‘Twas the night before Halloween, and all through the house,
Backstreet Boys hits were playing
Thanks to Megan Krauss
Megan was alone at home enjoying a guiltless Backstreet Boys concert from her bedroom and reflecting on how Howie D. was to blame for BSB not reaching *NSYNC’s level of popularity. The stifling dark clouds holding the stars hostage had ousted all traces of sunlight in the sky. The talk on her Facebook news feed was that meteorologists had forecasted a bad thunderstorm with significant lightning and possible hail. In essence, it was cloudy with a 100% chance that Megan was going to use the inclement weather as an excuse to wear yoga pants, a hoodie she earned in high school for her role as treasurer of student council, and residue from Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. Little did Megan know, this evening was not fated to go as she’d planned. The terror lurking inside her own home was far worse than anything Mother Nature’s wrath could conjure.
Megan paused “Get Another Boyfriend” and idly wandered out into the living room to turn on the TV. After passing up on a Lifetime special about teachers sleeping with their students and a home improvement reality show starring a celebrity no one’s cared about since the early 90s, she heard a sound coming from her bedroom. What was that? she wondered, muting the TV.
“Hello?” she called, embarrassed to be doing that dumb thing every scary movie writer includes in the script to make the audience think the protagonist isn’t really alone. There was no answer.
She figured it was just her computer reminding her that iTunes 4.419582958 is ready to install. She shrugged, unmuting the TV to watch a rerun of Angry Dance Coach Ruins Little Girl’s Lives. Angry Dance Coach had just sputtered off into a profanity-laden screaming match with one of the little girl’s moms when she heard it again—that familiar, foreboding sound. She muted the TV again. Perhaps it was just a dog howling in anticipation of the storm, or a tree branch tickling the shingles of the roof. She held her breath in the momentary silence, eager to see how quickly this dance dispute shifted to a critique on little girl’s mom’s poor parenting, but there it was again—that melody of woe. Megan walked to the doorway of her bedroom, peeking around the doorjamb. The sound persisted. She made her hands into earmuffs and fought her way through the sound waves to confront the source of the sound. It was overwhelming in its frequency, yet almost hypnotic. For a moment, she was tempted to bend to its will. She reached out, ready to sacrifice herself, but just as she was about to tap out, it stopped.
She collapsed onto the bed, exhaling in relief when a different sound crept up behind her when she least expected it. She let out a scream, but there was nothing she could do. She had let her guard down, and it was already there, waiting to steal her attention and free time. She begged it not to be true, hoping it was all in her head. There was too much she still wanted to do! She had TV shows to watch! A Hocus Pocus DVD to put in! Thunder roared from the outside, reminding her that in life, sometimes there are forces even greater than you. It was in that moment she accepted her fate.
You see Megan had planned to spend the evening eating all the good candy (Hershey Bars and Kit Kats) and leaving all the shitty candy for the trick-or-treaters (Butterfingers and Crunch Bars). She had grand plans to YouTube the night away watching Halloween makeup tutorials she’d have no chance of replicating with any success. She was going to browse all the Halloween boards on Pinterest and lament all the crafts she hadn’t made. She intended on using the “Trick or Tweet” joke on at least one person. But that was all over now. It was all ending right before her eyes. There was nowhere left to run, no curtains to hide behind.
With every once of courage she could muster, Megan picked up her phone, viewed her missed calls, and surrendered herself to the sinister voicemail message that was waiting for her.
