Chapter 3
Chapter 3: All Tricks and No Treat.
The first few blocks were the good kind of Halloween, bright porches, laughing kids, the smell of caramel and smoke drifting through the cool air. The boys ran from house to house, their pillowcases swelling with candy, their laughter bouncing between trimmed hedges and glowing jack-o’-lanterns.
“Dude, this house has full-sized bars!” Logan whispered to Matt, pointing toward a warmly lit porch.
Matt sprinted ahead, nearly tripping over his skeleton costume. “I call dibs!”
Trent followed behind, shaking his head. For a while, it almost felt normal just another Halloween night. Even he laughed when Chris stepped in a smashed pumpkin and went down hard, then later ended up tracking orange guts halfway down the sidewalk.
But as they moved farther from the heart of the neighborhood, things started to change.
The houses grew farther apart. Decorations thinned out. The cheerful porch lights gave way to long stretches of darkness, broken only by the moon and the faint hum of distant streetlights.
“Man,” Chris muttered, looking around. “This part of town’s dead.”
“Tamarack,” Logan said, kicking an empty candy wrapper. “Where even the candy gave up and left.
Matt snorted, but his laugh sounded smaller now. “Do you guys hear that?”
They froze. Somewhere up ahead, something rustled through the dry leaves—too big for a squirrel, too quick for a person.
“Probably just a raccoon,” Trent said, though his voice lacked conviction.
“Or maybe Trent’s vampire boyfriend,” Chris teased.
“Shut up,” Trent muttered, quieter than he meant to.
As they kept walking, the laughter from the rest of the neighborhood faded completely. The air grew heavier, colder. Even the trees seemed wrong, gnarled limbs arching over the cracked sidewalk like arms ready to pull someone in.
When they reached the corner of Tamarack Drive, the streetlight above them flickered twice, then went out.
Matt swallowed hard. “This is it? It looks… different.”
“Everything looks different in the dark,” Logan said. “Scarier, little man.”
“I’m not scared,” Matt muttered.
Chris shifted the bag slung over his shoulder, the rattle of his “bag of tricks” unnaturally loud in the stillness. “Yup. Winchester house is at the end. Just past that old mailbox.”
Logan smirked. “Told you it’d be spooky.”
But even he didn’t sound fully convinced.
They started down the street together, their footsteps crunching in uneven rhythm. Every few seconds, Trent caught himself glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting someone to be following them, though the road behind remained empty.
Ahead, through a tangle of dark trees, the outline of the Winchester house began to take shape, tall, crooked, and wrong. Someone had supposedly fixed it up recently, but from here it looked almost untouched by time. The boards were gone from the windows and doors, yet the place still felt abandoned.
Except for one thing: there were lights on inside.
The old mansion had belonged to the richest man in town before he vanished, and the property was foreclosed. It had sat that way for nearly fifty years.
Now its windows glowed faintly through grime, like hollow eyes pretending to be alive. Trent couldn’t see anyone inside, but from this distance he could’ve sworn he saw a curtain shift. Just barely. Just once.
They slowed as they reached the end of the street. The cracked pavement gave way to gravel, each step crunching like broken glass. The Winchester house loomed above the trees now, tall, slanted, its porch sagging as if tired of holding itself up.
No decorations. No pumpkins. Just a faint yellow light in an upstairs window—the kind of glow that made you wonder if someone was watching… or if someone had simply forgotten to turn it off.
Matt tugged Trent’s sleeve. “So… the new kid really lives here?”
“That’s what I heard,” Chris said. “Moved in last month. Shows up at night. Never comes to the bus stop. Doesn’t talk to anyone.”
“Maybe his parents drive him to school,” Trent offered, though even he didn’t sound convinced.
“Yeah,” Logan snorted. “Can’t say I’ve seen many hearses on the morning drop-off route… I don’t even see a car in the driveway.”
“Maybe they’re at work?” Trent tried again, but doubt crept into his voice.
A cold gust swept through, rattling the bare branches and sending dead leaves tumbling across the path. Ahead of them, the iron gate swung open with a long, metallic groan.
“Okay, that’s not creepy at all,” Logan muttered, but he still took the lead, pushing through the gate. The hinges shrieked behind him, the sound echoing down the empty street.
The yard was wild, half-swallowed by weeds and thorny vines. A cracked fountain lay on its side, its stone cherubs worn down to faceless lumps. The air smelled damp, like wet soil and something old that hadn’t been disturbed in years.
“Looks like a graveyard,” Matt whispered.
“Nah, those are just stones from that busted fountain,” Logan said, pointing it out.
“Come on,” Chris said, digging into the garbage bag clinking at his side. “Couple rolls of TP, one good egg on every window, and we’re out. Just a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift.”
Trent hesitated at the bottom of the porch steps. Above them, the wood creaked, as if something inside had shifted. He looked up at the second-floor window just in time to see the curtain move.
Not much. Just a twitch. But enough.
“Guys,” Trent said quietly, “he’s home.”
The porch light flicked on. A harsh, buzzing glow spilled down the steps, catching all of them mid-freeze.
Matt jumped, clutching his candy bag. “Told you someone’s here!”
The others stared up at the house. The light hummed, flickered once, then steadied.
Chris swallowed. “Maybe he saw us.”
“Good,” Logan said, forcing a grin. “Means we can say hi. Maybe even get a selfie with the undead.”
Nobody laughed.
The wind picked up again—colder this time—whistling through the trees with a sound that almost formed words.
“Trent,” Matt whispered, edging closer. “Let’s just go.”
Trent started to agree, but then, from somewhere deep inside the house, came the slow, deliberate creak of footsteps crossing a floor.
“Guys, just play it cool,” Logan said, stepping in front of the group. “It’s Halloween. If anyone says anything, we’re not trespassing. We’re just trick-or-treating.”
The door creaked open before any of them could move.
No one stood there—just a dim hallway and a single light stretching a narrow, sickly-yellow path into the house.
For a moment, none of them breathed. Then Logan leaned sideways, trying to peer past the doorframe.
“Uh… guys?” he said, voice dipping into uncertain territory. “You’re gonna want to see this.”
Trent stepped closer, heart thudding. Just inside the entryway was a small wooden table—wobbly and old, one leg wrapped in duct tape. On top sat a massive bowl overflowing with candy: king-size and giant-size Reese’s, Snickers, Kit Kats. All perfectly wrapped. The kind of haul no kid could resist.
A piece of notebook paper hung crookedly off the side of the bowl, scrawled in thick red marker:
PLEASE TAKE ONE.
Chris whistled low. “That’s… weirdly generous.”
“Or bait,” Trent muttered.
Before anyone could stop him, Matt’s voice cracked through the silence. “King-size?!”
“Matt, wait—”
Too late.
Matt darted forward, his pillowcase thumping against his leg as he rushed past the older boys and up the steps. His fingers closed around the bowl, snatching two Reese’s cups. He turned back toward them, grinning.
Then the grin vanished.
A deep, hollow clunk echoed beneath him, like a heavy latch being thrown—and the floor under Matt’s feet split open. For a single frozen heartbeat, Trent saw his brother’s terrified face, candy tumbling from his hands as he dropped straight down into darkness.
“Matt!” Trent shouted, lunging forward. But by the time he reached the doorway, the floorboards had already snapped shut again—smooth, seamless, as if nothing had ever happened.
Chris staggered back; face drained of color. “What the hell was that?!”
“A trap door,” Logan choked. “Dude—he just vanished!”
Trent dropped to his knees, slamming his fists against the boards. “Matty! Can you hear me?! Matt!”
Nothing answered. Only the faint hum of the overhead lightbulb, flickering like it was laughing at them.
“We have to find him,” Trent said, forcing himself to his feet. His voice had changed—shaky, but iron-hard underneath. “There’s gotta be a basement. A cellar. Something.”
Chris swallowed, staring down the narrow, dim hallway. “So what… we just go in there?”
“Yeah,” Logan said, jaw tight. “He’s just a kid, man. We’re not leaving without him.”
They stepped inside together.
The air changed instantly, thicker, stale, touched with the scent of damp earth and something metallic beneath it. Behind them, the front door swung shut with a soft, final click.
Trent spun, grabbed the handle, and yanked. It didn’t move.
“Okay,” Chris whispered, breath shallow. “So we’re locked in. Great. Awesome.”
Trent fumbled for his phone, thumb shaking as he tried to dial. “Shit—my phone’s dead. I charged it this morning. You guys have yours?”
Logan and Chris fished out their phones, checking them—
“Weird,” Logan said. “Mine’s dead too. Won’t even turn on.”
“Same here,” Chris added, unable to hide the tremor in his voice.
Trent turned toward the hallway, pulse hammering. “Logan, Chris, check upstairs. See if you can find a phone or something. I’ll find the basement. Matt’s down there, I know it.”
Chris hesitated. “You sure you want to split up?”
“No,” Trent said flatly. “But if we don’t, we’ll never find him.”
For a long second, none of them moved. Then Logan nodded. “Alright. Yell if you find anything.”
The three split—Logan and Chris heading toward the creaking staircase on the left, while Trent turned right, moving deeper into the shadows where the air grew colder, the scent of damp concrete leading him on.
He could hear Logan calling out, “Hello?” followed by Chris hissing, “Dude, shut up!”
“Relax,” Logan’s voice echoed faintly. “That little ghoul must’ve figured out we were gonna mess with him, so he’s screwing with us. That’s all.”
“I don’t know, man…” Chris muttered. “Seems a bit extreme. We were just gonna TP his house, egg the windows—freak him out a little. But this? This is too much.”
Their voices faded into the dark.
Trent knelt again beside the doorway, trying once more to pry up the floorboards that had swallowed his brother.
“Matty! Can you hear me?” he shouted into the cracks.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, beneath the boards, something shifted. Slow. Dragging.
And then, faintly—
“…Trent?”
J Cooper 