This evening, I drank a peppermint mocha coffee from Starbucks and listened to Christmas music on the radio. No, I'm not rushing the holiday or skipping Thanksgiving (even though the history of Thanksgiving is sort of questionable to me). I just needed some cheer after reading about the gut-wrenching news of Lee's passing this week. I feel at peace right now. I'll be writing my Christmas story soon. I don't know if it'll be a horror or lighthearted tale this year, but I know Lee will be in it in some way. I want people to see the caring person who I chatted with for ten years. I'll be trying to brainstorm some story ideas this weekend.
I can't believe I'm writing this goodbye letter to you. A part of me is still waiting for a text from you, but here we are. I've known you since my twenties, and you have become an important person in my life. Thank you for being such a kind friend and for always being there to listen. Most people didn't want to see it because you were different, but you were an amazing man. You were very smart and an awesome writer. You had a huge heart. You were giving (almost too giving sometimes lol). I'll always remember our chats, jokes, and secrets. We could be ourselves and were in our little own world when we chatted. I'm sorry that I couldn't be there to comfort you. I'm sorry for not checking on you after Halloween. I should've said more the last time we spoke. Even though I saw you slipping away, I was trying to remain positive. I just hoped you would bounce back from this somehow. You'll be in my heart forever. You were and will remain one of my best friends. I'm glad you aren't suffering anymore. You can be at peace now. My heart is breaking, but I know you'll always hear me from heaven.
Happy birthday! How is the party in heaven? I know you're having a blast right now. I'm just thinking about you, and I miss you. We all miss you every day. I miss your silly jokes and songs. 😀 I miss racing you down the school hallway (even though you always won because I was laughing the whole time lol). The few happy memories I have of middle and high school involve you. Thank you for being a good friend. Have a fun day up there. I know you're always watching over us and I'm grateful, but can you visit my dreams soon? It's been a while.
I love you.
Lena (Dork-face 😛)
P.S. I found that funny song you sang about Elmo on YouTube. 😁 I still don't like the Grover part, lol. 😜
Macabre is a small town in Missouri that the state likes to pretend it doesn’t exist. To an outsider, it’s an ordinary and simple place with a tiny police department, family-owned stores, and a church almost at every corner, but it’s shrouded in mystery. No one knows where the town got its strange name or how it came to be. The town’s history is minimal. Macabre also has massive amounts of unsolved and uninvestigated disappearances and murders of kids and teenagers.
On October 31st, 1999, sixteen-year-old Hagatha Vix and her boyfriend, seventeen-year-old Adam Maxwell were goofing around and playing with an Ouji board in a nearby cemetery. Hagatha was an eccentric Goth girl with long jet-black hair, dark eye makeup that made her green eyes pop, black lipstick on her luscious lips, and flowing clothes that made it look like she was levitating. She loved anything paranormal and dark, and him. Adam was the only one who accepted the way she was. He was a mischievous and rebellious boy who loved her and his motorcycle. He was tall, muscular, and slim. He had a sly grin and spiky dark-brown hair. He also wore mirrored sunglasses over his gray eyes and a black jacket over a white tee, a pair of blue jeans, and boots. He thought Macabre was lame and Hagatha was the coolest girl in town.
The adults told them not to go to the cemetery on that Halloween night, but they didn’t listen. They lit up the graveyard with black candles and blared rock music throughout the night. They were loud and unruly, asking the dead crude questions on the Ouji board. They sang and cackled at themselves; kissing and eating a bag of candy. Suddenly, there was a great gust of wind and a hellish, inhuman screech that would make one’s blood go cold. Then, there were two horrific, long, ear-piercing, pleading screams. Everything went abruptly silent again after a minute. People ignored it until Hagatha and Adam didn’t come home later that night.
When the police finally arrived at the cemetery, there was complete carnage. The teenage couple’s stereo was smashed, their candles were blown out and knocked over in the puddles of blood, and their candy was squished and soaked with blood. Blood was splattered all over the headstones as well; two pairs of human brains, lungs, hearts, gallbladders, kidneys, and splines were scattered across the cemetery. Strains of bloody jet-black hairs and dark-brown hairs hung from trees. Human intestines were also wrapped around the Ouji board’s planchette. Hagatha and Adam were obviously dead, but their bodies were nowhere to be found. Oddly, their deaths were never reported by the news or investigated by the cops despite the disturbing circumstances. Their families didn’t even have funeral services. Their parts were just buried, and their families pretended like they never existed.
Then, in October 2006, there was Andy Tone; a seven-year-old, red-headed, freckled boy who was afraid of his own shadow. He was short and meek, and he barely spoke. He also suffered from horrible night terrors and nightmares. He had an intense fear of evil spirits taking him away. One day, his father, Thomas, gave him an orange Beanie Baby ghost named Haunt to comfort him at night. The plush, smiling ghost did the trick after a week; Andy was no longer afraid. His nightmares were gone.
When he started to take the plush ghost to school, his confidence also began to grow. Andy became more outgoing and started to make more friends. His parents didn’t understand how a toy could make this kind of change in personality. When they asked Andy about it, all he said was: “Haunt is teaching me how to be powerful and make people like me.”
This comment seemed strange but they chalked it up to a child’s imagination and were just happy that their son was less fearful and more sociable. This happiness was short-lived though. Over time, Andy became defiant, violent, and possessive; only he could hold or look at the plush. One afternoon, a sixth grader tried to get the plush ghost from Andy’s backpack as a prank. Before the older boy could grab it, Andy zipped around to face him. With a strength that no seven-year-old should have, he grabbed the boy’s arm and twisted it backward, breaking it. Then, as the older boy howled in agony and the other children screamed in horror, Andy kicked him to the ground. He beat the boy to a bloody pulp, smashing his skull with a pencil box; blood splashing everywhere. All the while, he kept yelling: “Haunt is my master and power! He wants me, not you! Not you!!”
The teacher tried to stop it, but by the time she made it through the crowd, the poor sixth grader was dead. Andy then disappeared into the chaos. Teachers, principals, and cops searched all over for him, but they only saw bloody footsteps in his shoe size. They followed the footsteps out of the school and into the woods. When the footsteps finally ended, all that they found was the orange plush ghost on the ground. Andy had vanished.
His parents soon lost their minds, feeling so guilty, and they were locked up in a mental hospital. Cops promised to search for the murderous boy, but they forgot over the years. Kids in Macabre think Andy’s worst fear came true; a spirit had taken him.
There are many other stories like these from Macabre, Missouri. If it’s too eerie or unusual, it automatically gets covered up by the town. It’s like the people of this town can’t comprehend the bizarre and demented, so they hide it. Macabre has its own set of rules. People shouldn’t live or visit this town, for it’s a place of no return.
Author Notes: Macabre, Missouri is a fictitious town. I got the idea from watching slasher movies from my hospital bed. Living in a small, unknown town with its own urban legend would be cool. Happy Halloween!
I got my gallbladder removed on Friday, Oct. 4th. I got home on Friday, Oct. 11th. I won't be going to Halloween camp this year. This is a minor hiccup during my Halloween season, but it's okay. I can still celebrate on Halloween night. Nothing will ruin my spooky era. When you think about it though, my gallbladder being carved out of my body like some pumpkin guts is still on my gory brand lol. 🎃🔪 There won't just be a camp blog this year.
My original character. He was created by DreamUp AI on Deviantart but I came up with the background story.
Nightfall Whitefreeze: A dark male fairy who was once in an evil fairy clan but left because he was bored. He's rebellious and macabre but protective. He's a guardian of humans, an anti-hero. He murders bad humans. I might or might not use him in a story.
