Halloween 2008

Written by Moe Zilla, Published on 10/31/2008

In this mystery, tension climbs. All the clues are hid in rhymes!

It's a holiday delight, telling of a spooky night.

In that night, down darkened streets two children go beg for treats.

"Halloween? We ignore dangers and take candy gifts from strangers!"

Mark and his friend Ann did good, visiting their neighborhood.

Candies soon would fill their sacks. They should carry home their snacks.

Skies were dark, with moonlit clouds, but they'd left the begging crowds.

for one last house, though they didn't know it's one spot where they shouldn't go.

It's a dark house, there, alone Winds make its old windows groan.

Grass had fled its dirty lawn. All its trees and plants were gone.

Silence took their place, and gloom. It's deserted -- like a tomb.

"This is scary," Mark told Ann. "Last time I came here, I ran.

"I heard noises, like a ghost." "I'm not scared," Ann liked to boast.

No one was around that night, and Mark's heart was filled with fright.

Ann dared him to pay a visit. "Hear those noises? Mark, what is it?"

They tiptoed up to the doorstep. Mark didn't want to take one more step.

Strange noises came from inside. but wind made the door swing wide.

Darkness loomed, but Ann could spy a dirty flashlight waiting nearby.

With its beam they saw dark hallways. Would Ann take the challenge? Always.

She grabbed Mark and whispered slow. "Let's see where these dark halls go."

With each step the floor would creak Its old wood began to reek.

Dust and strange smells, all around. Mark tried not to make a sound.

Ann's flashlight then beamed the room searching for those sounds of gloom.

In her flashlight, she would trust. All it lit were piles of dust.

Giant dust balls, inches wide, filled the house's dark inside.

It had gathered over chairs, in the corners, on the stairs.

Ann was curious, not afraid. How was it those sounds were made?

In the dark she paused to stare at one footprint on the stair.

Grey balls bounced against their shoes. "Let's go up and look for clues."

"Or we could go home," Mark said. "That noise could be someone dead!

Are we safe here?" Ann said no. "Even so, I've got to know."

Mark would run, but in that night Ann still held the only light.

From the downstairs dust that reeks to the old staircase that creaks,


Ann would move, then stop to stare at the pattern on the stair.

On each step, a shape she knew: Darker outlines of a shoe

In the dust, the stairway mounting, Up the steps, Mark started counting.

It's a trick he used when scared. Counting made him feel prepared.

"One, two, three, four -- I see twelve tracks On the staircase." Ann said "Relax."

Soon her light had scanned the path. She didn't need to fuss with math.

Up the stairs she'd quickly run, telling Mark this would be fun.

Leaving him to mull her dares, Ann had vanished up the stairs

And without the flashlight's spark Mark stood in the silent dark.

Questions seemed to cluster 'round. What had made that creepy sound?

Mark said "Well, this house is old." But besides that -- it was cold.

Dust brushed up against his feet. Maybe he should eat a treat.

Then, like horrors when you're dreaming, Mark heard Ann's voice. It was screaming.

Screaming from upstairs, not stopping. With terror, Mark's sweat was dropping.

Should he see if Ann was dead, Or just count her screams instead?

Three, four, five, six, screams were shrieking in that house whose floors were reeking.

Eight screams, nine screams, they kept coming. Ten and more -- the noise was numbing.

What was in that room she'd lightened? What could make Ann's voice so frightened?

Panicking now to his core, Mark couldn't find the entry door.

Stumbling through dark surrounding There was just one clue -- that sounding.

Ann yelled her eleventh scream and just like an awful dream

Listening to her screaming voice, Mark knew he had just one choice,

One way not to be alone: run to where Ann's flashlight shone.

Without thinking, up he ran towards the fourteen screams of Ann.

On that second floor that rotted, Mark discovered what she'd spotted.

What was at the stairway's top? What he saw would make Mark stop,

Stare amazed, and wonder, too. Gaze was all that he could do.

In the silent evening black, Two white eyes were staring back.

Hovering with its eyebrows spread, they could see, a floating head!!!

Just one head, but in the dark, its eyes moved from Ann to Mark.

Quite alive, its shining face stared at them with ghostly grace.

Silently it stared, unfrightened. More dust on the floor was brightened

by the glowing face, and by it, Mark noticed Ann became quiet.

He looked at her, and fear grew. Ann had witnessed something new.

In the dark, but coming near them two more eyes would come to peer them!

Down the hallway, bringing dread floated up a second head!

It's a woman, face still ghostly wearing ancient makeup, mostly.

Bizarre rouge on glowing skin, Tiny lines on eyebrows thin.

Scraggly hair was dangling down, from her forehead, dirty brown.

With its white eyes, Ann felt sure, It was looking back at her.

Suddenly the silence broke. That white floating head? It spoke.

"Who?" it asked Ann. "Who are you? Can you hear me? You are new!"

"Yes," the other face replied. "What has made you stray inside?"

In the dark and silent house, Ann was quiet as a mouse.

"Speak!" the face said, angry now. "What has brought us here -- and how?"

Mark knew in that haunted night, silence would be impolite.

So he told the ghosts, "It's late. Halloween, 2008.

In this house, we found your head floating here. We think you're dead.

Maybe there's one day between life and death, on Halloween.

When you feel that night begin, Ghosts can roam the earth again."

Ann now asked them for a clue. "We're just children. Who are you?"

And the glowing man's face moaned. Of an ancient pain he groaned.

"I was once a famous chief of an Indian tribe. A thief

stole into our camp one night and he killed me in a fight."

Soon his eyelids closed with fears. White and bloodshot eyes shed tears

Then the female head moaned low, "That's a century ago!

I was wealthy, filled with kicks back in 1846.

Till a sickness in the night turned my head into this fright."

When they pondered how they'd died, both the floating heads soon cried.


Through his sobs, the Indian chief shared the reason for his grief.

"We shared meadows without guilt before houses here were built."

And the wealthy woman thought of the joys her life had brought.

"I strolled gaily down the street. You know what I miss? My feet!"

Both heads then looked towards the ground, But no feet there could be found.

"I once wore the poshest clothes, led to dances by my beaus.

We became such dainty trippers, night and day wore high-heeled slippers.”

But now she sighed. "Guess it's true -- I finally died."

Then the chief remembered fun when he'd used his legs to run.

"All my life, the sweetest treat? Feeling grass on my feet.

Always barefoot, always running, Tracking game with all my cunning."

Then the chief was startled loudly by a voice that rang out proudly.

Mark and Ann stared for the flicker, Two more ghost heads soon would bicker.

"This is wrong," the new head cried. "Tell us when it was we died.

"1890? '92? "I'm a ghost. Should I say 'boo?'"

They arrived, two more undead, dressed like they were newly wed.

For the female head was pale. on her face she wore a veil.

On the man's head, hair was shiny slicked in place. His eyes were tiny.

His bride also missed a treat where she'd dressed in fabrics sweet.

As a child, and as wife -- ballet slippers, all her life.

Now she stared, sad and defeated. "This is wrong," her ghost repeated.

With an angry voice her groom followed from a darkened room.

"We don't know you," he announced. Towards the other heads he bounced,

As the hallway all around filled with angry clomping sounds.

Now the four heads -- two still sobbing In the hallway floated, bobbing.

Mark and Ann stared helplessly til the bride shared her sad plea.

"There's one issue -- we agree here. What has summoned us to be here?"

All the other heads soon nodded. From their rests they'd now been prodded.

And the wealthy woman railed at the way her fate had failed.

"Let us rest in peace," she'd say. "Even on this holiday."

"We belong in our own world," she complained. Her eyebrow curled.

"It must be some earthly pest disturbing our well-earned rest!"

"Find the crook," the Indian moaned. "Who defiles us?" Ann now groaned.

All the heads that had just spoken Now glared straight at her, awoken

from their peaceful ghostly slumbers. Mark, in fright, returned to numbers.

After all this elocution, Would the ghosts seek retribution?

Was it dark revenge that waited? Or could ghosts still be placated?

Suddenly, a hope Mark knew. He remembered one small clue.

"Yes, you were aroused tonight. But it wasn't Ann's small light.

Someone's played a trick on you, doused their face with ghostly goo

Glowing white, but not a spirit. They just wanted to get near it,

So to watch when you awoke, spying on you ghostly folk.

Not us children," Mark would boast. "Someone here is not a ghost!"