Halloween settled over the town of Glassford like a thick, poisonous miasma. Every year the holiday brought with it its fair share of controversy. Glassford was simply one of those towns where the few that disliked Halloween happened to be very loud. To be fair, some of the complaints were accurate. Juvenile delinquents toilet papering houses, egging vehicles, etc. But what reason was that for destroying everyone else's fun? In fact, this year the local piano bar was throwing their own Halloween bash, much to the octogenarians' dismay. Then again, many of them had issues with the bar's presence in the first place. Granted, it was the owner's decision what they did with their establishment.
The theme for the party was carnivals, and upon entering the bar I was immediately greeted with jaunting music and the heavy smell of sugar, spice, popcorn, and other sweets one might find at a typical outdoor celebration. It was wonderful. People danced and twirled in costumes made up to look like clowns, their faces painted or covered in masks. Laughter filled the room and it was a sweet, joyful sound. I made my way to the bar, pulled myself up onto a stool, ordered a drink, and watched the crowd enjoy themselves. A few moment's later I started when I heard a voice beside me.
"...isn't it?"
It was an old woman, sipping at a glass of sassafras while a half eaten candied apple browned with ribbons of oxidation sat on a plate beside her. Appropriate fare for the night's celebration, really. I couldn't make out her features due to the gaudy lighting of the room, and as I inhaled, I decided that was probably a good thing. She reeked of death. How long had she been sitting next to me?
"I'm sorry... what?" I replied awkwardly, doing my best to slowly let my breath out and conceal the fact that I found her stench sickening.
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"Never mind," she muttered, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at me. Slowly, she lowered herself from her stool and stood on her feet. As she made her way toward the pianist, I couldn't help but notice that she seemed to practically glide across the dance floor, easily maneuvering between the dancers with a sort of grace that seemed impossible given her apparent age.
She leaned down and whispered something in his ear, but I have no idea what she said. All I know is that his face paled and he stood up, backing away from the bench with a look of utter terror. He gestured to the piano with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, inviting her to sit down--and she did. She began to play a tune, something awful. It was sharp and jarring, discordant and chaotic. So much so that I watched as one woman, so thrown off by the sudden change in music, tripped and, I'm pretty certain, sprained her ankle. Others turned to stare, some open-mouthed, others drunkenly cursing. The old lady paid them no mind, instead opening her mouth. That's when things got bad.
At this point, I shouldn't even be considering her a woman, but how else can I describe what I saw? That thing looked like an old woman before she began to play the piano. Before her eyes took on an ethereal glow. Before her mouth opened impossibly wide, like her jaw had come unhinged. Before that horrible keening tore itself from her throat. It took a moment for the reactions to come, and perhaps because I was sitting further away from the majority of the others, I was spared the initial onslaught.
Some began to run, caught up in a dizzying panic. When they collided with another, they broke out into brutal brawls. They tore at one another, clawing and biting flesh. Even if it was their own loved ones. There was no hesitation as they beat each other to death. And those not caught up in the awful violence that had broken out in the establishment? They collapsed to the floor, holding their heads between their hands as blood began to pour from every orifice.
I could feel it. The awful ringing in my ears. That's when I got up and I ran. I ran like hell to escape that bar, and I never looked back.