InstaHalloween
Instagram currently allows 2,200 characters. Each of these stories were written under these constrictions in a lead-up to Halloween. You can find the originals here.
October 20th
This next tale of abject terror involves a murder so foul.
Beyond that, there's not much else to the story. You know, just a small town. Cornfields. Bunch of trees everywhere. That's about it really. Thank goodness they had a gruesome murder to give us something to talk about.
It all happened sometime after midnight. Probably around four PM if memory serves me. That's a full sixteen post-midnight hours. Talk about scary.
The town dentist, Cain Cursore, was driving along a wild patch of pumpkins when he decided he'd like to take one home. He pulled over to the side of the road and roamed through the patch, looking for just the right one to bring home to the misses. He was going through a divorce, so she was more like a near-misses, but that's none of my business.
He eyed one in particular. This one seemed rounder than most. And oranger too. I mean, more oranger, if thats how you put it. No, that's not the word I'm thinking of. Its another word. One that rhymes with orange. Ill figure it out and get back to you.
Nonetheless, Cain knelt on one knee and attempted to rip the pumpkin from the ground. It wouldn't budge. He thought about going to the store and buying some farming tools. It wouldn't budget. "Expensive divorce lawyer!"
But then, as if by magic, the pumpkin rose from the ground. From its roots sprouted arms, and legs, and a new pair of Jordans. Say what you want but that vegetable was looking fresh.
"I am Jack L'Anturn" the Pumpkin said to Cain.
The dentist, shocked, horrified, driven to madness, sprinted back to his car. Jack gave chase. They wrestled on the hood. Before long, Cain fell unconscious in the dirt. Jack then drove the car repeatedly over Cain, saying "Soon us Pumpkins will overtake you humans!" and all the other pumpkins hurrah'd.
Left for dead, Cain awoke hours later and then vowed to get his revenge. He went to a candle store and bought a ton of them. Like sixteen bucks worth.
Then he went on a pumpkin stabbing spree, cutting out every pumpkin's innards and replacing them with a candle.
And thats the story of why dentists tell you to say Ahh. Its because they love to hear your screams and they like getting their fingers suckled.
October 21st
It was All Hallows Eve exactly one year ago when I was confronted by a ghastly exposition. With concern, I phoned the authorities, but they told me its not illegal to do that in public. So I went into a library and exposed myself. Then they took me to jail. What a bunch of bullshit.
I shall explain.
Approximately 10:31 PM last Halloween I was in a dreary eatery dining with a woman of the leather. A domina-something. I can never remember the rest of her title. Dominatrust? Dominatreat? Ah, the mind, how it plays its tricks me!
Her name was Sue, although I have several names Id much rather label her with. But I shant for I am a gentlemen. I will not stoop to lowly name calling. That sort of bitchery is for trollops like Sue, not I.
Alas, as the two of us feasted on brine and brandy I made mention of my latest scholastic accomplishment.
"I am certified in ways of public affairs. The university newspen is ripe within my grip!"
She sighed. Unimpressed.
I continued, "And I'm vice-chair to the organization of the middle America rebels."
Silence. She played on her phone.
I let loose the big banana. "I have petitioned the Governess to grant me full marginalization status!"
The dispondant Sue rolled her eyes and said "Is that all you ever talk about? Yourself?"
I was ghasted of my flabber!
"I dare say Sue, you seem to misappropriate me. Its as if my vast victimizations are of no use to you."
"Uh-huh," she exhaled dispasionately, "I was just hoping that... Well..."
"Go on, temptress!"
"Its just that I work with tortured people all day. When I go out on a date I'm hoping to meet a guy who'll, ya know, pin me down and make me his slave."
"But Bondage is the great sin of the west!," I trumpeted, "how on earth could one enjoy such subjugation?!"
"So... you won't tie me up tonight?"
"Goodness, no! If I were to domineer you I could never face the Diversity board again without shame!"
Thats when Sue, the awful wench, stood up and walked out on our meal. Before making her exit she spoke words of unspeakable torment to my ears.
"Maybe you should stop following the crowd," she spoke truly afoul, "try getting a personality of your own, hun."
Never had I been so afraid.
October 22nd
THEY
Dawn. Twisted steel. I emerge into a void of emptiness. Stale winds. Pink skies. The city is a barren wasteland.
So hungry. So thirsty. So tired.
Morning. No sign of the living. An empty labyrinth of streets. I sit on the gravel. Soon they'll arrive.
The clock tower bell rings. Moans. In the distance. Growing in volume.
The zombies. They've arrived. Now they call to me.
"Have you developed your key performance indicator?"
I scatter. Feet streak through broken glass and urine soaked sidewalks. They give chase, unaffected.
"Creating brand awareness is essential to market solutions."
I duck into a phone booth. Dialtone. No operator. I pound the receiver to the glass. The undead encroach me.
"Know your buyer persona so you can align your strategy to meet expectations."
I exit. I am outnumbered. The streets are flooded with they who lust for the living.
"Moniter your social accounts for key metrics."
They won't stop coming after me. They hunger to consume me. They won't stop until they feast upon my brain.
"Identify stakeholder needs!"
"Compile industry data!"
"Brand reputation!"
Into the tower. I ascend the staircase. To the sky.
They follow.
"Algorithms can predict what users want in their content package."
The rooftop. Clear blue sky. The zombies approach me. I am cornered. Its a long way down.
I cannot jump.
They attach their teeth to me. They pick away at my flesh until I am lifeless.
Noon.
Heat of the sun awakens me. I introduce myself.
"Its really great to be here. I look forward to meeting with everybody on the team. Im sure Ill make a great fit."
I take to the streets. A marketing expert. Empty of humanity. I hunger for the living.
October 24th
The day I met Death was unlike any other. I was fresh out of college and finally had to get a real job.
"Pleased to see you," Death said, "and thanks for coming to the interview."
I took a seat and tried not to look uncomfortable, but inside I was panicking when the questions came flying in.
"Says here on your resume that you have a degree in Film?"
"Yeah..." I tried to come up with a better answer but instead I just shit my pants. I dunno why, but something about staring Death in the face scared the crap outta me!
"Don't be nervous. It happens all the time," he said. "So, why do you want to work here?"
I said I liked people. Death laughed and said he gets along with most everybody in the office. Except for Human Resources. They're so full of themselves that not even Death is good enough for them.
After several minutes I was still feeling uncomfortable.
"You look frightened to Death," he said in the third person, really pompous. "Perhaps I should kill you... with kindness!" He laughed some more. "Terribly sorry but I never get tired of that one. Seeing the look on people's faces is such a treasure treat."
We traded a few jokes back and forth. Safe for work stuff mostly. Jokes without any life in them. Then I was able to relax a bit and so we got down to business.
"Your new job here at the IRS is simple," Death said, "be on the lookout for anybody attempting to leave the working class and put the fear of Death in them. Anybody investing, buying crypto, opening a small business, tell them that they can depend on two things: Death and taxes.
And with that I was hired. It wasn't much longer before I became an insatiable evil, a destroyer of dreams, and organizer for the office Secret Santa.
October 25th
Three Witches convening at the Cauldron in preparation of dinner.
"Eye of Newt," the eldest sister, Breena, tosses her favorite ingredient into the boiling pot.
"Boar's Snout," adds the youngest sister, Glinda.
Their green tongues salivating over the aroma of their occult mixture. More fiendish elements are consumed within the black boil.
"Wing of Bat!"
"Python Venom!"
"Tarantua's Ass!"
A piercing stare is cast down from the elder sibling.
"What?" Glinda responds. "I don't know what it's called. It's the big ass part. Tarantulas all have big asses."
"It must be called a Glinda on account of what a giant ass you are," Breena says, tossing in a satchel of Snake Teeth.
"Oh shut up."
"No, you shut up."
The two sisters turn their jagged yellow eyes to focus upon middle sister, Jinx.
"What have you to add?" Glinda inquiries.
"Nothing," Jinx protests.
"What do you mean nothing?"
"Im not eating. I'm sick of Newt eyes. We eat Newt's eyes every night. I'm plum tired of it."
"Don't be such a pisspot," Breena seethes. "Mom was right to name you Jinx. You're always messing about."
"I don't care. I wanna eat something else."
Breena hands Jinx a small bindle of coins. "Here's two quid. Go call someone who cares."
Glinda joins Breena in taunting laughter.
Jinx rolls her wart-covered eyelids in disgust.
"Typical middle-child boo-hooery," Breena says, "Tell us, what would Her Majesty like to eat tonight?"
"Yeah Jan Brady, tell us."
Jinx reaches into her blouse and removes a handkerchief. She unveils the bloodstained cloth to reveal a slippery mound of flesh.
"What is that?" Glinda asks.
"Human skin."
Breena is curious. "What kind?"
A parenthetical smile emerges on Jinx's green lips. "It's called Foreskin."
"My, look how is stretches!" Glinda observes. "We could make sandwiches!"
"Give it a smell."
Breena and Glinda each sniff it. It's a fantastic sensation. The two sisters fiendishly wrestle the foreskin for ownership.
"You don't have to fight over it," Jinx informs her sisters. "There's more than plenty to go round."
"Where?" both sisters say at once.
"The humans. The men-folk will let you have it for free."
"Really?"
"Just ask em. Grab your brooms. I'll show you at the bar."
October 26th
The thunderstorm passed into the bleak night. A distraught Frankenstein walked through the front door, tossing his kite against the floor of the foyer. Two lightning rods crashed along with it.
The Monster pouted all the way to his bedroom. He slammed the door and took a seat on the carpet, rolled up his sleeve, and licked his index finger. Then he jammed it into the wall socket. A jolt of electricity shot through him.
For a moment he was pleased.
He knew better than to overdo it but he couldn't help himself. 30 seconds into his fix, the power cut off.
"What the..." could be heard from the living room. Seconds later, a loud series of knocks rang at his door.
"Frankie, open up."
"Hold on," the Monster said, hurriedly replacing the outlet cover.
"Open this door now, Mister."
"I'm coming. Just give me a sec. Geez."
"Now, Frankie!"
The teenage Monster unlatched the door. In walked his Father.
"What's this?" Doctor Frankenstein wanted to know, waving around the electricity bill.
"Seventeen hundred dollar bill last month. Can you explain this?"
"I don't know." The Monster threw himself onto his bed.
"Well do you know why power is down? The whole house is out."
"Probably the storm."
"Oh really, the storm? You really think I'm that naive, Frankie? Huh? Better not be jabbing those outlets again!"
"I wasn't."
"Let me see your hands."
"Leave me alone. Gaaawd!"
Doctor Frankenstein took his son by the wrist and led him into the laboratory.
"Until you're ready to admit you have a problem I have to strap you to this table. You leave me no choice, Frankie."
"This sucks. Bobby's parents never do this crap to him."
"Bobby's parents are vampires. Don't compare me to them. They sit around biting each other like mesquitos and they're just as annoying."
Doctor Frankenstein incapacitated the Monster, removed its brain, and placed it in a vat of liquid nitrogen.
"I should give Igor a call," the Doctor said, "he certainly had his troubles with Igor Junior. If anyone knows how to reason with teenagers, I'm sure he has a pretty good hunch."
The Doctor stopped to think about what he said. Then he laughed.
"Oh, I kill myself sometimes."
He took one more look at his creation.
"Sometimes."
October 27th
Four college-aged teens warm themselves by the fireplace. They enjoy beef jerky and Pepsi products.
"Spending the weekend at this cabin deep in the forest without electricity was a good idea, Deke. Thanks for inviting us."
"Aw, shucks, Francine. Of course you and Edgar are welcome. The old Farmer who rented it said we'd enjoy ourselves to death."
Everyone laughs except Samantha.
"I don't like it. Something in those woods is watching us. I'm too creeped out to party. I'm going to my bedroom - the furthest down the hall - and locking my door."
They heckle her as she leaves. 'Baby!' 'Spoil Sport!'
In walks a fifth teenager, Curt. "Look what I found in the basement. The Tibetian Book of the Dead."
"Read it," they all say without considering the consequences.
"Booktu. Olde. Ensmells."
Outside, a hand rises from an unmarked grave and makes a fist.
"Tudum. Tuget. Outnow."
A glass window breaks in Samantha's room. She stumbles in the dark to find the door, but slips a lot. Her nightgown rips and one of her titties pops out.
"Weso. Scrood--"
A medieval sword falls off of the wall and decapitates Curt midsentence. Everybody screams.
Edgar carries Francine, who just fainted, in his arms and goes to the car. He tries to rev the engine but it wont start. The car sinks into quicksand and they cant get out because the doors are locked.
Samantha emerges from her room. "Where did everybody go?" she says eleven times. Then she grabs an oil lantern and ventures into the basement alone.
A hand reaches out and grabs her shoulder. Its Deke, the team quarterback who went to college on an athletic scholarship.
"I grabbed the Tibetian book of the dead. We have to destroy it before it destroys us."
He takes Samantha by the hand and they run outside. The cabin spontaneously explodes.
The forest laughs at them. Deke takes his shirt off and fights the woods. He gets his limbs torn off.
Samantha stumbles across the bridge to the farmers house. They have supper. She finds an eyeball in her stew. It's Curt's.
She runs into a bathroom without windows. The farmer takes an axe to the door.
Samantha remembers her kingfu training from childhood and kills him. She wanders outside and collapses.
October 28th
JULIA: Hi, I'm Julia!
VLAD: and I'm Vlad
BOTH: and we met each other at Vampire Dating dot com!
JULIA: I was at that point where I was sick of dating "normal" guys...
VLAD: I'd crept into so many bedrooms by then...
JULIA: I was looking for something different.
VLAD: I mean, after a thousand years of ritualistic night terror I wasn't having any fun. I started thinking to myself maybe I should open a sports bar.
JULIA: Then I saw his profile on Vampire Dating dot com.
VLAD: She had a good looking neck. *slurps his tongue in Julia's ear*
JULIA: It was love right away. On our first date...
VLAD: She came back to the castle. I transformed into a bat.
JULIA: Such a show off.
VLAD: You liked it.
JULIA: That night he offered me the unholy gift of immortality!
VLAD: No commitment issues here.
JULIA: Then he wanted to suck my blood. I told him I wasn't the sort of girl whose into sucking around on the first date.
VLAD: But she did.
JULIA: But I... *laughs uncontrollably*
VLAD: By morning she'd already grown her fangs.
JULIA: I was teething for like a week. But it was worth it to finally become a mistress to the undead!
NARRATOR: AT VAMPIRE DATING DOT COM WE CAN CONNECT YOU TO YOUR SOULMATE.
VLAD: Doesn't he mean, soul-less mate?
JULIA: Oh stop. *laughs at his humor*
NARRATOR: SIGN UP NOW
VLAD: Come here baby, I'm going to make you scream like there's garlic in your eye.
JULIA: Ooh, Tiger! Rawwr!
October 29th
Tonight's venture into the Occult concerns a Mr. Dummy. A sideshow in the traveling Circus, he earns his wages as a stage hypnotist. This evening, Mr. Dummy will not have any volunteers on stage to take their pants off. Instead, Mr. Dummy will be in the audience witnessing a show of his own making. Here, in the Twilight Zone. *Dew dew dew dew, Dew dew dew dew.*
"Welcome welcome, Mister?"
"Dummy."
"Mr. Dummy. Yes yes. Come right in," said the shopkeep standing amongst dusty, unlit shelves filled with gifts phantasmagoric.
"I'm in show business. So I'm after something gay."
"How so?" answered the shopkeep.
"You know, gay. As in the way everybody uses the word here in the 1800's."
"Right right right. How about a Monkey's Paw then?"
Mr. Dummy examined the severed simian limb. "Hmmm... is that all it does, make a fist? There's nothing at all gay about that."
"Of course not. No no." The shopkeep stood upon his step ladder and grabbed a ventriloquist doll.
"A Dummy for me? Mr. Dummy? How delightfully odd."
"That'll be forty dollars." said the shopkeep, who laughed evil-like as Mr. Dummy exited.
--
"What I should name you?"
"Your Mudda's asshole," the Dummy replied with a New York accent.
"You speak!" Mr. Dummy screamed.
"Yeah, I can talk, sing, dance. Put a few drinks in me and I'll hump your ear. Yowza!"
Mr. Dummy was aghast. "Quite the mouth on you!"
"That's what I said to your Sister last night. Real cocksucker! Who's your Dummy! Who's your dummy!"
"You must cease this foul tongue at once!"
"Or what, you'll shove your hand up someone else's ass? While you're down there, why don't you tickle my balls too. Ayaaa!"
--
Somewhere over the Mountains, Mr. Dummy tossed the doll out of a train carriage.
--
Three nights later he heard a knock.
--
"Open up, shit for brains!"
"You?"
"Sometimes Y. Know any other vowels, stupid?"
"You cannot be outside my door!"
"Well no one else is banging it. Sorta like you. Virrrrgin!"
Mr. Dummy went for the handle but the thought of opening the door frightened him. So he leapt out his window instead.
--
At the Hypnotist's funeral, a single voice spoke from the back of the crowd.
"Flatter than my Sister's tits! That's what he looks like now. Yowie!"
October 30th
In the twilight I resumed my practice as a necromancer. I'd assumed that I'd given up on raising the dead, but its a habit that's harder to quit than smoking. Seriously. I go three days without raising the dead and I start getting all pissy with everybody.
The alchemy is always done in my parlor. I never mix my potions elsewhere. I'm far too emotional about my potions. You could say that I'm e-potionable, but that would be foul-sounding English and I wouldn't enjoy it.
This is how I found myself in countenance with the sarcophagus of the Princess of the Nile. She had been unearthed after a 1000 years. It was thought that bringing her back to life would answer ancient secrets of the Rosetta Stone. At the very least she would be good for tourism. The Egyptians could sell a whole lotta tshirts with her mug on it.
I placed an amulet into the chest cavity of the Princess, doused it in virgin blood, and then watched an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. It usually takes 20-25 minutes to raise the dead. Perfect amount of time for a Raymond.
The Princess rose from her burial and slashed her knive-like fingernails across my face. As a reactionary measure I grabbed the girl by her cranium, positioned her throat across my shoulderblade, and dropped her with a Stone Cold Stunner.
The Egyptian Prince burst into the room asking for the source of the commotion. He fell to his knees and shook the Princess awake.
They locked eyes.
She cursed him for waking her from the dead. Apparently she had a great thing going on in the afterlife. She was dating River Phoenix and the getting was good.
The Prince pleaded for her to return to his Palace. That's when I realized the Prince was at least a 1000 years old and he still couldn't get over her.
I was like 'Yo, what the heck dude? Move on already. Stop jerking off to her hyroglypths, Bro.'
After she turned him down, the Prince drew a poison arrow into his heart.
I introduced the Princess to a 20th century invention: the sitcom. She loved it. We binged a season of Raymond and fooled around a little.
What can I say, I put the Romance in Necromancer! (It's a silly little joke I use sometimes and people seem to like it so I still say it.)
October 31st
The possession of Satan now overwhelmed the frail 11-year old girl. I tied her to the bedpost and phoned Priest Abernathy. He arrived in mere minutes.
"Fourth Exorcism this week for me. I don't know what's gotten into this town lately. Maybe its the water."
I spit my tea into his face. "The water? Are you serious?!"
"No," Abernathy replied, "Its just a figure of speech."
I spit more tea in his face.
"Stop doing that," he said.
"No."
"Where is young Rosie? I must tend to her Post Haste. Pronto. Now - if you get my drift."
I did.
We ran to the upper floor. Halfway up the wooden staircase, Abernathy collapsed to the floor from a massive coronary and clutched at his chest.
I returned to the kitchen and phoned the town medical Doctor. She jogged over, got halfway up my driveway and collapsed. A sprained ankle. Not a terrible injury overall but still pretty crazy that everyone in my house was either collapsing or turning into the Devil.
I phoned for a pizza but the delivery boy was ten minutes late. My cheesy bread was cold.
"Ill kill you, Devil!" I swore to hell.
I hung up the rotary phone. Thats when I saw Rosie spinning in circles on the kitchen ceiling. My only Daughter. Not even in high school and already learning to express herself uniquely. Makes a Dad proud.
She floated in the living room. "LOOK AT YOU PATHETIC FOOLS! YOU ALL WILL BE MADE TO SUFFER!"
I told her it wasn't nice to scream so loud. "Lets try using our Inside voice, okay sweetums?"
"ABERNATHY. BJORKY. ON YOUR FEET AND STAND BEFORE ME."
The Doctor and the Priest miraculously rose from their ailments and stepped into the room. I was so shocked I spit more tea in Abernathys face.
Rosie continued, "YOU HAVE FALLEN OUT OF GRACE. YOUR SOULS ARE MINE. NOW LETS DO SOME STANDING CRUNCHES."
They followed along with the physical exercise.
"ON YOUR HANDS AND KNEES. NOW WE'LL DO MOUNTAIN CLIMBERS."
Rosie gurgled green bile as the intensity of the workout went on.
"What is this?!" I asked Abernathy.
"Its...its..." the Priest cried, "something so evil that only the Devil could've come up with such a blasphemous creation!"
"What?"
"Its a reverse Exorcism. Otherwise known as Exercising!"
"TIME FOR CRUNCHES"
"No!!"
~Adam Moyer
instagram.com/awfullyperson
