Past The Patch

sword thrust and its blood was a thick amber liquid. As Francis watched, some of the tentacles began to pulsate and sway, and with a soft creak and muted clatter the body of twisted limbs stood and faced him.

Without thinking Francis reached down, plucked a hot coal from the ground and stuffed it deep inside the pumpkin head, the flesh of his fingers searing as he pushed the coal into the center of that writhing gray mass. The reaction was instantaneous. The tentacles thrashed madly, flailing like whips and tearing holes into the face of the pumpkin. The upright body staggered and collapsed again, this time falling into the burning cabin.

Ignoring his searing hand, Francis watched the gray blob of sinuous matter begin to twitch and shrivel. He heard the wagon pull to a stop in front of the burning house and then heard his wife soothing the Fish children.

He picked up the Punkin Man’s head by the stem and set it on the chopping block. Now the slashes in the rind of the pumpkin looked like malevolent eyes and a wide, gaping mouth

The Applebaker family and the Fish children stood together as the cabin burned, watching the hot coal glow within the pumpkin head of the Horror of the Territories and hearing the thing that gave it life hiss and die.

Lorna hugged Francis, her body trembling. “What if there are more of those things? How will we keep them away?”

“If there are more of them,” Francis said, “Let them come. We know how to kill them now.”

The remains of the tentacled thing began to burn freely, firelight jumping within the ragged eyes and mouth of the pumpkin.

“And to let them know we know how to slay them, every year at this time we’ll light a Jack Lantern like this one, and set it in plain view to serve as a warning.”

A CLOWN WALKS INTO A HALLOWEEN PARTY

C.L. Stegall

C.L. Stegall is the CEO and Cofounder of Dark Red Press, LLC, an independent publishing co-op. He spends his time creating and bantering with his DRP friends/co-workers/authors (John, Brian and Jack), developing new ideas and new ways to work for the author. He loves what he does and hopes to continue to help bring new independent authors into the public light. C.L. is the author of the paranormal fantasy novel, The Weight Of Night, as well as several novellas and shorter works. He lives in the Dallas area with his irrepressible Wife and two dogs who think they own the joint.

***

The clown with the short red Mohawk ambled along the sidewalk leading up to the porch. As he carefully made his way up the steps to Priscilla 'Priss' Jones' house, his oversized shoes slapped down on the wooden slats. Twilight had come and gone an hour ago with an unsteady silence. Now as he stood frozen in thought for a long moment, the porch light glinting off the edges of his shoes, he closed his eyes and focused on the new elements permeating the night.

From inside came a strange mixture of eerie Halloween sounds—like creaking caskets and moaning ghosts— and the strains of Teeth by Lady Gaga. He fondled the items lounging deep in his oversized clown pockets.

Tonight. Tonight, memories would be made.

Priss had always loved Halloween. It gave her the ever-desired opportunity to throw a party and dress up in something sexy and thematic. A party girl from the time she could bounce to the beat of her dad's Zeppelin collection, Priss had the privileged upbringing of that rarest of creatures: a suburban princess. Although her mother truly loathed living outside the city, it allowed for an even higher style of living and, with her only daughter in tow, she lived the life of a modern day queen of the community. Priss took after her mother in her taste for fast men and hot cars, but little else of her personality mirrored that of her late mother.

She checked the MP3 player that sat docked in the stereo and, as the song changed to Tegan and Sara’s Walking With A Ghost, she swayed a little to the music and smiled.

As the clown ambled up to the tub of beer sitting enticingly close to the front door, the sounds of the party fell over him like a cloak and he winced a little. Shaking off the feeling, he raised his hand to knock on the door just as it flew open to reveal a short girl in a sexy bunny outfit, reminiscent of those in the sixties within certain gentlemen's clubs. She screeched, at first in fright and then in appreciation.

'That is one bitchin’ costume, dude!' she yelled too loudly, overcompensating for the music behind her.

'Thanks,' he mumbled, nodding in response.

'You want a beer?' she asked as she squatted down in front of him and fished in the tub to retrieve her beverage of choice.

'No, I'm good for now,' he replied.

She retrieved a silver can and quickly switched the beer to her other hand, attempting to shake the ice water from the first. 'So cold!' Standing, she motioned him into the house party. “Come on in!” Her ponytail bobbed up and down as she pranced back into the living room, leaving the clown to wander in of his own accord.

He kept an eye on the bunny girl for a few seconds before scanning the rest of the partygoers. His fingers still playing over the tools in his deep pockets, he began to make his way through the thin crowd.

Priss wandered into the kitchen to make certain there were still plenty of hors d'oeuvres available for the guests. It was a smaller turnout than she had expected—due to that bitch Serena throwing her party on the same night and even the same time—so the counter remained replete with finger foods of various types and liquor bottles still three-quarters full. Priss placed her hands on her hips in exaggerated disappointment.

Last year, everyone had come to her party. There must have been forty-five people in and out. Glancing back towards the living room, she gauged less than half that number had shown up this year. She was losing her influence. That must be it. She'd talk to Misty about it and see what they could come up with to ensure they weren’t pushed aside and forgotten.

As she pondered the possibilities of more themed parties and maybe a charity bikini carwash, she felt herself sway and placed her hand on the bar to steady herself. One too many drinks, just a little too fast. She'd have to slow down in order to make it through the night without another incident like the year before last. She'd been afraid she would never live that down.

Although, it seemed most of her guests had been in the same state of inebriation at the time and all was forgotten. Almost literally. She gathered herself and headed back into the living room, adjusting her coconut bra as she went.

'What's your name, dude?' asked the drunk jock in the barbarian outfit.

'Drastic Red,' he replied, snapping the red suspenders at the barbarian. 'Get it?' He winked at the guy like it was an inside joke and the idiot took the bait, laughing and nodding rather violently.

'Awesome, dude!' He leaned in a little closer, to stare at the safety pins that held up each corner of Red's mouth in a permanent smile. 'That is one seriously cool fucking effect.' The barbarian began reaching out as if to touch the pins, but stopped short at Red’s expression. It was difficult for a clown with a permanent smile to frown, but Red managed it with ease.

'Talk to you later,' Red said, and the barbarian shrugged and meandered off to accost some girl in a cat suit. Watching the barbarian lean into the girl and her limbo-leaning response lessened any questioning of his decisions. Soon enough, he thought, placing the vial back into his pocket unseen. Memories made.

Red noticed Priss making her way from the kitchen. He maneuvered through the attendees as the smells of beer, wine and high-end perfume caused him no small amount of nausea. He watched Priss, keeping just outside of her line of sight, as she began to mingle with the guests. She almost looked the same, with those sparkling blue eyes and long blond hair.

Even from here, he could smell the coconut oil that she'd used to enhance her island girl outfit. That was Priss. Everything in the details.

'Did it hurt?' He heard the soft voice and noticed it came from below him to the right. Red turned to see a girl in a little witch's costume sitting on the stairs beside him. She had deep brown eyes that looked far too sad for such