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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Verastahl on 2024-10-30 21:02:57+00:00.
I never cared much about Halloween. Growing up, I didn’t like scary movies or dressing up, and it seemed a weird way to get candy. Now that I’m in college, my opinion hasn’t really changed, though the peer pressure to go out and do something is even worse than when I was a kid.
Maybe that’s why I picked this week to go home for a few days. My parents were happy to have me visit, and I was glad to see them too, though it got a bit boring after the first weekend. That’s what led me to browsing my dad’s recent pile of newspapers, and that’s how I found the ad from last Friday’s edition.
Need adult actor to play a role in my yard’s Halloween decorations. Only Monday night, as that’s when the trick-or-treaters are coming out! Will pay very well to the lucky employee.
There was a local number below, and I hesitated to even call. I was just trading one Halloween for another, but technically it wasn’t even Halloween yet, and if he really was paying a lot…
“Hello?”
“Hello. My name is Becky Chatsworth. I’m calling about the ad. Do you still need someone for your lawn decorations or whatever?”
A quiet laugh, and then, “I do, yes. I’ve had a few calls, but no one that stood out as worthwhile. So you’re interested in it?”
“Maybe, yeah. If I could find out more about what you’d need me to do and how much it pays.”
“Sure, of course. You would be part of one of my lawn exhibits, playing someone partially buried. Your face would be in the free air, of course, and I don’t think you’d find it uncomfortable. Basically you’d just moan and scream and beg to be freed when people come up for candy. I’d plan for it to go from 6pm until 10pm, though we might knock off early if there are no more trick-or-treaters. And I would pay you $400 for your time.”
I tried to keep my voice even. “Um, well yeah. That doesn’t sound too bad. I’d be interested in doing the job if you’d like to use me.”
“I do think you stand out. Hmm. Yes, I don’t see why not. I’ll text you my address and if you don’t mind arriving at 5:30, I’ll put some make-up on your face so you look appropriately ghoulish. Sound good?”
“Um, yes…yes sir. It does. See you then.” Hanging up the call, I grinned to myself. “A hundred bucks an hour? Don’t mind if I do.”
****
When I got to the address I met Langford Lumley, a man in his early sixties that lived alone in a large house tucked away at the end of an otherwise empty cul-de-sac in a large neighborhood that was nice, if a bit run down with age. He invited me into a home that was cluttered but clean, though you could still see the remnants of where he had been working on Halloween decorations scattered across the living room and kitchen. Apologizing for the mess, he sat me in a kitchen chair and quickly put some make-up and fake skin on my face to make me look like the corpse I was meant to be. Looking into the mirror ten minutes later, I was kind of amazed.
“Do you do this professionally?”
He gave a deep belly laugh as he blushed a little. “No, nothing like that. I learned it from my wife before she passed. She was a real talent. This stuff I do now…well, we always loved decorating, and I guess this is my way of honoring her.” Sniffing sharply, he shook his head as he dug into the overalls pocket of his zombie farmer costume. When he pulled his hand back out, there was a roll of twenties that he pressed into my palm. “Here’s your pay in advance. I went ahead and made it $500 since you came early and are such a nice young lady.”
I frowned. “Are you sure? That’s a lot.”
He waved away my concern. “Not at all. You’re going to be the centerpiece of the whole evening. The kids’ll love it.” Smiling widely, he gestured to the way we’d come in. “Speaking of which, we better get you settled in before they start coming.”
****
The “grave” was a large metal box about seven-feet long and over three feet wide. The top was a hinged lid covered with realistic-looking grass that, when closed, blended in almost perfectly with the grass of the lawn. It was so good that when Langford first went over and reached into the ground to pull it open, it felt like I was watching him magically flip open a real piece of the yard. He’d grinned at my surprise.
“Yeah, the keys are to fit it perfectly to the hole and match the grass. Not just color, but length and type too. It’s taken me a few years to get it just right.”
Nodding in wonderment, I looked down into the open container I was going to be living in for the next few hours. Honestly, it didn’t look that bad. It was lined inside with memory foam, with extra padding towards the top where my shoulders, arms and head would be. I gave him a questioning look and he smiled wider, reaching into the lid to pop out cut-outs for my head and arms.
“Yeah, I keep them plugged until someone is in there for appearance and safety. But it should be plenty of room for you to stick your hands and forearms through, and your face too, of course.” He pointed to two holes in the side of the container. “I even have air being piped through so your body won’t get too sweaty in there. I know it’s cool out here, but with all that foam, it can get warm if you don’t have ventilation.” Glancing around, his eyes finally came back to me. “So does it look okay to you?”
Returning his smile, I nodded. “A grave fit for a queen.”
****
It really was pretty comfortable in there. The lid holes also had some foam around the edges, and while my arms would get tired occasionally, I could always pull them in. My face was more tightly surrounded by its cushioned halo, and with the lid down all the way, It would be hard to get it out without pushing against the padding beneath me and twisting hard, but I doubted it would be an issue. I was in more danger of falling asleep than anything else. The interior space where most of my body was had plenty of room, and I could definitely feel a small stirring of cool air against my side and legs. It was such a strange and neat thing to make, and it made me both like and pity lonely Mr. Lumley with his empty house and his full yard.
Because I was far from the only decoration outside. There were skeletons and ghosts and pumpkins, and even a large grim reaper presiding over everything from an oak tree on the opposite side from where I was buried. At first I wondered if I was even in the best spot for kids coming up—I was on the far end of the yard from the driveway most people would walk up trick-or-treating, and my head, while angled a bit above the surface of the ground so that I could look down and see across the yard, wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. I could be seen and heard, sure, but I definitely wouldn’t stand out if I didn’t move around and make noise. But then again, maybe having me go unnoticed until I started to scream was part of the plan.
I’d been in the grave for awhile before the first victims came. I had started to worry—what if no one came and he’d put all this work in for nothing? And if that happened, I knew he wouldn’t ask for the money back, but should I keep it? I guess I still did the job either way, but I’d feel bad.
So when the first group of kids came up, I felt more than a little relief. I almost said hey or “Happy Halloween” or something, but I caught myself in time. Instead, I waited until they were almost to the door and then I let out a wail.
“Help meeee..! I’m not dead yet!”
All three of them jumped and screamed, and one of them started to bolt before the biggest, probably his older brother, grabbed him with a laugh. “It’s a decoration, doofus.” He pointed me out in the far part of the yard. “It is badass t…”
“Happy Halloween, kids!” Langford had opened the door now, and his warm and friendly zombie seemed to set them immediately at ease. “We’re a bit early, but that just means you can bug your parents for more candy in three days!”
I let out a laugh then, and when they headed back down the driveway, still eyeing me nervously, I did call after them, wishing them a good night of trick-or-treating. After that, we had a few more kids and their parents, with the pace picking up more and more as night came on. I was getting into it too—screaming at some, laughing manically at others, and I was so into looking for the next group that I didn’t notice when the air circulating through the grave box stopped. It wasn’t until I felt myself slowly being pushed up tighter against the head opening that I realized something was going on.
“You’re going to want to take a deep breath now. As big of a breath as you can. Hold it and keep it, okay?”
Langford had somehow come up behind me, was over me staring down, and it was as I went to ask him if this was some kind of prank that I felt cold liquid spraying against my body in a torrent. I tried to pull free, but my head was too tightly in place, and when I pushed against the lid of the box, it didn’t budge.
“You’re wasting time, Becky. This is a quick-dry resin filling up that box. It’s flexible, but not enough that you’ll be able to breathe well if you don’t make room now. So puff out your chest, fill your lungs, and keep them full until I say.”
I wanted to argue or threaten or scream for him to let me go, but he was right. It was already halfway up my body and I could feel it thickening as it went. ...
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