I don’t have much to say, really.  Just, well, enjoy this story. Oh and….Happy Halloween!

Gravesite Surprise – An Urban Trick-or-Treat Legend

Halloween. A night of trick-or-treating. For some. It’s the younger kids that love this Halloween ritual. It’s all about candy. Lots and lots of candy. As for the older kids, trick-or-treating might be okay but they want something more.  Trick-or-treating and something extra. Something more adventurous, more scary.  Exploring a scary, urban legend just might be the “treat” to do “the trick.”  

The legend involves trick-or-treating at a certain grave at a local cemetery. Twelve-year-old Jacob Matthew, or “Jay’M” for short, is down with this. His brother Paco Jesse (He goes by “PJ”), older by three years, thinks it’s kid stuff and dismisses the legend. But PJ is looking out for Jay’M so he must put up with his little brother’s pain-in-the-ass ideas. Little does PJ know that this will be the scariest night of his life.

*****

The little shit ran fast. Damn his own legs. They couldn’t keep up with his little bruh. Fifteen is no age for PJ to start getting all sore in knees. Too many hours crouched on the floor with his PS5. Tired from a simple sprint up a hill. Jay’M already made it to the top. The boundless energy of a twelve-year-old.

“I beat you!”

“I don’t care. Only toddlers want to run everywhere. Might as well skip like a sissy. Kids my age take things in strides, bruh!”

Jay’M stood there and looked around anxiously. He didn’t want to go anywhere without his older brother.

“Hurry!”

“Dude, I don’t even want to be here.”

The neighborhood cemetery was at the top of this hill. Every kid living within a two mile radius heard the legend. Find the grave of Joseph Zielinski. Stand over it, look down and holler “Trick-or-Treat”. Holler that phrase several times if necessary. Most kids who tried this left disappointed. Every once in a while, some lucky kid (or some bullshitter) reported hearing a disembodied voice that some believed belonged to a witch. She would both cackle and groan at the same time. While this was scary enough, there was more. Supposedly, Joseph Zielinski himself, dead for over thirty years, would make contact with the kid who dared utter that Halloween phrase over his grave. But had this ever really happened? Had anyone really experienced what might equate to “the horror jackpot?”

“One dude woke Joseph Zielinski. I shit you not,” one kid might say.

“Bullshit. Who?” was a common retort.

“He doesn’t live around here anymore.”

“He doesn’t live anywhere. He doesn’t exist.”

Then another more curious kid might say, “What happened when he woke up?”

“His ghost appeared hovering over the grave,” to which the skeptic would follow, “Oh yeah, how come I heard the ghost comes up behind you to grab your shoulders? See, you guys can’t even keep your stories straight.”

Jay’M believed it. He at least believed the part about the witch. Gina was sitting by herself at the bench below on the trail that led up the hill. She had just told him she was at the grave and heard the witch, only ten minutes ago. If it happened only ten minutes ago, that meant the witch was really out this Halloween. Invisible, maybe, but also real.

Gina used to babysit Jay’M. As her former charge, he was convinced she wouldn’t lie to him. Besides, at seventeen, she was almost all grown up.

PJ eventually made it to the top of the hill. Soon after, Jay’M was running again.

“Come on! I know where it is! Tony at school told me where to look for it.”

PJ followed slowly, distractedly.

“Hurry up! You scared?”

“Hell no. Bored AF is more like it.”  Halloween or no Halloween, it was nine pm on a school night. He could be home right now playing Diablo 4 on his PS5

“Found it!” Jay’M said. He was excited.  Over here!”

“Dude, chill. I heard you the first time.”

Both boys were at Joseph Zielinski’s grave. Jay’M had his phone’s flashlight shining down on it. There was nothing special about it. It was a flat stone mostly hidden by grass. PJ was secretly impressed that his little bruh had found the damn thing. The graves next to it were better kept; the edges around the plaque trimmed, some even had fresh flowers.

Almost immediately Jay’M shouted “Trick-or-Treat!” PJ shoved an earbud into his ear and turned on his tunes.

“PJ, you’re not going to hear the witch!”

“What?”

“I said, ‘YOU’RE NOT GOING TO HEAR THE WITCH!”

“”Bruh, there is no witch. I’m not missing anything.”

Jay’M shrugged and continued on with “TRICK-OR-TREAT! TRICK-OR-TREAT! TRICK- OR-TREAT!”  Nothing. No cackling or moaning. PJ clandestinely turned the volume down on his phone just to see if his little brother’s efforts were paying off. They weren’t.

”Hear anything?” he asked, knowing there was nothing to hear.

“Well, I think I might have heard…wait..wait…I hear something!”

“No you don’t. I turned down the volume. There’s nothing.”

Jay’m looked dejected. Finally he said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right. Now let’s go, we gotta get home. Mom’s going kill us for staying out so late.”

The two boys strolled out of the cemetery and down the hill.  There were now two girls at the bench. Gina’s friend Maxie had joined her.

“Hear anything? See anything?” Gina wanted to know.

“Nothing,” PJ said.

“That legend is total bullshit!” Maxie said, “For the hell of it, I tried earlier tonight. Nothing happened.”

“Girl, I swear to God, I was just up there twenty minutes ago. I heard the witch!”

“Maybe that was your echo. Talking to yourself again, Gina?”

“Bitch, shut up!”  The girls laughed. PJ smiled. He had a crush on both of them. But they were two grades above him and he knew they weren’t interested in him in that way.

“You believe me, don’t you Jay’M?” Gina winked at him.

“I do! She wouldn’t come out cause PJ wouldn’t listen. He had his tunes on.”

With that, PJ realized he didn’t have his earbuds.

“Shit! I think I lost my earbuds”

“That sucks, bro!” Maxie said.

“You dropped them! Serves you right!” Jay’M said.

PJ turned to his brother, “Look, run on home. I’m going back up to look for them.”

“I want to come with you!”

“Just do as I say. You’re younger than me and Mom will be more pissed if you’re out late than if I am. Tell her I’m right behind you!”

“Fine.”  And Jay’M left. Home was only a block away. But PJ was in no hurry to get his earbuds. He just wanted to be alone with the girls.

Gina suddenly grinned immensely. “Now that the kid is gone, I can do this.” From her coat pocket she pulled out a THC pen.

“That’s why you’re hearing shit,” Maxie said, “Smoking that stuff will make you hear anything.”

“True that, but I haven’t puffed yet tonight.” Gina looked at PJ. “I didn’t want your little bruh to think his former babysitter was a bad girl.”  She laughed, inhaled, then handed the pen to PJ.

“No thanks,” he said shyly. She shrugged and handed it to Maxie, who obliged.

Suddenly PJ was feeling awkward. He wasn’t into smoking or vaping, whether it be THC, nicotine or whatever it was that kids puffed into their lungs. Maybe he would be in a year or two, but not now. And he didn’t know how to talk to people who were high.

Coming across the way were two boys, the same age as Gina and Maxie.

“Ramon! Jason! Come pop-a-squat!” 

Obviously Gina knew the boys and they sat down, four people squishing on the bench while PJ remained standing. Gina introduced them to PJ, but the older boys weren’t very interested. They puffed on Gina’s pipe and Gina told them about her experience at the grave.

“I heard the witch too!” Ramon said. “Last year. I shit you not and that kind of stuff freaks me out.” Jason confessed to trying the trick-or-treat thing but said he heard nothing.

PJ was feeling left out, out of place. He excused himself to go back up the hill to the cemetery to hopefully reclaim his lost earbuds.

“See ya around!” Gina said.

“Don’t get in trouble up there cause we ain’t coming after you,” Ramon said.

The older boys were treating PJ like a kid. As he started the uphill climb, he heard the older teens laughing. Laughing at him, most likely. He figured it served him right tho’. He had sent Jay’M on his way, making him feel like a little kid.

PJ went over the legend in his head as he neared the cemetery. Some people he knew heard the witch, so they said. No one he knew ever saw any incarnation of the old man buried eight feet under.. Whatever. It was all bullshit anyway. Ramon and Gina were stoners, of course. Stoners hear strange shit. Ramone was also an asshole. Assholes are assholes and they can only hear themselves fart. 

A few short minutes later, PJ found himself at John Zielinski’s grave. He aimed his phone’s flashlight down on the ground. Sure enough, his earbuds were there. He snatched them up quickly and put them in his ears.

PJ couldn’t help but smile. Here he was at this legendary grave and, what the Hell, he felt playful. No one was around to judge him. Yet he spoke quietly as if not to wake the dead. But wasn’t that the whole point of this, what do you call it, this “game?”

“Trick-or-treat,” he whispered. Of course, nothing happened. Why should anything have happened? Still, he had to admit, he felt disappointed. Admittedly, the tone of his voice had been quite lame. He could have done better than that. No mumbling. Proper annunciation. And louder. Much louder (but not too loud, he didn’t want the kids down the hill to hear him.)

“Trick-or-treat!” he said, almost but not quite shouting those words.

Two seconds. Five seconds.

“Why am I wasting my time,” he said to himself. 

Just as he was about to walk away, he heard it.  The moan. The cackle. The continuing sound of a squeaky-voiced woman in agony, crying out through obstructed airways. There was nobody else around. He was alone.

Suddenly he remembered. He had left a YouTube video running and his Bluetooth was on. The moan/cackle must have been from the video..  

PJ removed his earbuds. His ears were tuned only to the sounds of the night around him.

The moan/cackle persisted.

He took stock of his surroundings. He saw no one. He saw nothing unusual. Everything was still. There was no passing of shadows. He heard no shuffling of feet, he heard no rustling of branches or shrubbery. No one was hiding.

However, he did hear from off in the distance Gina’s wild laughter.

That’s it, PJ told himself, the kids down below were fucking with him somehow. Figures.

Gina’s laugh, coincidentally, resembled a cackle. When her far off laughter died down, PJ realized that the moaning and cackling sounds that had been so close had stopped as well.

PJ didn’t know how she threw her voice like that. Was he scared? He had to be honest with himself. Yes, he had been scared. Was there an Amazon Echo device hidden around here? Whatever, he wasn’t going to look for it.

“Good one, Gina, you got me,” he said out loud. One last look down at the grave. His flashlight was powered on. He smiled. One last turn at this game.

“Trick-or-treat!”

Suddenly, a hand reached out from underground, tearing up through the grass and soil. Its wrist was covered with decayed skin. Bones were visible. 

The witch  moaned once more.

The hand grasped PJ’s ankle in a clenched-finger grip.

PJ’s scream tore into the night.  

Down below, in response to the scream, Ramon said, “ I told him not to get in trouble. Kids never listen.”

Thirty Years Prior

Gretchen had pneumonia. This was the last thing she needed. Her immune system was already severely damaged from all the chemotherapy. She had tongue cancer. She had undergone a total glossectomy – the removal of her tongue.  No one knew what brought on this cancer. She was neither a smoker or drinker. She was never infected with a HPV virus. Just bad luck.

Or..

Some say she brought on the cancer herself. Her two sons thought so anyway. Not a religious man but not above invoking The Lord into situations that could not be explained, her oldest son Paul said, “All the negativity, all the nasty comments over the years, The Good Lord finally said ‘Enough!’ and took away her speech.”

Gretchen still spoke though. Or she tried to. Still fueled with hostilities, she screamed and cussed almost every time she tried to speak. Her foul speech was reduced to a demented cackling noise.

Neither son would have anything to do with her. Her youngest son Rick went through a bitter divorce all on account of his mother. His wife Jenna was not good enough for him. Gretchen told her so to her face many times. Rick was forced to choose between his mother and his wife. He couldn’t make the choice so Jenna made it for him. She left him.  Rick remarried, and right away Gretchen started giving his new wife shit.  This time, Rick cut off all communication with his mother.

Paul suffered from his mother’s toxic diatribes as well. She told him he was dumb. She told him he was a son of a bitch, to which Paul had said, “Can’t argue with that.”

Both sons loved their father, but Joe always stuck up for his wife. “You should respect her more, you should listen to what she says.” He was a weak man under the thumb of his domineering wife. So when Gretchen came down with cancer, after her tongue had been removed, neither son would help their father in taking care of their mother. When both Mother and Father dies, days or even hours apart from each other, the sons did handle the burial arrangement. Their parents had done some pre-funeral planning, but for whatever reason, they had only purchased one grave.

“Fuck it,” Paul said, “Let’s throw them in the same grave.”

Rick agreed and this is what they did. But the tombstone only honored their father.

Before their deaths, their father spent several agonizing years with his decrepit wife.

Joseph Zielinski was Gretchen’s sole caretaker.

Gretchen gave him Hell. Wore the man down.

The moan meant his wife was in pain. The cackle meant she was demanding that he do something for her. Even if her pain was minimal, she let it be known, loudly, that she wasn;t 100%.

Gretchen found sanctuary in the upstairs bedroom. She never left it.Joe brought her meals. Up and down the stairs Joe trudged. He changed her dressing or helped her to the bathroom. Through it all, she bitched and, mostly, moaned.

Then came the pneumonia. It was too much for Joe. When he could, he sat on his easy chair in the living room. Sat and did nothing. No TV watching, no reading, just staring at the wall and wondering :”why me?” 

Gretchen moan/cackled over the littlest things. Any kind of noise disturbed her. If a car alarm went off outside, she moan/cackled. When he ran the garbage disposal, the same. When there was a knock on the front door.

Halloween night. The trick-or-treaters came. Joe didn’t want to get out of his chair to answer the door. Sometimes the knock and the “trick-or-treat!” went unnoticed by his wife upstairs. These were her final days and she slept off and on. She would be in a deep sleep one minute, then only lightly sleeping the next.

The damn kids in this neighborhood, even with the main door closed they still shouted “Trick-or-treat.” When awake, the sound of the kids seemed to upset Gretchen the most.

“Unnnnnnnn-eeeeeee–klahhhhhh-oooooooan!”

Joe tried to ignore both his wife and the kids at the door. Very soon, he would be successful at ignoring his wife altogether, through no fault of his own. How can a dead man come to the aid of a dying wife? Impossible, so Gretchen too died, on November 1st.  But on Oct 31, at around 9:00pm, the last of the trick-or-treaters came to their door. Had Joe known it was to be the last, he would have ignored it. He was frazzled, half out of his mind. 

 Knock knock knock knock! “Trick-or-treat!”

“Unnnnnnnn-eeeeeee–klahhhhhh-oooooooan!”

Joe rose out of his chair. He was very dizzy, the left side of his body was numb. He was having a heart attack. Still, he managed to reach out to the front door. 

Gretchen moaned once more.

Joe died as his hand grasped the knob in a clenched-finger grip.