This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/HorrorJunkie123 on 2024-10-22 15:53:45+00:00.
I won’t sugar coat it - I hate Halloween. The cool weather, the creepy decorations, the sound of children giggling as they bounce down the sidewalk. I can’t stand it. I know that makes me sound like a grinch, but hear me out. I have a good reason.
As a child, Halloween was my favorite holiday. Yeah, Christmas was great and all, but there was just something different about spooky season that really hit home with me. Well, until I turned eleven, that is. That was the year that something truly heinous happened. Something that turned my favorite holiday into the most dreaded day of the year.
***
“Your costume looks great, kiddo! You’re supposed to be a power ranger, right?” Uncle Ricky asked, taking a sip from his cider.
I frowned. “No, I’m Rafael.”
Uncle Ricky’s brows furrowed.
“From Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.” He stared at me blankly. I could practically see the cogs trying and failing to turn in his head.
“Ya know what? Whatever it is, it looks great! Fantastic job, buddy!” He ruffled my hair before draining the remainder of his cider. I took a step back, staring at the ground.
“Guess what my-”
Ding.
The sound of the doorbell cut him off mid-sentence. “That’s probably Chris! See ya later, Uncle Ricky.”
I raced to the door and flung it open to find Captain America standing before me. Chris’s costume was detailed. From the suit, to the cape, to the shield - he had it all. His parents must have spent a pretty penny on it.
“Come on Chris, let’s go,” I said, ushering him down the driveway.
We’d made it about halfway down when Uncle Ricky appeared at the door. “You boys be safe now! Wouldn’t want anything to happen to ya.”
I shuddered. Something about the way he said that made me uneasy. “We will be!” I shouted back, still speed-walking away.
“Hey man, what gives? Why are we walking so fast?” Chris demanded once we’d reached the sidewalk.
“It’s Uncle Ricky. I don’t like being around him. He’s weird.”
“Like, what kind of weird?”
I shifted my gaze to the plastic pumpkin bucket swinging back and forth in my hand. “I dunno. I just… I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?”
“Fine... Let’s hit that house first! I heard they give out king sized chocolate bars!”
***
Chris and I trick-or-treated until well past sundown. To my dismay, even though I wore a turtle shell backpack and a red bandana, most people automatically assumed that I was the Hulk. Eventually, I just stopped correcting them. By nine o’clock, all the other kids had already gone home, and I was getting tired of people thinking that I was Chris’s sidekick.
“This is getting heavy. Are you ready to go back yet?” I asked.
“Come on, just one more house, then we’ll-”
“Hey boys. Nice costumes you got there.”
We froze. I didn’t know why, but my heart began to thunder in my chest at the sound of the man’s voice. We slowly turned to face him. What I saw still sends chills down my spine to this day.
A tall figure stood before us. He wore a leather jacket and jeans, and a red-splattered hockey mask shrouded his face from view. Even through the thin plastic, I could hear his ragged breathing. The shallow rise and fall of his chest as he stood there, that predatory stare boring into me. But that’s not what frightened me the most.
The man was holding a machete. One that was dripping with a dark crimson liquid.
Chris and I didn’t even say anything to each other. We didn’t need to. We took off into a dead sprint, booking it down the sidewalk. I didn’t have to look back to know that the man was in hot pursuit.
My legs pumped as fast as they could go, and I tried my hardest to focus on getting to safety - But I couldn’t shake this nagging feeling at the back of my head. The feeling that if I didn’t do something, that Halloween would be my last.
“Help! Help us!” I shrieked, praying that someone would come to our rescue.
But no one did.
The streets were empty, completely devoid of life. If anyone had heard my cries from inside their homes, they could have fooled me. Everyone probably thought it was just some dumb teenager pulling a Halloween prank. Little did they know, Chris and I were running for our lives.
After what felt like an eternity, curiosity got the better of me, and I chanced a look back at our pursuer. My stomach instantly twisted into knots. He was gaining on us.
Adrenaline took over, and I wracked my brain for ideas.
My candy bucket! I’d worked all night collecting my bounty, but in that moment, I didn’t care. I just wanted to make it home in one piece.
I hurled the plastic pumpkin behind me with as much strength as I could muster. I watched as it ricocheted off the man’s arm and landed on someone’s lawn, spilling its contents into their grass. My heart sank. I was out of ideas.
“This way!” Chris yelled, pointing down a side street. My face lit up. We were still out of earshot at that distance, but I could see a woman and a young child walking along the sidewalk further ahead of us. With how far we’d strayed from our houses, she was the only chance we had at escaping from that lunatic.
Just when I thought that we might make it out of there alive, the unthinkable happened - I tripped.
Time seemed to slow as I went sprawling to the unforgiving concrete. I landed hard, scraping both of my knees in the process. I wailed in agony as tears blurred my vision. I was so dazed from the fall that I had almost completely forgotten about the predicament I was in - until I heard the man’s labored breathing hovering directly above me.
I suddenly felt someone grab my arm and shove me onto my butt. I have never been more terrified than I was in that moment. The fear was so overwhelming that I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I could barely even breathe.
My assailant didn’t waste his opportunity. He dropped to his knees and began crawling toward me on all fours like an animal. The machete dragged along the sidewalk, its sharp, crimson-coated blade clinking against the concrete as he advanced. My breath hitched in my throat as the man loomed over me, mere inches from my face.
His dark, soulless eyes stared into mine. He leaned in so close that I could smell his breath. Then, to my horror, he brought the machete up to my neck. My mind raced as he lightly slid it across my throat. My entire body trembled when he placed his fingers to the fresh wound and dipped them into the blood seeping from within. I watched, feeling as if the world was crumbling around me, as the man reached underneath the hockey mask and plunged his fingers into his mouth.
“You taste… incredible,” he whispered, raising the machete again.
My eyes grew wide as dinner plates - but this time, for a different reason. In the blink of an eye, the man was lying on the ground with a rivulet of red seeping from his scalp. Chris tossed a brick to the ground beside him and pulled me to my feet. I had never been so happy to see him in my entire life.
“Snap out of it! We have to go,” Chris shouted, tugging me down the street. I glanced at the man one more time before we took off. That scene is one that will be burned into my brain for as long as I live.
Once we made it back to my house, I snapped. I cried uncontrollably for hours, and nothing could get me to calm down. Of course, the cops were called, but the man had vanished by the time they arrived at the scene. I was inconsolable for weeks afterward. And not just because of what happened to me.
When I glanced back that one final time, my attacker’s mask had slipped, revealing part of his face. The image of my uncle lying there, still gripping the machete, is one that I will never forget.
Uncle Ricky disappeared after that night. For reasons I can’t explain, I never told my parents that he was the one chasing me. I don’t know if they ever made the connection, but I didn’t plan on bringing it up. My own memories of the event are painful enough, and I didn’t want to relive that trauma. But now, I think I’ve changed my mind.
Because yesterday, as I was returning from the pumpkin patch with my wife and daughter, I noticed something lying on a chair on our porch. My blood instantly ran cold when I saw it.
A machete, a hockey mask, and a photo were neatly arranged on the cushion. My hands shook as I rummaged through them. When I picked up the picture and held it up to my face, all the awful events from that night came flooding back.
The photograph depicted my daughter playing in our front yard. And on the back, written in crimson, was a note that said:
I really hope she tastes as incredible as you did.