The air was sharp and invigorating on that late Halloween night, carrying with it the faint rustle of fallen leaves as Donna Flanders sat in her well-worn recliner, its fabric faded and frayed from years of use. Her body was still and heavy as she stared blankly at the flickering static on the television screen in the middle of her disorganized living room. The room, dimly lit by the pale glow of the screen, seemed to close in around her, the silence punctuated only by the occasional creak of the old house settling. Outside, the faint rustling of worn autumn leaves floated through the air, but inside, she remained lost in her thoughts, cocooned in a world of quiet solitude.

The weathered three-story house sat at the end of a long, winding, unpaved driveway on Hollow Lane. Its once vibrant exterior now bore the scars of time, with large patches of peeling paint revealing the faded wood beneath. Scattered across the overgrown lawn, fragments of roof shingles lay like forgotten relics. The house exuded an air of desolation, a silent witness to the passage of years.

But it was to be expected.

It had been nearly ten years since Donna's five-year-old son, Madison, disappeared while playing in the front yard. When Donna realized he was gone, the sun had already begun to set on that late summer afternoon. And by the time the local police and search parties came to search the grounds of her ten-acre plot of land, nightfall had firmly set in.

Hours stretched into days of relentless searching, yet each moment yielded only silence. Donna, alongside the police, trailed Madison's footprints as they meandered deep into the shadowy embrace of the woods. The dense trees loomed overhead, their branches twisting like skeletal fingers. But eventually, they'd come across Madison's bright red Converse shoes, conspicuously abandoned and placed side by side on the forest floor.

The vivid color of the shoes starkly contrasted with the muted earth tones surrounding them, raising an unsettling feeling in Donna's chest. It appeared as though Madison had come to an abrupt stop, leaving no further tracks behind—just a chilling void of silence. The lack of any additional leads or footprints left them grasping for answers in a world that provided anything but.

As the years passed, the search parties dwindled, and the case grew cold, leaving Donna isolated with nothing but guilt, anger, and sorrow.

Over time, the painful truth began to dawn on her: her son would never come back. The weight of that realization crushed her spirit, and ever since, her life had steadily plunged into darkness, each day feeling heavier than the last.

She became isolated, hiding away in her house with nothing but her thoughts and echoes of the past to keep her company as her mind began to deteriorate with the rest of the house.

So, it was a surprise to almost everyone that she was participating in Trick-or-Treat that Halloween.

Yet the long, shadowy driveway, flanked by towering, gnarled trees, and the hushed whispers that traveled through the town about her resulted in a significant lack of visitors. The eerie atmosphere deterred most, leaving only one brave child in a white ghost costume, complete with fluttering fabric that resembled wispy sheets. They were accompanied by their cautious parents, who walked closely behind, while no one else dared to brave the winding path leading to her doorstep.

The Trick-or-Treat time that evening was set for 6:30 to 8:30 pm. The air was crisp and chilly, and a luminous full moon hung low in the sky, illuminating the streets with an ethereal glow. The silver light seemed to dance through the trees' branches, creating eerie shadows that flickered across the town.

As the clock inched closer to 8:30, the living room was filled with the remnants of the evening's indulgence. Donna crouched down, her fingers brushing against the scattered bits of brightly colored candy that had slipped from her grasp. The bowl, once brimming with an assortment of treats, now sat half-empty beside her, a stark reminder of her decision to wait for trick-or-treaters. The sweet, sugary aroma lingered in the air, mingling with her growing regret as she realized she had wasted precious time in anticipation of visitors who never arrived.

When the clock above the old TV struck 8:30, she dropped the bucket of candy beside the recliner, ready to turn off the porch light, when a knock came from the front door.

She stopped moving, listening to the silence that followed.

In the stillness of the room, she paused, questioning whether she had truly heard a sound or if it was simply the old recliner creaking softly beneath her as she shifted in her seat.

There was another knock.

A chill ran down her spine.

The sensation was jarring, disquieting, and caught her off guard. Over the years, she had encountered countless visitors—mostly just police officers—who, in their relentless search for Madison, had knocked on her door during the most unthinkable hours of the night. The sound of rapping on the door had become an all-too-familiar echo in her life years ago.

She approached the door, contemplating whether to open it or ignore it; after all, Trick or Treat had officially ended.

There was another knock.

"I'm coming!" Donna shouted, her unfriendly tone front and center.

She picked up her pace and headed to the front door, her feet stomping as she approached the entrance.

There was another knock.

She quickly unlocked the door and yanked it open, ready to snap at the brat standing on the porch.

"Didn't your parents teach you some manners...?"

Her voice trailed off. Then, her eyes widened.

The aging porch light was in dire need of replacement, its feeble glow casting a meager circle of light that barely illuminated the immediate area. Shadows danced in the corners of the porch, leaving much to the imagination as the surrounding mist curled and thickened, shrouding the house and the nearby woods.

The dim light struggled against the enveloping gloom.

But, even still, it was bright enough for Donna to recognize that what she was looking at was a mask.

"Trick or Treat," the small child said behind the mask.

The mask that was made from the face of her missing son.

​

Matthew McCain is an author and fine artist with 3 of his novels reaching the top #10 on Amazon Kindle Unlimited. His fine art paintings can be found all around the world from London to Las Vegas with Bar Rescue’s Jon Tafer and Alice Cooper’s Teen Youth Rock Center in Phoenix, Arizona. He’s currently represented by the Bilotta Gallery in Florida.