Silence encompassed the cul-de-sac where the Grayson house sat.  No one in the yard moved, and the surrounding twenty acres of dense forest felt unusually still.  Nothing we should have expected for our annual neighborhood Halloween bash, even for the pre-party set up, which in the past, rivaled the noise of the actual party. 

We were late.  The rest of the neighborhood committee had gathered a couple hours ago to begin setting up but I got held up at the station.  Linda, my wife, wouldn’t go down to the Grayson’s without me, not since the episode with the Grayson’s son last year.  He freaked her out, decorating the lawn with wax creatures that scared the crap out of all our children.  I almost arrested him for the temper tantrum he threw when we made him put the figures away.  To this day, Linda swears one of the statues was our neighbor’s dog that went missing a few weeks before Halloween, but I never found proof to support her theory.

Linda and I exchanged a glance as I stopped half a block away.  The clumps of unmoving bodies coupled by a distinct odor hanging in the air sparked my intuition.  The scent was familiar and it took a moment to pinpoint what it was.  Instinctively, I reached for my Glock, but instead of the reassuring metal, my fingertips grazed my shirt.

Shit.  

My gun was at home in the safe. 

Maybe it was just a dead animal.  Either way, I didn’t want my children to see the source of the odor.  “Take the kids back home,” I said. 

Linda grabbed Alex and Alyssa’s hands, turning them away.   

Alex yanked his arm, trying to break Linda’s grip. “But I want to go to the party!”

I forced a smile and crouched down to his level.  “We’re a little early.  I’ll come get you when everything’s ready.”    

The crease between Linda’s brows deepened as I stood back up.  Her eyes pleaded with me to accompany them back home.  I held her steady gaze, and after a moment, she gave me a slight nod.        

“But Dad?”  Both Alex and Alyssa began.    

“Go,” I said, pointing back toward our house.  “Or no trick or treating tonight!”  They stopped struggling and I watched them trudge back the way we came.  Before disappearing around the corner, Linda shot me a worried glance over her shoulder. 

I turned my attention back to the Grayson’s yard.  Still, no one moved from their places on the front lawn.  As I moved closer, the breeze shifted and the scent of spoiled meat became thicker.  

 I halted in the middle of the street, my mouth suddenly so dry my tongue stuck to the roof.  It was definitely more than just a dead animal but the ancient oak tree at the end of the driveway blocked most of my view.  I inched forward, pulling the phone out and dialing 911.  

“This is Trooper Josh Reynolds with the State Police . . .I, uh . . ,” I trailed off as I approached the yard, my brain unable to wrap around what I was seeing.  This year, it wasn’t wax figures propped in front of the house.   I took shallow breaths but the stink still permeated into my mouth, leaving a vile taste at the back of my throat.

“What is the nature of the emergency?”  The operator asked reminding me that I had placed the call.    

“Drop the phone.”  Paul Grayson, a six foot three, two hundred pound teenager stepped into view with a rifle pointing at my chest.

I moved the phone away from my ear, holding both arms away from my body.  “Easy.”  I said, but I didn’t close the cell phone. 

The rifle report broke the silence.  My phone flung away in pieces, the bullet tearing it out of my hand, leaving a bloody trail across my palm. 

“Shit!”  I yanked my hand to my chest.   “What the hell are you doing?” 

A small chuckle erupted from Paul as he centered the gun on my chest.  He gave a nod toward the front yard.  “Like the art this year?” 

I turned toward the carefully propped bodies.  The putrid stench radiated from his dead parents.  They were positioned at a small card table with empty plates sitting in front of them.  Each body held a fork in one bloated hand and a knife in the other.  The serving plate caught my attention.  Bile rose in my throat and I swallowed hard, forcing it back.  The head of Paul’s younger sister Mabel sat in the center of the serving plate with a dead black bird stuffed into her gaping mouth. 

Beyond the Graysons were the members of the set up committee and this time I wasn’t able to stop the vomit from escaping.  I turned and spewed on the road.  Paul skewered four entire families into the ground, posing them into warped adaptations of Hansel and Gretel, Billy Goats Gruff, Rumpelstiltskin and Little Red Riding Hood and my family would have been added to the grand spectacle had I not been running late. 

When I finished emptying the contents of my stomach onto the asphalt, I spit and wiped my mouth on my sleeve, straightening up.  “You’ve been busy.”  My voice shook, despite my attempt to control it.  . 

“And you ruined my fun.”  Paul stepped further into the open, the rifle still trained on the center of my chest.  “You were supposed to bring your family with you.”   He moved the rifle slightly to his right and pulled the trigger. 

The bullet tore through my left shoulder, knocking me to the ground. 

Harsh sounds came from my chest as I caught my breath and scrambled to my feet holding my ruined shoulder.  I attempted a round house kick as he crossed the distance, but he side-stepped and jammed the rifle barrel into my thigh, pulling the trigger again.  The round was muffled, but my scream wasn’t.  I collapsed on the ground. 

Paul grabbed the back of my shirt, dragging me down his driveway toward the garage as he whistled a tune from Snow White.

Slaughter house was the first thing that popped to mind as he dragged me inside.  Blood dripped from the ceiling, streaking the walls.  The floor was covered in a slick layer that he navigated easily in his work boots.  Multiple chairs were arranged around the biggest pool of blood and he yanked me through it, hauling me into the farthest one.  

“You made me take down the fairy tales last year.”  He muttered, binding my arms behind my back and ignoring my shriek of protest. 

When he moved in front of me, I kicked him in the shin.  Paul rammed his fist into my bloody thigh and I howled in pain and frustration.  He shoved a bloody rag between my lips muffling my angry outburst.   I gagged as the coppery taste filled my mouth.

“No one’s telling me to take them down this year.”  He tied my good leg to the chair and stepped away, lifting his phone to his ear.  “Mrs. Reynolds, hey, it’s Paul Grayson.  Your husband asked me to give you a yell to ask if you wouldn’t mind bringing a salad bowl down.”  Paul cupped his hand over the phone’s microphone, cutting off the muffled noises I was making behind the rag.  “He’s outside helping my parent’s tap the keg.  Ok.  I’ll tell him.  See you in a few.”  He folded the phone, smiling at me. 

I wanted to smash his face in as I thrashed in the chair.   

His smile faded and he regarded me with a quizzical expression, tapping his lips.  “I may have to rethink your family’s fairy tale.”  He plucked the rag from my mouth. 

A stream of steady swears spilled from my mouth between the dry heaves.  I was able to spit most of the blood from my mouth as he reloaded his rifle. 

“Time to get your family.”  Paul picked up the rifle and trotted out of the garage.  He pushed a button on the remote and the garage door slid down behind him, drowning out the last of my warning cry.     

The blood ridden soundproofed walls absorbed my roar.  I struggled, gritting my teeth against the pain in my shoulder and rolling my wrists in a circle, testing the binds. They were plastic and my hope of escape vanished. Sweat slid into my eye, making it clamp shut against the sting.  

Gasoline fumes and coagulating blood filled the garage.  I glanced around until my eyes landed on the chainsaw.  Bits of flesh, bone and hair clung to the blood soaked blade.  My stomach rolled and I quickly looked away.   

Taking a deep breath, I assessed my condition, shifting my weight as the shattered bones of my left thigh ground together.  My stomach lurched and I had to take a deep pull of foul air to keep it in check.  I studied the spackled egg crate pattern in the ceiling before looking back at my leg. 

At least blood wasn’t gushing from the wound.

Yet.

The sharp laugh from my chest caught me by surprise further degrading my already shot nerves.     

I jumped at the first muffled gunshot, three more rang successively.  Then silence filled the garage and I stared at the door.  Tears burned my eyes, blurring my vision before rolling down my cheeks and sliding into the corners of my tightly clamped lips.  I hung my head and prayed for a miracle.  I prayed my family wouldn’t suffer.   I negotiated with God until the garage door rattled on the frame.   

My eyes shot open and I waited.  Minutes passed before the garage door opener whirled into action.   Inch by inch it raised, revealing the blood soaked driveway, but Paul was no where in sight. 

My muscles trembled and I kept my eyes on the gaping opening waiting for Paul to drag my family down the same path he dragged me.  A figure swung into view aiming a gun between my eyes.  It took my embattled brain a second to comprehend who was in the opening. 

“Josh!”  Her shaky breath reached my ears as she lowered my gun. 

A slight sound escaped from my throat.  I couldn’t form words as renewed tears blurred my vision. 

Linda ran to me, sliding through the muck on the floor.  She threw her arms around my neck as sobs ripped from her chest.  “You’re alive!” 

I nodded, still staring at the door.  “Is he?”  The words came out in a raspy whisper. 

“No,” she said in my ear, “I killed him.”

Sirens howled in the distance.    

“How?” I asked as she pulled away. 

Placing my gun in my lap, she knelt to untie my leg.  Her voice trembled when she spoke.  “All I could think about were Paul’s threats last year.  I asked Jenny to watch the kids until the party started.”  She covered her mouth with the back of her hand as her eyes surveyed the garage before falling back on me.  “I grabbed your gun and headed back this way. I figured if I was wrong, we would have a good laugh.”  She offered me a slight smile before her eyes welled up again.   “I saw him shoot you and I hid in the woods.”  A sob interrupted her and she couldn’t continue. 

“Shhhh,” I said, thankful she had the combination to the safe and knew how to handle a gun.    

Linda shook her head, her jaw clenching and forcing the sobs to stop.  “I shot him when he walked past the oak tree.  I thought you were dead Josh.  I thought he killed you and I just kept shooting.”  Another sob escaped her lips as they pressed against mine.   

Silently, I thanked God for the miracle.    

The sirens came to rest outside the Grayson homestead, red and blue lights filled the twilight creating shadows on the garage walls as officers and emergency technicians converged on us.