WRITE TEAM: That time of year again

This twilight hour before night is calm, the sky a steady grey that hovers like a wool blanket between us and the sinking sun. Soon, it will be swallowed by the dark horizon, and then night will envelope our corner of the world. We stalk forward, the leaves crunching underfoot as we move. Each stride brings us the heady aroma of damp earth and decaying leaves.

Autumn has come at last, and soon it will give way to winter. The wind howls, making us wince, for in it we feel the threat of ice and snow, and we hear the wicked chuckle of the bitter frost forming as the leaves skitter to and fro. The soles of our shoes meet slick asphalt, and our steps echo back to us. The noise is too loud and muffled all at once, and the hairs on the backs of our necks rise. We shrug off our discomfort and go on towards the house at the end of the street.

The streetlights twinkle on one by one, lighting the way behind us but refusing to light the way ahead of us. We stay two steps ahead of the light, keeping pace with the fleeing shadows without fully realizing it.

Suddenly, we cross onto the sidewalk before the abandoned house, and we halt abruptly. The streetlights nearest us flicker and die, making us jump at the unexpected sputter. The shadows press in around us, seemingly drawing us toward the house with the peeling paint and the cracked windows. More than the night falls around us now. This aura is laden with sorrow and fear, heavy with the emotions of ghosts from long ago. We feel a weight on our chest as the fear infects us, paralyzing our lungs and our muscles. We stand still against the onslaught of terror, but the house seems to grow larger and lean forward, looming over us until it fills our vision.

The door swings open, and the shadows leak out, spilling over the porch and down the stairs. We want to run away, but we’re rooted to the spot. Our hearts hammer so hard that we feel them inching up our throats. A moan rises from the depths of the house and resonates within us, freezing the marrow in our bones and sending tremors up and down our arms and legs.

Was that a hand passing over the window here, the brief glint of a grin there? What was that noise—was that a scream? What is that passing in front of the door—is it watching us? And all the while, the shadows creep closer and closer...

We shriek and leap backwards, tearing free of the paralyzing terror as something streaks toward us. The cat yowls and sprints across the street to hop onto a fence. We look around and notice the children coming out of their houses, ready for Halloween. We loose a hard sigh and stumble back down the street. We can’t help but glance over our shoulder.

The cat is watching us. Jack-O-Lanterns wink mockingly at us. The streetlights nearest the house flicker but remain dead. The front door is closed again. We shiver and run home to prepare ourselves, but we’ll save that house for next year.

Have a happy and safe Halloween!

KAYLA COOK has lived in Ottawa since 2012. She can be reached by emailing tammies@mywebtimes.com.