Chester Donahue loved Halloween. More specifically, he loved poisoning trick-or-treaters.

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Every year, in anticipation of October 31st, Chester would purchase two large bags of assorted fun-size candy bars. Using a recycled insulin syringe, he would carefully inject each piece of candy with drain cleaner and then hand them out to unsuspecting children. Later, he would sit perched on the edge of his couch, listening to the police scanner for reports of children vomiting blood or suffering from “severe epigastric pain,” all the while grinning like a maniac.

 

For Chester, the trick was the treat.

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Ding-Dong

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It was time! Chester grabbed his bowl of tainted candy and carried it to the front door.

 

“Trick or Treat!”

 

A gaggle of costumed children gathered on Chester’s porch, eager to receive their sugary communion. Not one to disappoint, Chester smiled and held out the bowl of contaminated candy.

 

“Happy Halloween!” he exclaimed gleefully.

 

One by one, the children grabbed their toxic sweets and scurried off in the direction of the next house.

 

Chester closed the door and sauntered into the living room. He sat down on the couch and gently placed the bowl next to him. He had just enough time to turn on the TV before the doorbell rang again.

 

“A psycho’s work is never done,” he chuckled to himself, grabbing the candy.

 

He opened the door and was greeted by a single barefoot child draped in a stained, threadbare sheet.

 

“Ooh, we’ve got an old school ghost here,” Chester said, grinning. “Spooky!”

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The child stared at him through two ragged holes in the sheet, its eyes covered in a milky white film. Chester got a whiff of something Earthy mixed with rot—or possibly puke—and started to sweat despite the chilly Fall air.

 

“Here, kid,” he said, shoving the bowl of poison candy at the ghost. All the amusement had been stripped from his voice, replaced with a cold utility.

 

“Take a piece and get out of here.”

 

The child shuffled forward and held out a stained pillowcase.

 

“Fine, I’ll get it for you,” Chester said, reaching into the bowl. “You know, you’re supposed to say trick-or-treat.”

 

He glanced down and saw the pillowcase was full of teeth and clumps of hair—some with bits of skin and blood attached to the roots.

 

“What the FUCK?”

 

Chester dropped the bowl of candy and staggered backwards, staring at the ghost child in disbelief.

 

“Trick,” it said.

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The word came out like a moist gurgle. Suddenly, there was a loud CRASH from inside the house. Chester ran inside to find his television lying face down on the hardwood floor. He ran back outside, but the ghost child was gone, along with his bowl and all the candy.

 

The hair on Chester’s arms stood at attention, and he hurried inside. He deadbolted the front door and shut off the outside lights. Trick-or-Treat was still going, but as far as he was concerned, Halloween was over.  Ignoring the flat screen in the middle of the floor, he made his way to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife he could find before returning to the living room.

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There was a knock at the front door, and Chester nearly jumped out of his skin. He clutched the knife so hard his knuckles turned white.

 

Whoever—or whatever—was outside the door grew impatient and began knocking with more force.

 

BANG! BANG! BANG!

 

“Go away!” Chester screamed at the door.

 

The banging stopped. Chester counted to 30, then opened the door and peeked outside. The porch was empty except for a single jack-o-lantern. Chester studied the pumpkin’s toothy grin and felt his fear give way to anger.

 

“You think you can scare the devil, you little shit?” he screamed into the darkness. “Watch what I do to your pumpkin because next it’s gonna be your fucking skull!”

 

Chester raised his foot above the jack-o-lantern and, with a guttural cry of rage, stomped down on it as hard as he could. The pumpkin’s soft flesh disintegrated under his heel—revealing the makeshift boobytrap hidden inside. A dozen rusty nails tore through the sole of Chester’s shoe and lodged themselves painfully in his foot.

 

He fell backwards, screaming in agony, and landed on his ass with a dull thud. A few of the nails had gone all the way through his foot and were now poking through the top of his shoe. The sight made him vomit a little in his mouth. A child’s laughter echoed behind him. He looked over his shoulder through the open door and saw a pair of dirty feet disappear into the kitchen. Still holding the knife in a death grip, Chester rolled onto his stomach and army crawled into the house.

 

He made it halfway through the living room before the pain became too much and he had to stop. His foot throbbed like a rotten tooth, and he had to clench his jaw to keep from passing out. There was more laughter, and he looked up in time to see the ghost kid suddenly lurching toward him, holding the bowl of poison candy.

 

“What do you want?” Chester screamed at the child. “Why the fuck won’t you leave me alone?”

 

The ghost kid crouched down beside Chester and grabbed a handful of candy from the bowl.

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“I hope you fucking choke on it!” Chester spat at the child.

 

He slashed at his attacker with the knife, but his wild swings held no real threat. With a wet chuckle, the ghost forced its hand—candy and all—down Chester’s throat.

 

Dropping the knife, Chester pulled at the child’s arm, desperately trying to dislodge its fist from his trachea. Legs kicking at the air, eyes bulging painfully, Chester’s panicked brain screamed for oxygen. His face turned a sickly blue as he continued to grab feebly at his attacker. With the end closing in, Chester heard one last word before finally succumbing to death’s cold embrace.

 

“Trick.”

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Zack Zagranis (He/Him) is a proud father of three, a husband, a lover of geek culture, a Star Wars curmudgeon, a Batman freak, and a lover of Punk Rock—not necessarily in that order. Zack considers himself a big-city writer slumming it in rural New Hampshire. His short horror stories have appeared in anthologies from Creature Publishing, Black Hare Press, Sinister Smile Press, and several issues of The Stygian Lepus. In addition to horror, Zack has written satire for the sites Runt-of-the-Web and The Hard Times, as well as pop culture and entertainment content for several sites, including ComicBook, Den of Geek, Giant Freakin’ Robot, and New Rockstars.