Halloween's Perfect Storm
by
LC Cooper
Copyright LC Cooper 2002 – 2016
Cover designed by CJD.sign
Cover image courtesy of OMG_F**K_IT on PhotoBucket
LC Cooper's publicist is CJD.sign
Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
To contact me, please send an email to:
[email protected] Where to find LC Cooper online
Web page: https://lccooperauthor.weebly.com/
Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/lccooperauthor
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/cooper0712/
Twitter: LC_Cooper
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/pub/lc-cooper/24/7b1/8a5
Wattpad: LC_Cooper
Blog: https://www.lccooper.blogspot.com
Here is the list of my titles, published at many fine retailers:
Novels:
Christmess
Diary of a Reluctant Vampire
Collin Roggero Adventures:
Legacy
Royal Venom
Fortune Island – arriving late 2016
Man Cave
My Slice of Heaven
Simmering Consequences
The Voices of Cellar's Bridge
Anthologies & Collections:
When the Lights Go Out – Anthology of several authors' scary, macabre, and humorous short stories
LC Cooper's Shorts, Vol. I – LC's first 8 ebook short stories
Robin Williams: My Comic Inspiration eBook Box Set
Short Stories:
"Barefoot Homecoming"
"Dan's Accidental Convertible"
"Halloween's Perfect Storm"
"Heart's Lust"
"Loving Reflections"
"Of Yellow Snow and Christmas Balls"
"One Lousy Wish"
"There Was a Knock at the Door"
* * * * *
Factors, such as those conditions that come together to create a “Perfect Storm,” wrapped around us as we entered into the Halloween weekend of 2002. We just completed unpacking from our move into a cozy apartment complex only a few minutes away from my job. The deal we got on the place was … peculiar. Three months of free rent and a garage thrown in seemed over the top, but we weren't complaining. The leasing agent cackled gleefully, snatched the signed contract out of my hand, and then tossed me two sets of keys.
With everything unpacked, we smiled warmly at each other as we plopped down onto our sofa for a relaxing night of rented movies and Chinese food. We got through the entire series of Nightmare on Elm Street films, but were unwilling to retire to the bedroom. So, there we remained, huddled in each other’s arms.
Who knows, maybe it was the gas from the food, or maybe the fact that we were scared s**tless by our revved-up imaginations, but we awoke a few minutes after midnight to an eerie bluish-white glow coming from a corner of the living room. Only after our voices went hoarse from screaming like little school girls, did we regain our composure. We sheepishly turned off the TV and the glow it emanated vanished. Oh, sure, you sit there mocking us. Well, read on…if you dare, for the truth becomes even more bizarre. As I said before, this was to be Halloween’s “Perfect Storm.”
The place we rented was in an apartment complex named “The Gables.” The property manager was a kindly, yet dusty old man named “Nate Hawthorne.” The road outside of our apartment was, of course, Elm Street. Our next door neighbor’s name was Jason. I'm not making this up.
On this particular Halloween morning, as we were pulling out of our garage, off to our right, perched atop a nearby chimney, were three vultures. They were facing us, poised as if ready to strike if we took our eyes off of them. Once on Elm Street, we had to swerve sharply to avoid running over a family of black cats that were ambling across the road. Later that evening, after picking up the Chinese food and videos, we came home to a skyline filled with a flock of vultures quietly settling onto our building’s roof. They were eerily back-lit by nothing other than a large full moon.
Then, there was this other matter. You’ve all seen it. Most of us pass by it every day of our lives and have become numb to its presence. And it sees us, no doubt, but not in some Orwellian and or grandiose or malevolent manner. No, it is not aggressive, but neither is it kind. It watches over us. It helps half of us find relief. Yet, it remains silent and unmoved by our presence. It can be moody; sardonically mocking The Frustrated who must race off when unable to gain entrance into its lair.
Two hours after turning off the TV that fateful Halloween night, I groggily fended off the second karate-chop to my chest. “What the…,” I angrily muttered to no one there. My wife had already lept out of bed and was creeping down the hall toward a soft blue light.
“No,” I screamed as I ran to rescue my wife from being drawn into the Poltergeist knock-off. “Not on my shift,” I, the bad-ass that I am, growled as I psyched myself up for battle with The Damned.
After sloppily stuffing my glasses onto my face, I stubbed my big toe against the bed post. I dropped to the floor. Thankfully, my impact was cushioned by my glasses, which had arrived on the carpet beneath me only moments before. Lying there in the fetal position atop my crushed glasses, I massaged my throbbing toe while I yelped like a Chihuahua.
This piss-poor attempt at chivalry generated an emasculating “Shut up, you idiot,” from my wife. “Shhh…you’ll scare it away,” she whispered.
Wiping away my girly tears, I hobbled down the hall to find out what was capable of captivating my wife while debilitating me in mere seconds. No, it wasn’t Fabio prancing around on our TV screen this time. It wasn’t the flock of vultures rummaging through our fridge. I stood there, mesmerized by…by…
Well, heck, I couldn’t tell. After all, I’m damned near blind without my contacts, and my glasses were mashed into a fine powder. All that friggin’ build-up and I couldn’t even see what the heck was going on. I tried rubbing my eyes, but the wasabi mustard I had forgotten to wash off my hands after dinner, peeled away layers of my eyeballs.
Anywho, my wife described to me a benevolent apparition. Four-feet tall, it stood before us, but had no visible feet. Its hands were also missing. The head was a perfect circle sitting atop a triangular, yet nondescript, dress. Two arms hung at an angle that gave us the impression its deodorant wasn’t quite yet dry. The two legs remained parallel and unmoving—just like an inflate-a-mate’s does when first filled with air (not that I know anything about that kind of stuff).
Although the specter seemed very familiar to us, wracking our brains produced no answers. For example, it didn't have a mouth flapping at ninety miles per hour or a massive gut, so I suspected that my mother-in-law must still be alive
The ghost remained in our living room for another three hours before it, and its blue-glowing background, faded away.
The next morning came and went without incident. My wife and I met for lunch at a restaurant. Just before dessert, my wife excused herself, but not having a girlfriend to take with her, she dragged me along. As we turned the last corner, my wife let out a blood-curdling scream.
Now, I'm used to my wife's frequent and incoherent outbursts, but this one made my skin crawl. I stopped texting and looked up to see what was the matter.
The ghoulish f
iend was there, waiting to ambush us.
"Guess I don't need to use the restroom after all," my wife whispered while shaking her leg. She slipped, legs flailing while attempting to slowly back away.
"The guy who mops the floor later isn't going to be too happy with you, you know," I replied.
Patting the hair back down on my neck proved futile – it stuck straight out like my mother-in-law's mustache. While I distracted the spirit with shrill, childlike begging, my wife rummaged through her small clutch purse for anything that could help save us. Her can of Mace was empty and the Taser was out of juice. Her chain saw wouldn't start, and she couldn't find the bullets for her .357 Magnum. “Why do women carry such tiny purses?" I wondered. It never occurred to me to ask her why all of her weapons were depleted.
My concentration was interrupted by a gruff and impatient, "Move on." Amazingly, the ghost projected its voice to a spot behind us. A wet thud followed by a groan gave us hope that the monster had slipped and fallen on the urine-splattered tile floor. No such luck. Instead, an old geezer lay there, out cold. Apparently, because our stand-off with the ghost occurred between the restrooms and the emergency-exit door, we unknowingly thwarted the old fart's attempt to skip out on his check.
Floating eye-level on the wall before us, our phantom remained unfazed. Here, although outnumbered and only twelve inches tall, the ghost refused to back down. "Go ahead, run the gauntlet," it seemed to sneer.
"You two look like you've seen a ghost," the busboy said to us, as he approached with a mop and bucket.
"Good, you see it, too!" we exclaimed in unison.
"See what?" was his clever reply.
"Why, the…the ghost!" we yelled as we pointed toward the bathrooms.
"Great," the busboy sighed. "I came into work today for this? It's not bad enough that I have to get this old deadbeat back on his feet and mop up his piss, but I get stuck with the two nutbags afraid of the sign for the Women's restroom?"
Of course! It suddenly made sense—the specter that haunted our home on Halloween night was none other than the figure used to identify the Women’s Restroom. We had been haunted by a toilet marker!
[maniacal, Vincent Price-like laugh]
Happy Halloween!
The End
… for now ...
###
Author's Note:
I hope you enjoyed reading "Halloween's Perfect Storm." This story was factual, with the exception of the confrontation in the restaurant. Of all the things that could have haunted us, we get the House of Horrors discarded restroom prop.
Do you believe in ghosts, or are you curious about the possibility of their existence? One of my future novels will draw on a variety of factual experiences that happened to my family and me in Australia, Japan, and the USA.
Thank you for your interest and your time. I am deeply grateful to God for blessing me with the vision, determination, and joy with writing and publishing my stories. I appreciate my family's support and inspired ideas that have become scenes within my stories. Certainly, I thank you, my fans and fans-to-be, for reading this tale of suspense and sheer, nonsensical terror.
Please visit my author page to learn more about me.
To contact me, please send an email to:
[email protected] Where to find LC Cooper online
Webpage: https://lccooperauthor.weebly.com/
Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/lccooperauthor
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/cooper0712/
Twitter: LC_Cooper
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/pub/lc-cooper/24/7b1/8a5
Wattpad: LC_Cooper
Blog: https://www.lccooper.blogspot.com
Here is the list of my titles, published at many fine retailers:
Novels:
Christmess
Diary of a Reluctant Vampire
Collin Roggero Adventures:
Legacy
Royal Venom
Fortune Island – arriving late 2016
Man Cave
My Slice of Heaven
Simmering Consequences
The Voices of Cellar's Bridge
Anthologies & Collections:
When the Lights Go Out – Anthology of several authors' scary, macabre, and humorous short stories
LC Cooper's Shorts, Vol. I – LC's first 8 ebook short stories
Robin Williams: My Comic Inspiration eBook Box Set
Short Stories:
"Barefoot Homecoming"
"Dan's Accidental Convertible"
"Halloween's Perfect Storm"
"Heart's Lust"
"Loving Reflections"
"Of Yellow Snow and Christmas Balls"
"One Lousy Wish"
"There Was a Knock at the Door"