I opened the lid of the wooden coffin over and over, hoping that somehow, I had overlooked the body inside. It remained empty. Where was it? The shriveled, dead goblin-looking thing with its twisted grin and talon-tipped limbs still haunted my memory. A shovel lay nearby, abandoned in the night after my ill-fated excursion. I hated graves, scary stuff and dead things, so it was no surprise grave digging had catapulted its way to the top of my "never again" list. But, when someone dares you in front of your girl, you don’t wimp out. Or at least, you don’t until the occupants of said grave seem to move.

Of course, I felt like an idiot by this morning, and it meant I had nothing to show Tony. I could still hear his voice, pitched high as he mocked me, “Poor wittle baby, afraid of imaginary monsters.”

My face grew hot at the memory. I was sixteen, not a baby. Hell, he was acting more immature than I ever did. I probably should have told him that. That would have been the adult thing to do, I guess. Instead, I was back here, working an old coffin lid like a magician’s curtain, waiting for the Abhartach to reappear while my Dracula cape billowed in the constant autumn breeze.

The dare was to bring the Abhartach’s body from its hidden grave before the end of Halloween night. Seeing how someone grabbed it before me, the coffin would have to do. The coffin was oddly small, maybe three feet high, and I cradled it easily under one arm as I turned and followed the sidewalk back towards the town square and the Halloween Festival. At least it matched my outfit. I could pretend it was Dracula’s son.

A nervous giggle escaped, highlighting the unease I was doing my utmost to ignore. The Abhartach was just an old story. It was obvious Tony had planted the coffin and the body. Must have done it way in advance, too. The soil didn’t seem disturbed at all before I started digging.

A ticking sound jolted me out of my musings.

Tick, tick, tick.

I went rigid. That sounded like claws. I took a deep breath and looked around. Nothing. Probably just another person in a costume, anyway. Or a squirrel. I started off again.

Tick, tick, tick.

I stopped. Silence. “Who’s there?”

A rasping voice whispered in my ear, “You’re supposed to say ‘knock-knock’ first.”

The noise of the Halloween Festival roared. I stood across the street from the town square where every monster of nearly every size imaginable weaved in and out of scantily clad girls and resurrected historical figures. Orange and black hung from the outside of every building, and even the air smelled like sugar. Wait. How did I get here? I glanced at my arm. The coffin was gone. Not only that, but the suit now had a long, tattered gash down it and the whole thing was so dirty it looked more grey than black. Great.

“Welcome back.”

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My stomach dropped. I looked behind me, hoping to see an old man with an overabundance of Halloween spirit. It was definitely old. Its skin was the color of ash, pulled taut over protruding cheekbones and a hawkish nose. White fuzz covered the top of its head in patches, the tufts bringing the thing’s height to just above my waist.

“Abhartach!” My voice wobbled in time with my knees.

Its mouth opened unnaturally wide, giving me a full view of its needle-like teeth. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance, finally.”

My head spun in frantic circles. I have to run. Why won’t my legs move?

“Newly damned souls can be so delicate, but I didn’t think it would take you so long to manifest.” Its milky-white eyes pierced my core. It shrugged, an odd shudder passing through it. “No matter. I’ve waited hundreds of years. What’s one more?”

I focused on my legs. Run, damn it, why won’t you run? The stories my grandmother told me unfolded in my mind. Some said the Abhartach was a madman, some a demon, some an old, dark fairy. All of them agreed on one thing, though. It was a monster that fed off of the living and never died, returning to kill again unless you knew the proper way to bury it. Until I dug it up. But why was I still alive?

The Abhartach laughed, a distorted sound between a baby’s chuckle and a hyena’s cackle that scratched against my skin. “Oh, I killed you last year. Your blood was so nice, I forgot to eat the rest of you. The look on that lovely girl’s face when she found you was glorious. Almost as tasty as the people I did eat.” Its razor-filled maw contorted into a snarl. “If it wasn’t for that damned priest, I could have feasted on this town.” Its gaze bored into me. “His expertise didn’t extend to you, though, did it? Too bad.”

Killed me? I was standing here as alive as anyone else. What was it talking about?

A soothing voice cut through the haze. My eyes snapped to a booth across the street, where a black-clad witch handed out orange bags. She had painted her skin green, but it couldn’t hide who she was. Mary. My veins turned to ice, the weight of my limbs making me stumble. Fire burned at my fingers and toes. I cried out.

The Abhartach cackled. “Bet she tastes as sweet as she looks.”

“No.” I reeled back. My voice grated across my lips, old beyond its years. I shook away the growing dread. “No. I won’t let you hurt her!”

The Abhartach’s milky-white eyes grew wide. “Me? Oh, no. I’ll be feasting with my eyes. You will do the killing.”

Bile rose in my throat. My head felt so heavy. “No.”

“You sure? Look again.”

I’m ashamed to say I did. I wanted to see her again, to etch the lines of her face deeper into my memory. To remember her touch. She was smiling. She was so kind, so loving, so... sweet? No, that’s not what I meant, was it? My eyes blurred, casting everything into a fog. Well, I guess she was sweet, like the taste of her skin... and her flesh. Well, maybe. Only one way to find out.

Mary clapped her hands in glee as more children came to her booth. A grin cracked my face in two, my tongue running over my razor-sharp teeth. My talons hit the concrete.

Tick, tick, tick.

Yes, only one way to find out.