My Halloween Party Had One Guest

I threw a Halloween party for Saturday night. I've always loved October. It's a shame I don't drink and can't stand pumpkin-flavored anything, but this year I'd sworn to get into the spirit properly. I stocked up on the best bad horror movies, dollar-store decorations, and a stash of those pumpkin sugar cookies. I invited all my friends over for a casual night of Halloween vibes.

Nobody came. Not one person.

Which, fine — we're adults with busy lives. I told myself I didn't care. I could eat ten boxes of those cookies without getting sick of them. It stung a little when I saw a few friends posting photos from a bar, all dressed up. They knew they could drink at my place and I wouldn't. Whatever. I shook it off. I was just going to be the guy watching horror movies alone the weekend before Halloween.

I did not do the totally lame thing of buying carving pumpkins and wearing a fleece frog onesie as a costume. I'm an adult, same as my friends who went to the bar.

I may have been slightly bitter.

The party was also supposed to double as a housewarming. I'd finally reached the point in life where I could afford rent and groceries — a small townhouse, no more roommates leaving dishes to rot or clogging the toilet. Honestly, being able to afford the place felt like a miracle. Maybe my friends thought I was showing off.

After sunset I put on a movie anyway. Watching a bad slasher alone just isn't the same. I threw on Thirteen Ghosts because I remembered it scaring me as a kid. Turns out I was a big baby back then — some random short horror videos on YouTube were scarier than anything I'd picked. I was about ready to call the whole night a bust and go to bed early.

Then someone showed up.

I heard something in the backyard. Animals were always getting through the gate to raid my trash — raccoons, possums, the usual. I'd started leaving food scraps out in a dish for them so they wouldn't shred the bags. I know you're not supposed to feed wildlife, but they were getting the food either way, and this saved me the morning cleanup. I even liked photographing my nighttime visitors. They usually showed up later in the evening, which made me wonder what exactly was rustling around out there.

The glare on the glass door made it impossible to see much. I cracked it open to peek out. The noises I'd assumed were animals got louder. I strained to listen. It sounded almost like whispering. The neighbors? I couldn't see a soul out there. The thought of someone peering over the fence made the back of my neck prickle.

Then something fell off the kitchen counter. I am man enough to admit I screamed like a little girl. My heart hammered — for a second I was sure someone had broken in, before I realized it was just a cereal box toppling over. My first floor was all open plan, so I could see the kitchen from the back door. Confirmed: cereal box. I closed the door. Oddly, the whispering stopped.

No more scary movies for me that night.

Okay, one more. But Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island is a Halloween classic, not something that was going to rattle me further.

I am also man enough to admit I left every light in the house on. I didn't care about the electric bill. I was not about to let some shadow person grab me on the dark stairs. Completely reasonable precaution.

Halfway through my childhood classic, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. I needed a snack to reset my brain. I'd wisely invested in a chest freezer — buying in bulk and freezing was cheaper. Less wisely, I'd put it in the unfinished part of the basement, which meant going down there for ice cream.

I stood at the top of the basement stairs, my imagination doing overtime. I flipped the light on before even looking down, afraid of the dark staring back at me. I hadn't stored much down there. From the top of the stairs, the basement looked like an abyss with the lights off.

Then the intrusive thought arrived: if I turned the light off and stared down, something would stare back up at me. I scoffed at how dumb that was. To prove it, I flicked the light off.

I was surely alone.

No one else here. Not at all.

Two red eyes burned through the blackness and locked onto mine.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

I slammed the light back on, heart going wild, furious at myself for letting one horror movie get to me. To prove — again — that I was imagining things, I turned the light off once more.

You know those movies where a character dies in the first five minutes to set the tone? That would have been me. Even the eyes in the dark looked disappointed in my stupidity.

I was moving the instant they moved. I heard cackling laughter and heavy footsteps thundering up the stairs. The front door was so close. I felt something rip through the back of my frog onesie. Two seconds to unlock the door meant death. So instead I dove into the tiny bathroom right next to my escape route and slammed the door on a set of long, dark fingers. I screamed, shoving with everything I had. By pure luck, the thing pulled its fingers back and I got the lock turned.

Whatever was out there hammered on the wood, laughing in a raspy voice that turned my skin to ice. The doorknob rattled. I gripped it with both hands, praying it would hold.

Finally the noise stopped. But it was still out there. I was trapped. No phone, no food, not even a window to crawl through. I knew the thing could break the door down whenever it wanted. It was just playing with me.

"Why don't you end this quickly?" it whispered through the door. "You don't want to starve to death in there, do you?"

"I'd die of thirst first," I corrected.

Wait — there was a sink. So yeah, starve. No wonder it had cornered me so easily. I examined the rip in my frog suit. Could it be patched? The thing had cost real money.

"Why are you even here? Nobody said this place was haunted," I called out.

I figured the longer I kept it talking, the less scary it would get. Exposure therapy.

"Oh, I think you know about your past sins," it said. "This kind of pain was coming to you one way or another."

The doorknob rattled again, sending a chill down my spine. Okay — scary no matter how long I listened.

But what sins? I tore through my memory. Sure, I'd given a coworker a mean nickname — but never to his face, and only after he'd been a jerk to me for a full year and caused a week of overtime cleanup. And I'd tipped a delivery driver nine dollars instead of thirteen on my last order. What else?

"If you just confess what you've done, I'll be gentle when I eat your heart out while you're still alive," it whispered.

"I don't think that's possible, but thanks for the offer," I said, voice shaking.

From behind the door came a sound like a snort mixed with an annoyed hiss.

What else had I done? Said I'd donate to the local shelter but hadn't gotten around to it? Not had change for the guy by the bus stop? Forgot to tell a cashier to have a good day?

I'm no saint, I'll admit that freely. But I've never gone out of my way to hurt anyone, and if I ever did, I'd try to make it right. Maybe being easygoing just made me a doormat. Huh. What a way to figure out why your friends couldn't be bothered to show up. Honestly, I was glad they hadn't — no way I wanted them dealing with this thing.

"I don't think you've earned a quick death," the voice said, getting more intense with every word. "I was going to be kind. You won't even consider my simple request. Tell me your sins. Tell me why someone hated you enough to request my assistance."

The door shook. I cowered in the corner — and noticed, while shaking like a leaf on the floor, that I really needed to clean behind the toilet more often.

"I swear on my life, I have no idea what you're talking about!" I begged, tears starting. "Can't you give me a hint?"

Don't judge me. You'd react the same way.

"A hint? Let me jog your memory."

The rattling stopped. For a long moment I almost thought it was over — but this bastard had cheat codes. All at once the whole room shook. The lights flickered. Deafening thumps filled the tiny space. And slowly, a black mass seeped out of the mirror. I threw everything within reach at it; it all bounced harmlessly off its face.

It had long black hair spilling to the floor. Layers of black lace veil covered its face, but two glowing eyes burned through. Long dark arms twisted out of the mirror, dragging the rest of its body forward.

I screamed and flattened myself against the wall. This couldn't be happening. It might have been easier to accept if I could understand why it was after me.

A long sharp finger extended, stopping inches from my face.

"Now, little Ryan — repent."

I barely heard it over the shaking and pounding. If I hadn't, I'd be dead.

"My name isn't Ryan! It's Pat!" I shouted.

I curled into a ball, pulling my frog hood tight over my eyes to block out the horror.

"Don't lie to me, you—"

"I have mail!" I yelled, sounding like a small child.

Slowly, the noise and shaking died down. When I finally worked up the courage to peek — nothing. Empty bathroom. Had I had a complete breakdown? I could still feel the rip in my costume, though I might have done that to myself somehow. I'd almost convinced myself I'd imagined the whole thing. I stood up — and the bathroom door swung open.

The monster stood on the other side. Lanky body, now dressed in a baggy black sweater and sweatpants it definitely hadn't been wearing before.

I screamed.

For several minutes.

"Are you—" it started.

No. I wasn't finished. I screamed once more, just in case.

"Anyway," the creature said, holding up not just some mail, but my ID.

The jerk had gone through my wallet. I swear, if it took my stamped coffee cards—

"Do you have an address for Ryan Thyme?" the monster asked. "I see some of his mail here, but it looks like you're the only one living here." And it sounded… normal. The raspy scary voice was gone.

In all my terror, I'd forgotten: the guy I bought the place from was named Ryan. I still got his mail sometimes since he'd only recently moved out.

"Oh — yeah, I do. He gave me his new address for forwarding and stuff." I paused. "Is he… is he the guy you were supposed to kill?" I asked slowly.

"Well, all you humans look the same, all right!" It stomped, getting defensive fast.

"Wow. Racist much."

"I'll gut you."

It won that round. It backed up to let me out of the bathroom so I could find where I'd written Ryan's address. I folded the paper, very aware of red eyes on my back. I didn't want to hand over information that would get someone killed just to save my own skin.

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?" I said, my hand shaking.

"Brutally," it confirmed.

I felt sick. If I were fast, maybe I could eat the paper. Do something to save a stranger's life.

"If you must know — he killed a family of four driving drunk, then fled before the cops arrived," the creature said calmly.

"I guess Ryan's thyme is up… get it? Because his last name is…"

I let the joke die. I handed over the paper, more embarrassed than scared at that point. I expected my unwanted guest to leave, but it lingered. It was surreal, staring at a nightmare casually standing in my kitchen.

"Listen," it said awkwardly. "About the mix-up — this doesn't really happen with me. If my bosses find out, I'll lose my monthly bonus. I have mouths to feed and all."

"You have kids?" I asked, horrified at the thought of more of them.

"Cats."

I should have guessed. Total cat person. I was just glad to be alive. I had no idea how to contact its bosses, so I needed to act like I did — in case it decided to tie up loose ends.

"Do you really live alone?" it asked, eyeing the counter. "That's a lot of soda for one person."

I'd bought bottles and extra snacks for the party that never happened. It was checking whether a roommate might have overheard everything.

"I was going to have a party, but nobody showed up," I shrugged.

"Lame."

It should have just killed me.

But my life was still in danger. I needed it to believe I wouldn't snitch to its boss. An exchange might work — but what on earth could I possibly want from something like this in return for my silence?

"In exchange for my silence… do you want to hang out?" I offered.

A full minute of silence.

"What?" it said, in a tone that needed a wind-up for that single word.

"I've got all these snacks! And all these movies lined up!" I said defensively.

"Do you have those pumpkin cookies?" it asked, turning the paper over between its fingers.

"The Pillsbury sugar cookies?" I said, unsure if it meant those or actual pumpkin cookies.

"Those bitches," it said flatly.

I couldn't believe those cookies were about to save my life. I nodded, and the deal was struck. Somehow, I had my party after all. An extremely awkward Halloween party, but it counted. Turns out the creature that looked like a horror movie extra jumped at the cheap jump scares. It also ate a shocking amount for something so thin — I baked six boxes of those cookies and it demolished them. I watched it eyeing the pumpkins; I was going to offer to let it carve one, but instead it just ate them raw. I never saw what was under the veil, but I watched it tear through a whole pumpkin in two bites, and the jagged teeth marks made me very glad I'd sacrificed the pumpkins instead of myself.

Near the end of the night it looked ready to leave, stretching as it hovered by the front door.

"Are you handing out Halloween candy?" it asked. It was strange how normal it sounded.

"Yeah, I've got the night off."

"Let me come over. I want to scare some teenagers after I finish this job. I never get to do anything on Halloween that isn't disemboweling," it admitted.

"Horrifying mental image, but okay."

It wouldn't kill me to hang out with it again.

Okay, it might.

To my shock, it gave me a phone number to reach it. That's when I realized I never got its name.

"What do I call you? Do you have a name, like Red Eye Ripper?"

"Bryon. Red Eye Ripper was my father's name."

I laughed at that one. If you can't laugh with the inhuman monster that nearly tore you apart, who can you laugh with? I let it leave, with plans to see each other at least once more.

Sure, I didn't sleep for forty-eight hours afterward. And yes, Bryon is out there killing people. But it's nice to have a friend to hang out with on Halloween.

I might ask if he can fix my frog costume. Or pay me back for ripping it.

On second thought, I'll just eat the cost.