Happy Halloween!

To celebrate the spookiest night of the year, here’s a brand new Scream Street short story – ‘Trick AND Treat’ – written exclusively for The Times newspaper.  Don’t have nightmares…

Trick AND Treat

A SCREAM STREET short story by Tommy Donbavand

“Come on!” cried Luke Watson, pulling the hood of his makeshift ghost costume over his head and bounding up the path to number 18 Scream Street.  “It’ll be fun – I promise!”

Resus Negative licked his fangs nervously and exchanged a worried glance with their mummy friend, Cleo Farr.  Wasn’t it bad enough that they were having to wander the streets in fancy dress without Luke getting all overexcited?  “We’re not sure about this,” he said, itching at the spot on his neck where Luke had insisted on taping fake Frankenstein bolts.

Cleo dragged off her gorgon wig and straightened the bandages over her scalp.  “It’s just not the way we do things around here,” she agreed.  “Tonight’s more of a stay at home with the family kind of night.”

Luke sighed.  Who would have imagined, now he lived among real vampires, phantoms and mummies, that Halloween would be so, well… boring?  He’d pictured skeletons dancing while witches brewed up steaming potions and zombies burst out of their graves – but the most exciting thing he’d seen all night was a bat with a half-deflated balloon tied to its leg.

“Suit yourselves!” he grumbled.  “All the more for me!”  Spinning round, he rapped on the buckled wooden door and struck what he hoped was a spooky pose.

Limping footsteps approached along the hallway inside.  Clump, swick.  Clump, swick.  Clump, swick. Heavy bolts were drawn back and the door opened with an agonised creak.  “Yes, dear?” enquired the wrinkled face that peered out of the darkness.  A thick tongue slavered over toothless gums.  “What do you want?”

“Trick or treat!” beamed Luke from beneath his white bed sheet.  He held out his pumpkin pail and added a ghoulish ‘Wooh!’ for good measure.

“Trick or treat?” mused the old woman.  “Now, there’s a choice…”  Then, without warning, she grasped a handful of hair, ripped her head from her shoulders and dumped it in the bucket.

Sticky, red liquid spurted over Luke and he backed away, pulling the soaking bed sheet from his face in horror.  It was a moment before he realised it was nothing more than raspberry sauce.

Peering down into the plastic container, he found gobstopper eyes blinking up at him from beneath a mop of candyfloss hair.  A stump of white, marshmallow spine protruded from the neck, wrapped in red liquorice veins.

“Never been a fan of choices myself,” cackled the confectionary head.  “So why not have both?!”

THE END