An Unloved Halloween

AN UNLOVED HALLOWEEN - #29
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"All this talk about candy and wishing you were born as an effing goblin-wolf instead. When will you grow up?" my Dad said with a vein bulging out of his forehead. "For the last time, dad, I am NOT too old to trick-or-treating!" I shouted as the battered truck lumbered down a dimly lit dirt road. Dad's gaze remained fixed on the path ahead, the truck's headlights casting a glow through the darkness. "You're too old for candy. Now pipe down!" Dad said. I clinched my fists and bit my tongue, trying my hardest not to curse him out. 
The truck rumbled into a small town with fake spiderwebs that decorated small spruce trees. "Those spiderwebs remind me of your brain -- completely empty," Dad said. My face turned blood-red and steam shot from my ears. I can no longer contain the toxic waste inside me. With a quick burst I shoved my fingers down my throat. "The hell?" Dad said right before I coated him with my projectile vomit. 
The truck screeched to a halt,, jutting us towards the windshield. "Out! I" my Dad yelled. I pushed the passenger-side door open and stepped foot on the soil of an unknown town, slamming the door shut from behind. "Your puke looks like it came from Danny DeVito's asshole. See you in pumpkin hell!" my Dad yelled as the tires revved up and peeled out of the road. All alone with no annoying dad to pester me. Freedom to explore this town that exudes the spirit of Halloween. Midnight may be approaching, but I think there might be time for a little trick-or-treating adventure.
I strolled down the sidewalk, lifting my Dracula collar as the October chill bit my face. Orange lights draped every lamppost. An odd, hunched figure stood under one of them. The figure stepped out from the orange glow and twitched his way towards me with a smile only Satan's grandmother could love. His wide toothless grin revealed decayed green and black teeth, many of them missing. "The shadows are talking to me, boy!" he said as he loomed closer. This guy might be high off pumpkin spice.
Before I could bolt across the street, his bony fingers graced grazed shoulders, pulling me back. He let out a guttural squeal reminiscent of a pig being butchered to death. Eyes wide as the full moon, I tried fighting him off. "Back off, Jack-O!" I said. The man raised his torn, moldy green shirt and yanked out a rusty carving knife from a festering wound in his gut. "They want me to carve, carve it all out!" he said, waving the bloody knife in my face. I briefly considered throwing up on him like I did my dad, but I just know this freak would take pleasure in it. So I did the only thing I could: scream. But then it occurred to me -- it's Halloween, so people won't take note of it. I'm a dead man!
Just when I thought I celebrated my last Halloween, an orange and purple car pulled up to the curb. "Need a ride, strangers?" the driver with an attire plucked out of the 1800s asked. "Yes, this man is trying to kill me!" I said, sprinting towards the passenger door. The driver chuckled. "Come on in!" I swung the door open and threw myself in the seat. "Get me out of here!" I said. The driver laughed again, leaning out towards the crazed man on the sidewalk. "You need somewhere too, buddy?" he asked. A lump the size of one of my testicles formed in my throat.
The crazed man staggered forward. "Y-Yes... The shadows tell me of the hotel down town," he said, shuffling his way in the back seat. I turned to the driver in a panic. "Please, you can't do this! He tried to kill me!" I said. The driver chuckled once again and ignored me, driving away from the sidewalk. "The hotel? That's where I'm headn' too!" the driver said, his voice sounding oddly monotone yet excited. I tugged at my collar, swallowing hard. I hope he's driving the man to a mental asylum. I'd rather be with my dad than these freakshows! 
The crazed man continued mumbling to himself in the back while digging into his flesh with his sharp fingernails. I attempted to look away, but he forced my gaze back as he extended his arm in front of me. "Chicken..." he said, gripping a piece of his bloody stomach fat. I fought the bile rising in my throat, desperately trying to keep it down. "Yum, I love chicken," the driver said, grabbing the stomach fat and lodging it in his mouth, chomping on it in an unnatural motion. Did I just witness a man consuming another man's flesh? 
I lost the fight with my pile and gagged until remnants of supper sprayed towards the driver. "My oh my, what a mess!" he said. The the deranged man tore another chunk of flesh from his gut wound and dipped it in my vomit like it was McDonald's honey mustard. As the car approached a stop sign I yanked the door open and leapt onto the frigid road, my feet pounding against the pavement as I disappeared into the void of the strange town Although I'm mad at my dad for leaving me to die here, I need to get a hold of him immediately. I fumbled for my phone, but disappointment quickly swept over. "Crap, must've left it in the truck," I said. I hope payphones are still in services here. Wait who am I kidding, I don't even know my dad's number. I just hit the call button in my contacts.
I trudged through several blocks of homes with nothing but extensive Halloween decorations adorning them. Wouldn't be surprised if they were mandated by the town. As I neared an area toward downtown, a row of parked cars caught my eye. Parked along a 6 story building that read "HALLOWEEN HOTEL" on an orange neon sign, I noticed my dad's rusty truck parked on the curb under a street sign that read "Unloved ST." I don't know what the hell he's doing here, but boy am I glad to see the truck. On a side note, "unloved street" reminds me of myself; unloved. Maybe it was meant to be.
My feet pounded the frigid payment as I made my way towards the hotel door adorned with gravestones in the windows. An empty lobby greeted me inside, with rundown wallpaper and carpet that was stained to hell and back. The lights flicked and lit candles sat on the carpet. Behind the receptionist's desk stood a woman wearing a typical hotel uniform, only her face was painted like one of those day of the dead skeletons. As I approached, she said something that made me stop in my tracks. 
"Joff?"
"How do you know my name?" I asked, shaking in my boots. "Your father mentioned you would be here. Would you like a room?" she asked. How would my dad even know I would be here? We were supposed to be home an hour ago but got lost on some country roads. Something's fishy. "Where's my dad?" I asked. "He's sleeping with the pumpkin people in the basement. Worry not, he will be out shortly. Would you like a room while you wait?" she said as if it were the most normal thing ever. Every time this lady speaks I question my own existence. "I'm sorry, what?" I said, leaning forward. "Would you like a room?" she said. The people in this town are freaks and it's clear I'm not going to get any meaningful answers about my dad. Whatever said next will only add to the confusion.
"Sorry lady, but I don't have any money. Only thing I have on me is dyer lint."
"Rooms are free on Halloween. Would you like to be taken to your room?"
Curious, I obliged to take a room, which thankfully resided on the first floor. The floor boards creaked while the scent of werewolf urine permeated my nostrils as she led me to my room. "Here it is, room 688, " she said as she swung the door open. Inside the room stood a 7ft. tall werewolf holding the decapitated head of a still living mummy lady. The reception quickly shut the door, her face turning red. She apologized and promised the next room over was my actual room. I would consider the scene in Room 688 to be fake, but in this town? Who knows at this point.
I followed her to my supposed humble abode, Room 687. Inside felt quite welcoming. Blood splatter caked the walls, crime scene markers and tape littered the room, and a severed hand laid lifeless on the dark gray carpet. I laughed, thinking this was some kind of joke. "Wrong room again?" I asked with a chuckle. "Nope, this is it! We still don't have it properly cleaned yet, but it's our last free room. Hope you understand!" she said with a smile. "I think I'll just wait in the lobby," I said, moving my way back out, but she outstretched her arm in front of the door, preventing me from leaving. "Sorry, but once a client books a room they must stay in it for 10 minutes before existing it," she said with a more faded smile. What kind of sick rules are those? Before I could puke on her like my father, she shut the door from behind. "Don't use that bathroom in the meantime. Be back in 10 minutes!" she said as her footsteps left the hallway.
I sat on the bed with a meek expression. It was likely used to kill someone but there's nowhere else to sit. What the hell did she mean by "he's sleeping with the pumpkin people?" I hope it's not the kind of "sleeping" I'm thinking of. I laid in the bed for a few minutes until the sound of a horrific shriek came from the other room, followed by a man laughing manically. The chill of fear coursed through my veins until I realized it came from room 688. Just typical werewolf shenanigans. I paced around the room then noticed the severed hand on the floor disappeared. "Psst, follow me!" a soothing yet unwavering voice whispered from the shadows. "Who's there?" I asked, grabbing a used syringe off the floor as a weapon. "Get back, I likely have AIDS! I'm warning you!" I dropped the bloody syringe when the severed hand skittering on the floor like a tarantula towards the open bathroom door.
I leapt over the blood-stained carpet and bolted to the bathroom. A moldy toilet that hadn't been cleaned since Lyndon B. Johnson's presidency waved at me, begging me to use it. "Over my dead poop!" I yelled at the toilet. The severed hand scurried along a huge fungus stem protruding from a huge air vent in the ceiling. I extended my arms for the stem, grasping the slimy fungi and hoisting myself upward into the grimy air ducts. "Come here you little bastard!" I said as I crawled my way through the dusty air-vent, thinking this training will come in handy when I'm drafted. At the end of the air vent appeared to be a window into the dark abyss known as the basement.
The ground below consisted of brown, mushy soil, with orange and white pumpkins emerging from the marsh with the scent of dust and cinnamon lingering. The gathering of slumbering mortals in the mush immediately stood out. Must be the pumpkin people. I scanned around to see if I could see my dad. My soul jumped out of my body when the severed arm appeared in front of the view and said "Father knows best, and so do you!" I gasped and swatted the stupid hand out of the way. One of the bodies arose from the soil like a vampire, a bald man with a gray mustache wearing a brown clad suit. He bellowed a loud moan that reeked of euphoria and depravity. "Sick bastard," I whispered even know I didn't even know the guy.
"Rise, parents, for the seeds for the unloved children are ready to be planted - giving them life as the spirits and ghouls of Halloween night!"
"Huh? Unloved children?" I pondered, my mind racing to make sense of this seemingly forbidden knowledge. Without warning, the rusty, dusty air vent caved in, sending me tumbling out of the vent and submerging me in the basement soil. The bodies all rose like phantoms out of the soil and stabbed me with their piercing gazes, all of them appearing to be in their 40s through 60s. "Howard, who let one of the unloved ones interrupt our beauty sleep?" a woman with the most pale face I ever seen asked. The man in the business suit, Howard, smiled, his gray mustache curling up on his face like a caterpillar. "Perfect," he said under his breath. 
I wiped off the dirt as I coughed up pumpkin soil. "What the hell is this and why is my dad resting with you guys? Where is he?" I asked, looking around from him. Howard stepped out in front of me. "Ladies and gentlemen, shall we let the young lad know why he's here?" he asked. The room nodded in unison, with still no sign of my dad, with the severed hand's words echoing through my brain. "Father knows best, and so do you." 
"You see young lad, this is a hotel for the unloved. Children unwanted by their parents. Every Halloween we disembowel these children and place their remains in a jack-o'-lantern, where they will reborn as a ghoul or spirit the next Halloween. I'm sure you've met a few of them without knowing it."
I stood there with my jaw hanging low. "How could my dad do this to me..." I said under my breath. "Why don't you ask him?" Howard said with a sinister smile. Another figure emerged from the thick soil, my father. He gave me a look only a father could love; one of bitter, hatefulness piercing through my retinas. "It's true, son. But I'm only doing this because I know what's best for you," my dad said. I clinched my fists with tears brimming in my eyes. 
"Being gutted to death is what's best for me?"
"It's not death. It's rebirth. Your obsession with ghouls, ghosts, and all things Halloween as destroyed your social life. It's time you become one of them. You know and I know this is what you really want, Joff," my dad said, speaking from the heart. My legs buckled under my weight and I fell on my knees, with a tear rolling down my cheek. "How do you know this even works?" I asked. An older woman stepped up. "Because. I brought one of first sons here 40 years ago and saw his transformation the next Halloween. He was reborn as a toothless ghoul that doesn't feel pain," she said. Wait, her son sounds familiar.
"You know what, dad?" I said, the whole group oogling me in silence with intrigue. "You're right. I want this. I no longer wish to be human," I said with assurance. The warmest smile spread across my dad's face and he gave me a big embrace. "See you next year, son," he said, releasing me from his grasp. "Ready?" Howard asked with glee. I nodded, looking down at the jack-o'-lantern at my feet. "Ready."
Three people pinned me down in place as my dad drew out a large pumpkin carving knife and slashes it across my gut, blood instantly pouring out like a mini-waterfall. He yanked the knife out and two other figures joined in, pulling guts and other fun bits from out of my stomach and dropping them in the open jack-o'-lantern. I withered in pain, with a big smile on my face. My intensities followed, being ripped out of my wound and dropped into the pumpkin like someone sucking a spaghetti noodle. Howard stood over me holding a bottle of green acid, forcefully opening my mouth. "Happy Halloween!" he said before pouring it down my throat. I gagged on the acid as it melted my insides, heating my bones to the point of liquid that poured out of my massive cut and into the pumpkin. 
Within minutes I was nothing more than a puddle of melted human remains inside a jack-o'-lantern, where I will remain until next Halloween; hatching like a chick from an egg, reborn anew. I certainly felt unloved this Halloween, but next Halloween? Oh baby, I will be loving it living as a strange goblin-werewolf hybrid.
Category:Chills Category:Halloween