In the early nineties, my youthful mistakes had caught up to me and I was broke. I was two months behind on rent, trapped completely alone in a shit job that barely covered the bills. No friends, no family, no one. Solitude didn’t bother me as an introvert, but life was still a struggle. So much so that I scavenged discarded cigarettes butts from the street to feel a small relief from the grim reality of life.
Now, I can’t remember the exact year. Might’ve been ‘92 or ‘93. But the day is etched into my brain until dementia absolves me from my memories or my life meets a bitter end. It was a stone-cold November day, and my unpaid bills meant no warmth awaited me at home.
That day, the 12th of November, I made a stupid decision. As I trudged back home from my shitty delivery job, I gathered as many pieces of paper as I could find in the trash or on the street. Yeah, I was about to make a campfire inside my apartment and risk the lives of every poor soul in my complex. Desperation does drive people to madness, and those of you who’ve experienced the tortures of prolonged hunger, cold, and frustration might understand my plight.
Just as I was about to ignite my makeshift campfire, an ad in a crumpled newspaper caught my eye. It read something along the lines:
“Post-Halloween Head Carvers Wanted. Free contest. Top Prizes $500, $300, $150. All Participants Get $25. Address: xxx. 13th Nov. 2100~”
The prospect of earning $25 just for participating in a pumpkin carving contest, with the potential to win hundreds more, was too enticing to ignore. That glimmer of hope may have saved my life and those of my neighbors at that time.
The following day, my shitty job didn’t seem that bad after all. I knew that that night, Friday 13th, I’d earn at least a day’s wage in a single night. As soon as my shift ended, I rushed to the location, the piece of paper safely tucked in my pocket.
The neighborhood wasn’t one of my favorites, and the narrow alley leading to the venue made me very uncomfortable. I remember hoping that I wouldn’t get mugged.
At the end of the alley was a black metal door marked with a sign reading “Nov. 13th Contest”. I had finally arrived. Three knocks on the door later, a pair of eyes peered through a peephole, followed by a gruff voice asking my business.
I showed him the ad, and with a clank and a squeak, the door swung open, revealing another narrow path without roof.
“Down that alley, second door to the left,” said the man who looked like the bastard child of Dracula and Frankenstein’s monster, snatching the ad from my hands.
Beyond the wooden door lay an underground hangar, it’s chilly atmosphere momentarily making me consider retreating. But the sight of the other participants, about three dozen or so, each standing before a table equipped with the necessary tools, made me a little more comfortable.
A porky man wobbled to the entrance and greeted me.
“Heya fellow,” he said in a friendly voice. “First time here I recon?”
“Er, yes,” I hesitated.
“You know why you’re here?” he winked.
“Of course, I do. I’m here for the first prize,” I jokingly said.
“Great,” he said, apparently relieved. “We’re still awaiting a few more guests. You can take that table over there,” he pointed somewhere in the middle of the room.
The metallic tables blended seamlessly with the similarly colored tools, fitting the industrial aesthetic of the place. Having some time to kill, I began to observe the other participants, who were a mix of weirdos bordering on the bizarre. But being a badly dressed, broke guy myself, I kinda shrugged it off, attributing their odd behavior to nerves or anticipation of the competition.
Twenty minutes later, the door behind me shut with a loud bang. The portly man from earlier ascended a small podium, his voice resonating throughout the cavernous space, even without a mic. He laid down the rules and carts began to circulate.
“… and this time, keep it to carving only. Understood, Jack?” The man on the podium directed his gaze towards ‘Jack’, a middle-aged man with a weird head tick who grumbled and nodded simultaneously.
“This time,” the man on the podium continued, “you won’t have the luxury of choosing your head. Haven’t been able to procure enough, so we’re distributing them randomly. No exchange, understood?”
In unison, all participants responded, “Yes sir.”
As the carts drew nearer, I noticed something off about them. It wasn’t until one was banged on my table that I realized the horrible truth. My ‘pumpkin’ was the severed head of a young woman. The sight was so shocking that I wanted to scream my lungs out.
The other participants seemed unfazed by the gruesome spectacle. I tentatively touched the head on my table, its lifelike texture making me recoil in shivers. My brain refused to believe it was real. I convinced myself that it was a prop and tried to regain my composure.
“And begin! You have an hour,” the porky man’s voice echoed. I had almost forgotten about the competition at that point.
I watched in horror how the other participants carved into the faces as if they were mere pumpkins. It became very clear that these weren’t props. I was shivering uncontrollably, staring at the head in front of me. There was no way I could bring myself to desecrate the face of an actual human being.
The man on the podium, whom I call Porky, approached, noticing my hesitation.
“What’s the matter?” he scowled.
“Er, I- I’m a little cold,” I stammered. “Didn’t bring my good coat.”
“Ah well. Be better prepared next time. Now, come on. Carve your head. You’ve already lost five minutes.”
I picked up the knife with my trembling hand, aware of Porky’s watchful gaze. So many thoughts ran through my head, like explaining how this was all a big mistake. Or perhaps I should bolt it. Or… Or do something, anything to avoid committing this perverse act unworthy of even the grossest of human beings.
But I knew. Yes, I knew. Any sign of dissent or attempt to flee would result in my premature death. Maybe my head would even end up in a freezer until the next event, just like this poor woman. How did she even end up here, I wondered.
Too afraid to act with decency, I began to slice my kitchen knife in her eye socket, focusing on making the smallest cuts possible to buy time. And also to keep my meager supper inside my stomach. A few cuts later, Porky had seen enough to leave me alone.
Somehow, I had managed to keep my composure until the end of the hour without throwing up or passing out. And, after the award ceremony, which my mind mercifully erased, I received my participation money. I was actually relieved that I hadn’t received a prize. Had I, I don’t think I’d have had the power to stay alive until this day.
After I left the place, I rushed to the nearby park to wash my hands, then returned home, curled up into a ball, unable to sleep for the rest of the night.
I considered telling the cops, but what then? Would they even believe me? Even if they did, I could be arrested for complicity.
With the first rays of sunlight, I found myself inexplicably drawn back to the site of the previous night’s horror. I needed to confirm whether the events were a product of my frayed sanity or a frightening reality.
I knocked on the door, unsure of what to do if confronted by the same pair of angry eyes that had peered at me the night before. Fortunately, nothing happened. I knocked again, and again. No answer.
With no one around the area, I climbed over the door and ventured inside. It was a simple door leading to an open hallway. From there, I retraced my steps until I was at the hangar’s door, which, oddly enough, creaked open as I turned the round handle.
A voice in my head screamed at me to flee, but I was compelled to enter the now-empty hangar, devoid of tables, tools, and Porky. Each echoing step amplified my anxiety. Despite my fear, I had to know whether this had been just a nightmare induced by the cold, insomnia, and hunger of the past few weeks.
As I explored the vacant hangar, a small piece of brain tissue and some bloodstains where my table had been confirmed my worst fears. It had all been real.
Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind me, sending me into a panic. I sprinted towards the exit, my mind conjuring images of a monstrous creature lurking in the shadows, whose hairy tentacles were always mere inches from pulling me into the dark abyss.
The door’s round handle kept spinning as I tried to open it. I repeatedly kicked the door, but it wouldn’t budge. In desperation, I climbed up a thick pipe I had spotted before, and broke a window to escape, the fear of being pursued by some unseen horror fueling my desperation. Miraculously the glass didn’t injure me, and I escaped through the roof side.
Despite my mind still reeling from the nightmarish experience, necessity drove me back to work that day. In the following weeks, I sought better employment, eventually landing an office job at a respectable company. Despite the low pay, it offered a glimmer of hope – a chance to leave the city and my nightmare behind.
Unfortunately, as it happens, one year passed without securing the funds to relocate. I scoured every newspaper after Halloween, hoping to find a similar ad and alert the authorities, but to no avail. And yes, like a fool, I even revisited the site on the same day, knocking on the door, but no one answered.
Haunted by the gruesome event and frustrated by my inability to prove its occurrence, I focused on advancing my career. Less than a year later, I moved to a city hundreds of miles away, vowing to never return, as the memory of that night is forever etched in my mind.
Over the years, I’ve tried to date women on several occasions, but the sight of a woman’s face, eyes closed, was reminiscent of the woman’s face I carved. Unable to overcome that trauma, I resigned myself to a solitary existence, haunted by the fear that one day, Porky might find me and turn me into a prop for their macabre contest.
And today, the 13th of November, I know that sleep will elude me, like it has every year on this date since that cursed day. With the darkness of the night, I am reminded that the monsters we fear are not hiding under our beds or inside the closet but walking among us. The most terrifying horrors do not lurk in the shadow; they hide in plain sight.