“Yewant us to check him out for ye,” Jack theorized.

“Whatis his name?” asked the scarecrow.

“Noname is known for this man,” replied Ms. Borsala.

“Whatdoes he look like?”

“Hehas yet to choose a face for himself. His purpose is so singular,his identity is entirely lost.”

“So,the madman,” Jack said. “He's under armed guard, I'm sure.”

“Themost stringent.”

“'Tweenthe two of us, scarecrow's the most killer.”

“Onlywhen needs be,” the scarecrow reminded him once again. “Locks,bars, guards-- getting in may be one thing, but retrieving thismadman would be another.”

“Justthe same,” Ms. Borsala said. “I leave the task to you.” Andthen she was gone.

Jackfelt something flitter past him. “She just drops the order andleaves,” he said.

“Shehas many responsibilities,” the scarecrow reminded him.

“Sowhat are we supposed to do?”

“Wedelegate. Everyone has their place in the world. I know someoneperfect for this one.”

It's Good to be Afraid -- 05, October

2011-10-05T00:08:00.000-04:00

05,October–Night

Midnighthad passed while William hurried down the street. He had thoroughlysearched his own family's fields, just in case, before moving on tothe neighbor's. The Coby's farm was larger than theirs, but grewmostly wheat for hay. There was also a sprawling pumpkin patch, and,other than stumbling over some vines, it was easier to cover thedistance. Also, the scarecrow would have stood out better. The boydid note that the Coby's farm lacked a scarecrow of its own or even apost for it to live on.

Hewas on the road now. His own lantern and the lean moon above failedto provide the sharp cone of light that Jack had shown previously. Everything looked completely different. Without his friends around,the night felt claustrophobic. It seemed like he was surrounded onall sides. Instead of a beam of light, his lantern made only a dimhalo. Beyond it was a wall of black, and beyond that, he knew notwhat. He hoped that old Stingy Jack was with the scarecrow.

Afterfollowing the road for a time, the boy came to the Sparkill river. He couldn't see its calm waters now at night, but he heard themflowing smoothly below the stone bridge above it. He leaned againstthe stone wall now and stared down at the emptiness below. It was apeaceful place, day or night.

Peacefulbut for one sound. . . or maybe two. The water was a sweetness tohis ears, gentle and soft. There were crickets, too, chirping latein the year. And yet. . . one more. There was an additional soundhere tonight. A scratching below the bridge.

Williamfroze. As still as he had been, leaning against the bridge wall, hebecame even stiller now. The scratching continued, not unlike pen onpaper: the speed, the intent, but harsher. Something on stone. Notquite sharp enough for a chisel, but something was cutting, scrapingquickly across the blocks.

Theboy tried to stay still, but the sound never stopped, and it was toomuch for him. He broke and ran at last the only way he knew-- theway back toward home. He was sure the scarecrow was out the otherway somewhere, but there were also miles and miles of nothing outthere, and then he would be trapped between the nothing and whateverwas making that noise under the bridge.

Hissmall lantern didn't illuminate much, and he felt like he was runningfaster than what it could reveal, but it didn't matter. For thefirst time, he felt that he didn't want anything revealed to him--and then he hit it. He slammed face-first into a solid object andwent sprawling.

“Whoa!”said the object.

Theboy pawed around the pavement but could not find his lantern.

“Iwas trying to stay out of your way there, buddy, but you're toofast.”

Thetiny lantern suddenly materialized in the air, then was handed backdown to him.

“Lookslike it's not broken,” said the object who, now in the light of thelamp, turned out only to be a man. He had brown hair and a scruffyjaw, but kind eyes.

Theboy took it gratefully.

“I'mHenry,” The man said, offering a hand to the boy, who took it. “Henry Talbot.” He helped the boy to his feet.

“I'm. . .not really supposed to talk to strangers,” the boy said, “But I'mWilliam.”

“Ibet you're not supposed to be out here walking around at midnight,either. Where do you live?”

Theboy backed away. “I'm not supposed to give out my address, either! You're not a policeman, are you?”

“No,just a. . . regular man.”

“Whatare you doing out late atnight?” The boy was feeling braver again, now that the naturalboundaries were plainly stated.

“Justwalking. I'm a wandering man. Is this the way to town?” Hepointed in the direction the boy had been running from.

“Yeah,but. . . you don't want to go that way right now.”

“Whynot? I'm trying to get to town.”

“There'ssomething under the bridge It was making noises. I'm afraid itmight be. . .” the boy tried to think of something that would showthe adult the fear he had been feeling. No grownup he knew would beafraid of a troll or a late night ghost hanging out by a bridge. “There might be a terrorist down there,” he said at last. “Maybehe's going to blow up the bridge.”

“Well,when you put it that way,” said Henry, “I'd better take a look.”

Theman headed down the road. The boy kept his halo of light in a singlespot for a moment before deciding the man may have use of it. “Mr.Talbot,” he called out, and began to follow.

Bythe time he caught up, the man was already working his way down thegrassy slope around the bridge.

“Becareful!” The boy pushed his lantern toward the man.

“It'sokay,” Henry said. “You hold onto it.” He had both handsagainst the brick wall and was nosing all around the area, his headlow to the ground one moment, then high up below the bridge's arch. At last, he stuck his head fully under, into the shadow of thebridge, and the boy was sure he was going to lose his it. The man wasreally turning out to be quite a snoop.

Hedrew closer when the man didn't move, and raised the lantern as highas he could.

“Thanks,”Henry said suddenly. “It's darker under here than I thought.”

Inthe light of the lantern, the boy studies Henry's face, who seemed tobe staring fixedly at one spot on the wall. Reluctantly, he movedthe light source closer to the wall and tried to make out what itrevealed.

Inthe stone blocks of the bridge, somebody had labored long on awriting project but not achieved much. Over and over again, possiblythousands of times, something had scratched in the same words.

“Scratchis coming. Scratch will come. Soon. Scratch in town. Scratch intown. Scratch. Scratch is coming.”

Itfilled the full underside of the arch, rising up overhead, continuingon to the other side, but never changing its orientation. As thewriting scrawled down the central pillar of the bridge, the words hadturned upside-down.

“Lousyplace for advertising,” Henry said.

“Mr.Talbot,” the boy said, “I think I need to be going home.”

“Maybeso. Maybe me, too.”

The October Theme of the Month!

2011-10-04T18:22:00.001-04:00

Bride of Frankenstein!

Now here's a really good one. What can I say about this movie that hasn't been said? If you're a Frankenstein fan, if you're a classic horror movie fan, if you're a classic movie fan in general, you've probably seen this already at least once.

Sure.

Some consider it to be James Whale's masterpiece. Some consider it to be the best Frankenstein film ever made. The funniest thing is seeing stuff from Mary Shelley's original novel that wasn't actually used in the first movie (in fact, very little of her novel was used in the first movie).

Yeah.

For example, this movie includes the part in the novel where the monster observes a family living out in their country home-- although in the movie, it's just an old blind man by himself. It's the first person to accept the monster instead of hating it on sight, and it's really crucial to the development of the monster as a character
What do you like about it, Yikes?

The uh. . . the marauding sequence?

Marauding sequence? You mean at the very beginning when he kills the old couple investigating the ruined windmill?

He only kills 2 people? I mean, yeah, that scene.

Wait. Yikes, have you actually seen Bride of Frankenstein?

Not. . . lately.

Have you seen Frankenstein?

I saw the one with John Hurt.

The one by Roger Coreman?
Frankenstein Unbound.

That's the one you've seen? The weird sci-fi time travel one where they mix in Mary Shelley with the fictional events of her story? There's like 8 universal Frankensteins, a Hammer series of them, god knows how many others, and the only one you've seen is Frankenstein Unbound?

I like John Hurt. I think he's a good actor.

He IS a good actor, Yikes. The point is, you're allowed to see more than one Frankenstein movie.

I've been afraid that seeing the others would taint my love of Frankenstein Unbound.

Holy crap, Yikes. Okay, let's look at some copies of the original that are available for us to pick up, okay?

There's the straight-up barebones copy of the single movie on DVD. If you ONLY want Bride, or you somehow already own some of the other Universal Frankenstein films on DVD, I guess this one could be for you. I personally have never checked out this edition, but I've heard reports that the transfer isn't so great.
Of course, we've probably all noted a pattern by now and know that this is what a collector really wants. This is one of the best of Universal's Legacy collections. It includes pretty much the entire Frankenstein series (which is also one of Universal's longest) with the exception of Meets the Wolfman, which we already know is on the previously discussed Wolfman Legacy Collection. Once again, this is the one I own, and I love it.

Hey now, let's not be forgetful!

Okay, okay.We've already talked about it enough. It's legitimately a fun movie, even if it's a bit of a guilty pleasure. There's some cool gore, and it's an interesting way to look at the Frankenstein legend.

I love it!

Your Coreman tolerance is higher than mine in general.

It's not like I'm talking about the De Niro one here.

Fair enough. Now let's go check out the classics and you can start getting caught up.

It's Good to be Afraid -- 04, October

2011-10-04T00:03:00.000-04:00

04,October–Evening

Itwas Tuesday night, and the boy felt absolutely wretched. He didn'teven need to go look at the garden today. He heard grampa talking tomom as soon as he was home from school. The first word he heard usedwas “Stolen.”

“Butwho would want to?” His mom's voice.

“Kids.Trouble makers. Hooligans. There's a path smashed right through thegarden, right to it. I tell you, somebody had to march right pastthe house, right out there and snag the thing. Tore it right off thepole!”

Theboy felt caught. He was responsible, in a way, wasn't he? He mightnot have taken the scarecrow, but he did cause it to leave. “Maybe.. . maybe it was the Devil,” he suggested. “Maybe-- I heard helikes to play tricks.”

“Will,that Devil stuff is just talk. And dad, I don't think it was reallydoing a great job of keeping the crows away. Besides, you were goingto tear it down before winter.”

Theboy had to admit that was true.

“Thatisn't the point. It's my property. Ourproperty!”

“Maybeit was Stingy Jack!” The boy interjected. It didn't seem like hewas really on the hook for this one, but laying out a little blamecouldn't hurt, just in case. His mom looked at him for the briefestmoment, slightly confused. Ofcourse, she had no idea who Stingy Jack was.

Shecontinued talking to the other adult. “Dad, you know we don't planto stay here forever, just until we're back on our feet.”

“C'monnow. Don't end one argument with another.” Grampa said. “Youknow you have a safe place to stay here as long as I'm alive.”

“Dad,”

Theboy left the doorway and made his way upstairs. This was adiscussion he'd heard enough times. As he ascended the stairs, histhoughts stayed on Jack O' the Lantern. Stingy Jack. Just howstingy was he, anyway? Was he stingy enough to not want to share afriend? The boy had to wonder if his theory of Jack making off withthe scarecrow was really that made up after all.

Whenhe reached his bedroom, he took a look out the rear window just incase, but the post was nothing more than a lonely shadow. It waspossible that the scarecrow really was just waiting for Jack'sarrival all this time, and the two had moved on together. But, then,the scarecrow had called himself a friend, and friends didn't leavewithout saying goodbye, even if they were mad. Besides, if Jackcould trick the Devil, he could trick the scarecrow.

Itwas all too strange.

Theboy flipped on the TV and sat through the usual evening block ofcartoons. During breaks, he noticed that the commercials had begunto turn a little more seasonal. He saw his first commercial of theyear for costumes, and there was one which featured candy cornheavily. This town didn't have Trick or Treat, or beggar's night, as his grandpa called it. It was true that he would miss the candy, but more than that, he would miss the night itself, and the anticipation of venturing into the darkness with his family. He thought about how he used to walkthrough the old neighborhood with his mom and dad, the streetilluminated only by street lamps and porch lights, and his ownswaying Halloween lantern.

TVforgotten, he got up and began to dig through his closet. He draggedout the box of toys, pushed it out of the way, then began to digthrough the deeper contents. He came across last year's Frankensteincostume. Then, under that, at last, his lantern. It was small,orange, shaped like a pumpkin, and at the center was a frosted orbthat housed a light. The boy flicked it on and was disappointed bythe dim glow.

Thiswas no reason to admit defeat, however. He flipped the TV back off,removed the battery cover on the remote, then replaced the batteriesin the lantern. With a flick of the switch, his bedroom wasilluminated.

Helooked out the rear window. The sun was dropping like a rock. Hehad a lantern of his own now. He was as prepared as old Jack everwas. He knew things would make sense once he found them out there. The scarecrow really was his friend-- he could feel it from thebeginning-- and would never hurt him. The boy raised the window andstepped out to begin his search.

It's Good to be Afraid -- 03, October

2011-10-03T00:01:00.001-04:00

03,October–Evening

Theboy bolted through the fields, dashing corn stocks out of his way,stomping them under foot, smashing through untended weeds. Aphidsfled his rampage as he charged through the rows. He was racingtowards apprehension, a fear that began when he looked out the rearwindow after school. He tried to tell himself it was just too farto see, but even as he ran he was sure-- the scarecrow's pole hadbeen vacant.

He'smad, he's mad, he's mad, the boythought to himself-- not just a thought: Knowledge. He knew for sure. The boy hadn't shown up for their meeting last night-- he hadshirked his responsibility to help the scarecrow in his duties, andnow, He's mad!

Sundaymorning, he had piled into the car with the rest of the family ontheir way to church. He was sure it was just going to be anotherlong boring day-- this one even longer than usual as he anticipatedgoing to help his new friend with whatever he was up to that night. But, after the priest began talking, things had changed. His sermonwas about just one subject today: Hell. He went on and on. Hedescribed it with intricate detail, as one who was personallyfamiliar with the location. He talked about punishment, and hetalked about consorting with the unsavory.

Consorting,the boy had thought. He thought about Jack with his ember from theDevil's own fire. Jack had certainly consorted with the Devil, andthat's what he was doing now. Consorting.

Hehad ridden home in dejected silence. For the most part, for the restof Sunday, he had stayed away from the back of the house. He didn'teven want to be tempted to look out the rear window-- even though,during dinner, avoiding the view entirely was impossible, and thescarecrow stood then. It was completely alone, and the wind waswhipping its oversized flannel shirt around.

Hewent to bed that night missing his friends, but what the priest hadsaid was scarier than anything he had seen the last two nights.

Thencame school Monday morning. He wanted to talk to someone about it,anyone at all. In fact, it didn't even have to be his problems, hejust wanted to talk, period. He raised his hand for every questionin class, but was never called on. During lunch, he even made anattempt to see the guidance counselor. Unfortunately, today she wasout of her office.

Onthe school bus trip home, he had made up his mind. He was fullyresolved that he would talk to the scarecrow about it. Maybe hecould make things clearer. He always seemed like an honest sort, andmaybe, even if he was dishonest, the boy would be able to tell, andthat would put things to rest once and for all.

Butthen, upon returning home, there was the absolute horror of an emptygarden.

He'smad, and it's my fault. He told me I didn't have to come, but it wasmy responsibility.

Hecontinued smashing his way through the corn now, and at last eruptedinto the clearing where his post stood, abandoned. The scarecrow had never leftduring the day before. The boy kicked it once, angrily.

To be safe,he decided to walk up under the water tower, just in case, but it,too, was vacant. He momentarily considered climbing it for a betterlook around, but grampa's rules made him think that was a bad idea. He even followed the path of their previous night's walk to the fenceby the road and looked around. He looked up the road to where Jackhad shown his pumpkin's light on Saturday night. Now, in thedaylight, the boy couldn't understand how it ever held so much wonderfor him. He knew exactly what lay up that road: More fields, farms,and eventually the town square. Somehow, covered by night,illuminated by the ember's glow, it had looked like somethingspecial.

Theboy slowly returned home and went to his bedroom. He tried to focuson watching something on TV, but today the shows seemed as boring asthe advertisements, and he found himself looking out his back windowagain and again, just in case. Once the sun fell, he resolved toshove the bed against the rear window, and there he lay until he fellasleep, propped on his stomach, staring out at the field. Once itwas fully dark, it was impossible to even see the scarecrow's post,but he kept watch, just in case. In time, it began to rain, and thenthe boy fell asleep.