.png "Amanda Restover"){kind=small}
The Trick-or-Treat Bag That Bled
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| The Halloween Night That Changed Everything |
Halloween Was Never the Same
Halloween used to be my favorite night of the year. The laughter, the porch lights, the sound of kids shouting “trick or treat!” down the block it always made me feel like the world could still be warm and fun, just for one night. But that was before the year my little brother came home with a bag that bled.I remember that night like it’s still happening. The air was cold and sharp, the kind that smells like wet leaves and smoke. My brother came running up the driveway, out of breath, little vampire cape fluttering behind him. He dumped a pillowcase of candy onto the table, grinning wide enough to show those cheap plastic fangs. It should’ve been funny. Should’ve been harmless. But the bag didn’t sound right when it hit the wood. No clatter, no crinkle. It landed with a dull, heavy thud. And then I saw the dark patch spreading through the bottom.
The Bag That Shouldn’t Have Existed
He’d gone down Birch Hollow Road, even though Mom told us never to go that way. There’s an old burned-out house down there the Miller place. “Someone was there tonight,” he said proudly. “He gave me extra candy.” I felt my stomach twist a little. The last anyone heard, that house had been empty for decades. When I picked up the pillowcase, the fabric felt damp. The smell that came off it was wrong. Not chocolate, not caramel metallic, sharp. Like pennies. “What did he give you?” I asked. My brother just smiled. “Special candy,” he said, lowering his voice like it was a secret.What Was Inside
The knot at the top came loose after one tug. I wish I hadn’t looked inside. At first, I thought some of the candy had melted. There were shapes wrapped in crumpled foil, others just a mess of sticky caramel and glassy red sugar. But when I picked one up it was warm. Not melted, warm. I unwrapped it without thinking. Inside was something grayish, veined like spoiled fruit. And before I could drop it, I saw it twitch just slightly, like a muscle spasm. My brother’s voice was a whisper right next to my ear. “He said don’t eat it until midnight,” he murmured. “He said it’s better fresh.” I nearly threw up. But he giggled, like it was all some big joke.When It Started Moving
The bag began to move on its own. Slowly at first, just a few small rolls then harder, writhing, swelling as if something inside was alive. “Don’t touch it!” I shouted, but he already had. He jerked his hand back like he’d been burned. Red streaks ran down his wrist, soaking through his vampire sleeve.He laughed again. Only it wasn’t a laugh this time it sounded… broken. A bubbling sound came from his mouth, and when he looked up at me his gums were bleeding. The fake fangs fell out, clattering onto the table. The blood kept coming. Drip by drip. Pooling on the floor. Mom came running in then, yelling, thinking we’d made a mess. She tried to grab the pillowcase, but the bottom tore open.
What Fell Out
Something slid out and hit the floor with a wet smack. It looked like a face. Not a doll’s, not plastic something small, shriveled, with skin pulled tight and candy wrappers stuck to it. The mouth was open in a soundless scream. For a heartbeat, I swear it blinked. Mom screamed, dropped the bag, and pulled me backward. The thing twitched once, and then everything went still. When the police came, the pillowcase was empty. No face. No candy. Just red stains dried now, sticky and dark. And my brother was gone.What Nobody Believed
They said he ran away. That I was in shock, confused, making things up. But the officer who took my statement… he got quiet when I mentioned the Miller house. Finally, he said that place had burned down years ago. “No one’s lived there since old Harold Miller,” he muttered. I asked what happened to Miller. The officer hesitated. “They found him dead,” he said. “He had a trick-or-treat bag in his hands. Full of blood.” Just like my brother’s.Every Halloween After
It’s been years. I wish I could say time made it fade, but it hasn’t. Every Halloween, I still hear it the dragging scrape of fabric on pavement outside my window. Sometimes, in the cold moonlight, I see a small figure walking along the curb, holding a stained pillowcase that drips steadily onto the street. It always stops right in front of the house, head tilted up towards my window. Then it vanishes. I moved away once. Thought I was done with it. But last year, I woke up to the sound again. The next morning, there was candy on the kitchen counter new, shiny, wrapped like it came straight from the bag.I didn’t open it. But sometimes at night, I swear I can still hear it from the drawer where I hid it a faint, rhythmic sound, pulsing like something that’s still alive.
.png "Amanda Restover")