A Horribly Haunted Halloween
Heather Graham
Copyright © 2020 Heather Graham
A Horribly Haunted Halloween
Copyright © 2020 by Slush Pile Productions
All rights reserved. This publication may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior express written permission of the author. Unauthorized reproduction of this material, electronic or otherwise, will result in legal action.
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A Horribly Haunted Halloween is a work of fiction. The people and events in A Horribly Haunted Halloween are entirely fictional. The story is not a reflection of historical or current fact, nor is the story an accurate representation of past or current events. Any resemblance between the characters in this novel and any or all persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Halloween is approaching
And while it might be different this year, many homes are lavishly decorated. Jackson Crow thinks it’s fine that his adopted son, Corby, takes a walk down the street to see some of the ghoulish displays.
Except Corby hurries back to him. One “creature” isn’t—or wasn’t—a creature at all. The bizarre costuming covers someone once real—a human corpse.
He and his wife and partner, Special Agent Angela Hawkins, must join with the local police, other Krewe members, and all law enforcement. Victimology sends them on the hunt for a killer who is out for revenge—and using the holiday for his own ends.
It’s a race against time for them as they seek out the man who is dead-set on his vengeance—lest he turn Halloween into an end-game that will turn the holiday night into a display of pure evil. It’s All Hallows’ Eve—and on such a night, there just might be a little help from the dead.
A Horribly Haunted Halloween
Prologue
They didn’t see it.
But they would.
He was an artist.
He smiled, looking at his handiwork and wondering how he would let the world know.
The media, of course. The media loved to hop on anything. So much for their opinion of his talents! They would know. He would be Anonymous. Or the Effects Man. But they would see—they would see. And read and learn. He smiled and set his pen to paper again.
The usual pen and the usual paper. Available in thousands of stores across the country—tens of thousands of stores maybe. He smiled again. And he wrote.
“ ’Twas right before Halloween
And all through the land
Creatures were appearing,
Gruesome and grand,
Witches and goblins and scarecrows, oh, my!
Skeletons, mummies, werewolves, no lie!
And what to my wondrous eye should I see
Blood and guts coming straight at me!
And blood and guts coming straight at thee!
So many ghastly ghouls on this night,
How many to see before the light!”
He started to laugh. So, he’d done a bit of mixing. It didn’t matter. They would get the point. It might take a bit, but then they’d see.
He truly was a talent!
Chapter 1
Halloween. Great holiday. Tons of fun.
And when the hell else could you hide a corpse in plain sight?
For American children—and adults as well--It was supposed to be an entertaining time, no matter what else was going on in the world. Kids loved to dress up, and people loved to decorate. It was good for the economy—especially for candy makers and those who created costumes.
Some kids—and adults--wanted to be superheroes, some wanted to be princes or princesses or fairies, and some wanted to be witches, zombies, skeletons, and other creepy beings.
There were those deeply into the old Celtic concept, that it was the night when the dead could rise to join the living, and when great care had to be taken lest evil fill the darkness.
Jackson Crow stared at the figure on the porch. It had a plastic pumpkin-jack-o-lantern for a head, and a body resembling a straw-stuffed scarecrow.
And, of course, people had just walked by it grinning. There were store-bought spiderwebs all around the railings and the roof of the porch as well. And on the other side of the front door, there was a grinning mummy.
The old Fillmore place had been abandoned for about twenty years; the city was still deciding what to do with the property.
It had the reputation for being a haunted house. It was natural when some mischievous kid—or adult, since it appeared the thing had been professionally made—had thought it would be fun to decorate a “haunted” house for the season.
People had passed by it for days, probably smiling and enjoying the fun and the artistry.
It wasn’t until Jackson had been driving with his son, Corby, after taking him for his check-up. Jackson had stopped to run quickly into the pharmacy for milk, and while doing so he’d told Corby it was okay to walk down the street to see some of the cool Halloween decorations.
And that was when his son had noticed something odd about the thing no one else had noted.
Corby had hurried back to the car anxious to talk to him.
“Jackson—Dad!” Corby had been adopted just after Christmas. He was a great kid, and he was comfortable with the adoption and living in his new home and sweetly grateful. He usually called Angela and Jackson Mom and Dad--except when he was unnerved.
“Corby, what it is?” Jackson had asked.
Corby grabbed his hand and run with him down the street to the old Fillmore house. He had seen the creature on the porch—and smelled it. Even with his mask.
He had called 911 immediately. Local authorities had to come out, even if he was FBI.
“Dad—it’s a dead man, isn’t it?” Corby said, eyes wide with horror and sadness. “Someone . . .
