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Trick or Treat by Freya O’Neill

A Story for Hallowe’en

“That’s enough!,” Lacey shouted down the hallway. It was Halloween night and her little brothers had just returned from trick-or-treating, filled to the brim with excitement and of course, sweets. 8-year-olds and sugar shouldn’t mix. She heard the tremendous thumping of feet entering the house, giggles flooding the air. She looked at her bedside table, the time on the clock was half past eight.

She huffed in slight annoyance and headed downstairs to calm the chaos that was most likely ensuing. As she reached the bottom she felt a sudden tinge of anxiety. Strange. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Nothing seemed wrong. She stared at the muddy footprints on the floor until it dawned on her that the house had become very quiet. Not a sound could be heard, not a movement. THUD! Lacey practically jumped out of her skin.

“You guys better not be trashing the place,” she shouted towards the noise.

Rolling her eyes and shaking off the fright Lacey walked into the kitchen but halted at the sight of, well nothing – no sweets, no discarded costumes and most abnormal, no hyper children. Creeping around the kitchen island she noticed the cutlery drawer lying open, its shining contents were scattered across the tiles. She stared down at the mess.  “Typical,” she muttered, sighing at the thought of babysitting these kids for the rest of the night.

It seemed her brothers were in a troublesome mood. Striding through the hallway she began searching the house for the culprits. As she made her way through each room of the silent house she became more and more frustrated. She couldn’t find her brothers anywhere. When she reached the last room something in the window caught her eye. She leaned closer, peering out to the dark street, a streetlight illuminating the warm orange and reds of the leaves as the wide clear sky enveloped her neighbourhood in darkness. Amongst those autumnal colours she could just make out a cowering figure hunched over by the side of the road. “This better be a joke.”

She ran out of the front door but the street was deserted. “I know you’re here! Get inside right now!”. SLAM! The sound of the front door echoed through the darkness. She turned on her heel, pulled the door open. As she stepped inside all the lights went out, devouring her in pitch black. What now?

Intent on finding the light switch Lacey scrambled across the room, something tugged on her jumper. She tried to unhook whatever was holding her hostage. When she grabbed something firm but warm, a hand, a human hand. She shook it off and bolted as fast as she could. “That’s not funny,” she yelled. RINGGGGG! The phone. Lacey’s heart almost stopped, she stumbled towards the noise, feeling for the landline. She picked up the phone.

“Hiya,” said her mum.

“Oh great, it’s you, mum. You won’t believe what the boys are up to tonight.”

“What do you mean? I just picked them up 5 minutes ago.” her mum giggled, confused.

A chill ran down Lacey’s spine. She desperately tried to intake air but it seemed her lungs had escaped her.

“Laceyyy, helloooo are you there?”

“Help.” Lacey whispered frantically, still cowering in the dark.

She dropped the phone on the floor, her mother’s frantic voice followed her as she sprinted upstairs. All she could hear was thumping growing faster and faster but she couldn’t tell if it was her heart, her feet, or worse someone else’s. Just when she reached the top step she tripped, hitting her head as she fell. Lacey fought to get up but something was holding her ankle. She screamed in terror and tried with all her might to get away but her vision was fading fast.

She woke up with a start, her heart beating rapidly. She sighed then chuckled to herself. The Halloween spirit had really gotten to her. THUMP. Footsteps followed by giggling. She lifted herself off the pillow but pain surged through her head. She felt for an injury and her hand came away wet. It was coated in blood. The house fell eerily quiet. With her heart in her stomach she looked at her bedside table. The time on her clock said half past eight.

Freya O’Neill, October, 2024

This section: Hallowe'en in Glasgow, Stories for Hallowe'en, Writing