Lydia's hands trembled as the led Scotty back down the street. Her very bones vibrated with fear, or was it sickness, or even excitement? She couldn't tell anymore. She was numb to any knowledge of what she was feeling. Her mind was racing, but also blurred, her movement was erratic, but also focused on reaching her destination. Nothing made sense. It just happened.

Scotty hadn't spoken a word since they left the party. His face was a sickly white, as if his mother had donned him with thick ghostly face paint before he'd left the house. Lydia wasn't sure if he had seen or properly understood what she had done to Tommy back there, but the fear in her little brother's eyes told her everything she needed to know.

He hand was gripped tightly around his, but she got the feeling that if she let go, he wouldn't be gripping her back.

Lydia's phone buzzed.

Come and say hello...

There was a video attached. She didn't want to watch it, but she knew that she had to. Just as she opened the attachment, she heard distant screams behind her. Not the usual muse of silly teenagers on Halloween night, they were screams of real horror, from multiple terrified mouths. Tommy had been discovered.

The video finally loaded, as Lydia angled the screen away from her little brother. For the first time, he didn't argue, and he didn't demand to know what was going on.

The shaky camera showed a woman tied to a wooden chair, her hands and arms bloody, and shaking. As the camera panned up, the pumpkin mask burst into view, with the woman trapped behind its walls doing everything in her power to shake it off. Lydia knew who was behind the mask before it was yanked from her face, but that didn't make it any less heart-wrenching.

Her mother's eyes were overflowing with fear and confusing, enough to drown her very soul. Her face had not been battered and bruised, but cut and burnt delicately, with precision. It had the look of someone who enjoyed their actions, someone who saw it as an art, and her mother's face as the blank canvas.

The video finally stopped, paused on a still image of Lydia's mum staring straight down the camera, as if she knew her daughter was watching. Were those eyes begging Lydia to save her, or ordering her to stay away?

It didn't matter, both would end in the same result. Lydia couldn't leave her mother there to die at the hands of this psychopath.

Buzz.

A second message.

And bring little Scotty

~*~

The Arden household had always been the most welcoming house in the neighbourhood, Lydia's parents prided themselves on that fact. The wooden exterior was painted a calm and tranquil sky blue, with the decking out front included a long, wide ramp up to the front door, inviting and unthreatening.

Tonight, the house wasn't welcoming. The sky blue was splashed with blood-red lightning clouds, and the unthreatening wooden ramp was slippery to the touch. Lydia didn't know what to expect beyond the wide open door. Every window and curtain in the house was closed, and the lights switched off, dousing the family home in infectious darkness.

As she inched closer to the pitch black opening to the house in which she had lived her entire life, Lydia noticed the welcome mat was nailed to the open door with a thick, curved blade. A finger with bright orange nail polish was pinned up against the rough fibres, laying in place of the 'L'.

This was all some kind of sick game to him. Lydia sighed as she entered the house, letting his darkness wash over her like a disease... it was a game she would have to play.

Lydia gulped, "W-w-we're here! We did what you asked!"

There seemed little point continuing with any hope or aim of stealth. He knew they were here. They were all here by his design. Every step had been mapped out like a script for them to follow, Lydia just prayed that the story wouldn't end in yet more death.

Just as she sent one last fading hope to God, the light directly above Lydia's head flickered on, as if it were a sign from the heavens. She shuddered, who was she kidding, it was a message from below.

The two children tiptoed their way through the hallway, across the floorboards they knew only too well. Lydia could navigate these walls blindfolded, but she still proceeded with both caution and uncertainty. Only a true monster could take away the security and comfort of one's own home.

As they reached the end of the long hall, with the doorway light far behind them, a second bulb suddenly blazed into life. Lydia jumped back, sending both herself and Scotty tumbling onto the wooden floor. She shielded her eyes from the blinding light, but the unquestionable figure of a human man lurked behind the yellow glow.

Lydia managed to throw her hands over Scotty's face just in time, leaving nothing left to cover her mouth as the most animalistic scream echoed around the darkness. She scrambled back along the varnished floorboards, as the image of her father's body finally came into view.

He had been murdered, skinned, and hung up above the living room doorway like a rag doll. Thick rusty nails protruded from his body, slicing through his flesh, carving through his bone, and pinning him up against the very walls he owned. Lydia wasn't sure how she even knew it was him from the state of his body, but she knew... she just knew.

Her father's right arm had been pinned straight out away from his body, with his left arm reaching across his body to point the same way. Each hand had one solitary bony finger directing his children into the kitchen. Their father had been stripped down to his very core and hung up to serve as a scarecrow, as a joke for the Trick or Treat Man.

Lydia's joints were frozen in place, as if her own bones had been nailed to the floor. If it hadn't been for her mother, she would have turned around there and then, scooped up her brother and fled into the night. If it hadn't been for her mother, she would have called the police, called her neighbours, called anyone that would listen... but her mum needed her. She couldn't bear to lose another tonight.

Her phone buzzed again.

Do as your father says

A tear rolled down Lydia's face as she hauled herself to her feet and picked Scotty up from the floor. She held him like a toddler, with his head over her shoulder to shield him from the sights within. Unfortunately, she could do little to protect him from the unmistakable smell of blood and rotting bodies.

The fridge

Another text buzzed.

Lydia stumbled through the dark kitchen towards the fridge, every fibre of her being begging her to turn around a run, but she couldn't. She took a long, deep breath before yanking open the refrigerator. Somehow pulling it open with force seemed far less scary than easing it open bit by bit. It was like ripping off a band aid, the faster the better.

No sooner was the door open than Lydia was doubled over, retching onto the kitchen floor. Twelve eyes burned into her back as she threw up, the sick splattering against the tiles. Scotty slipped from her grasp, dropping him right in front of the open fridge, the little yellow light illuminating the twisted horror on his face.

Six severed heads stared back at the young boy, each sporting a similar state of shock and fright as him. There were two heads on each shelf of the fridge, and they seemed to grow in their state of decay as they went, with the very bottom one all shrivelled and riddled with rot.

He tried to run, but Lydia held him back. They had to all be here, by the monster's decree.

It was only after Lydia glanced back for the second time that she recognised some of the faces. Gregory Jennings, the first head, he had been in Lydia's class a few years back... until his disappearance of course. His family had moved away after that, the memories in Pumpkin Springs were too much of a weight for them to bare. She had almost forgotten about them until now. As she worked her way down the line, every face seemed familiar in their own way, even if Lydia couldn't quite remember where from.

The latest buzz had Lydia's heart racing up her throat like an acidic yo-yo.

ON the fridge

She was only too happy to slam the door shut, keeping the death within at bay. The draught created by shutting the fridge only wafted the smell of death deep into Lydia's nostrils. She was sure it would be ingrained there forever.

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to spot a piece of paper attached to the front of the refrigerator by a magnet. She pulled it away and held it close to her face.

Report card

Eggs - A

Blood - A

Murder - A

Choice -

The final column was left blank.

As soon as her eyes had finished reading over the card, the kitchen lights shone down, sending the children into yet another blinded haze. After rubbing her eyes until her blurred vision finally cleared, Lydia's fear reached new levels.

He was here. Maybe he had been there the whole time, lurking in the shadows, but he was here now, that was for certain.

The Trick or Treat man stood at the far end of the room, behind the chair that caged Lydia and Scotty's mother. Although the pumpkin mask covered his face, Lydia was sure that he was sadistically grinning at them.

The man was dressed head to toe in a smart black suit, with a white shirt and black tie. On top of this attire, a thin black cloak was wrapped around his shoulders, the folds bellowing with every movement, light an extension of the hopeless night sky.

His black business shoes were shiny and polished on top, but encased in a thick layer of dried blood around the sides and base. The dried blood of multiple victims, from multiple homes, with multiple lives, all diminished to a collective mark on his shoe.

The Trick or Treat man didn't say a word, merely cocking his head to the side and brandishing a sharp knife to their mother's throat, urging Lydia to make the first move.

"Who are you? What do you want with us?" Lydia cried, her eyes now fixed on the glistening blade against her mum's windpipe.

"What am I..." the man corrected, despite not answering the questions. His voice was muffled through the mask, yet it sounded strangely familiar.

Lydia took a step forward, holding Scotty back with an extended hand to ensure he didn't follow, "Why the mask?" she asked. Perhaps if she put the focus on him, on the legend, just as he wanted, he would be more willing to talk.

"You're right," he replied. "It would be a shame to talk to my student from behind a leather partition."

He slowly moved his right hand to the base of the mask, keeping his left down at their mum's throat.

"Student?" Lydia spat. "Is that what this is about? I'll never be your-"

The Trick or Treat Man inched the mask off bit by bit, revealing his neck, then his chin, his mouth, nose, it was by the eyes that Lydia realised and her voice trailed away from her.

"Mr Folly," was all she could muster in a faint, disbelieving whisper.

"As I said, it would be a shame to not converse with my favourite student... face to face," he smiled, placing the mask down delicately.

Lydia was frozen with shock for the umpteenth time that evening. It couldn't be, could it? Mr Folly had taught her for years, he had even been her favourite teacher, and her his favourite pupil. He'd been at the school for years, a permanent fixture in the neighbourhood of Pumpkin Springs. He had even taught Lydia's mother and father, back when they met in the tiny classroom of his advanced mathematics.

She had looked up to this man for as long as she could remember. Lydia has wanted to be exactly like him, he had made her want to become a teacher, to study maths, to work at the same school. He was her mentor. She thought he was her friend.

"Mum... dad," Lydia wheezed, struggling for breath.

"They were always weak," Mr Folly scoffed. "How they raised such a pure offspring I will never know."

He pushed the tip of the knife into their mum's skin, drawing just the tiniest specks of blood, but enough for their blindfolded mother to expect the worst. Her head started thrashing from side to side beneath the hessian sack that had been draped over her face. Muffled screams echoed around the room.

"Stop. Stop that!" Lydia yelled.

"You're right," Mr Folly said. "A teacher should never do the student's homework for them."

"I don't understand!" Lydia screamed.

"Oh, come now, Lydia! You always were a bright one. That's why I chose you. Think now!" Mr Folly bellowed. "Even from a young age, you always had something... more than the other children."

"What are you saying?" she snapped.

"I knew you were like me, I knew you had the potential."

"I am nothing like you," Lydia snarled over her mother's pained whimpers.

"It's okay, Lydia. I can show you the way. I can help you," Mr Folly smiled warmly, extending his hand. "You just have to choose."

Lydia's heart stopped.

She glanced down at the report card in her hand and her eyes clouded with tears at the sight of the word, 'Choice'. A choice. Something glimmering at her mother's feet caught her eye then. An axe lay menacingly by her desperate, wiggling toes, like a bone surrounded by maggots. Lydia's stomach churned. She thought she knew what he wanted.

Her mind raced. She stared at his face with hate, with vile contempt. She'd studied under this man for ages. He'd been one of her favourite teachers, a friend even, at times. She thought she'd known him.

Lydia's eyes watered, and her blood ran as cold as her father's, "I trusted you."

"And I took that trust as a gift," Mr Folly assured. "I nurtured it as if it were a bird with a broken wing, and I guided you until you could soar above the droves of normality, Lydia. I can see you. I'm the only one who sees you for what you are, for what you can be."

"Embrace the fear. Embrace the hunger. Embrace the power. This is all for you. Make your choice."

"I'll never kill her!" Lydia screamed at the top of her lungs, spit flying from her lips as tears poured from her eyes in thick wet drops now—angry, heavy tears.

Mr Folly's eyebrows shot up with surprise. Then he laughed maniacally for a long moment, placing both his hands on their mother's shoulders. "Lydia! I'm shocked at you. This might be the first time I give you an A minus. But bravo for creativity. No—I don't want you to kill your mother—unless you want to, that is," his eyes sparkled, "No. I want you to kill me."

Lydia gaped at him, tears still falling, heart still cold and heavy in her chest.

He grinned wildly at the hate in her eyes. "You want to, don't you," he gripped the night by their mother's throat tight in his gloved hand, "You need to, so you can save mummy and Scotty, aye?"

Lydia's whole body shook with fear and rage. Without even realizing she'd done it, she'd reached and grabbed the heavy axe in one swift motion, brandishing it before her defensively. She could feel the weighty metal head in her arms, shoulders, and down her back. She could feel the power that the handle wielded. The choice over life and death. And she briefly—very briefly—wondered to herself if there were anything more powerful in this world?

Make your choice

The words rang around her head like a murderous mantra, on a loop, in his voice, a never-ending command eating away at her brain like locusts on crops.

Make your choice.

Make your choice.

Lydia looked into Scotty's eyes, fear still had him rooted to the spot like an old tree. She looked at her mother, as Mr Folly removed the sack, her eyes were already full of loss. She glanced from her son to her daughter, and then her gaze held Lydia's there. Her lips trembled around the cloth gag. Her expression was pleading. And Lydia knew what it meant. Her mother was begging her to save Scotty if nothing else—to make sure he was safe.

But Lydia had already killed someone that night—the weight of it was as heavy as the axe, heavier even. It pressed on her shoulders. It rushed through her muscles and pulled her down toward the earth like some secondary force of gravity. She'd murdered Tommy for Mr Folly, for the Trick or Treat Man. And she never, ever wanted to do what he asked of her again. Because if she gave him what he wanted, he still won.

But if he pressed the knife any further into her mother's throat, he won too, and then he wouldn't go after Lydia. She could see it in the careful work he'd put into his sick lesson. No. He'd go after Scotty. He'd make her pay for disobeying him.

She didn't know what to do, but as her mother whimpered around the gag she knew she had to do something.

"MAKE YOUR CHOICE!" he snapped.

Her mother winced and screamed through the rag. Scotty shrieked and cried.

Lydia dashed around the chair toward him before she could think twice about her reckless actions.

She swung the axe feebly at him, missing but tumbling forward into his legs, sending him crashing to the ground. He let out a slight oof of surprise as he smacked the floor, and then he began laughing as if Lydia had simply tickled him. This infuriated her. She swung the axe again, screaming, curving the hefty metal blade into her former teacher's arm.

The monster barely flinched, barely even cried out. She jerked it back just as suddenly as she'd felt it strike him, and she scrambled across the bloody floor on her knees to pin him down. She planted her full weight on top of his injured body, holding the axe over her head with both hands, poised there above him. Now she held all the power. So she thought.

But looking down on him, she realised she was very wrong. He still held all the cards in his hands. He grinned through the pain, beaming up at her like a proud father. It made her blood boil. She squeezed the handle of the axe tightly, grimacing down on him. She glanced at his half-severed arm. The skin and muscle had separated, and his bone had splintered. He bled out onto the floor quickly, thick, hot crimson pouring from the wound. And still, he hardly flinched.

Her eyes went wide. He truly was a monster.

Mr Folly continued to smilethrough the blood and the pain, "I have had my time with the mask, Lydia. It'ssomeone else's turn. This was your choice. This was always your choice."