I moved into the house on Briarwood Lane three days before Halloween.
It wasn't exactly how I'd imagined starting over at thirty-four, but after my divorce, I wasn't in much of a position to be picky. When I found the listing for a two-bedroom house in a quiet suburban neighborhood, with a fenced backyard and a monthly rent that seemed almost too good to be true, I called the number before I'd even finished reading the description.
The landlord, a man named Walter Hensley, had answered on the second ring. He asked me a few questions and how soon I could move in.
When I told him immediately, he seemed particularly pleased.
"Well, that works out just fine," he'd said. "We've been hoping to get someone settled in before the end of the month."
I arrived on Briarwood Lane shortly after four on the afternoon of October 28th.
The first thing I noticed was how clean everything looked.
Every lawn was neatly trimmed, every driveway swept, and every house seemed to have been painted within the last few years. Most were modest two-story homes with attached garages, white fences, and front porches decorated with pumpkins, plastic skeletons, and orange string lights.
Halloween was clearly a big deal around here.
My new house was number 17, a pale yellow house near the end of the street. It had a narrow front porch, a detached garage, and a large maple tree growing beside the driveway. Most of its leaves had already turned red, and the lawn was covered in a thin carpet of them.
Walter was waiting for me when I pulled up.
He stood beside a dark green pickup truck, he greeted me with a broad smile and an outstretched hand.
"You must be Daniel."
"That's me. Sorry if I'm a little late. Traffic was worse than I expected."
"Oh, don't you worry about that." He shook my hand firmly. "You're here now. That's what matters."
He glanced at the truck, then back at me.
"Just you moving in?"
"Yeah. Just me."
For some reason, his smile faltered slightly.
"Right. Well, that's fine. Perfectly fine."
He reached into his pocket and produced a set of keys.
"Come on. I'll show you around."
The house was better than I'd expected.
The living room was spacious, with hardwood floors and a brick fireplace. The kitchen had recently been renovated, and the appliances were surprisingly modern. Walter walked me through each room, pointing out the thermostat, the fuse box, and a few minor things I needed to know about the plumbing.
He was friendly enough, although I noticed he had a habit of glancing at his watch.
At one point, he stopped beside the window and looked out toward the street.
"Quiet neighborhood," he said. "Good people. Most of the families have been here a long time."
"That's exactly what I was looking for."
He nodded, seemingly satisfied.
"People look after each other here. You'll find that out soon enough."
I looked past him through the window. Across the street, an elderly woman stood on her front porch, arranging several small pumpkins along the steps. She paused when she noticed us and raised one hand in greeting.
I waved back.
She didn't smile.
Instead, she looked at us for a moment, then turned and hurried inside.
"Mrs. Bell," Walter said, following my gaze. "She's lived across the street for almost thirty years. Nice woman, once you get to know her."
"She doesn't seem particularly excited about having a new neighbor."
Walter chuckled.
"Oh, that's just Margaret. Takes her a while to warm up to people."
We finished the tour downstairs, where he showed me the back door and explained that the garage had a separate key.
By the time we returned to the living room, the sun was beginning to disappear behind the trees.
Walter handed me the keys and a small envelope containing the paperwork I'd already signed electronically.
"Everything's in order," he said. "Rent's due on the first, as we discussed. Garbage collection is Tuesday morning, and the mailbox key is the smaller silver one."
"Sounds good. Thanks again for making this so easy."
"Of course."
He started toward the front door, then stopped.
"Oh, one more thing."
He turned back to face me.
"You planning on being home Halloween night?"
The question caught me off guard.
"Uh, probably. I don't really have any plans yet."
"Good."
He said it a little too quickly.
"That's good. Very good."
I laughed.
"Why? Is there some kind of neighborhood party?"
Walter didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked over to the living room window and looked outside.
The street was quiet. A few children were riding bicycles along the sidewalk, and somewhere in the distance, a dog was barking.
"Well, you could say that," he finally replied. "Halloween's a pretty important night around here."
"I noticed the decorations. You guys really go all out."
"We do."
He turned away from the window.
"Actually, Daniel, there's something I should explain before I leave."
Something about his tone had changed. He wasn't smiling anymore, and the friendly, almost grandfatherly manner he'd maintained throughout the tour seemed to have disappeared.
He reached into the inside pocket of his cardigan and pulled out a folded sheet of yellow paper.
"I probably should've mentioned this on the phone," he said. "But I figured it'd be easier to explain in person."
I looked at the paper.
"What's that?"
Walter held it out to me.
"It's a list of rules."
"Rules?"
He nodded.
"For Halloween. Specifically, for the trick-or-treaters who'll be coming to your door."
I gave him a confused look.
"What kind of rules?"
Walter glanced toward the front door, then lowered his voice.
"There are certain things we do differently on Briarwood Lane. Things every homeowner is expected to follow on Halloween night."
He unfolded the paper carefully, smoothing its creases between his fingers.
"And I'd strongly recommend you pay attention, Daniel. Some of these rules might sound a little strange, but they're all there for a reason."
I stared at Walter for a moment, waiting for him to explain himself. But he simply handed me the paper and gave me a reassuring smile.
"Everything you need to know is written down there," he said. "I'd suggest reading it before Halloween. Preferably more than once."
I took the paper from him and glanced at the heading, which had been written in thick black letters.
BRIARWOOD LANE - HALLOWEEN RULES
"Is this some kind of homeowners' association thing?" I asked.
"Something like that."
"Because I'm not really used to neighborhoods having rules about handing out candy."
Walter chuckled.
"Every neighborhood has its traditions, Daniel. Ours are just a little more particular than most."
He glanced at his watch again.
"Anyway, I should get going. I've still got a few things to take care of before the weekend."
I thanked him for showing me around and followed him to the front door. Before stepping outside, he paused and looked back at me.
"One more thing. Make sure you have plenty of candy by Friday evening. The children around here take Halloween rather seriously."
I smiled.
"I'll keep that in mind."
"And Daniel?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't forget to read that paper."
I promised him I would, and after another brief handshake, he walked down the porch steps and climbed into his pickup truck.
I'd lived in apartments for most of my adult life, and I'd dealt with my fair share of strange landlords. One had insisted that I never flush the toilet after midnight. Another used to leave handwritten notes under my door reminding me to keep the blinds closed whenever it rained.
Compared to those experiences, a few neighborhood Halloween traditions didn't seem particularly concerning.
"Yeah, I've got more important things to worry about right now," I muttered.
I folded the paper back up and left it on the kitchen counter. I'd read it later.
For the next two days, I barely had time to think about anything other than unpacking.
I did, however, manage to meet a few of my neighbors.
An older gentleman named Frank lived two houses down. He introduced himself while I was dragging my garbage bins toward the curb.
"Number seventeen, right?" he asked.
"That's right."
He looked toward my house, then back at me.
"Well, welcome to Briarwood."
"Thanks. Seems like a nice place."
"It is," he said. "Most of the time."
I laughed, assuming he was making a joke.
Frank didn't laugh with me.
Instead, he wished me a good evening and went back inside.
By Friday morning, October 31st, the house was finally starting to feel like home.
I spent most of the afternoon cleaning up, then went into town to pick up groceries.
While walking through the supermarket, I passed a large Halloween display near the entrance.
That's when I remembered Walter's instructions.
I'd almost forgotten about Halloween entirely.
I grabbed two large bags of chocolate bars and a plastic orange bowl, then headed for the checkout.
By the time I got home, it was a little after five.
The neighborhood looked different in the fading afternoon light.
I noticed Mrs. Bell standing near her mailbox as I pulled into the driveway. She was talking to another woman, and both of them turned to look at my car.
When I stepped out, Mrs. Bell raised her hand.
"Good evening, young man."
"Evening."
"Getting ready for tonight?"
I lifted one of the grocery bags.
"Just bought enough candy to feed a small army."
The other woman laughed, but Mrs. Bell didn't.
Instead, she looked at the bag for a moment.
"Did Walter speak to you?"
The question seemed to come out of nowhere.
"About what?"
"About tonight."
"Oh, yeah. He gave me some kind of list."
Her expression relaxed slightly.
"Good. That's good."
She hesitated.
"You have read it, haven't you?"
I shifted the grocery bags in my hands.
"Not yet, actually. I've been pretty busy moving in."
For a second, neither woman said anything.
Mrs. Bell glanced at her companion, who immediately looked away.
"Well," Mrs. Bell said, "you should probably do that before it gets dark."
There was something about the way she said it that made me uncomfortable.
"Sure. I'll take a look when I get inside."
She nodded.
"Have a good evening, Daniel."
I stopped halfway up the driveway.
I couldn't remember telling her my name.
Before I could ask about it, both women had already started walking toward Mrs. Bell's house.
I stood there for another moment, then shrugged and carried my groceries inside.
I figured Walter must have mentioned me to the neighbors.
After putting everything away, I ordered a pizza, changed into some comfortable clothes, and settled down in the living room. I put a horror movie on the television, opened a beer, and placed the large orange bowl of candy on the coffee table.
For the first time in a while, I felt like I could actually relax.
At around six-thirty, I got up to grab another drink from the kitchen.
That's when I noticed the folded yellow paper sitting at the far end of the counter, exactly where I'd left it two days earlier.
I stared at it for a moment, remembering Walter's strange insistence that I read it, along with Mrs. Bell's reaction when I'd admitted I hadn't.
"Alright," I muttered. "Let's see what all the fuss is about."
I picked up the paper and unfolded it.
The sheet was slightly yellowed, as though it had been printed years earlier. The heading was written in bold capital letters, while the rest of the text appeared to have been typed on an old typewriter.
There were seven numbered rules.
I began reading.
BRIARWOOD LANE - HALLOWEEN RULES
For the safety and comfort of all residents, please observe the following rules on the evening of October 31st.
- Never give candy to a child who isn't carrying a bag.
- If a trick-or-treater is wearing a mask of a human face, do not ask them to remove it.
- If a child knocks three times instead of ringing the doorbell, do not answer.
- After 9 PM, do not give candy to any child who comes alone.
- If you hear children laughing outside after 10 PM, turn off every light and stay away from the windows.
- If you see a child standing perfectly still across the street, do not wave.
- If a child asks how many people live in your house, always say two.
I read the list once, then read it again.
For several seconds, I stood in my kitchen, trying to make sense of what I'd just read.
"What the hell?"
I'd expected something along the lines of keeping the porch light on, not handing out homemade treats, or making sure children didn't wander into the street.
Instead, it sounded like a list of instructions someone had written for a horror movie.
The first rule was strange but relatively harmless. But the rest?
Don't answer three knocks. Don't wave at children standing across the street. Turn off every light if you hear laughter after ten.
And that last rule was particularly ridiculous.
Why on earth would I need to lie about how many people lived in my house?
I leaned against the counter and looked at the list again.
Part of me wondered whether Walter and the neighbors were playing some Halloween prank on the new guy. It would certainly explain the strange looks, the cryptic comments, and the way everyone seemed so concerned about whether I'd read the instructions.
Maybe it was some kind of neighborhood initiation.
I actually smiled at the thought.
"Well, that's one way to welcome somebody."
I folded the paper and set it beside the candy bowl, figuring I'd humor them for the evening. Most of the rules weren't particularly difficult to follow anyway, and if it made the neighbors happy, I didn't see the harm.
Besides, I wasn't planning on staying up late. I'd hand out some candy, watch a movie, and probably be in bed before midnight.
As I walked back toward the living room, I heard a car door slam somewhere outside.
A few seconds later, my doorbell rang.
I looked toward the front door, then down at the bowl of candy sitting on the coffee table.
"Well," I said to myself, "here we go."
I grabbed the bowl and headed for the door.
Whatever strange traditions Briarwood Lane had, I was about to experience my first Halloween in the neighborhood.
The first few trick-or-treaters were exactly what I'd expected. A group of three children dressed as superheroes showed up with their parents, followed by two little girls wearing matching witch costumes. I handed out candy, complimented their outfits, and exchanged a few words with the adults waiting at the bottom of my porch steps.
For the next twenty minutes or so, everything went smoothly. More children came and went, and I was actually starting to enjoy myself. Whatever strange traditions Briarwood Lane had, Halloween seemed pretty normal so far.
Then, a little after seven, my doorbell rang again.
When I opened the door, I found a little boy standing alone on my porch. He couldn't have been older than eight, and he was dressed as a pirate, complete with a red bandana, a black eye patch, and a plastic sword tucked into his belt.
He looked up at me and smiled.
"Trick or treat!"
"Hey there, Captain," I said, reaching into the bowl. "Nice costume."
"Thank you!"
I grabbed a couple of chocolate bars, but as I was about to hand them over, I noticed something strange.
The boy wasn't carrying a bag.
No plastic pumpkin, no pillowcase, nothing to collect his candy in. Both of his hands were hanging loosely at his sides.
I immediately remembered the first rule on Walter's list.
Never give candy to a child who isn't carrying a bag.
I hesitated, feeling a little ridiculous for even considering it.
"Hey, buddy. Where's your candy bag?"
The boy tilted his head.
"I don't need one. You can just put it in my hand."
He extended his right hand toward me, smiling expectantly.
I looked at the chocolate bars, then back at him. Under normal circumstances, I would've handed them over without a second thought. But considering how seriously Walter and Mrs. Bell had taken those instructions, I figured I might as well play along.
"Sorry, kiddo. I think you're supposed to have a bag. Maybe you can go get one and come back?"
The boy's smile disappeared, his face was completely expressionless.
"That's not very nice," he whispered. "You gave some to the others."
"Well, yeah, but they had bags," I explained, trying to keep my voice friendly. "I'm sure you've got one at home, right?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stared at me for several uncomfortable seconds, his outstretched hand slowly dropping to his side.
I shifted my weight.
"Anyway, happy Halloween, buddy."
I started closing the door, expecting him to turn around and leave.
But just before it shut, I heard him speak again.
"That's okay. I'll come back when you're sleeping."
I froze with my hand still on the doorknob.
For a moment, I wasn't entirely sure I'd heard him correctly. I waited for the sound of his footsteps retreating down the porch steps, but the only thing I heard was the faint rustling of leaves outside.
I leaned toward the peephole.
The boy was gone.
I stood there for a few seconds, staring at the empty porch, before shaking my head and walking back into the living room.
"Jesus Christ," I muttered. "Kids these days."
I tried to laugh it off. It was Halloween, after all, and scaring people was practically the whole point. The little pirate was probably just trying to get a reaction out of me.
Still, as I set the candy bowl down on the coffee table, I found myself looking toward the front door again.
I spent the next half hour on the couch, watching an old horror movie and slowly working my way through a bag of chips. Every now and then, the doorbell would ring, and I'd get up to hand out candy to another group of children. Thankfully, none of them were as strange as the little pirate, and after a while, I started to forget about the whole thing.
By 9:30, the number of trick-or-treaters had dropped considerably. The street outside had grown quieter, and I figured most of the younger kids had already gone home. I turned up the volume on the television, grabbed another beer from the fridge, and settled back into the couch.
I was starting to get into the Halloween spirit when I heard.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three knocks came from the front door.
I paused the movie.
I remembered Walter's list.
If a child knocks three times instead of ringing the doorbell, do not answer.
I sighed.
"Seriously?"
I set my beer on the coffee table and walked quietly toward the door. I leaned forward and looked through the peephole.
A little girl was standing on my porch.
She couldn't have been older than six, and she was wearing a pink princess dress with a cheap plastic tiara resting on her blonde hair. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and she kept rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Please," she whimpered. "I lost my mom."
She looked genuinely frightened, and for a moment, every instinct I had told me to open the door and help her. It was late, the temperature was dropping, and a little girl had apparently gotten separated from her parents.
I reached for the lock.
Then I stopped.
The rule was clear.
I looked through the peephole again.
The girl was still crying, her little shoulders trembling beneath the thin fabric of her costume.
"Please," she repeated. "Can you help me?"
I hesitated, trying to decide what to do. Maybe I could call the police, or contact one of the neighbors. Surely Walter couldn't expect me to leave a lost child outside in the cold.
Then, without warning, the girl stopped crying.
Her hands dropped to her sides.
Slowly, she raised her head and looked directly at the peephole.
I instinctively leaned back.
"I know you're in there," she said.
Her voice was completely different now. There was no trembling, no fear, no trace of the frightened little girl I'd been watching seconds earlier.
It was flat and strangely calm.
I stood motionless, listening.
Then came another three knocks.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A pause.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I stepped away from the door, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.
"Go away," I yelled.
The knocking continued for another minute, always in groups of three, with the exact same amount of time between them.
Then it stopped.
I waited, hoping to hear footsteps moving away from the porch.
Instead, three knocks came from the living room window.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
My stomach tightened.
The window was several feet to the left of the front door, and I hadn't heard the girl walk across the porch.
I slowly turned toward the sound.
For a few seconds, everything was silent.
Then something tapped against the glass again.
Three times.
I approached the window carefully, keeping myself to one side. The curtains were drawn, but there was a narrow gap between them.
I leaned forward and peeked outside.
Nobody was there.
The porch was completely empty.
I looked toward the front steps, then at the stretch of sidewalk illuminated by the streetlamp. There wasn't a child in sight.
I stared at the empty space outside for another moment. Then I pulled the curtains shut.
"Alright," I muttered. "That's enough of that."
I walked back to the couch, picked up my beer, and pressed play on the movie.
I tried to concentrate on what was happening on the screen, but my mind kept returning to the little girl's face.
I turned the volume up a little louder and sank deeper into the couch.
Whatever was going on outside, I decided I wasn't answering the door again.
For the next twenty minutes, I tried to convince myself that everything I'd experienced so far had a perfectly reasonable explanation. The little pirate had probably been trying to scare me, and the girl in the princess costume was most likely pulling some Halloween prank.
None of those explanations were particularly convincing, but I wasn't about to spend my first Halloween in a new house hiding from a bunch of kids.
I unpaused the movie and settled back into the couch, occasionally glancing at the front door. Outside, the neighborhood had grown unusually quiet. I could still hear the occasional car passing down the street, but the groups of trick-or-treaters seemed to have disappeared.
Then, at exactly 10:06 PM, I heard laughter.
At first, it sounded like a couple of children playing somewhere down the street. I barely paid attention, assuming some of the older kids were still out collecting candy.
But the laughter gradually grew louder.
There were more voices now, overlapping in a strange chorus of giggles and high-pitched squeals. It sounded like an entire group of children had gathered directly outside my house.
I reached for the remote and lowered the volume.
"What the hell are they doing out there?"
I stood up and started toward the living room window, intending to pull back the curtain and see what was happening.
Then I remembered the fifth rule.
If you hear children laughing outside after 10 PM, turn off every light and stay away from the windows.
I quickly switched off the living room lights, then hurried into the hallway and turned those off as well.
Outside, the laughter continued.
It was getting closer.
What had initially sounded like a few children now seemed like dozens. I could hear giggling from the sidewalk, the driveway, and somewhere directly beneath the living room window.
Then, all at once, the laughter stopped.
The sudden silence was almost worse.
I stood in the dark hallway, listening.
A few seconds passed.
Then a small voice spoke from immediately outside the living room window.
"He forgot the kitchen light."
My blood ran cold.
Another voice answered, slightly deeper than the first.
"I can see him."
I turned toward the kitchen.
Sure enough, the overhead light was still on, illuminating the room through the open doorway.
"Shit."
I rushed into the kitchen and reached for the switch beside the refrigerator. The moment I flipped it, the room went dark, leaving only the faint orange glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains.
I stood there, trying to slow my breathing.
Outside, something giggled.
It was close enough that I could hear it through the glass.
Then another giggle came from somewhere near the back door.
I didn't move.
For several seconds, I stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, listening to the quiet laughter moving around the house.
Then I heard a soft tapping against the kitchen window.
I turned my head.
The curtains weren't completely closed, and through the gap between them, I could make out something pale pressed against the glass.
A face.
A child's face.
It was almost completely white, with dark, sunken eyes and a small mouth stretched into an unnatural smile. The child appeared to be standing perfectly still, staring directly into the kitchen.
But something about its position was wrong.
The kitchen window was nearly six feet above the ground outside, because the foundation on that side of the house was unusually high.
There was no way a child could stand outside and look directly through it.
Yet there it was.
And the longer I stared, the more details I began to notice.
Its neck was long and thin. Its shoulders were narrow, almost skeletal, and what little I could see of its body looked stretched, as though someone had taken an ordinary child and pulled it into the proportions of a much taller person.
It was simply standing there.
Smiling at me.
Then its mouth opened slightly.
"He can see us, too."
I stumbled backward, nearly knocking over one of the kitchen chairs.
I didn't wait to hear anything else.
I turned and hurried into the living room, dropping onto the couch and pulling my knees close to my chest like a frightened child.
The television was still on. Outside, the giggling started again.
I sat perfectly still, staring toward the dark hallway that led into the kitchen.
For the first time that night, I understood something I'd been refusing to accept.
The rules weren't some ridiculous neighborhood tradition.
And whatever was wandering around Briarwood Lane tonight, those things weren't children.
I stayed on the couch, barely breathing, hoping that if I remained quiet enough, whatever was outside would eventually lose interest and go away.
I don't know how long I sat there, staring at the dark hallway and listening for any movement outside. All I knew was that the laughter had eventually stopped, and the house had fallen completely silent.
I slowly began to relax.
Whatever those things had been, they seemed to have moved on.
I still had no idea what was happening in this neighborhood, but one thing was certain. First thing in the morning, I was calling Walter and demanding an explanation.
After another few minutes, I finally worked up the courage to stand.
I walked toward the front window, moving carefully across the dark living room. I wanted to check whether the street was empty, and maybe see if any of my neighbors were outside. Surely somebody else had noticed what was happening.
I had barely reached the curtains when the doorbell rang.
The sudden sound made me jump.
"Jesus!"
I stood there for a moment, staring toward the front door.
Then the bell rang again.
I carefully moved the curtain aside and peeked through the front window.
Three children were standing on my porch.
One was dressed as a skeleton, another wore a vampire costume, and the third was a little girl dressed as a witch. They appeared to be around ten or eleven years old, and each was carrying a plastic pumpkin bucket.
They looked perfectly ordinary.
I watched them for a few seconds, waiting for something strange to happen. But the children simply stood there, occasionally glancing at one another as they waited for someone to answer.
Finally, I stepped away from the window.
"Alright," I whispered. "Just a few more kids."
I grabbed the candy bowl from the coffee table, walked to the door, and unlocked it.
The children immediately smiled.
"Trick or treat!"
I forced a smile of my own.
"Hey, guys. Happy Halloween."
I reached into the bowl and grabbed a handful of chocolate bars.
"You're out pretty late, aren't you?"
The boy dressed as a vampire shrugged.
"Our parents said we could stay out a little longer."
"Well, lucky you."
I was about to drop the candy into their buckets when the girl dressed as a witch leaned slightly to one side, trying to look past me into the house.
"Do you live here all by yourself?" she asked.
The question caught me off guard.
"Yeah, I just moved in a few..."
I stopped.
For a moment, I simply stared at her.
Then I remembered the seventh rule.
If a child asks how many people live in your house, always say two.
I swallowed.
"No," I corrected myself. "There are two of us."
Something changed in their expressions.
The little girl stopped smiling, and the two boys exchanged a quick glance.
The boy dressed as a skeleton looked over my shoulder.
"Is the other one in the bedroom?"
I felt a strange chill move down my back.
"Yeah," I said after a moment.
The boy nodded.
"Oh."
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Then the little girl took a step backward.
"We should go," she said.
The other two immediately turned toward the porch steps.
"Wait," I said, holding out the candy. "Don't you guys want your chocolate?"
But they were already walking away.
None of them had taken a single piece.
I stood in the doorway, watching as they made their way down the driveway and disappeared into the darkness beyond the streetlight.
What bothered me wasn't that they'd left so suddenly.
It was the way they'd reacted when I told them someone else lived with me.
They'd looked disappointed.
I closed the door and locked it, making sure the deadbolt was firmly in place.
"Okay," I muttered. "I'm officially done with Halloween."
I put the candy bowl on the kitchen counter and returned to the living room. I wasn't answering the door again, no matter who rang the bell. The rest of the neighborhood could deal with whatever was wandering around outside.
I sat down on the couch and checked my phone.
Almost midnight.
For some reason, I found myself thinking about Walter's list again. I'd followed every rule that had come up so far, and despite a few terrifying encounters, nothing had actually happened to me.
Maybe that was the point of the rules.
I leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes, trying to calm down.
That's when I heard something from inside the house.
A soft creak.
I sat up straight.
For a few seconds, I listened, hoping it was just the house settling. But then I heard the distinct creak of a floorboard, followed by what sounded like someone walking down the hallway.
The footsteps continued, moving toward the bedroom at the far end of the hall.
Then they stopped.
Then a voice saying:
"You told them I was here."
The voice had come from my bedroom.
I sat frozen on the couch. For several seconds, I couldn't bring myself to move. I looked toward the hallway.
The voice had definitely come from my bedroom.
After several minutes of listening to the silence, I finally forced myself to stand.
I slowly approached the bedroom.
"Hello?" I called.
My voice sounded embarrassingly weak.
"Is someone there?"
I waited another moment. The hallway was dark, with only a faint glow coming from the living room.
I looked towards the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar.
I took another step forward.
"Look, I don't know how you got in here, but I'm calling the police if you don't come out."
Nothing.
I reached the bedroom door and placed my hand against it.
For a moment, I thought I heard something moving on the other side. A faint rustling sound, like fabric brushing against the floor.
Then silence.
I pushed the door open.
The darkness inside seemed almost unnaturally thick.
I reached around the doorframe, found the light switch, and flipped it.
The overhead light came on.
Nothing.
The bedroom was completely empty.
I stood there, breathing heavily, before letting out a long sigh.
"Jesus Christ."
I actually laughed, although it came out more like a nervous cough.
Maybe I really was losing my mind.
I'd spent the entire evening getting worked up over strange children and ridiculous Halloween rules, and now I was hearing things inside my own house. The stress of moving, the lack of sleep, and the few beers I'd had earlier probably weren't helping.
I walked a few steps into the room and checked behind the curtains, then opened the closet.
Nothing.
There was nobody hiding under the bed, either.
I rubbed my face with both hands."Get a grip, Daniel."
I stood there for another moment, trying to convince myself that everything was fine.
Then I switched off the bedroom light.
The room immediately plunged back into darkness.
I stepped into the hallway and reached behind me for the door handle, intending to pull it shut.
That's when something grabbed my wrist.
A small, ice-cold hand wrapped around my right wrist, its fingers closing so tightly that I felt a sharp pain shoot up my arm.
I spun around.
For one horrible second, I couldn't understand what I was looking at.
There was just enough light coming from the living room to illuminate the doorway. Beyond it, the bedroom was pitch black.
And reaching out from that darkness was a hand.
A child's hand.
It was pale gray, with thin fingers that seemed much too long for something so small. Its skin looked stretched tightly over the bones, and its fingernails were dark and slightly curved.
But the worst part wasn't the hand itself.
It was the arm attached to it.
I could see a narrow, pale wrist extending from the darkness, followed by an impossibly thin forearm that stretched farther and farther into the room.
It had to be several feet long.
The rest of whatever was holding me remained hidden in the darkness.
I tried to pull away.
The fingers tightened.
A cold sensation spread through my wrist, so intense that it felt as though someone had pressed my skin against a block of ice.
"LET GO!"
I jerked backward, but the hand didn't release me.
For a moment, I felt myself being pulled toward the bedroom.
I planted my feet against the hallway floor and pulled with everything I had.
Then, suddenly, it released.
I stumbled backward, slammed into the opposite wall, and nearly fell.
I turned and ran.
I reached the living room and spun around. Nothing followed me.
The house was silent.
I stood there, gasping for air, my right wrist throbbing.
Eventually, my legs began to feel weak, and I lowered myself onto the couch.
I looked down at my wrist.
There were faint red marks where the fingers had been, although they were already beginning to fade.
I touched the skin.
It was still freezing cold.
"What the fuck is happening?"
For several minutes, I sat there trying to decide what to do.
Every reasonable part of my brain was screaming at me to leave the house. But every time I considered opening the front door, I remembered what I'd seen outside.
I had no idea what was waiting out there.
And now, apparently, there was something inside the house, too.
I thought about calling Walter, but it was nearly midnight, and I wasn't even sure what I could say to him.
I reached for the remote and turned the television volume up, desperate to fill the silence with something familiar.
Then I switched on every light in the living room.
I pulled the curtains tightly shut, checked that the front door was locked, and sat back down on the couch.
By twelve-thirty, I was beginning to feel something close to relief.
I still didn't understand what I'd experienced.
I kept the television playing, switching between channels whenever I found myself getting too absorbed in my thoughts.
I pulled a blanket over myself, and left the television on.
Every light in the living room remained lit.
I tried to stay awake, but the adrenaline that had kept me going throughout the night was finally wearing off. My eyelids grew heavy, and the steady sound of the television gradually became a distant hum.
Then I fell asleep.
I woke to the sound of my phone ringing.
The screen showed an incoming call from Walter Hensley.
I answered immediately.
"Hello?"
"Daniel! Good morning."
Walter sounded cheerful, almost annoyingly so.
"Hope I'm not waking you."
I rubbed my eyes.
"Actually, you are."
"Ah, sorry about that. Just wanted to check in and see how your first Halloween went."
I stared at the wall.
For a moment, I couldn't think of anything to say.
"How did it go? Are you serious?" I said.
"Everything alright?"
"No, Walter. Everything is not alright."
I stood up and began pacing the living room.
"There were these kids coming to my door, and some of them weren't normal. One of them was looking through my kitchen window, and there was something in my bedroom."
Walter didn't interrupt.
"It grabbed me, Walter. Something actually grabbed my wrist."
Then he asked a question I wasn't expecting.
"Did you follow the rules?"
I stopped pacing.
"What?"
"The rules I gave you. Did you follow them?"
I looked toward the kitchen.
"Yeah. Yeah, I did."
"All of them?"
"As far as I know."
He let out a slow breath.
"Good."
I felt anger rising in my chest.
"Good? That's all you've got to say?"
"Daniel, listen to me."
His voice had become serious.
"I know last night must've been frightening. Believe me, I do. But if you followed those instructions, then you did exactly what you were supposed to do."
"What the hell does that even mean?"
Walter hesitated.
"Certain things happen around here on Halloween. Things we've learned to deal with over the years."
"Things? Walter, there was something in my house!"
"I understand."
"No, I don't think you do. It grabbed me. I saw its hand."
He was quiet for several seconds. Then he spoke again.
"Did it follow you?"
"No."
"And you stayed inside until morning?"
"Yes."
"Then you're alright."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"How can you possibly know that?"
"Because Halloween is over, Daniel."
He said it so calmly that I almost felt foolish for arguing with him.
"Whatever came around last night, whatever you saw or heard, it doesn't matter anymore. The night has passed."
Finally, I sighed.
"Look, Walter, I don't know what kind of place this is, but I'm seriously reconsidering living here."
"I understand," he said. "And I won't blame you if you decide to leave."
That surprised me.
"But for what it's worth," he continued, "the rest of the year is perfectly normal around here. You won't have to worry about any of this again."
"Until next Halloween, you mean?"
He paused.
"Yes."
I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead.
"Unbelievable."
Walter cleared his throat.
"Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Get yourself some rest today, Daniel. You've had a long night."
I didn't respond.
"And remember," he added, "you're safe now."
Then he hung up.
I stood in the middle of the living room, staring at my phone.
I slowly lowered my phone and looked around the house.
For a brief moment, I even wondered whether exhaustion had played a bigger role than I wanted to admit.
Maybe I'd imagined some of it.
Then I felt a sharp pain in my right wrist. I winced and looked down.
At first, I thought I'd simply slept on my arm awkwardly.
But when I pulled back my sleeve, my stomach dropped.
There were marks on my wrist.
Five of them.
Long, narrow patches of gray skin, arranged in the unmistakable shape of fingers.
I stood there for a long time, staring at those marks.
Whatever happened last night, I hadn't imagined it, and one thing is certain.
If I ever spend another Halloween on Briarwood Lane, it won't be inside this house.