[Closed] [Event] Halloween 2017! Short Story Contest!

“It’s really their loss if they don’t want to come,” said Ronx to himself, perhaps a little too loudly considering the dark, empty street he currently strode along.

His voice was slightly muffled, courtesy of the plastic fangs jammed into his gums and his lips were glossed over with liquid red dripping down to his chin. His typical fancy suit was swapped with an extra fancy suit in commemoration of what was arguably the young revolutionary’s favourite day of the year. Golden clasps adorned his collar and he wore a black tuxedo, which fashioned a subtle purple hue. His shoulders were still wrapped by his trademark mantle, of which he had taken upon himself to stitch a clumsy golden spider on the back—something he would ultimately be forced to take out on account of it being so ugly that a certain bedazzling fishman refused to allow it to remain a part of the crew. The final touch to his outfit was the plastic jack-o-lantern bucket he swung proudly in his hand. Sure he might be a decade or so older than the common trick-or-treat demographic, but this was hardly something that was going to deter a candy-loving maniac. Besides, the street was completely empty, so one could argue that the “common trick-or-treat demographic” was really just him.

“What kind of Halloween would it be if we didn’t go trick-or-treating?” asked Ronx, continuing his monologue.

This question was promptly answered by the screech of a bat flying overhead and the caw of a lone crow, followed by a wolf’s howl that really wasn’t as distant as some might have preferred it to be. Sure it wasn’t the company the young man had been expecting, but he was content with the world and what he had, even if it involved the ominous calls of predatory creatures. Nevertheless, the haplessly happy man had only a single goal in mind: to reap as much candy as he possibly could before curfew rolled around (which was absolutely necessary or he would be out long after midnight). A frosty breeze passed through the street, sweeping up an array of fallen leaves and tousling Ronx’s hair as it did so. He lifted his hand to defend against a leaf that had taken upon itself to assault the man.

When his hand fell away, he noticed a shadowed figure a few steps in front of him. The figure faced the path that Ronx walked, standing on the grass with his toes barely touching the concrete and hung his head low. As Ronx neared, he noticed the figure wore a ragged black cloak and an iron collar around his neck with a severed chain attached to it. The figure stood at the size of a small child with thick black fog clotting at his feet and barely reached up to Ronx’s waist. With his face turned downward, Ronx couldn’t identify any notable facial features.

“Good evening,” said Ronx, an almost reflexive greeting that slipped out without any consideration from his part.

He was met with only silence and so he proceeded to pass the child. He had walked several paces past the figure when he spoke, “You walk a dangerous path, young man.” What was perhaps more haunting than the words he spoke, was his voice. Unlike the child he had initially appeared to be, his voice was rough and deep, a tone strikingly similar to that of a gong. At the same time, it was sharp and seemed to crack under the weight of age. Ronx turned to scrutinise him with an inquisitive gaze, only to find the area the figure had previously occupied was now empty, the black fog having disappeared too.

Shrugging, Ronx turned back to the path he walked, only to find himself facing a set of iron gates that clearly hadn’t been there before. Beyond the gates was a massive mansion, poised like a dark nobleman with his chin lifted in a condescending manner. Black fog encompassed the base of the mansion and wrapped around the yellow-stained walls. Long ivy crept up the side of the mansion, battling with a blanket of moss glowing with subtle ethereal yellow. Every window that checkered the mansion’s walls were pitch dark with the exception of a single window to the left of the second floor, where a sickly green light flickered from within. Seeing the mansion suddenly appear, Ronx was forced to pause and take a step back from his former festive-ridden outlook.

“How curious,” he finally uttered after a moment of blank consideration.

Even for Ronx, there was a certain limit to his tolerance for creepy, suspicious things before better reason started to reach for the reigns. If it was up to his better reasons, Ronx would promptly walk away from the sinister sight, but there was one big problem. Thanks to the manifestation of the mansion, the path was now at an abrupt end and so if Ronx were to walk away, it would mean the end of his trick-or-treat adventure. Now, better reason was saying something about a short-lived adventure being far more appealing than being devoured by a mansion (perhaps a bit dramatic, but when isn’t better reason not dramatic?). On the other hand, questionable reason seemed pretty reluctant to go home without even a single piece of candy in the jack-o-lantern, which (he adds) is also pretty unacceptable.

“Truly unacceptable,” agreed Ronx, just as a colossal black cloud loomed over the mansion and thunder rumbled from its core.

He paused to stare up at the clouds with his shining amber eyes, before taking a bold step forward and grasping the thick poles of the gate. The gates swung open with an ear-piercing screech and slammed abruptly shut once he passed through them. The path winding up to the mansion was narrow and lined with dead, grey trees. As Ronx made his way up to the door, a murder of black crows flocked the trees, drilling their beaded gaze into his back as he passed them. The second he stopped before the towering black doors, pouring rain descended from the clouds, as though to seal off the path he had come from. Ronx turned to watch the rain fall, a moment of hesitation nursing the seed of doubt rapidly finding its way into the blood of his veins.

A boom sounded along with a line of lightning racing across the sky and Ronx spun around to see the doors flung open. A thin woman stood under the doorframe, wearing a black victorian-style gown with a black veil thrown across her face. Her hands, skeletal and heavily wrinkled, were clasped in front of her stomach and her grey hair was swept back into a tight governess’s bun.
“Uh,” stammered Ronx, grasping for words. His eyes fell on his candy bucket and he promptly lifted it to the woman’s face. “Trick or treat?” A tiny girl’s giggle sounded from within the mansion and another chill ran down Ronx’s spine. “On second thought,” he said quickly, deciding it was best to retreat. “I think it’s my curfew. Bye.”

“Why the hurry?” whispered the woman, her voice like chalk gliding across a blackboard. “We have plenty of candy. It will only take a minute and then you can be on your way.”

Ronx was clearly torn, but even the lure of candy was starting to feel less tempting. In this kind of situation, he hardly even remembered the taste of it and as though to read his mind, the governess reached into the folds of her skirt and drew out a piece of candy wrapped elegantly in pink. Seeing it, Ronx’s eyes immediately brightened and he reached hungrily for it. Just as his fingers touched the small piece of candy, the governess’s fingers curled over it and snatched it away.

“Why…?” whimpered Ronx, his golden eyes peering sadly up at the woman.

“There’s more inside,” she replied, a hint of amusement in her cold, monotonous tone. “Would you like to see?”

“Would I?” asked Ronx, his face immediately lifting and he fidgeted eagerly. “I sure would!”

A glimpse of a smile flickered on the woman’s hidden face, revealing creamy red lipstick staining her lips. “Excellent, follow me.”

“Yes, ma’am!” said Ronx, cheerfully saluting and he followed the governess into the mansion.

The doors swung shut lightly and the governess lit a lantern from the table beside her before they could become engulfed in darkness.

“Why aren’t any of the lights on?” asked Ronx curiously, hardly a hint of fear in voice. The single piece of candy hardly the size of a pebble had done an excellent job at chasing away any remnants of doubt harboured by his better reason.

“Just a power outage,” murmured the governess. “Nothing to worry yourself over.”

Ronx nodded in response. They passed through a hall and at the end, Ronx noticed the child-like figure from earlier. Its face was now turned up towards him a giant crescent-moon grin painted across its face, giggling girlishly. Shadows fell over its entire face, only the grin shining from the darkness.

“That’s Chester,” said the governess grimly. “Just ignore her.”

She led him further into the mansion, passing portraits with eyes that seemed to follow them. The longer they walked, the more Ronx was starting to feel his doubts return. “I...I really have to go home,” he said, hesitantly.

“I understand, Alice,” said the governess, stopping and turning to face him. “We’re here now.”

They were standing next to a door and she pushed it open with both hands. Ronx turned to peek into the room, only to stop and turn back to her, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “How do you know my name?”

Another red smile flashed from under the veil and Chester’s shrill giggle quickly escalated and filled the hall. Ronx took a fearful step back, glancing into the room as he did so. His eyes widened. Inside, the room was filled entirely with candy, but for the first time ever, he took in this sight with a horrified gasp. Every piece of candy in the room was shaped like children, all posed to run or frozen in fear, their faces twisted in alarm.

Ronx backed away from the room, bumping into Chester who had come up from behind him. He turned to face her, his jack-o-lantern falling loudly to the ground as he took in her giant grin—which had considerably grown—and cattish red eyes floating in the shadows that still obstructed her face.

“You walked a dangerous path, young man."


“That idiot; it’s way past curfew,” grumbled a certain fishman, stomping down the eerily quiet street. “I told him ten o’clock at the latest. If he dares to say he thought I meant ten in the morning, I’ll skin him.”

“You walk a dangerous path, young man,” a voice said and the fishman froze, having passed the hunched figure without noticing its presence in his angry rant.

“What…?” snapped the fishman, glaring at the black fog that swamped at the figures face, but only a tiny smile revealed itself before the figure faded before his eyes. Shaking his head, the fishman turned back to his path, only to come face to face with the sinister mansion. He paused, taking in the sight before abruptly turning back the way he had come. “Yeah, stuff that.”


“Zizizizizizi,” Chester giggled, rolling around the floor of her room. She rolled to a stop, laying on her stomach and propped her elbows on the floor to cradle her chin. She stared lovingly up at her newest collection: a wonderful blonde noble with a magnificent mantle wrapped around his shoulders. His face was frozen in an expression of shock, his mouth slightly agape. She thought he was beyond beautiful.

“Yes, this year was good,” she murmured, wriggling forward until she stopped at the noble’s feet. “Ah, I can’t wait until next year...Zizizizizi~”