Halloween Hell

by Cleveland W. Gibson

Part 1 appears in this issue.

conclusion

“My, that’s a stormy night outside,” Brian said.

He heard a loud thump on the front door. He glanced at Miss Weaver, but her look told him to stay sitting.

“That card was the last thing I had from my brother,” Miss Weaver began. Another bang on the door. The old woman stayed calm. Clearly she was not bothered by any visitor to the cottage. Maybe it had happened before.

Brian moved his chair closer to Miss Weaver to catch her every word. “Years ago he went out to India and joined various organisations,” she said, evidently proud of her brother. “Well, with the recession here in England, there was nothing here for Archie. India was the place for him. He planned to become rich and then retire to this cottage.”

“What happened?”

“His letters to me said he worked undercover in secret matters. A clever chap, Archie, with a degree from Cambridge. He had a gift for languages and loved helping others worse off than himself.”

Brian interrupted by coughing into his fist. “I can relate to that,” he commented. Miss Weaver smiled and slurped her drink.

“Then he wrote he’d found a fakir with a secret for sale to help him make his fortune. Something simple and to do with shape-changing.”

Brian picked up the Bells whisky. “Oh, yes.”

“One year, I had an official letter saying Archie had gone. Disappeared into thin air. Perhaps they never knew he dabbled in the occult.

“To cap it all, he disappeared on Halloween night. Months later, a wooden chest arrived with his personal effects. I was younger then and read everything he had written — notes, diary — but it didn’t make sense to me.”

Brian noticed her eyes shot to the single card on the mantle shelf. He looked again and saw behind the card a small lantern less than six inches high. He hadn’t noticed it before but knew at once it meant a great deal to Miss Weaver. Her eyes returned to it every few minutes.

“Archie wrote about a magic lantern, the strange beacon of yellow light, too. His words sounded like a madman’s rambling. But over the years I remember somebody always knocks on the outside door. Sure, I’ve hobbled outside. Creepy stuff. I found nobody. Yet my skin felt funny as if I was being watched. The knocking continued. It had me petrified every year on Halloween.”

Brian reached again for the whisky bottle.

“As the years slipped by, the knocking continued, like clockwork. By then all the villagers had left. I was alone with only a nephew to look after me. And this year you turned up.” Miss Weaver rose to her feet and moved towards the mantlepiece. Her frail hands reached out to point to the small lantern. “Pick it up,” Miss Weaver commanded. “Bring it to me.”

Brian put down his glass. He picked up the lantern.

“I wonder,” Miss Weaver whispered. “Indeed I do wonder.”

At that point Brian heard another bang on the front door.

“What now? Something is trying to get in,” he said to the old woman.

Miss Weaver smiled. “Don’t worry, we are safe. Keep hold of the magic lantern. Wait. See it in action, see what it does. Are you game?”

Brian nodded.

“What have you found out. Is it something to do with your brother and shape-changing?”

Miss Weaver laughed. “Yes!” she cried, “yes indeed. For years, nothing. But now, can you light the candle in the lamp and go outside? Leave the lantern on the ground, with the side panel open. When you open the panel, the light will flood out. That is all I ask you to do.”

Miss Weaver raised her glass for a refill. Her face shone. She was in good cheer. She showed Brian a notebook. “Archie left it to me. I’ve read it, and I think he is at the brink of Hell.”

“Tell me what he wrote. Tell me!” Brian implored. He was intrigued by her words. He could barely contain his excitement.

“Sister, I didn’t believe my luck, but now the lantern holds a power to help change my shape. I paid money for the secret. I want to help poor people with it. Somebody lights the lantern, places it on the ground with the side panel open. That’s all. It is easy.”

“What happened after his disappearance in India?” Brian asked.

“Nothing at all. But every Halloween I hear thumping on my back-door. It must be Archie. In his altered shape. He wants to change again using the lantern, but I’m too old. I’ve tried to take it outside but I get so tired. I’m hoping you will help me.”

The loud thumps on the back door started. BANG. BANG. BANG.

“What do we do?” Brian cried.

BANG. BANG.

“Light the lantern. Take it out, and do like I said. Out you go. Then come back. Make sure the light does not shine directly on you. It’s dangerous.”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Brian nodded. He tossed back the last drop of whisky in his glass.

He lit the candle inside the lantern and then took it to the back door, aware all the time that Miss Weaver was watching through a window with great excitement.

When he arrived at the back door, Brian walked into the darkness outside. The lantern swung a little in his grasp. He drew it steady, placing it on the ground. Then he slid open the shutter carefully, as Miss Weaver had instructed. A beam of yellow light streamed out.

Brian paused for a second. He strained his eyes. Twenty yards away something moved in the grass. A twig snapped. The yellow beam of light from the lantern shone in that direction. A rumble. A roar. Brian lost his nerve. He turned sharply and ran back inside the cottage. He slammed the door shut and went to where Miss Weaver sat. Brian told her what had happened.

* * *

“Come on! Aim for that light,” Mike O’Leary shouted.

He ran, followed by a dog handler with a German shepherd. As they drew closer to the light, it disappeared. In the darkness, something moved. The police dog barked and tugged at its lead. Whatever the men had heard moved through the long grass.

“Follow it!” the inspector shouted. He urged the men on until the chase took them on to the shores of a lake. O’Leary paused. In that instant he heard something scuttle towards the water.

A torch cut through the darkness to reveal a creature with scales heading towards the water. The police marksman fired a single shot but still the creature made it into the waters of the lake.

* * *

Brian woke up in hospital, his family all around him. He managed a word or two. Then he slipped into another deep sleep. Ten hours later he spoke to them; asked questions. Their answers surprised him.

In due course, Inspector Mike O’Leary arrived. The detective spoke to Brian. “Glad to see you are feeling a lot better, sir. Now I’d like to get a few things straight for my report.” The Inspector sat back in his chair with his notebook open.

“You paid for a full tank of petrol, but we found your tank bone-dry,” Inspector O’Leary said. “We also found the cottage where you said you spoke to a Miss Weaver.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Brian agreed.

“But there was no sign of her. We entered the cottage and found the fire still burning. On the mantle-shelf we saw a single greetings card and a bottle of whisky and two glasses. Your prints were on one glass.”

“Oh, heck, “ Brian replied. “Sounds as if I made everything up.”

“Not exactly. I’m Irish. We know about strange goings on, like the sound of the Banshee.”

Brian rubbed his head wondering what had taken place on Halloween night.

“It looks bad, as if I made it up,” Brian repeated. “But you saw the light. That means it was no nightmare.”

“Oh, we saw the light all right. Ran towards it, but not quick enough. The light went out, but we chased something down to the lake nearby. Our marksman pinpointed a beast of some sort and shot it.”

“I missed all that excitement,” Brian said. “Mind, I’d already gone back inside the cottage.”

“Come morning, we found the body of a man floating in the lake. He was dead, of course, and you can guess the rest. It was a police bullet that killed him. It means a full inquest. A man died after all. And you’ve no idea who it might be.”

Brian shook his head. “I can’t even begin to guess,” he said.

“True.” Mike O’Leary nodded. “After searching through the cottage we’ve found the lantern that provided the light.” The inspector lifted the lantern onto a table.

“What might happen if I lit the candle?” The Inspector struck a match.

Brian saw the candle flicker. Light started pouring out of the lantern from the side where the Inspector had left it open.

The smoke detectors sounded through the whole hospital.

“FIRE! FIRE! GET OUT!”

Brian shot out of the bed, avoiding the strange stream of yellow light from the lantern. But it started to follow him.

“Oh, Mother of God!” Mike O’Leary said crossing himself. “Did you see that? Did you?”

The chase continued and a couple of feet more then the light would catch Brian. And it did. He felt his body shake, the skin boiling and blood squirting from his eyes. He sank down on his knees thinking he did believe in Halloween, even black magic and ghosts, especially now.

Brian Goldsmith remembered the Irish Detective Mike O’Leary who was scared of the Banshee. This was the same Irishman caught by the roving yellow light and who emptied his soul with one long anguished cry, even in that same instant as he shape-changed into a green-faced Leprechaun. The little people were famous in Ireland; here in England, it was enough to know the Haunted Wood stayed haunted by ghosts from an underworld until some adventure-seeker decided to prove otherwise... for fun.