“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly are ravenous wolves.” -Matthew 7:15
I think a lot about that saying a lot around this time of year. Halloween used to be my favorite holiday. Scary stories, orange and yellow leaves. Purple lights, and hot apple cider. Candy and chilling winds. Jack-o-lanterns, and pumpkin spice everything. It’s the one time of year you can dress up and hide who you are underneath masks and makeup. Be whatever you want, and no one knows who you are.
I’ve loved Halloween since I was a kid. As far back as I can remember, my Dad always made such a big deal about the holiday. My mother, not so much. They divorced when I was young, and I’ve always lived between two households. Typically, I’d be at my Dad’s during the weekends, and my Mom’s on the weekdays. I’d always pray that Halloween would fall on a weekend so I could be at my Dad’s house when it happened. He’d always invite my friends over for a big Halloween party. He’d dress up in a scary costume, hand out fun treats, and take me trick-or-treating.
My mom, on the other hand, well, she despises the holiday. She’s very religious. She’s always reading the Bible, lecturing me about this and that. She’s got it in her head that Halloween is an “evil” holiday. She won’t have anything to do with it. Not even so much as a harvest festival alternative that some of the local churches around us hold. In fact, she doesn’t even go to the churches in our town, and we have a ton of them. She never put up Jack-o-lanterns, and not even a hint of fall decor. Not even a “Be Thankful” sign for the Autumn season or thanksgiving. My mom is nice enough, she’s never been too pushy about her beliefs on me. In fact, she celebrates every other holiday just fine. Christmas, Thanksgiving. She’ll even have a beer or two on St. Patrick’s Day. But she absolutely has never budged when it comes to Halloween. In fact, she’d make me go to bed really early on Halloween every time I happened to be with her. We’ve gotten into some very nasty fights over it. I’d be crying and begging her to let me stay up and go trick-or-treating, but she’d always respond that Halloween was evil, and that in her house she’d respect the Lord. Then she’d tell me I would just have to get used to it. I once told her I hated her because of it, and stormed off to my room, slamming the door. I regret doing that now. I now know she was only trying to protect me.
My mom lives several miles away from my Dad in a small rural town with about 3,000 people living there. My Dad lives in the city, so when I had Halloween at his place I’d bring back a huge haul of candy, because we had so many neighbors. Everyone got into the holiday spirit on my Dad’s street. In my Mom’s neighborhood, everyone there did too. So the stark difference between my Mom and the town, and Mom and my Dad has always been really apparent to me. And up until last year, I just had never understood why my Mom was such a prude. When I mentioned it to my Dad, and asked him to make my Mom relent, he’d always say “Your Mom has to do things her way, and I’ll do things my way. You just have to respect her wishes buddy”.
If you look at the calendar, you’ll notice Halloween falls on weekdays way more than it falls on Weekends. So sadly I haven’t had the experience of being with my Dad on Halloween as much as I’d like. I always noticed how much my Mom seemed to dread the holiday. She’d be extra into her Bible. Praying. Sometimes she’d come up to me and put her hand on me, closing her eyes in prayer, begging God to protect me. Halloween has always been the same at her house. We’d eat dinner around 4:00pm, then she’d usher me off to bed. She wouldn’t tolerate me stepping out of my room. And she’d yell at me to sleep if she heard me staying up. I’d always lay in bed, unhappy and frustrated. I’d hear just outside my door, saying the same prayers over and over again. You might be asking why I didn’t just sneak out. Well, I would have, except my Mom always had the odd habit of boarding up all of our windows, and even our front and back doors. She’d put up a big sign on the front door that said:
“Trick Or Treaters Not Welcome. At This House We Serve Jesus”.
She’d hang up crosses and sprinkle the whole house with Holy Water. Even line the front entrance with salt. I always figured my mom was just extra paranoid about things or had gotten it into her head from some televangelist that she needed to be extra scared of spirits and whatnot on Halloween.
I’ve never stayed up very late on Halloween night at my mom’s house. With nothing to do but lay in bed, as she usually took all of my toys or devices away, I’d usually fall asleep surprisingly easily. I’d dream about what Halloween could have been, and try to get over it the next morning on November 1st. It wasn’t until last year I finally found out WHY my Mom is so scared of Halloween.
Last year, Halloween fell on a Monday. That year was especially hard for me to accept that I’d be spending yet another fun Halloween night sleeping in early, especially since the year before Halloween had fallen on a Sunday, and my Dad had pulled out all the stops. I dreaded having to spend another year in bed early when for the last two years I had been spoiled with Halloween fun. This year was bit different. I was seventeen now, and I felt I could get way with staying up a bit longer, and at the very least being allowed to watch a scary movie. I got to my Mom’s house earlier that day, as my Dad had gotten me out of high school early. When I arrived the house was drab and normal, no decor, nothing except for wood beams in piles ready to be nailed up. I hugged my Dad goodbye, and he told me to behave myself and just do as my Mom said, however upset or unhappy it might make me. Great. Another Halloween puritanically wasted.
I went up the steps to our house, said Hi to my mom, and hugged her. I asked my mom if this year could be different. If maybe I could stay up and watch scary movies. Maybe have some candy. She flat out refused.
“Absolutely not. Halloween is an evil holiday. You will not have anything to do with it at my house, God help me.”
I roared with irritation. So unfair. I stomped inside.
“You’re so fucking ridiculous Mom!” I shouted out.
I heard her yell about taking the Lord’s name in vain. I didn’t care. I was so sick of her religious strictness. I needed to get out of the house for a bit. I walked up to the porch where she was standing, apologized for cussing and asked if I could head down to the store in town for some snacks before we had our early dinner and early bedtime. She sighed.
“Son, I know you don’t understand why I do these things. I know Halloween means so much to you. But it’s evil son. The devil hides in the fun things. Halloween is evil. I wish I could get you to understand.”
She said it would be ok, but to be home no later than 3:00pm. She was dead serious. I didn’t wanna found out the fit my Mom would have if I didn’t stick to her curfew. I walked off towards the main area of town with all the small businesses. My mom luckily didn’t live too far from the general store, only 4 or 5 blocks away. I got to the store, and was looking at some of the Hot Cheetos, when a priest came up to me.
I glanced over, and he said hello.
“Hi there. Need anything?” I asked.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I noticed you weren’t dressed up.” the priest said, his hands clasped in a pious manner. “I was supposing perhaps you weren’t participating in any of the festivities this evening. I was wondering if perhaps you would like to attend my church’s Harvest Festival party. There’ll be candy, and even a costume party.”
I already knew what my Mom would say if I asked, so I gently sighed and responded.
“That’s really nice of you, but I actually have other plans tonight sadly. I’m sorry.”
The priest smiled and said that was quite alright. He bid me goodbye, and told me he wished the Lord would bless me. He walked off, and I took my chips to the register. I walked back home and sulked. My mom wouldn’t have ever allowed it, even if it was at a church. She’d say that it was just another form of Halloween, and that it was evil, and that it was out of the question. I couldn’t wait to turn eighteen and be out on my own. Make my own plans. Celebrate Halloween the way I wanted to. I just didn’t understand. To me, Halloween wasn’t evil, or even unchristian for that matter. Sure, it dealt with death and ghosts and ghouls, but it was mostly about fun for me. Costumes, candy, may be even some sexy times or partying. It wasn’t about anything bad. In some ways, Halloween helped us laugh at death. It was the one time of year death wasn’t so scary, so horrible. Wasn’t there a saying my mom once told me, something like “Oh Death, where is your victory? Oh Death, where is your sting?” If anything, Halloween perhaps could help Christians live out that reality. But my mom would never understand that.
I went up to the house, trudged in, and me and ate my snacks while watching my Mom start to nail the doors and windows shut. There was no more going out tonight. She was soon done, and the doors and windows were locked. Her sign fluttering on the door, making knocking sounds every time the wind came and hit the wood. Then, she made a quick pasta dinner. I ate it in silence, making it known my displeasure. My mother ate in silence as well, looking at the boarded windows nervously. Then, she checked her watch.
“It’s 4:00pm son. Finish up, and get to bed.”
I sighed. I ate as slowly as I could. Every passing moment my mother seemed to get more and more nervous. I had a few bites left of my meal, but my mom suddenly shot up, and shooed me away from the table.
“That’s enough for now. You need to get to your room. Go!”
I rolled my eyes and walked to my room. My mom closed the door behind me. I looked around my room. I looked at my bedroom window, boarded up with wood. I could see between the slits in the wood. I could see the neighbor’s house, and the orange and red trees. The sun was still up. I sighed yet again, filled with annoyance. I plopped down on my bed. My mom had taken my phone. There was no TV, no books. Nothing to do but try to get to sleep. I stared up at the ceiling in my room. I heard my mother walk up outside my bedroom door, starting to pray.
“The blood of Jesus protect us tonight. Father God, protect us tonight. Amen.”
I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I furrowed my brow in anger. I was seventeen, damn it. I wasn’t following my Mom’s lame rules anymore. I made up my mind. Tonight, whether she liked it or not, I was getting up out of my room and doing something Halloween related. I was gonna watch Child’s Play. Or Scream. If I couldn’t leave the house, I could at least watch the kids trick or treating nearby. I decided I’d wait until after my Mom was done praying and had gone to bed herself to sneak out of my room. I listened to her praying.
“Jesus have mercy. Lord, protect us from evil. Lead us not into temptation. But deliver us.”
I lay there, listening to her pray for about an hour. I glanced over at my alarm clock. It was about 6pm by the time she finally finished. I heard her walk off and gently close her bedroom door. I couldn’t get out of bed just yet. I needed to wait until I was sure she was asleep. I sat up in bed and looked out of the cracks in between the boards. The sun was rapidly going down. Yet oddly, there weren’t any trick or treaters out quite yet. I waited, watching the sky grow ever darker, until I was sure my mom was asleep. It was about 7:45pm. The sun was mostly down at this point, only a slight yellowish glow remained on the horizon. I went up to my bedroom door. I slowly, ever so slowly, turned the knob. I managed to turn it without so much as a sound, and then I gently pulled the door open. It made a slight squeak, and I winced as it did so. Nothing. My mom hadn’t heard. Thank God. I pulled open even more, just enough so I could squeeze my body through and I could get out into the hallway. I did so, and I glanced down the hall at my mom’s room. I could hear her gently snoring. I tiptoed to the living room.
I went to the couch, and and sat down, picking up the remote. I turned on the lamp on the side table near me, and selected a streaming service on the TV. Scream, here I come. I turned the volume down as low as I could. I looked up at the clock on the side of the living room wall. It had just turned 8:00. Some preview for a show I didn’t care about was playing when suddenly the power went out. I sat up, confused. The lamp was out. I tried to turn it on again, but nothing. I glanced outside between the gaps in the boards on the window. The streetlights were out. Even the lights from the Halloween decor of our neighbors was dark. I watched as the sky grew darker and darker.
Perhaps there had been a power surge. But the weather wasn’t bad. It had been a perfect, cloudless day. I sat there, perplexed. Then I finally saw something. It was a gentle orange glow. At first, I didn’t see what it was. But was I kept looking, I eventually saw a small group of children, dressed in Halloween costumes. They held torches in their hands. They had potato sacks to collect candy clutched at their sides. They walked up the street, slowly like zombies. Then another group came. Each of the kids had a mask on. Some were clowns. Some were animals. Some were skulls, or demon faces. But not a single child had their face exposed. Group after group came down the street, silent as the grave. Then I saw more groups. This time, they were made up of what I could only assume were adults. They were far taller and fatter in many cases. Some were holding the hands of little ones. They had masks on too. On had a cartoon cat’s mask on. Another had a Guy Fawk’s mask. Yet another had what I could only describe as a voodoo mask. They all held torches, lighting their way as the sky finally became devoid of sunlight and pitch black. The torches cast shadows on the neighborhood and the houses. The haunting orange glow reflecting and amplified by the orange of the leaves on the trees and ground. Many people clearly were traveling as families. I saw groups of five, sometimes ten. Silently they went up the street. Then I saw one man some up. He had a special mask on. It was a large black mask, with three skulls, presumably human, in a triangle formation on the black background, two on the bottom, one skull on top. He held a torch, and an enormous knife, with a red hilt.
He stopped in the middle of the street, and shouted something. Whatever he said, it made the groups of people stop and turn around to face him. He used the hand that had the knife and yelled something, pointing it towards the houses around him. Then, he walked on. He was out of sight, and I wanted a better look at what was going on. I crawled up to the window, and pressed my eye against the glass, looking through the gaps in the boards. I could see much more now. The little children had circled back around. They went up to the houses nearby, and knocked on the doors. They then stood there waiting for someone to answer. I watched as one of my neighbors, a sweet blond-haired lady opened the door with a smile, holding an orange bowl of snickers. she was about to say something and comment on the kid’s costumes, but looked at the kids in wonder. They held their torches, and stood there, not even saying the customary “Trick or Treat”. The lady laughed nervously and asked if they wanted some candy.
“Boy, you guys are really scary…you definitely win that award,” she commented, trying to hand one of the kids with a green witch’s mask a candy bar. The kid didn’t accept it, but instead pointed at her. One of the adults came up to the porch, briskly walking over. The woman’s eyes widened and she screamed as the adult roughly took her by arms and dragged her to the street. Her husband came out yelling at the adult to let her go, but three other masked adults came out and wrestled him to the ground. They then tied up both people, kicking and screaming. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Some of my neighbors looked outside of their doors to see what was happening, only for them to be snatched up next. The children led the way as the adults brought crying and screaming people down the street. I watched on of my neighbor’s houses open up, only for a few people I presumed were my neighbors to walk out with masks on, holding their kids hands behind them, also in masks, to join in the activity. The same thing happened over and over again. The kids would go up to a door, they’d knock and someone would answer. Then they’d be attacked, tied up and dragged away to join others.
I watched as they headed towards the direction of the main area of town, where all the shops and businesses were at. I listened as people begged to be let go, men cursing and demanding the reason for all of this. A woman screamed as a masked man got up close to her, grabbed her by the hair and stroked her face with a gloved hand. I watched as more groups of masked people came, dragging teenagers and children with them, on a cart. They were all crammed into a cage, some crying, others yelling similar things to the adults. I looked at their wrists and saw they had orange bands. I couldn’t read what was on them, but the same symbol as the one found outside on the local catholic church was on them. More teenagers came, literally by the cartful, crammed into tiny cages with at least a dozen others. I heard wailing and screaming.
I watched as they all headed to the main part of town. Then I watched as the children went out into the woods with their parents, leaving the masses of people, about 200 of them, sitting in the street to be watched by the skull man with the knife, and a few other large masked men with other weapons and torches. The struggled against their ties, and the caged youth tried futilely to move. I shuddered as I watched orange lights dive in and out of the trees. The flames on their torches dimmed and flickered in the slight wind outside, making their disappearing sparks look like flashing Halloween lights and will-o-the-wisps. It was pitch black outside except for the flames. The power was still not back on. As much as I wanted to crawl back into bed, I couldn’t tear myself away from the strange events happening outside. I had to keep watching.
The children came out of the woods, dragging large branches of wood behind them. They began to pile them up in the center of town, until they had built a huge pile of them. A mountain of wood was formed, and then all of the masked people got into a large group in front of the skull man with the knife. The man held his hand up with the knife, and handed his torch to a man with a goat mask on. There were so many of them. The skull man spoke.
“People! It is that time of year again! All Hallow’s Eve is upon us once more. Let us remember our commitments! Our Father awaits us. They await us. Let us celebrate!”
My eyes widened, and my heart jumped into my throat upon hearing his voice. His voice was the same as the priest’s I had spoken to earlier that day at the grocery store. A cheer rang out from the masked crowd, who clapped their hands. The priest in the skull mask held out his hand, and a man in a gorilla mask brought the blond neighbor of mine up in front of him. Her face was stained with mascara as she cried, begging, asking what was happening, and why they were doing this. The skull masked man held her by her hair, and brought her throat up to his knife. The children in mask went to the front of the crowd, and waited expectantly. The priest made a shout, and slit the blonde’s throat. Immediately blood gushed forth, and her screams turned into gurgling. Her warm blood splattered on the ground, and a man in a Micheal Meyer’s mask came up with a golden chalice that had a pentagram on it to collect the blood. Then the man in the skull mask took his knife and began to hack away at the blonde’s body. The little kids held out their potato sacks, and the priest dropped pieces of her body into each of them. A bloody lock of hair went into the bag of a girl with a Princess Peach mask. A finger tip into the bag of a boy with a Optimus Prime mask. One girl with a bunny mask on cried with glee as an eyeball was tossed casually into her bag.
I watched helpless as she was dolled out like some kind of sick treat to the children. I watched as they danced gleefully around the screaming cages of teenagers. The adults went to the great pile of wood and began to pour gasoline on it. One adult in a Ironman mask lit the pile and it burst into flames as a great bonfire. The light from the fire was intense, and the air shimmered with heat. My eyes began to well up with tears at the atrocity being committed in front of me. The adults started to drag their tied up victims towards the fire. Then they lifted them up, and tossed them alive onto the blazing pyre. I closed my eyes and covered my ears as they screamed in agony. I started to hear a chant being sung. I peeked up to watch from my window. The goblet of blood was being passed around to the people, who lifted there masks to reveal their lips, and to take a sip of the freshly shed blood.
The chanting got louder, with every person they threw into the flames. They repeated it over and over again. I can still remember the words.
“Ohbscuhra patrees, exsepta nostroque innosense sacrifikio. Sangwees ihstay nohbees deht pohtestahtehm. Pahtair mendacee dah nohbees dehseedereeah cohrdees nohstrees. Dah nohbees ohmnehs gentehs dohmeenaree. In tentateeohnehm pohteeoos indook nohs.”
They chanted it over and over again. I wasn’t sure how they were even able to chant loud enough to drown out the sounds of screaming people being burned alive. The children danced around the bonfire, like demonic imps. I watched as an adult in a medieval plague mask began to look towards my house from far away. He walked away from the group towards my house. I watched as he got closer. Four blocks away. Three blocks away. Two blocks away. Soon, he was but a hundred feet from my yard. I wanted to hid. I wanted to duck. But I frozen still in horror. Suddenly, someone’s hand grabbed me from behind.
I let out a scream that was quickly covered by a hand, which silenced me. I looked back. It was my mother. She ducked us both down beneath the window.
She went up to my ear and whispered, “What on earth are you doing out of bed!?”
We both looked up as a shadowy figure got up to the window. The figure stood there, illuminated from behind by the yellow-orange of the town bonfire. We sat there frozen, not saying a word, until the figure slowly moved away from the window. We sat there a while longer until we were sure he was gone.
“My son,” my mother whispered, “Get to bed. And do not get out. Do not look out of the windows. Lay there until sunrise.”
I got up and did as I was told. I shut my door and got into bed. I tried to ignore the orange glow shining in from my window. I tried to ignore the chants. They had gotten louder.
I tried to ignore it when I heard metal being dragged, and teenagers screaming blood murder as they were tossed on the fire, trapped together in their metal cage. I tried not to listen as their flesh crackled and popped, and as their screams turned into whimpers. I tried to ingnore the laughter of the children most of all.
I listened as another person had their throat slit. As adults under mask sipped their blood like wine. Like some kind of demented communion. I listened as women moaned and men slammed into them, like the applause of a concert. Their screams of pleasure echoed by the screams of agony. I listened as my mother stood outside my room praying fervently.
“The blood of Jesus cover us. The blood of Jesus cover us.”
I listened as the chants outside turned into one repeated phrase repeated over and over again.
“Ahvay sahtahnahs. Ahvay sahtahnahs.”
I could hear both the young and old chant it.
It lasted all night. The same chant over and over again. More screams. More giggling. More sounds of bodies cut up and given to the children as treats.
“Ahvay sahtahnahs. Ahvay satahnahs.”
Somehow, at some point, I fell asleep.
I awoke to my mother on my bed stroking my face.
I asked her if what I saw last night as real. She said yes.
“Halloween is an evil holiday.”
I asked many questions. Why did she live here? Why didn’t she call the cops? Why did this happen?
My mom explained that the town was ran by a Satanic cult. She couldn’t be sure who was or wasn’t apart of it. She had tried to call the cops one year, but without power, they couldn’t be reached. And when she reported it to the local police, they had taken her report but had done nothing about it. When she tried another department further away, they didn’t believe her report. She had tried to get proof, but no one was willing to see it. They all just thought she was a crazy Christian lady.
“Why didn’t you warn the neighbors?” I asked, crying.
“I did. They didn’t believe me.” she said, tears flowing from her own eyes.
“I knew you’d never believe me either if I had told you. Besides, who wants to tell their child something so terrible?”
I asked why she didn’t keep me with my father every Halloween. She replied that she had to have me on weekends, per court order. That she had told my Dad once but he called her liar. He was too interested in having his own fun every few years, and he insisted I be with her. That she was making it all up.
“No one thinks this stuff can happen.” she said, “And no one believes people when they see it firsthand.”
I asked her why she had never moved far from the town to get away.
‘For one, I’m sure they’d stop me.” she said, “And secondly, I cannot abandon the people of this town who don’t know. I must warn them. I must do the work of the Lord.”
I then asked why they didn’t come for us.
“They would in a heartbeat. But they for some reason will only come for you if you invite them in. If you leave your doors and windows unlocked. If you talk to them. If they see you. I make it clear I’m not celebrating and that they can’t come in. And I board the windows so they won’t break in. They seem to hate anything to do with the cross. And they aren’t too fond of salt.”
I went out that day after we had taken down the boards. I looked over at the town center. There was no evidence at all of the horrors of last night. They must have cleaned it all up somehow. I would’ve thought it all a bad nightmare if it wasn’t for the distinct char on the asphalt, barely distinguishable unless you knew where to look. And the scraps of potato sack in the bushes around town.
I’m eighteen this year, a high school senior. This year Halloween falls on a Tuesday, so I’ll be with my Mom again. I told my Dad I didn’t wanna go. I told him about what I had seen last year. He yelled at me and called me a liar. He doesn’t believe me either. No one new to the town does. We managed to get a few more people to board up their places. But it’s not enough to save them all.
That’s my story. I’m partially writing it to warn all of you reading. Halloween for most people is an innocent, fun, spooky holiday. For some, it’s a pagan holiday used to celebrate the dead, and to connect to the spirit realm. To a few, it’s simply a harvest festival. For others, it’s an evil, evil holiday. And you never know who considers it so. You never know who underneath those innocent masks is in fact, a ravenous wolf seeking to make you the next sacrifice to untold, incomprehensible, hellish evils.
I’ve got to get going. I gotta help my mother pick up some new wooden boards at Home Depot. Halloween is coming in a week or two, and it’s going to be here soon.
One last thing before I go. I have a request to ask those of you who are reading.
Pray for us.
Pray that we will make it through another year of Halloween.