THIN PLACES
"They’re called thin places," he told me. "Places where the veil between this world and the next is very thin."
"And?"
"And, I went to one of them. On Halloween. I thought it would, I don’t know, double the power, or something. I communed with the spirits. I talked to my loved ones who have passed on. It’s real. It happened."
"Look, if that’s what you believe, then fine, but -"
"Just listen to me! They told me I shouldn’t have come. They said that other spirits wanted a way into this world to take care of unfinished business. Bad unfinished business!”
He was talking faster now.
"They told me… they told me I’m the portal. That’s the penalty for using a thin place to talk to the dead."
"What the hell did they mean? How can a person be a portal?"
"Look," he whispered.
As he undid his shirt, I took a good look at his torso. On one shoulder, a hand was quickly forming. In the abdomen, a face.
I ran. The wet, tearing sounds came, and he began to scream.
Credits to: QuiveringPen
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OUR FIRST TRICK OR TREAT
I couldn’t wait for my son’s first Halloween. He was born into our family just a month before, so I know he wouldn’t remember much. But I lovingly crafted a cute little pumpkin outfit for him to wear, made only from the softest and most gentle of fabric. We would just take a little walk down the street, get a few bits of candy and make our way back- wouldn’t want to expose my darling to the cold for too long.
My husband tried to talk me out of it, tell me that maybe it wasn’t a good idea. I hushed his voice out of my head as I strapped the tiny decaying body to the stroller.
I know what’s best for my son after all.
Credits to: Betterofdeader
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