Help. My Halloween Party Started Days Ago and Hasn’t Ended.
By: Evelyn Martinez
Tags: Halloween, Horror, Short Story, Fiction, Horror Fiction

I’m not sure how long I remained standing, rigid with only my ragged breath for company. But when I did dare to move, the hush was so thick I could hear my knees crack as I started to inch my way toward Polly.

She didn’t budge, not even a tremble of her glossy lips, which remained curved into the polite smile she wore. Her brown eyes remained open, seeming lidless in their refusal to blink.

I lost track of time then — the first time I ever did. I can’t say how long the silence lasted, only that there was darkness, and suddenly, not.

I’d found myself in the backyard having an awkward conversation, and then the next moment, under my duvet. My costume lay smoothed at the edge of the mattress, where I’d left it before the party, one foot peeking from the covers and my lungs full of wind as if I’d taken the breath used to launch me from my bed and into the chilly air (David insisted on keeping it cold. “When there are one hundred people in here you won’t be complaining,” he’d advised, cranking down the thermostat to arctic levels).

Then, the doorbell sounded and opened after some scuffling and the floomf of a cape snapping through the air.

“Happy Halloween!” said the guests.

Some too-loud laughter and, “This party’s gonna be a total rager!” was David’s response.

And it’s what they’ve said over and over again for the past three days, while that damned Monster Mash plays in the background.

I’ve tried to block the sounds by sealing my door, but “I was walking in the lab, late one night!” bleeds through. I’ve heard this line more times than I can count. It’s the only verse that will play now.

What does it matter?

If the news, before the blackouts started affecting broadcast stations, is correct in reporting the blackouts, like the ones here at my house, around the country are growing more frequent, we’re in the end game now.

The most recent bout of darkness lasted, according to my wristwatch, for eight hours this time. The one before? Three hours. And before that? Twenty minutes.

As for the skipping, the last scene played for ten minutes before repeating. Before that? An hour.

And there’s no help coming.

Maybe you already realized this in the worst way. I wouldn’t know. The news has gone static now when before I could devour any stories in bits between pauses.

I found out when I tried to make some calls. I tried the police first. Several officers are friends of the family. The ones who hadn’t come to the party were innocent. It was my fault they came. If I have to die soon, I’m at peace admitting their entrapment was my doing.

They came to the door (during one of the “normal” periods), and I started to rapid-fire recount all that’d happened, but then I noticed their eyes — how they drifted like Polly’s, but this time no one froze like a scratched disc. Instead, they said, “Trick or treat!” and Dave, who’d appeared from God knows where opened his arms wide to welcome them.

He pretended to bite their neck before slapping them both on the back and proclaiming, “this party is going to be a total rager!”

It happened with Uncle Lou from an hour away, any acquaintances I could think of. Posting on social media, when I could between blackouts, was pointless. When I say everyone comes to our Halloween parties, I mean everyone.

But I’m sure you know that now, too, though I haven’t received a response in hours. Or have I? It’s so hard to hold onto what’s happened and what hasn’t anymore. Each time I’m teleported back to my bed, with one foot on the rug, and my lungs bursting with breath, a new hole is drilled into my memory.

The last blackout, which just ended, lasted an entire day.

I had no knowledge of my own existence until I once again heard, “he did the mash! It was a graveyard smash! He did the mash! It caught on in a flash!” blasting through the towels plugging my door, shaking the headboard of the bed I lay in, yet again, tucked away in this memory I never wanted to make.

Do you remember what the newscaster had said? It’s not the truth. There’s nothing normal about these blackouts, and they’ve certainly interfered.

The real reports — the ones happening inside homes and Halloween parties across the country say the memory loss is contagious. Or at least this is what they were revealing until they, too, went dark.

“Happy Halloween!”

“He did the mash!”

Three days this time. Three days.

“This party is going to be a total rager!”

“Happy Halloween!”

“He did the mash!”

Five days — no more time, typing as fast as I can. I have one question for those of you — anyone — who might be out there still with the answer:

“This party is going to be a total rager!”

“Happy Halloween!”

“He did the mash!”

WHAT HAPPENS —

“This party is going to be a total rager!”

“Happy Halloween!”

“He did the mash!”

— WHEN THE SKIPPING —

“Happy Halloween!”

“He did the mash!”

— STOPS?

“This party is going to be a total rager!”