Untitled Work

     The night is Halloween Eve. Flickering street lamps are the sole source of illumination as Jason walks down a suburban avenue towards home. Done with his security job for the week, he would have looked forward to enjoying the four day weekend off but there was another delay in issuing the paychecks.

     That makes the third time in a row some problem with them delivering on the checks. Jason cannot afford to be late on rent again! His landlord -- landlady in this case is growing increasingly impatient of Jason's repeated delays on paying the rent. Jason had thought the security job was a secure, steady source of income but turns out to be more unstable than that multi-level marketing scheme he fell into a few years ago. Such worries haunt Jason’s mind as  his walk home leads him around a bend in the street at which sits a haunted house.

      For those who do not subscribe to the mystical, decades ago an old curmudgeon who had lived there died in his sleep. Having no heirs, the bank took over. Never finding a buyer, the property fell into disrepair and remained a blight on the neighborhood. Even from beyond the grave, the old curmudgeon manages to cast a shadow of misery.

      Aged to perfection for a role in an Hitchcock movie, the house was not always gloomy. Situated adjacent to the back end of a liberal arts university, many students walk through the unfenced backyard to the front driveway as a shortcut to the bus stop down the street, the very same one Jason left minutes ago. Once, in using the shortcut himself, Jason spied two teens inside losing their virginity. The house was the site for two raves the police raided on both occasions back when raves were all the rage. One time, a local fraternity took over the house and hosted an unapproved Saturday night Halloween party. Of course, the exterior is tagged by the generations of various gang signs, graffiti spray can art, and messages usually found in men’s latrine stall walls. Overgrown weeds, toros high grass, and tufts of bushes pockmarking the yard hide a littered trove of nip bottles, beer cans, used condoms, and discarded hypodermic needles.

     Tonight, the house sits unoccupied neither by living nor by . . . unliving residents. Pausing before the house, Jason superimposes a memory of a photograph found at the town’s public library of the house during its pristine early years. He looks at the house imagining, “a touch of paint, a little plumping work, this place can look like new.” Musing to himself further, “I wish I could stay in a house like this. Living alone wouldn’t be too bad.” Then reality reminds Jason of his paycheckless, penurious current circumstances. He sighs and chuckles to himself, “perhaps I should squat here anyway. If can’t come up with the rent I’m going to need a place —-.”

     The sound of wood crashing was not what interrupted Jason’s thoughts, although the first sound to be heard. A distant scream was what attracted his attention. There again, screaming this time coming from a girl, a woman, or whatever whose damp, flaxen hair clinged to her evening gown. Lit only by the faint, distant street lamp, her blood stained, white night gown almost glows giving the impression as if she were some apparition.

     “Help me!” the woman screams as she runs down the driveway. “He’s after me!”

     She crashes into Jason almost rushing past; grabbing onto his left arm to slow and swing herself around to his side.

     “Who?  . .  what? . . . is after you?—.”

     Before Jason can organize more questions, he hears a growl.

     Charging towards them, was a giant man — well, a good deal taller than Jason anyway, with a hunky chest to be sure swinging an axe while wearing a hockey mask.

In reflex reaction, Jason shoots out his arm to wave ‘Stop” and unholsters his gun.

     “Stand down, sir.”

     Another growl.

     “Stand down now, sir, or I’ll — .”

     Chaotic axe swinging and more growling.

     Jason discharges.

     The axe-wielding giant staggers back from the two bullet hits and hunches forward. His knees buckle and he collapses to the ground.

     The woman lets off an even more anxious, blood curdling scream.

     Although her scream was deafening his ears, the only sound Jason remembers hearing is the plastic axe bouncing, not once but twice, before coming to rest on the concrete pavement.

The end

During my trip and from the supermarket, I conceived and drafted a Halloween short story.

To date, my story is seeking a title for completion.