Residents of the neighborhood prefer not to discuss the incidents in the late 1980s. Many folks have tried to ignore what happened 40 years ago. Still, those events have stuck with me after all these years because I was part of the horrific events that took place on those two horrific nights. These events are stories worthy of the TV show The X-Files and its ‘Monster of the Week’ episodes. The catalyst of events occurred in our neighborhood’s simple house, number fourteen, on Pike Street. The neighborhood is a quiet cul-de-sac where everyone knows your name. It’s also where everyone knows your secrets, even if you don’t want them to.
The neighborhood talked about the Georges a lot when I was a kid; they were an elderly couple who lived at number 14 in a cul-de-sac, and their secret, a rumor mostly, was that a monster lived in the woods behind their house. The Georges knew it did and protected it. Most of us kids believed in the legend of “Wilson” because the neighborhood’s adults used him as the neighborhood boogie man to scare us. It was the adults’ way of scaring us kids straight and making us behave, so we wouldn’t be on the streets after 10 pm, because, in their minds, nothing but trouble occurred after 10 pm with us kids on the streets. So the adults told us, kids, to be home at 10 pm, not a minute later, and not to sneak back out. At the same time, our parents slept, which some kids did occasionally to continue playing, especially in the summertime. The story of “Wilson” suggests that if you were an unfortunate kid caught on the neighborhood streets after 10 pm, you might face some tough challenges. At the time, being under 21, my friends and I were in trouble. The boogeyman “Wilson” would chase you down, catch you, and then take you to his secret lair in the woods behind number 14, where you’d be tortured and never be seen again. Who or what “Wilson” was varied depending on who told the tale. “Wilson” never attacked adults, only persons under the age of 21 years.
Most neighborhood adults claimed “Wilson” was the eldest deranged feral son of the Georges, who the couple hid in the woods to protect him from the world due to his deformities and psychological issues, mostly his killer instincts and need to hunt like a Neanderthal. The Georges did their best to control their son’s bloodlust since he was a natural-born killer and hunter. Still, the Georges could not always keep “Wilson’s” bloodlust in check. Because of these facts, the couple allowed their son to hunt when the urge came over him, so they did not die trying to stop him. As we kids got older, we learned that no children ever disappeared in the neighborhood, despite the tales our parents told us to stay home at night. Other adults in the neighborhood had a different version of “Wilson’s” origin story; these adults stated that “Wilson” was an experimental humanoid who escaped a military lab not far from the neighborhood and took refuge in the woods behind George’s house. Since the Georges are the oldest adults in the neighborhood and are lonely due to their adult children living far away, the older couple pitied and protected the creature. The Georges cared for the creature in the woods behind their house, feeding it to keep it from attacking people in the neighborhood. But again, Georges could not stop the creature from stalking the neighborhood at night, hunting for more food. The rumors persisted for as long as I could remember, and to my knowledge, the Georges never said a word to contradict any of the stories told; the couple heard the neighborhood whispers yet continued with their lives without addressing the rumors. This changed in October 1985 and 1986, as we kids prepared for a night of mischief and mayhem on a crisp Halloween Eve. The real “Wilson” was about to bring a night of horrors to the neighborhood. The neighborhood finally learned in 1985 and 1986 that “Wilson” was real, what “Wilson” was, and the truth behind Wilson’s existence. Some of the accounts I’m about to write down are second-hand accounts from witnesses and police reports from those nights; the other accounts are first-hand from me and what I saw in 1985 and 1986.
On Halloween 1985, Mrs. George prepared the candy bowl for the kids; Mr. George sat in his easy chair, reading the local paper. As she turned her back to add more candy to the bowl, the police surmised that “Wilson” had entered the house from the back door. Mrs. George was dead instantly; “Wilson” took the poor woman’s neck and twisted it like a bottle top, turning it three hundred sixty-five degrees below in the wrong direction. Mr. George did not even have a chance as the killer entered the living room, and using a kitchen knife, the killer cut the older man from ear to ear. Blood immediately saturated the man’s body, pouring from the gaping hole of his neck and pooling on the floor. To that point in time, this was the first violent crime in the neighborhood in almost fifty years. The last crime of this nature took place in 1940 when Sandy Anderson, mother of two and loyal housewife, suffered a nervous breakdown; the result of the breakdown was that Ms. Anderson killed and chopped up her two kids. She fed her dead kids to her devoted husband, Bernie, in a meatloaf dinner.
As “Wilson” killed the Georges, a younger me was at home, preparing for the big night, trick or treating. This was a night when kids could stay out late; “Wilson” would not be able to attack us, the neighborhood kids, for being out after 10 pm, magically on Halloween night. The logic doesn’t make sense now, but as kids, we believe what adults tell us without questioning whether they would lie. It was a fantastic crisp fall evening in the Northeast in 1985. Little did any of us know that the terror that occurred at house number 14 would affect us all for years to come. I admired my Ghostbusters outfit in the mirror, complete with a homemade proton pack. My sister Hope entered my room; she was a few years older than I, at 12. She was a remarkable sister and graciously volunteered to escort me to the neighborhood houses to collect candy. Hope was rocking a Strawberry Shortcake costume. “You almost ready, Jimmy?” Hope asks me. “Yes,” I answer, adjusting my homemade proton pack and putting an old vacuum cleaner on my back. I glanced in the mirror at myself and was ready to go.
Good old Timmy O’Keefe, the neighborhood ginger, was a good kid with bright red hair and the freckles to match. My friends and I did not interact much with Timmy, but when we did, we had fun playing Bloody Murder together. For readers unfamiliar with Bloody Murder, here is a brief game summary. First, you must establish a home base: a porch, a tree, or a swing set. Then, choose one player to be It. That player closes their eyes and counts slowly, “One o’clock. Two o’clock. Three o’clock….” to midnight. All the other players must run and find hiding places during this time. When the It player calls out “Midnight!”, the rest try to run for a home base before It catches them. I miss those days, simpler times.
So, back to poor Timmy. He was walking towards becoming the third victim of the night. Accounts saw Timmy sporting his Indiana Jones costume as he approached house number 14.
Timmy stepped on the darkened porch of number 14, and he must have been surprised that it was dark so early. In the 1980s, the kids in our neighborhood would descend on the Georges’ house every year, as they were always ready for us on Halloween with a big bowl of candy. Timmy had decided to get a head start on his trick-or-treating, as he wanted to watch the Universal Monsters Classic Movie marathon on our local public access station later that evening. The lights were off in the house. Timmy did not let that deter him as he approached the screen door, which was open slightly. According to witness accounts, he entered the house, and we did not know what happened to him until later that evening.
My friends and I planned to meet in front of Number 23 Pike Street to start our night of candy hunting. We would then be home in time for the 11 pm Halloween show on TNT, the original horror slasher classic. Little did we know we would be experiencing our horror movie that night. My sister volunteered to escort us with one of our group’s brothers, Corbin. The group consisted of me, my friend Booker, his friend Mikey, and our mutual friend Sally. Corbin was her brother. “Love the Ghostbusters outfit, Jimmy,” Booker says as he and the rest approach. Booker was going as Batman, Mikey was next as the Joker, and Sally was Barbie.
Corbin was one of the cool kids at the high school, so he was himself for this event. My sister was embarrassed that she had dressed up. But all that went away when Corbin acknowledged she looked fantastic. With a giggle from her, we set out for the candy hunt. We saw other people on the way as we made our way around the neighborhood. As the group passed George’s house on the opposite side of the street, I noticed the lights were out. “That’s odd; the Georges are sitting out Halloween,” I say as we pass the house. Out of the corner of my right eye, I see a hulking figure standing by the screen door with yellow eyes. I turned around fully to see who or what was at the door. There was nothing there. Being a kid, I just ignored it and moved on with the rest of the group, saying nothing about it. As we worked opposite the Georges, the Anderson twins, Doug and Norman, approached them. Little Tamara Bloch was across the street at Smith’s house getting candy when she saw the Andersons ascending the Georges’ porch stairs. Tamra admitted, years later, that she noticed the twins go into the house and not come out. She also saw the exact massive figure with yellow eyes that I had seen. But I assumed that one of the Georges had dressed up for Halloween.
Our friends’ group worked its way to the end of Pike Street, crossed the street, and returned to the other side, which sat on the edge of the woods. As we walked from house to house, moving closer to the Georges at number 14, I noticed a yellow pair of eyes watching us from the woods. The eyes would not be there each time I looked over, but I knew they returned when I looked away. I thought about the figure at Georges’s screen door. As we got closer to number 14, I started to feel more uneasy. A feeling, all these years later, that I wish I had not ignored. We hit the last house before the Georges ’. The feeling in the pit of my stomach worsens.
Hope asks me, “Are you okay”? I wonder if I should tell her; I don’t feel right about visiting the house next door. I looked at my friends, who were having so much fun; I decided not to say anything. “I’m fine,” I say. Hope looks at me, smiles, and ruffles my hair. We walk to the darkened house. “It is not like Mrs. George not to have the candy bowl ready for us,” Booker states as we stand in front of the house as a group. “Maybe they are not home,” Sally answers. “I think we should check it; they always have the best candy,” Mikey pipes in. “My mom said Mr. George said he’d love to do a haunted house; maybe he convinced Mrs. George to do that this year.” Corbin contributed to the discussion. My brain thought that made sense. Perhaps they enlisted the help of their neighbors by having blinking yellow lights, set up as eyes, in the woods. It eased my uneasiness to hear that. “Well, what are we doing?” Hope asks. Silence for a moment, and then I say, “Let’s try it.” It’s eerily dark as we approach the porch. The house is completely dark. We walk up the stairs, I in the lead. I feel a cold chill as we reach the porch door. I stop dead. “I don’t want to go first,” I say. The rest of the group grumbles, and Corbin steps forward. “I’ll go,” he says, reassuringly touching my shoulder. I step back, and my sister puts her arms around me. Corbin steps into the darkness. “Holy shit,” Corbin says. He steps back out, goes to the neighbors, and has them call the Sheriff now!” Corbin,# face says it all. Booker and Mike run off to the house next to the store. Sally, Hope, and I stood there. Corbin was as white as a ghost. Hope holds Sally and me tight. “What is?” she asks. “There are no words,” Corbin says. We hear the footsteps before the thing enters our vision. Yellow eyes come from the darkness, followed by scarred hands. It grabs Corbin by the neck and pulls him into the house. The force of the door slamming shut knocks the three of us to the ground. Sally screams her brother’s name. Hope holds her back as she attempts to go for the door. I take the moment to break free of my sister’s grasp. I drive to the door, turn the knob, and sprint into the darkness. Hope yells my name. The door closes behind me. I lock it. My eyes adjust to the horror scene in front of me. The Andersons’ bodies are sprawled, spread-eagled, throats slit, lying on the living room floor.
Across in his armchair was Mr. George, his throat with a deep gash in it; the blood was starting to solidify at the wound. Corbin was screaming at the top of the stairs. What motivated me to do this is the same thing that led me to become a police officer years later—the drive to help and save people. My adolescent brain processes the scene, looking for a weapon. A fire poker caught my attention. I grabbed it and headed for the stairs. I stepped on the first step leading upstairs, and it squeaked under my weight. The screaming stops momentarily; I hear something massive move upstairs as it shifts its weight. Corbin whimpers like a baby. Whoever this is, they are bloodthirsty. I stay still long enough for whoever it is to return to work on Corbin. The screams are loud again. I shift my weight so it doesn’t make the steps creak as I ascend them.
As I pass the window on the first landing, I see the flashing lights of the Sheriff pulling up outside. Corbin screams again, in unbearable pain; I hear bones crack. It sends a shiver down my spine. The three dead bodies in the living room are still on my mind as I continue my ascent. The Anderson twins were six months older than I, turning 13 in the spring of this past year. The front door entrance to the house started creaking as a battering ram banged against it; the Sheriff’s department was attempting to break down the door. That didn’t deter me. I heard more bones crack, and Corbin screamed. What the fuck, I thought. Then it hit me; it took a moment to realize it was a size nine sneaker. It had hit me square in the forehead. I was stunned for a moment and slipped backward down the stairs.
The front door bursts open. The Sheriff enters and mutters an audible “holy shit” at the bloodbath before him. A deputy was right behind him; he looked at the bloodbath before him and immediately started dry heaves. The Sheriff looks at me as a dark object plummets from the top of the stairs and lands with a sickening thud on the living room floor. The Sheriff looks in horror, and so do I; it is the tiny body of Timmy O’Keefe, whose head is in an unnatural position, as it hangs from the neck like a hang nail, the tendons barely holding onto the head. His arms and legs had broken in multiple places, and his bones were protruding from the skin and through the costume he wore. It appears he has been through a garbage truck’s compactor. It was a horrific sight.
Corbin screams once more. The Sheriff and deputy move from their positions toward my position on the stairs. Sheriff yells, “Get him out of here!” to the deputy. The deputy grabs me; I drop the fire poker as he drags me out of the house. I cannot take my eyes off Timmy’s broken body as he ushers me out. The deputy dragged me out and placed me in Hope’s arms. Her face was red from crying, and tears continued to roll down her face. She grabbed me, and he held me tight. The deputy ran to the vehicle, and the Sheriff arrived to call for backup. Corbin’s screams echoed from the house as the neighborhood started to descend onto the house. Hope held onto me tightly as neighbors came from both directions to see what was occurring at the Georges. Sally was at my side, holding Hope and me tight. Gunshots rang out from upstairs. Screams followed them. Glass shattered from the front window, and the Sheriff’s bloody and beaten body flew out the window, landing on the porch overhang with a bone-crushing thud. Screams radiate through the crowd. Another scream comes from the house. This time, it’s Corbin’s screaming, accompanied by bones breaking.
Two more sheriff department vehicles pulled up, and six deputies got out. They quickly moved to back up the crowd; a female deputy with her blonde hair in a ponytail grabbed Hope, Sally, and me, pulling us as far away from the scene as she could. The first deputy and two others enter the house with guns drawn. My eyes continue to stare at the Sheriff’s broken body lying on the porch overhang. His hair blew in the cool October air as his eyes stared blankly at the moon in the sky. There was silence for a moment, and then the sound of more gunshots rang in the fall air. Glass shattered, and another body flew out the window. This one was wearing a uniform. Just like the Sheriff, the body was completely mangled and covered in blood. Eyes were popping out of their sockets. More gunshots. Then silence hung in the area. We all stood there waiting to see what was next. The female deputy had called in for state troopers while the horrific situation upstairs took place. Sally stared blankly at the front door, hoping against Hope that Corbin would emerge. Whispers ripped through the crowd as people backed away. Did anyone dare to go in there? Nobody moved for what felt like an hour. Then, someone approached the doorway from inside the house. The two deputies present unholstered their service revolvers.
The figure emerged through the doorway like many 1980s slasher kills would.
The crowd seemed frozen in time at the sight that stood before them. I focus on the abomination’s left hand. It was the head of Corbin, Sally’s brother, that the abomination held. The deputies were unsure what to do; the guns were ready to fire if the beast made a move. It stood there motionless, its yellow eyes scanning the crowd before it. It appeared to have intelligence and knew it had an audience. I looked at my sister, Hope; she was terrified. She held Sally and me tight against her body to protect us. The creature lifted the head in his hand as if it were a trophy, then in an extraordinarily creepy, loud, and unexpected voice. It spoke. “This is for my people; we are here, amongst you; my people have gone unseen for a long time. Your government created us and then abandoned us when we did not fit their ideology.
Tonight, we spilled blood as a sacrifice to my people’s cause; my people’s cause will be revealed in time. When the time comes, I will return; with others, this is your warning. War is coming, and it starts here, in our birthplace .” The abomination lifted Corbin’s head high, then chucked him into the crowd. Screams. People scattered away from the scene.
The head skipped a few times, rolling, then coming to a dead stop in the middle of the street. The lifeless eyes of Corbin came to rest, staring back at the house, the place where he died. The deputies took their chances to fire at the beast. It did not flinch as it reentered the house and slammed the door. There was a roar, then an eerie silence. You could hear a pin drop in the neighborhood as silence hung in the air after the roar. Time stood still; nobody moved, and the state police arrived soon after the creature’s speech. How much time, I do not remember. The surviving deputies briefed them on what occurred; the area was cleared, witnesses were isolated, and the state police closed off a wide perimeter for the crime scene. As I said earlier, nothing like this has happened in the neighborhood for a long time. Now, the state police are dealing with a teen’s severed head in the street, a few dead law enforcement officers, three children dead, and two elderly adults dead as well. The state police entered the house and found the horrific scene. The Anderson Twins on the living room floor, Mr. George in his recliner, Mrs. George dead in the kitchen, the broken body of little Timmy O’Keefe at the bottom of the stairs. Upstairs, they found the rest of Corbin’s body in a crumpled, broken mess. The state crime scene unit arrived to process the scene. All those who witnessed the events were questioned and reported that they had seen a demonic humanoid on the front porch of George’s house, who announced that a war was coming. Law enforcement and neighborhood adults believed the creature was a masked killer in an elaborate costume who had taken the lives in the house.
The killer’s motive was unknown, and they entered and exited through the back door. They killed the elderly residents first, then picked off the other victims as they approached the house in search of candy. How did the victims’ bodies become so mangled? No human killer could have accomplished that; we all knew it. Our parents arrived faster than I had expected, as they were a few towns over at a friend’s Halloween party. The neighborhood remained safe to this day, so most parents were confident that nothing would happen, as nothing had happened up to that point. Corbin’s and Sally’s parents also arrived; their son’s severed head, by the time of their arrival, was covered with a sheet to hide the gruesome sight. Sally was beyond consolation and broke down even more at the sight of her parents. Even at my age, I knew nothing would top this day. The questions went on for hours, and my voice was gone by the time I had completed them. As the state and local police allowed witnesses to leave and go home, the crowd noticed a black sedan pull up to the crime scene. Three men in military uniforms emerged from the black sedan. Before I could see any more, my parents led Hope and me home for much-needed rest. The last image I had from that night was of uniformed military officers looking at George’s house and speaking to the state police officers.
Back home, Hope and I just sat on the brown leather couch in the family room and embraced each other. The neighborhood was never the same after that Halloween night. The crime scene stood as a constant reminder of that night. Burying the dead gave us no comfort. The dreams were horrific, and the nightmares would wake me up screaming. I would see the abomination standing in my room with yellow eyes and a butcher knife in its hand. “You got away,” it whispered menacingly. I would wake with a scream and find myself in an ice-cold, sweet, and alone in my room. My parents would barge in expecting a killer, but there was nothing. They would look at me with pity. Then, I would sleep in their bed; these nightmares went on for the next year. Hope didn’t fare any better; the death of Corbin took her down a dark road. Hope never recovered from that dark road.
As a neighborhood, we collectively tried to move towards healing after Halloween 1985, and the adults did their best to allow us kids to have a fun-filled night the following year for Halloween 1986. Yet none of us kids had fully healed, and few were interested in participating in anything other than staying home with family. Number 14 Pike Street stood empty, a makeshift memorial to the victims of Halloween 1985, boarded up and dark; it was our beacon of death. The Georges’ kids inherited the house from their parents, yet they knew no one would buy it after the events in 1985. Since both of George’s children were successful in their chosen careers, they could afford just to let the house rot. I did my best to get over the nightmares, yet I knew the only way to do it was to face it; I had to face it head-on. My parents stayed home, and so did I. Some trick-or-treaters scoured the neighborhood looking for candy, but they would come up empty-handed, as no adult had brought candy for Halloween.
I stood in my room and watched the clock tick closer to ten o’clock. The night was quiet. I closed my eyes, and I saw the creature in front of me, bloody knife in hand. It was breathing heavily, its massive chest rising and falling in a rhythmic motion. Clear mucus ran down from its pig snout.” “You got away from me,” it growled. I opened my eyes, and the room was empty. I got up and walked over to my closet. I took out an overnight bag. I placed the bag on my bed. Inside was a flashlight, a knife, tape, an M-80 firecracker, lighter fluid, and a lighter. Tonight, I was going to end my nightmare, and I hoped the pain would be easy. The phone rang. I knew who it would be. “Hun, Sally is on the phone,” my mother called upstairs. I was one of those lucky kids with a phone in my room in the 1980s. I pick up and say, “Hi, Sally. I waited for my mom to hang up the phone. Once, I heard the click, “Can you get out?” I ask. “Yes,” Sally whispers. “My mom has passed out on the couch, and Dad is about to do the same in the chair,” she continues. Both of Sally’s parents tended to drink more since Corbin’s death, which caused Sally to spend most of her time at the adult house. “Once I tuck them in, I’ll head out, “Sally continues. “Good, good, the others want nothing to do with it. “, I reply. The others I was talking about were Booker and Mikey. Once I had started talking about my plan to break into number 14 and torch it, burning the house horrors to the ground to cleanse the neighborhood. They didn’t want anything to do with “Fuck them; they are wussy,” Sally responds. She was right. “So we’ll meet at midnight,” I say. “Yes, Sally says. “I’ll see you then.” I love you,” Sally continues her sentence. I decided to play it cool and respond as Han Solo did in The Empire Strikes Back. “I know,” I say coolly. She chuckles and hangs up the phone. I looked out the window; the street was darker than usual. The street lamps seemed to be losing their light on this night. I took a deep breath and went back to clock-watching.
My eyes popped open, and I was initially unsure where I was. My eyes adjusted, and I realized I’d fallen asleep in the bean bag chair in my room. I shook off the sleepiness and gained my bearings to see that the clock was heading towards midnight. I had to get ready and meet Sally. I dressed sensibly and warmly since it was chilly outside; I knew the street would be empty. I opened the bedroom window at ten minutes to eleven and slid into the fantastic, crisp night. Being small and agile in those days, I could pull myself onto the roof. Then tiptoed over the drain pipe and shimmied down it to the front yard. The night was quiet; the street lights dimly lit the neighborhood street. The wind blew cold as the leaves rolled on the ground like tumbleweeds. I felt like I had stepped into a zombie movie, as I was the only person left after an apocalypse. I took a deep breath and moved toward number 14. As I got closer, I broke into a sprint. If I did not, fear would have stopped me. I skidded to a stop in front of my nightmare, the house that took many lives. Flashbacks came back immediately, bodies flying out windows, Corbin’s tortured screams, his head rolling into the street, my sister, oh my sister, how she never got over that night, and it ate away at her for months. A hand touched me, and I jumped into a defensive stance. Sally stood there, her hair in a ponytail; she wore all black from head to toe. Her blue eyes stood out to me against the black outfit. She has a knapsack over her right shoulder. “It’s just me, “she whispers. “Sorry, I got lost in a moment”. She nodded with understanding and glanced at the house. “I hate this place,” she says. I took her hand. “Well, tonight we will burn the bitch down,” I said. “I’m sorry about your sister again,” she responded as she squeezed my hand. I nodded; my dear sister Hope had committed suicide months earlier; she couldn’t take the guilt of Corbin’s and other deaths; she could not escape the nightmares she was enduring. We all tried moving on as a family, but it was not easy; the pain was there, and I wanted to lash out to feel better. I thought if this harbinger of death no longer existed, it would ease my pain. The house just stood there, a menace to all of us—a dreadful reminder of Halloween 1985. Sally and I looked at each other and walked toward number 14. We approached the porch; a twig broke on the side of the house. We both sprang to alertness. Another twig cracked under someone’s or something’s feet. Dropping my bag, I pulled a switchblade out of my jacket pocket. Dropping her knapsack, Sally pulled out a revolver, and with badass accuracy, she pulled back the hammer. The figures emerged from the side of the number 14. “Freeze motherfuckers”, Sally mutters. The two figures stopped. “It’s us,” a familiar voice states firmly. “Booker”? “Yes, and Mike,” the other figure says. “WTF,” Sally states, and she lowers the gun. The two of them step forward, all dressed in black. “What are you two doing here? “I ask, retracing the blade. “Well, after you told us about this, we said no at first,” Booker starts. He pauses. “Then we thought about it more, and what you said made sense about burning down the house. Mike picks up Booker’s pause. Sally and I look at each other. “We are in; let’s burn the shit down for Corbin, and rest.” Booker says. I look back at Booker and Mike and add, “And my sister” My friends nod. With that, we headed towards the bordered up-front door, which, to our surprise, was not covered fully anymore. “Someone has been here,” Sally says. Booker and Mike look at each other, then at Sally and me. “Well, we have come this far; we’ll check it out quickly and proceed with the plan,” I reply. The rest of the group nods in agreement. The house smelled like death as we entered it. Flashbacks immediately followed me as we entered the house. I could see the bodies lying in the places from Halloween a year ago. I did my best to shake off the disgusting visuals. Though the space was empty, it felt small to me; I felt claustrophobic as we stood in the living room. Sally put a hand on my shoulder. “It was horrible,” I mutter. She hugged me, and Booker and Mike followed suit, and it was a group hug. An eerie silence marked the scene as the four of us embraced each other in a caring way. The noise from upstairs broke the moment, and I recognized it immediately. It was similar to what I heard a year ago: the creature was here. “I think it’s here,” I say in a low whisper. Booker looked at me and stated,” You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Sally and Mike both looked as if they had seen a ghost. There was another noise as the massive being upstairs shifted its weight. “Why is it here?” Sally asked as she lowered her bag. She took out the revolver. Her hands shook this time; she was not as calm, cool, and collected as she had been outside. I had no answers to why it was here, yet I was glad. I could confront it, unlike last year. “So what are we going to do?” Mike asks. I could see there was fear in his eyes. “We are going to fuck it up and burn this place down,” I respond. All three looked at me, Booker, and Mike with trepidation, while Sally looked at me with a resolute nod. “We don’t have weapons,” Mike replies. “At least Sally is packing,” Booker piggybacked on Mike’s comment. Sally grinned. The massive thing upstairs shifted its weight and walked across the floor. The ceiling creaked under the massive weight as I walked across the stairs. “I have weapons,” I replied. I opened my bag, producing another knife, lighter fluid, and a lighter. Booker and Mike looked at me, sighing as they took the weapons from my hands. “We are doing this,” Booker says, looking over the knife. I nod, Mike smirks, and Sally nods. We moved as one closer to the staircase. Sally, followed by me, then Booker, and Mike. We all had weapons ready now. We moved up the staircase, the steps creaking under our feet. The creature upstairs appeared agitated as we peeked through the railing from the fourth step to the top of the stairs landing. The creature appeared just as I remembered it from a year ago. It moved back and forth in George’s old bedroom, visibly annoyed by something unseen. It reeked of death; the whole upstairs reeked of death and rotten eggs. Its massive frame was even more menacing up close than a year ago. The Monster paced back and forth in the room. It appeared he had been there for some time, having settled into the room, yet no one in the neighborhood knew. We stood on the steps, frozen with fear as we decided our next move. The creature turned suddenly, and we ducked. The Monster snorted, releasing a visible growl. It sniffed the air with its pig snot. I signaled that we should head back downstairs. As we moved, the creature roared, rushing towards the railing like a speeding train. We hit the bottom of the stairs, sprinting towards the kitchen. The site was initially unreal, as dozens, maybe more, animal carcasses hung on every inch of the kitchen. Their bodies split open, their internal organs hanging out. No one knew the creature had made the Georges’ home its home now. Sally let out a tiny scream as we heard the monster thunder downstairs. I looked at a door leading to the basement. We sprinted towards the door as the creature released a menacing statement, “Yum, fresh meat.” The door closed behind us, and we placed the chain lock on it. We ran into the dark basement to find more dead animals. “Fuck, fuck, fuck”, Booker repetitively repeated. “We need to take this thing down,” I state firmly. “And how are we supposed to do that?”. Mike asks, holding the lighter and the fluid in his hands. The creature stomped through the house. It was stalking us like it did the hanging animals. The basement door would not be able to hold out for long if the creature attempted to break it down. I scanned the room, looking for a good hiding place. Then, I saw the crawl space that led to the outside of the house. I point at it, and the others look and nod their heads. “You got away last time,” the creature screams. His voice booms behind the locked door. I took Mike’s lighter fluid and sprayed it on the animal skins. The Monster roared, “Your government created us; we had intended to be super-soldiers to fight the Russians in your Cold War. We did not turn out the way the government intended; we were monsters to our creators, yet what do you expect when you splice human genes with animals? Playing god will lead to horrors, unimaginable evil. Your government created four of us, thinking the next would be what they wanted us to be. We are all the same. They tried to train us to be soldiers, yet they could not; we had self-will. So your government grew fearful of our abilities and their lack of control of us, so they tried to destroy us.” The creature was at the door now. “That is what you humans do: create things, then fear them when they grow superior to you, and you cannot control them.” The voice was closer to the door now. Sally raised the gun as I completed my task. “We escaped your government, killing a few bastards that created us in the process, we soon found ourselves here in these woods. With the help of the couple who lived in this house, we hid for a long time in these woods as Georges took pity on us.” The creature’s nails scraped against the door. Its nails were sharp as knives. You could hear the wood on the door scraping off. “As time passed. We grew older and stronger and realized we were the dominant species.” The door started to shake as the creature pulled on the doorknob. “We decided to turn on the couple and make our presence known to the world through this community.” The door began to shake more intensely as the creature grasped the basement door more tightly. I doused the walls with lighter fluid and animal skin, reserving some in case. I set the M80 firecracker in the middle of the floor. Sally looked at me, “I hope this works.” “Me too,” I admit. The door starts to shake more as the creature becomes increasingly frustrated with its inability to open. “You will not get away this time,” it bellows. The door shows signs of giving way to the beast’s strength. I used lighter fluid on the stairs, hoping the blast from the M-80 would ignite the flammable items, burn them all down, or set the creature on fire. “You will all be the next to pay for your government’s sins against us,” the creature states further as its massive body slams against the door. Booker signals it’s time to go as the door starts to buckle due to the creature’s massive body slamming. I shake my head no. “What do you mean no?” Mike says with anger in his voice. “I need to see it,” I respond; the door slammed repeatedly, cracking further with each slam, inching closer to opening. “I am going to get you and crush your body as I did to the others last year, then get my family and kill you all,” The Monster yells as it slams the door with a shitload of force. It was ready to bust open. Sally holds the gun up; she is ready to fire. Mike has a knife in his hand, and Booker stands with his fist in the air, ready to throw a punch. The lighter is in my hand as the creature busts through the door. The door files open on the next ram, falling off the hinges, and it lands on the first step of the basement steps. It looks at the four of us with its yellow eyes. It growls. “Fuck you, asshole, you killed my sister.” I stammer at its sight. It shows no emotions in my statement. I light the M-80 as the creature descends the stairs. We run towards the crawl space. I light one of the animal skins on my way, just in case. It lights up immediately, and in a chain, it ignites the others on the walls and the wall itself. As the creature reaches the bottom of the stairs, the M-80 goes off, momentarily stopping it in its tracks and stunning it. “Come on,” Sally screams from the crawl space. The creature and I lock eyes. The sparks from flash powder set the bottom of the stairs on fire, which leaped to the bottom of the creature’s pants. It looks down with very little emotion as I crawl into the space. The smoke fills the crawl space as we reach the back of the house. The creature roars, as if in pain from the flames. It makes me happy. We climb into the crawl space, which leads to the backyard. Smoke billowed through the basement window; I saw flames coming through the basement windows when I emerged from the crawl space. We all stand when we leave the crawl space and sprint away from the house. We sprint towards the backyard grass and sit in it, catching our breath together. The smoke seeps through the basement windows; the flames are visible. We can no longer hear the beast’s cries. “Do you think we did it?”? Mike asks. All I can do is nod as I catch my breath. I look at Sally. She smiles at me, and I smile back. Booker takes a deep breath and smiles. The fiery piece of wood flies through the air so quickly that there is no time to react. It hits Booker square in the chest, and he starts to convulse, blood pouring from the wound in his chest and mouth. There is little time to react; Booker falls to the ground, choking on his blood. I have enough time to grab Sally when something else comes flying at us. Mike reacts quickly, rolling to his side as another piece of wood nearly avoids all three of us. The wooden stake lands in the grass, and the fiery wood immediately sets it ablaze. I look up in time to see the creature. Its chest is bare now, and it wears no pants anymore, as its clothing has been burned. Its feet are also bare, showing they are clawed like its hands. There are visible burns on the creature, yet it shows no pain. It stands on the back porch. It’s more animalistic now. It is bearing its teeth, drool running down its mouth. A primitive growl rips from its throat. It looks at Booker, who has stopped moving; he has died due to his wounds. The creature’s eyes dart to Sally, Mike, and me. The creature sneers as it menacingly descends the stairs towards us. When the creature reaches the bottom step, it lets out a roar that is so loud that it feels like the earth is shaking. I saw Mike had picked up the wood that had nearly hit us. Sally and I look at him. I know what to do. “Sally, shoot at it when I say so,” I tell her, her expression shifting from confusion to fear and then to distress. “Just do it,” I say. I get up. “I had enough of you, you prick; we end this now,” I yell. The creature looks at me, “I will take pleasure in crushing your bones; I just wish I could have killed your whore sister myself.”, the creature says in a menacing tone. I look at Mike; we nod in response. It is time to end this. “Fire”, I yell. Sally raises the revolver and fires at the beast. It cringes at the bullets, it hurts, and it can feel pain. “Aim high”. The beast looks at me and snorts. Sally raises the revolver and aims high. She fired the gun, and I met with Mike. We relight the stake. With Sally firing at it, she aims and hits the creature in the head. The creature’s head flies back as it takes a bullet square to its head. At that moment, I didn’t understand why the bullets were more effective than they had been a year ago, but I didn’t care. Sally fired another at the head. Mike and I ran toward the creature with a fire stake. Before the creature’s head could retort. With all-out force, Mike and I ram the fiery spike into the creature’s chest. It screams in pain as the spike pierces its chest; the sickening crack makes me happy as the stake is driven into its chest. Sally fires her last bullets. The creature, stunned, falls backward, landing hard on the wooden stairs. Mike and I drive the stake further into its chest, pinning the creature down on the back staircase. The creature screams in pain as we push the stake further into its chest. I can hear ribs cracking as Mike and I push the stake further into its chest. The creature looks at Mike and me and grunts; blood spills from its mouth. “Fuck you,” I state as I pour the last of the lighter fluid on the creature.The creature cringes as the fluid is poured on it. The creature and I lock eyes; I see hate and disdain reflected in its eyes as it goes up in flames. It screams as it burns; the screams eventually stop, and it just flames, making crackling noises as the body burns. I turn around and look at Booker; his body lies there. I look at Mike. He appears to be stunned. I take him by the arm, and he comes willingly. We walk towards Sally, who had dropped the gun in the grass. She looks at us and begins to cry. Mike and I grab her in a loving embrace. I look over at the beast. It’s still burning. I hear sirens in the distance; someone called the fire department. We stand there holding each other in the cool October air. State police and the fire department eventually break up the embrace. The EMTs whisked us away to a waiting ambulance. I saw Booker’s parents, who stood lost as if they did not understand why their son was not among us. They soon find out the truth. I was checked out and cleared in the ambulance, along with Sally and Mike. As I stepped out of the ambulance, I saw my parents; they had a look of relief and annoyance on their faces. They embraced me; my parents and I didn’t exchange words about what had happened at this time. Sally’s parents got sober enough to get their daughter and love her as she deserved; they would both work towards sobriety after that night, as they did not want to lose another kid. Mike’s parents were also there and would hug him, happy he was okay. Booker’s parents were taken to a private spot by a uniformed officer about their son. They left days later, never saying a word to anyone; we never saw them again.
As we reunited with our families in the cool air of November 1st, a black sedan pulled up amongst the rest of the emergency vehicles; a military ambulance followed the sedan. A distinguished-looking gentleman stepped out of the sedan; he wore a green army dress uniform. I was unsure if it was the same uniformed officer from last year. In his right hand was a green service dress hat. He promptly placed it on his head when he stepped out of the sedan. He looked around and found the leader officer on the scene. He approaches the lead state officer; they acknowledge each other and shake hands. As two men spoke, men in army fatigues stepped out of the military ambulance. One is caucasian, and the other is African American; they both light cigarettes, sharing a lighter between them. The exchange between the two officials ends, and the lead state trooper indicates that the military official should come with him. The two men walk towards the backyard of number 14. The two men return a few minutes later; the military official signals the men from the ambulance to go to the back. Both ambulance officers extinguish their cigarettes. The caucasian officer walks to the ambulance’s back doors, opens them, and brings out a body bag. The two ambulance officers walk towards the backyard as the state trooper and army official approach Mike, Sally, me, and our parents. The army officer speaks in a friendly tone, saying, “My name is General Cage, US Army.” He pauses. We nod in acknowledgment of the officer. General Cage continues saying, “I understand this is the second time you folks have had an experience with this creature. We again nod. He looks over at the state trooper, who also nods; General Cage then looks back at us. He says, “I cannot say too much, yet I want to assure you that we are working on containing the issue, and you should have no more problems.” The state trooper addressed General Cage, “As I stated before, you have our full cooperation and aid in this matter as well.” In the distance, I saw the army officers from the ambulance carrying out the body bag. It contained the remnants of the creature we just burned to death. The General looked at us and asked directly, “Is there anything we should know”? I took a moment to think; it had been a long ordeal, from the losses of last year to my sister overdosing and dying from pills due to survivor’s guilt to Booker’s death by the creature’s hand on that October night. “I draw a deep breath and then simply ask, “Why?” Everyone in our group of friends seemed shocked by the question. General Cage curiously raises his eyebrows. I pause, draw a deep breath, and then ask the question with more context: “Why would you create these monsters, then try to destroy them, but instead allow them to escape to our neighborhood?” General Cage seemed taken by this question and was about to respond. When a roar suddenly echoed through the crowd. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw a female creature the size of the dead male creature; she had the same pig snout as her dead male counterpart. The female was nude; her grey skin stood out in the street lights, and she was racing from the woods behind number 14. Reddish-brown hair hung from the creature’s head, her yellow eyes blazing with hate, a mouth of sharp teeth bearing a snarl. The female creature had large breasts that were ample and stood firmly on her chest. The creature’s body was firm and taut, except for a six-pack stomach. The creature had sharp claws, which she was ready to use. The people who stood in her way moved swiftly and raced away from the scene. General Cage began barking orders; they were not audible over the crowd’s screams. The army officers who were in the ambulance attempted to stop the female creature. They were not a match. The caucasian officer stepped forward to meet the creature. His attempt to strike the creature was met with a right claw to his throat; blood splattered instantly onto the creature, the ambulance, and the street. The officer grabbed at his throat, blood pouring out from the gash, and fell to the ground in death convulsions. The African American officer looked at the creature in abject horror; he then opened the ambulance door to grab a weapon. Seeing this aggressive move, the creature bolted towards the officer, leaping toward him and the open ambulance door. The creature pounced on the officer, knocking him into the ambulance door. The officer was knocked into the driver’s side door with such force that his body went flying a good six feet, attached to the door. The door landed with a bone-crushing thud, and the officer’s body snapped back on impact, snapping his neck and spinal cord like a twig. Due to the creature’s heightened agility, it did not fly with the door and the officer; it landed on its two feet and watched the mayhem unfold. Nobody said a word or dared move as the creature walked to the back of the ambulance and its twin doors. Without effort, she snapped the doors open; she screamed at the sight of the body bag; she knew her partner was dead in it. General Cage looked over at the creature; his face was stone and showed no fear or remorse for the officer’s death, nor the creature’s counterpart’s death; as he looked at the creature, their eyes met. The creature roared again. It jetted in our direction; General Cage stood firm, and everyone else scrambled away from the oncoming attack. The creature would veer off, racing back into the woods, but never attacked the General. Without a word, General Cage walked over to the black sedan; the lead officer for the state was dumbfounded, and he did not move from his spot. The General’s driver got out of the black car; he was a Hispanic gentleman in a brown uniform. He looked at the remains of his army buddies from the ambulance and shook his head in disbelief. The General gestured towards the driver to hand him something. After bending down and reaching into the car, the driver handed him an oversized mobile phone. The General dialed the phone. The person on the other end answered quickly. “I needed an emergency team and an extradition team yesterday,” he barked into the phone. The person on the other end responded. “The alpha male is confirmed dead; the alpha female is still alive, killed two of my men; she has returned to the woods.” He listened to the response. “Just get the team here now,” General Cage screamed into the phone, then hung up. He tossed the phone back into the car. General Cage walked to the back of the sedan. The sedan driver popped the trunk, and the General leaned into the trunk. He pulled out a lightweight assault rifle. He ensured the rifle had ammunition and the safety was off. He nodded towards the driver, who reached into the car a second time and emerged with a Glock and a radio. The driver closed the door, and the two men entered the woods. The lead state trooper decided it was best to clear the civilians now. We were all ushered away from the scene and back to our houses. I went upstairs without a word upon our return home. My parents did not follow me; they stayed on the first floor, wanting to see what happened next. I lay on my bed, and I thought about my sister, who had taken pills and killed herself six months earlier; I missed her so much. The. I thought about the victims of last year’s slaughter, especially Corbin; he was a good guy. Corbin’s death had affected Sally greatly; she held a brave face, yet she was dying inside. Tonight, there was closure; though Booker was lost, there was still closure that the murderer was dead. Time heals old wounds, they say. In this case, it did over time; we all slowly moved in, and life tends to push us forward, no. No matter what, even if we do not want to.
The female alpha creature managed to escape that night. She just disappeared completely, despite the military’s best efforts to find her. The military stayed for over a year to look for her and protect us from further attacks from the remaining experiments. The military presence and the neighborhood moved on from what happened; it made us all feel protected. The neighborhood adults demolished 14 Pike Street, with the permission of the next of kin, in the spring of the following year. Mike and I remained friends until he left college. He lives in NYC now, and he’s a big-time lawyer. Sally and I would continue to bond, and eventually, we’d become childhood sweethearts, high school sweethearts, and college sweethearts. We got married in 1996. My parents moved to a retirement village in Florida in the 2000s, leaving the house to me. I’d move in with Sally and the kids, as our apartment was too small for a growing family. Now, as a state trooper for over twenty years, I often think about that night, even though we hardly talk about it anymore. There’s still an empty lot where number 14 Pike Street stands; no one goes near it. The kids say it’s cursed, and they’re right. Today, we still get reports of people seeing yellow-eyed creatures in the woods, occasionally around the neighborhood, and in other communities. The alpha female remains with others like her, waiting for the right moment to attack. I’m always on guard, ready to fight again. Sally says I’m paranoid. I’m just more ready than others for the next wave of Halloween havoc. Be ready for the monsters to show up in your neighborhood one day. They are out there in the woods, and they will come.
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