My name is Casha Marly. My friends call me “Cash.” For some time now, I have traveled the country and seen things that the uninitiated would never believe. There was this mansion in my hometown, you see, and spooky it was, for it seemed to place a veil on the subconscious of everyone in town. Only those who scrutinized it closely felt the chill aura seeping from its exterior. When the day came that I decided to penetrate this mystery, I dragged my best friend, Teekle, to that terrible place, and ultimately to her doom.

It really all started with that damn book.

The pages are old, withered, and weathered, yet no knife can penetrate the ancient parchment. The pictures and text change composition, sometimes before my eyes, and to look upon the words is to know a fire in the mind unlike any sensation I can rationalize. I dread to think what creature's flesh might comprise the leathery cover of the tome, and by all accounts in my travels, only I can see the shifting shapes and lights that dance across its surface.

I, too, nearly met my end in that mansion. My shoulder still carries the scar where I was impaled by a measure of reinforcing bar. I came around and found myself looking into the wide eyed corpse of my best friend, skewered and twisted in a horrific fashion that I will never be able to erase from my mind.

And then I heard her voice.

“Take the book. Run.”

There it was, clutched in the hand that had rested upon its cover in the candlelit study, right before the floor had collapsed.

Not long after that, the spirits came for me, and I have been running from them ever since.

So now, as I sit here staring at this strange little child who watches me from down the road, understand my trepidation. To anyone else, this is a Halloween costume. I used to love Halloween; now it is a grim reminder of everything that haunts me. Nothing of the scary movies I used to watch will ever compare to the times I've had and the horrors I've witnessed, so just excuse me a little if the stare from that pumpkin-headed sheet puts me ill at ease.

It watches. The toothy grimace never ceases. It is hard to tell from this distance whether it is painted or carved, but either way, the smile is of a black deeper than the night, and the immobile blackness of the eyes have locked upon me in a manner most uncanny. I began to perceive what disturbed me about that stare. The mask itself was watching, rather than someone underneath.

Teekle appeared, shimmering ghostly in the air beside me. I would say that she was haunting me, which was true at the psychological level, but her messages quite often were the difference between life and death. At least, for me.

“There are many spirits about tonight. I can't stay, Casha. They'll find your scent through me.”

I nodded toward the creature down the road. Its gaze remained fixed, though a dozen people passed between us.

“What about that?”

I could feel Teekle wrinklng her nose as she scrutinized the thing. It was a habit of hers from when she had lived, not so long ago. Minus the breathing bit, she breathed right down my neck in response.

“Keep clear of that one. Keep very clear.”

Teekle vanished, and I felt a chill.

But then it happened, as if the pumpkin face was waiting for Teekle's departure all along. I watched it reach out a hand, never looking away from me. A thin claw stretched out and gently scratched at the shoulder of a passer-by.

That person stopped cold and turned. Now a pumpkin and a witch tried to freeze me with their chilly stares, and to my absolute fright, that small hand, like branches twined together, reached up and made a soft scratch upon the arm of a man in a werewolf costume. The werewolf stopped and turned.

I started to lose my nerve as more victims fell to the touch of the Jack-o'-lantern fiend. I found myself slipping my hand to the book and taking a step back. The menace I felt from those stares grew as each new set of eyes turned in my direction, and when I could take it no more, I turned and ran.

Footsteps pursued me. There were shouts of those not yet afflicted, wondering where this dashing mob had suddenly started off to. I did not know if any of those people were still alive, but I had seen entire towns vanish beneath the pale fury of the spirits, and there was nothing I could do for them now.

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I ran, panting. I had a good sent of lungs, and all this time in exile I had built tremendous muscle for flight. Yet even my tomboy legs wouldn't carry me forever. My motorcycle was still at the edge of town, out of gas, and I had only come this far into town to refuel. As ever, the monsters had been waiting.

In my mad rush, I quickly whispered the spell that would hide the scent of the book from spirits. The magic burned my arm, and I could feel the markings grow over my skin, ever tracing their way up my arm to some nefarious purpose. Though I feared the magic would one day consume me, I had no choice if I hoped to escape.

The costumed ghouls gave chase as I dodged into tighter spaces off the main road. A drug store was still open, and I slipped inside, passed the cashier, and fled into the back room. The cashier shouted at me, but I was out the back door before she could get around the counter.

And that was it. The futility didn't dawn on me until I slipped through a few backyards, barely escaped the vicious nibbles of a chihuahua, and hopped a couple fences.

There came I to a most distressingly open field. Far behind, I knew that my pursuers had picked up everyone along the way, for the screams had all but died off. An army of fresh legs was already in pursuit, and there was no path in sight that would allow me to double back.

I continued my dash toward the trees, but I was never going to make it. I tried to imagine what would happen if I, too, became one of the crowd. Maybe it would be my own hand that opened the book, recited the spells, and ended the world. There was that nagging and persistent reassurance that Teekle had crossed into another realm, and that death was not the end of everything, but if Teekle's expression when she spoke of the book was any indication, calamity would cross all dimensions.

I wasn't even a sixth of the way to the forest before I started to flag, and in my stumbling I turned to see quite an army had risen to chase me down. It must have been a full quarter of the town, all eyes locked on me and perceiving my weakness.

I tripped, and nearly cracked my forehead on the stem of a pumpkin, but my hand shot up, and instead my wrist took the blow. I twisted and fell, and my ankle kept twisting when it should definitely have stopped. In sudden agony I realized it was over, that I would not be able to run anymore, yet still I scrambled, crying out as I got to my feet, soaked in muddy earth, both my wrist and my leg pulsing from the sudden injuries. I fell again, and I turned, backing away as I saw the crowd...

...Completely stopped.

They stood stock-still, most of the eyes still on me. The eyes of the pumpkin creature at the fore of the crowd seemed askance, no longer looking directly my way. Everyone stood at the edge of an invisible line, and to me they appeared much like a mist at the edge of a forest, as though they might suddenly recede into the town.

I followed those black, pumpkin eyes to the spot just above me and to my left. I saw a purple shape, silk and satin, outlining the slender form of a young woman. Her dress was befitting of a princess, as was her poise, and such a wall of defiance emanated from her form that even her candy-corn orange hair did not yield to the wind. She leaned upon the handle of a purple umbrella with its tip stabbed into the mud, and she dared the distant monsters with a sharp and steady look from her eyes.

To my astonishment, the army that stood before the two of us did not take up her challenge.

“Child of Man, rest easy. They cannot enter my pumpkin patch.”

This was an entirely new madness to encounter in my travels. I found myself stunned to silence by the unusual sensation that this madness was working to my favor. I feared that at any moment, this spell would be broken, and yet this single entity seemed frighteningly capable of upholding her promise.

“You're...like them?”

The woman smirked, continuing to burn the possessed villagers with her stare.

“I am, more or less, like them. Only much more than less. You will be safe here for the night. This is my night, and I honor the ancient promises. Do not leave this field until sunrise. After that, take that book and run.”

I swallowed. I was in the presence of some terrible force from beyond this world, and though it had appeared as a savior, I shivered in cold fear. A single apparition held hideous monsters at bay. What did that make her?

“Those people...Are they dead? Because they die, wherever I go, and wherever these monsters find me.”

The woman squinted at the crowd, her gaze moving left, then right.

“They will be okay come morning. Incredibly confused, but alive.”

I nodded.

“Good luck, Child of Man.”

“Thank you.”

“No, I mean you have really good luck. You almost became one of mine when you tripped over my pumpkins. That's the only reason I appeared. To think you had that book as well. Be careful, and may that luck carry you through.”

She vanished.

I sat there, cold and terrified. The monsters made no attempt to come closer. I had no choice but to trust this new apparition, so I gave in and slept. Until I fell asleep, I could feel the costume shop army staring daggers.

I awoke to sunlight when a man found me in his field, startling me awake. I lied that I had a bit too much to drink last night, and took my leave. I hurried into town to buy some gas for my bike. I wanted to be far, far away by night.

For the most part, things were completely normal. A few people muttered in confusion over the previous day, but nobody was asking questions. The only thing that caught my attention as I made my way out of town was a little song I picked up on the wind. Voices, perhaps of children on a playground, drifted softly into my ears, but I found that I could not forget the words, and knew that I would never get this song out of my head:

Little Katrina wound up dead

Hit her head on a pumpkin stem

She lies in the pumpkin patch all alone

Till the Pumpkin Princess carries her home

Now in the pumpkin patch she stays

Where all the Halloween spirits play

Witches and wolves and creatures of bone

And Katrina, the girl who died all alone