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Halloween Horror List



Moderator Taqula started a narrative on the posts that was added on to by one, then another and another of our members. As the story grew, grins broadened as more members participated and created a story with some interesting twists and characters. With tremendous pride in our collective effort, I now present...

Come, listen to my tale

By Taqula:
It was hot, dry and dusty in Death Valley as the Haunted Halloween caravan passes through the dessert. Then shimmering in the heat: is that a mirage? No, it is a town. As if out of nowhere it appears, a small old western town, just like something in an old John Wayne western. As the caravan comes to a stop, a cold wind rises, a tumbleweed rolls down main street, and a lone coyote howls in the distance.

Then out of the saloon comes a figure, "Waal, howdy folks! Welcome to the town of Taqula! My name's Taqula and I am the Mayor of this here town. Now ya'll welcome to stay fer a spell since the bridge was washed out down yonder. Let's mosey on down to the saloon. Ya'll look a mite parched."

As they walked into the saloon, they noticed it was old; very old. All covered in cobwebs and looking undisturbed for ages. An old piano in the corner started to play a weird off key melody.

"Dust off a seat, folks, and take a load off. Get comfortable. Looks like ya'll be with us fer a spell, he he. Let's see `bout them drinks. Crimson! Dagnabit, where is she? I can never find her when I need her!"

Then a lone grizzled figure with fiery green eyes and an exquisite nose appears as if from behind.

"This here, folks, is Crimson the Deputy of our little community. Now don't ya'll be gettin' her riled cause we have a few little rules in our town: no fightin', no curssin', no spittin', no gunplay! If'n ya'll be gettin' a mite rowdy we have ways to deal with you. See, folks, Crimson's not only the Deputy, she's also the bouncer! And don't go complainin' to the Sheriff cause you're lookin at 'im! Enjoy your stay. But remember I'll be a-watchin'!"

By Jagger:
The tall thin stranger in the long black duster sat weary in the saddle. She had been ridin' fer days to catch up to the dirth scoundrel that had stolen her life savings and left her to die. She dismounted, tied her horse at the waterin' trough & sauntered into the saloon. As she wiped the sweat off her forehead with her dirty red bandana, she spat into the dusty spitoon.

"No spitten, eh? Well would ya rather see me chew it up and swallow it? You're sure full O' Vim N' Vigor fer an old geezer! I got business here and I aim to take care of it!"

The old geezer, apparently someone of importance the way he gave orders, just looked the stranger up and down, his eyes resting on the sparkling 45's at the stranger's hips.

"Well, you just do that," he said to the stranger, "and then ...move on!" With that he turned and began wiping down the bar. The piano player went back to playing.

Crimson smiled at the stranger and said, "we could use a gun like you around here. Why don't you stay a while?" With that a flash of lightning was heard, and a crack of thunder; or was it a gunshot? A dusty gust of cold wind blew open the swinging doors and the saloon was suddenly empty. The stranger looked around and saw she was alone...

By Scary Mary:
Very alone, or so the stranger with the 45's on her hips thought. But she wasn't alone, not at all! As she began to look around the saloon, really look, she began to notice that there were eyes peering out at her everywhere; from the paintings on the walls, from the stuffed and mounted animal heads hanging high on the saloon walls, from the deep recesses of the ceiling and solid oak back-bar. Everywhere she looked someone, or something, was watching her.

As she walked around the room, a chill from somewhere deep down inside her began to surface at the base of her spine. Something told her it was time to git! She turned towards the swinging doors that lead to the dusty street and realized it was a very long way across the open expanse of the saloon; and she couldn't cross it fast enough. She began to walk as fast as the chill was moving up her back. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. All she knew was that she had to concentrate on getting the hell out of there. Something was coming for her. She knew it. She could feel it. Twenty feet, fifteen feet, only 10 feet to go and she would be back out in the cold, wintry sunlight of the old ghost town, safe from the impending doom of the saloon.

Only five feet to go. And then she heard it. A sound that would terrify her dreams for the rest of her life. If she lived, that is. The sound of a pain so excruciating, so lifeless, yet so full of demonic hate that she froze solid in her tracks. For a moment she went blank. She knew she was staring at the swinging doors of the saloon, but it wasn't registering what she was looking at.

There in front of her, blocking her exit to the street and safety, taking up the full expanse of the doorway, stood the most frightening thing she had ever seen, ever thought of, ever dreamt of, in all of her life. A huge monstrous "thing", with green skin, a giant nose covered in warts, a bloody gash some would call a mouth and a pair of eyes so black yet so glowing that they seemed alive all by themselves. With two hands, really giant claw-like appendages, the monster held the swinging doors completely open; spread so far apart that they had swung all of the way back to touch the inner wall of the saloon, stressing their hinges so that they were about to give way and fall except for the monster's grip.

Moments passed as the two, beauty and beast, stared each other down. Finally, the monster let go of the saloon doors while simultaneously stepping into the room, covering the 5 foot distance between it and the cowgirl in a single movement. Towering above the stranger, the monster looked down and took in a deep breath; a breath that seemed to take an hour to inhale, but only a split second to exhale back into the stranger's face. A breath that was so putrid with the rancid smell of death and decay that the stranger turned her face towards the spitoon and let go all of the fear and fright that had been welling up in her belly that day. Along with some bad water she had drank earlier at a local stream and some old moldy bread that she had called lunch, the stranger purged her innards into the spitoon. Holding on to her knees, weak from the emotional strain of the last twenty minutes, with her shaking hands, she turned back towards the monster, straightened up and met its unwavering gaze. Finally, the stranger knew she would have to speak; to say something that confirmed she could still hear her own voice.

"What in blue hades are you?" she asked the monster. The monster kinked it's head to one side, recognizing a noise eminating from the stranger but not understanding the words. In response to the squeaky, scratchy little noise, actually a pleasant, melodious voice to another human, the monster responded with that wailing, painful cry it had given off when they first met.

Then it hit the stranger like a ton of bricks; it was true, the story that was told about a creature from way up in the mountains. One that has inspired fear in the hearts of even the toughest of men. One that, legend has it anyway, is able to destroy, mangle and devour an entire town, like this one, in less than a day's time. A monster so vile and so cruel it has defied description in gentler circles. And here it stood before the stranger; it was THE BANSHEE!

As the truth of the situation swept over the stranger, like the ocean moves upon the sand, the stranger began to know for the first time in her life what true life-threatening fear felt like. She felt out of her body, in a fog; a fear so deep that she could neither move, nor stand still; speak, nor shutup; see, nor be blind.

By Banshee:
The monster looked down at the hapless woman, laying on the floor in a fetal postion, and decided that this prey was not what it truly desired. The green thing raised its head high into the air and sniffed. A delectable aroma, borne by the wind, wafted through the open doorway, stirring the creatures senses with longing and hunger. It heaved its massive body and left the prone stranger, her useless 45's still in their holsters. The creature left the saloon, still sniffing the air to follow the scent that beckoned to its awakening desires.

The female gunslinger, realizing that the monster had left and had not devoured her as she had feared, got up and ran her hands down her curvaceous frame, making certain that all limbs and body parts were still there. She looked up at the paintings and holes in the walls, at the mounted animal heads. She was filled with anger as she realized what they had done; these townspeople who hid and peered at her from their secret hiding places. They had left her for bait!

With deliberate movement, she picked up her ten-gallon hat and dusted it off before placing it on her raven tresses. She made a sweeping gaze across the room, making certain to make as much eye contact as possible with the townspeople still cowering in their hiding places. She spat on the floor, intentionally missing the spittoon, turned and strode out of the saloon; the doors nearly breaking from their hinges by the force of her anger. Jumping onto the back of her horse, she turned the lead and headed in the direction from which she had entered this ill-begotten town. She remembered seeing a ramshackle cabin about a mile from the outskirts of town, a sign posted nearby for "ScaryMary's Plaze - spells, po'shuns and charmz."

As she passed through town, the gunslinger heard a high pitched shriek come from a building marked as "Yang's Laundry". With a grim smile, she felt thankful that the evil, hideous monster had discarded her in favor of having a little Chinese for lunch.

At full gallop, the gunslinger reached the delapidated cabin. A foul odor hung in the air, getting thicker the closer she got to the entrance, nearly gagging her with its cloying stench. But her stomach, having already been emptied of its contents, only heaved in slight protest as she opened the door.

It was dark within the cabin and she stopped at the entrance to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Hidden in the shadows of the cabin's interior, a voice called out, dry and shrill in its hideous cackling, and bid her enter. She swallowed, uncertain if she had chosen a safer course over facing the monster. A figure emerged from the darkness, hunch-backed, with dirty rags passing for clothing wrapped around its body. The woman's eyes watered with the burn of acid; a tear fell and left a trail of moisture down her beautiful face. She wrinkled her dainty nose. It was from her, this person that crept out of the darkness, that the sour smell emanated and filled the air, escaping the confines of the cabin and permeating the surrounding atmosphere. The woman's lungs were about to burst from taking shallow breaths, but she withstood the assault to her senses.

The crone came into the light shed by the lone candle standing vigil near the door. The gunslinger gasped; surely if she hadn't seen true hideousness in the form of the horrible banshee, then she was looking at it now. The hag's features were drawn and pinched; skin stretched tight, barely hiding the outline of her skull. A few tufts of silvery hair clung in patches to a head bald as the moon. She smiled at the gunslinger; what few teeth remained were green and black with rot. Spittle clung to her dry lips as she croaked a greeting.

"What do you desire, my dear?" the hag called ScaryMary cackled.

"I want revenge," the woman said. The hag cast a baleful look at her, squinting through the one seeing eye; the other, white from death, recessed deep within its socket. With nary a sound, the witch turned and pulled something from a shelf. It was a small glass flask. The gunslinger twirled it in her fingers and watched the thick liquid inside roll with the turn.

"I believe this is what you want," the old woman said.

"What do I owe you?" asked the female gunslinger. With that, the witch turned and hobbled back into the shadows, a cackle of ugly laughter followed her.

"I'll collect my reward when it's due," she said. Then there was silence; not a sound, a murmur, the shuffling of feet, could be heard from the dark bowels of the cabin. Quickly, the woman turned and fled out of the door into the night air. Although the smell of death still surrounded her, she was able to breathe deeply now and did so, drawing gulps of air into her oxygen-deprived lungs. She looked down at the flask she clenched in her hand; the captive golden liquid sparkled in the sun. Tucking the flask between her shirt and belt, she mounted her horse and turned to look once more at the cabin. She gasped. It was gone; disappeared into nothingness. Not even an outline of its foundation remained on the ground. Frightened, the woman dug her spurs into her horse to take flight from this evil place. She wondered at her sanity but felt the outline of the flask against her skin, her only proof of what she had seen and done. With a cruel smile twisting her pretty face, she rode her horse in the direction of the sleepy town.

By Matt:
The stranger continued on her way. She was shaken and disoriented. Her mind felt heavy with doubt. Doubt of what her eyes and ears would tell her. Doubt of her survival. She found herself clinging to the familiar smoothness and smell of her saddle, and took comfort in the steady breathing of her horse. At least she was not alone. Dammit, she thought. If she could get through this she could get through anything. She summoned her courage and coaxed her horse into a gallop. Her single-mindedness shoved her fear into the back of her mind. All she could afford to concentrate on was the task at hand. REVENGE.

A grove of leafless trees surrounded her. Crooked branches flew past her face. The tunnel that the branches formed over the well trodden path became more dense. If she didn't know better, she would have thought that the dust covered trees themselves were closing in, knotting their tendrils to blot out the stars. She gritted her teeth and focused on the opening ahead. She was letting her imagination get the best of her. All I will let myself see is that exit, she kept repeating to herself. She knew she was being watched.

The branches above her head shifted and groaned as if a breeze moved them. There was no breeze though. Her eyes darted upwards towards the noise, and then back ahead. The exit was gone! Her horse reared up, and she had to summon all her strength to stay on the beast. She could calm the horse, but not the heart that was pounding behind her ribs. She dismounted to examine the dense thicket that now blocked her way. She slowly walked into the darkness, feeling her way forward with her hands. Something brushed her back, and she swatted at it, and winced with pain as she realized that she was cut. She whipped around to see a new visitor.

A man stood before her. He was tall, there was no doubt about that, but something made him seem larger than he looked. His face wore a condescending smile.

"You look lost."

"I'm not a damn damsel in distress, it that's what your asking. I'm fine." She returned her attention to the thicket that blocked the exit. She had no interest in meeting another one of the freaks in this town. She only wanted to get out. Her cut finger pulsed.

"I didn't ask who you were. I asked if you were lost, which I can clearly tell you are. The guards won't let such a beautiful creature go so easily." His voice was almost a low purr.

Now she was pissed. She was in no mood to play! She whipped around and almost jumped through her skin. His face was inches from hers. One of his white fingers caressed her face. His nearly white eyes, while fascinated with her, held all the warmth of a glacier. She found herself paralyzed. She kept telling her hands to grab her gun, but they no longer spoke her language. She didn't like feeling helpless. She didn't like it at all.

Her voice could barely whisper. Her face contorted with her struggle to speak.

"Let me out of here" she croaked. The gloom of the forest erupted in a cacophony of high pitched laughter.

"It's hardly up to me," the man cooed. "The guards seem to think you'll be fun, and I must admit that I have to agree. You're quite captivating."

By Aerail:
An unknown sound suddenly drowns out the laughter,exploding tenfold in her ears. Foolishly the man raised his eyes away from her face, his hypnotic gaze broken... distracting him enough that he looked away and she took her chance. She ran, her emotions so raw they were bleeding through her skin. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this ordeal, the terror and desolation of knowing that she was alone with the slime ridden maggoty infested inhabitants of this town.

She gripped the saddle of her horse and started to haul her body up but her hands were somehow gone, would not respond to the commands of her brain... and her feet... where did they go? A thousand straight pins pierced her thighs. Her whole body now pulsed from the cut on her finger, conflicting between pain and numbness. Sirens called from the darkness urging her to sleep, when had it gotten dark? Her chance was gone, maybe it never was really there. And then as the light faded from her mind she saw them... the guards... small haunting eyes pierced her soul... themselves soulless globes without expression. Dozens of them... surrounding her body... as she fell into the black velvet void they sought her...

By Crimson:
Opening her lovely green eyes the stranger realized she was no longer in the woods. Suddenly she found herself out in the open. In the dead of the night the stranger lay as if in a dream without light. There loomed before her a solid black wall of rock pierced by a dark arch like a great gate. It seemed to the stranger that she was not of herself anymore. Beside her lay the empty, broken bottle. "Gawd dangit," she cursed to no one but herself. She felt as though she floated above herself looking down. She became aware that the rock wall was actually a circle of hills, and that within it was a plain, and in the midst of the plain stood a pinnacle of stone, like a vast tower, but not made of hands, at least not human hands. On the top of the stone stood a figure. The moon shone bright and she believed the figure to be a man but her eyes would not focus. Suddenly the figure raised it's head and stared at the woman as if he could see into her soul. Eyes glistened but the figure remained obscure. If only I could float down, thought the beautiful gunslinger. Suddenly up from the dark plain below came the crying of voices, and the howling of many wolves. From in the distance there was a noise like a strong wind blowing, and on it was borne the sound of hoofs, galloping... galloping... galloping closer. When she thought she could stand it no more, the sound of the thundering hooves racing toward her, outracing the sound of her own heart beat, she looked up to see the threat coming, to face her fear.

By Taqula:
Then there was nothing, no sound, no movement, no wind. As she rose she shook her head, was this a dream? But the stillness of the cold black dessert air told her it wasn't. As her mind reeled, her body started to shiver, not so much from the cold but more from the events that had taken place. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" she muttered to herself.

"That's what I was a thinkin'!" a voice said behind her. She jumped as she turned, only to meet the steely gaze of the sheriff, astride a mare that was as black as the dessert night.

"Girlie, ya don't know what you got yo' self into, but seein' ya come as far as ya did, well... mebee I kin use ya." As the sheriff extended a black gloved hand she didn't know why but she was afraid now more then ever. With his help, she climbed up behind him on his horse. They rode into the still night air. Soon they entered into the still deserted town. Her skin crawled with the feeling of being watched.

"Sheriff why are there no people around?" she asked.

"I demand to know what this all about!" she exclaimed as the sheriff slid her off his horse and dismounted. Slowly the sheriff turned and met her eye to eye.

"Now look here! You're in no position ta argue! And the less you know the better! Ah don't want no trouble from the likes o' you. Ya look a mite ornery ta me. And if ya know what's good for ya you'll shut up an' lissen!" With that the sherrif told her to follow him and this time she did as she was told. They walked with what seemed liked (as he would say) a good stretch of the legs. Before she knew it they were at the old cemetery.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, suddenly very afraid.

"Well girlie, I'm gonna tell you a story an' tha only way you kin unerstand it is to see fer yourself," the sheriff said. "But first let's get a fire goin' coz it's a mite cool."

As the fire started, the woman waited to hear the story that would bring an end to this nightmare. She couldn't help think of what brought her to this strange place. How all she had wanted was a nice piece of land to build a home; then he showed up. That rascal that stole her money. And nearly stole her heart. But that's another story...

The fire was now a roaring blaze. The sheriff, satisfied with his work, came and sat next to her. He was quiet a moment, staring into the dancing flames. Then he started to speak.

"Near `bout 40 years past tha railroad was a comin' thru here, and a man named Willhiem Gates came thru ta see if there was anyway to profit from this bit o' news. There were a few homesteaders and a few prospectors and our little town. But other than that, nothin much else. So him being a greedy so in so, he tried to buy up all the land in the area. Most folks did sell and the railroad started to build. But then an old injun came to see me thinkin I was the cause of this. I explained to this ol' injun that he's got to talk to Willhiem Gates cause he's the man in charge o' the buildin'. Waal, this injun tried ta talk to him ta make him unnerstand that what he was doin was sacrilege and he was buildin right on top of an old indian burial ground. That disturbing the ancestors cannot be done, and great harm would come to all who helped disturb their final resting place. Now this ol' injun was a man of peace but when this Gates fella refused to lissen he got riled. So Gates up `n shoots im, and bury's him right under the tracks. That night Gates has a dream of that ol injun. How since he has bothered the ancestral burial ground the ancestors will seek their revenge and since this land means so much to the white man whoever is on this land will stay on this land, never to leave until they are avenged. And how Gates, since he lived for silver he must die by silver, would forever roam the land, never to know peace. Waal, the next mornin Gates was runnin like a dad burn fool mutterin to hisself and confessin to it all. When I got wind of this I rode up to his place to see what all the fuss was about, but he wasn't there. Jus his wife, an old hag named Mary, and she was worried sick sayin how she aint seen 'im and if'n I could find em. Waal, I got me a posse and we searched for weeks. We searched but we jus couldn' find him. Then a few o' my men tells me they sees some hideous beast in the foothills and the legend of the banshee got started."

"Sheriff," the woman broke into his recital. "This is all well and good, but what does that have to do with me?"

"Well let's jus say there are somethings that we can't do for ourselves. By the way, here are your guns. Ya dropped them when I found you."

She opened her mouth to ask more questions but suddenly the fire started acting strangely and a wind had kicked up. There was a chill in the air; the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and you feel that you'll never know warmth again. As she looked, the sheriff rose and motioned for her.

"Ya'll better get behind me and do like I say," he said. "No more questions now." This time she knew better than to ask why, and quickly stood where she was told. All of a sudden an ungodly scream/howl pierced the night. The fire glowed with such intensity as to burn itself out in a second. The wind started twirling like a hurricane and with such force she was suprised to be still standing. There was a noise as if made by all that is unholy, a screech that seemed to come from the bowels of Hell itself. Then the woman was pushed out of the way and felt herself falling on the cold hard ground. Through the smoke she could see the sheriff fighting, struggling with a man... No! It was the beast! The horrible thing she had met earlier. As she tried to make sense of what was happening she heard the sheriff yelling, screaming, commanding.

"Shoot it! Shoot it right between the eyes! Put it out of it's misery!" The gunslinger raised her guns, noticing that they were somehow different. As she tried to see through the smoke and haze, she could barely see the sheriff and the creature; two shadows doing an odd dance among the smoke and fire. Then she fired, the recoil of her guns throwing her to the ground; never had they done that before. She slipped into unconsciousness...


It was bright and sunny as the mini-bus with the Halloween conventioneers pulled up to the gas station.

"Where ya'll goin'?" the attendant asked. "We don't get many strangers round these parts."

"We just came from a town called Taqula," the driver replied.

"Taqula!" the attendant exclaimed. "Why, there tain't nutthin' ta see there. It was an old ghost town but it burnt ta the ground some odd years ago. Tain't nothin' left but some old boards and junk." Within the bus, the conventioneers looked at each other. They turned to look at the attendant and found themselves... all alone.





Winged eyeball

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