Page 32 of Haunted Horror on Halloween

Morning was, indeed, coming.

But . . .

It almost made the scene even more macabre. The sun was just rising, barely on the horizon, and it seemed to be coloring the landscape in a mist that was the color of blood.

And as she stepped out, Angela surveyed the Halloween “creatures.”

Witches abounded, the typical kind in sweeping black gowns and black pointed hats, many carrying their brooms.

Spiderwebs were, naturally, threaded through the trees and the brush and even a few plastic spiders, a foot or so in height, seemed to crawl upon the bloody landscape.

Ghosts and goblins appeared to float through the trees with a few leaning against them here and there.

Living human beings, perhaps. Still living, she prayed!

Little green leprechauns seemed almost cute and innocuous as they danced among the jack-o-lanterns, except for the vicious expressions on their faces and the gleaming knives they carried.

Banshees appeared to fly about in the trees.

Naturally, there were a few zombies.

And yet . . .

Even positioned as they had been, something about it suggested that even as monsters, they were also corpses.

All as if they lived within the blood red mist as the night ended and the red glow of the coming sun seemed to add substance to the soft, eerie mist.

And of course . . .

He was there. Standing dead still, decked out in a handsome tux and top hat, a mask across his eyes. A vampiric Phantom of the Opera? Angela wondered dryly.

“Oh, no, no, no!” she cried, pretending she had no idea whatsoever which of the creatures he might be.

He remained dead still.

“Teen girls . . . young men? A few young women in their twenties. They’re here, they’re all here, how do I start . . . I need help. We need to get people out of here, lots and lots of EMTS . . . now!” She hurried toward one of the witches.

And indeed, it was a young woman.

She had a pulse.

But there was blood all around her throat, still, if he’d hit a major vessel . . .

The girl looked at Angela as she tried to remove her from the tree she’d been tied to so that she might appear to be standing.

“Help!” she whispered. “My . . . leg . . .”

Angela eased her down, ripping at the black fabric the young woman was wearing to create a tourniquet for the cut on her thigh.

And she knew, of course, that while she was doing so, Manderley would move and come upon her.

She felt the knife at her back but finished tying the tourniquet.

He didn’t press it then.

He laughed. “And you think you, and you alone, can provide what they all need? Oh, my favorite witch! Evil to the core! No, I don’t think so. I think that first, I’ll take that Glock and then . . . well, I’ve a special costume for you and you’ll wear it, tied to a stake especially acquired for you, and you’ll watch while I see every single one of my new . . . um . . . followers gets a few new cuts and bleeds out before I . . . well, I will see that what comes your way will be slow. Oh, so slow!”

She dared to turn; he’d already grabbed her Glock from the holster at her side, usually hidden by her jacket when they worked.