Last Halloween
written by: Andrea Doig
Halloween has arrived silently, with her creeping chill extinguishing the last of Summer’s warmth. Anticipation warms my bones as I snuggle in deeper; Halloween has always been my favourite holiday with its ghosts and ghouls, witches and warlocks, vampires, and zombies. It’s easy to hide behind a disguise and step into a new life for a while. Costumes always hide the truth.
Still shivering, I focus on the décor ideas for later. Carrie and I are the Halloween Queens, and our parties are legendary. Thick cobwebs in the corners, blood spatter on the walls, personalised polystyrene gravestones, and our newest addition from last year, the seeping body wrapped in black plastic bags in the bath.
The rising sun spills its mango and peach cocktail across the skyline, and my skin prickles at the whisper of a memory. Gone before I can grasp it, I rise from the comfort of my resting place, and my gaze is frozen by the sad ghost hanging lifelessly in front of the mirror opposite me. Her mouth falls open in a silent scream, and her arm rises in my direction. Terror grabs my throat; my blood is ice. But my suppressed scream escapes on a choked laugh as my ghostly Halloween costume hanging on the wardrobe shifts again in the breeze, and my racing heart slows at the silly illusion.
“Calm down, Abby, it’s just your costume!” My words echo loudly as I force a short laugh. The spirit of the day is upon me; let the preparations begin.
Heading to the kitchen, I see heavy cobwebs and congealed blood spatter are already in place, though heavier than usual this year, and the blood is a dried russet mess, instead of the glossy red of last year. I notice my gravestone leaning against the wall behind me, but the others are missing. Why is only mine here, and when did we start on the décor? Carrie wasn’t here yesterday, was she? I must have done it myself. How many cocktails did I have last night?! My memory has been so full of holes lately.
I’m ravenous, but the fridge is empty, not a single apple even in sight, and when last did I do some cleaning? My apartment is covered in thick dust, and are those clods of earth lying next to my bed?!
Bewildered, I begin planning the day. I need to organise for the Trick or Treaters that will come creeping around later, and the rest of the décor needs to be completed. We have never been this disorganised. In mounting frustration, I check my phone again. Still nothing. Before I get hold of Carrie, I need to tidy up and do some shopping. I can’t remember the last time I bought groceries, and I’d kill for a coffee right now.
Moving back to the mirror, I glance again at my sad little ghost costume. She really does seem mournful, and she’s affecting my mood too. Solitude settles over me like a heavy blanket and is suffocating.
Another memory from last Halloween tugs at me. I was Emily the Corpse Bride, and Bladon, my ex, pulled off her greedy and vengeful fiancé, Lord Barkis Bittern, perfectly. He didn’t even need the costume to achieve the character’s evil essence. Bladon was the only shadow over the day, as he had been over most of my days, but he is gone now, thank God.
It was my last Halloween with Bladon, and this year I’m free.
Free of the fear he controlled me with when I stumbled upon the truth behind his Investments & Family Trust business. Free from the guilt of not flagging the authorities immediately. He had stolen pension money from so many, and I had been too scared to do anything about it for a long time.
“If they come after me, I’ll come after you, babe.”
The echo of his threats still hangs in the air, but it’s all over now. Last Halloween, I was finally set free when I alerted the authorities, and his carefully concocted pyramid of deceit came tumbling down.
My sad little ghost moves again in the breeze to look at me reproachfully. Looking back at her curiously, I smile tentatively, and she seems to do the same.
“What are you trying to tell me, little Ghost?”
Scrunching up my nose, I shut the window against the strange metallic smell in the air. It’s been getting stronger all morning and making my chest feel tight. But strange smells or not, I can’t wait to see everyone later. It’s been ages. It feels like Bladon is not the only person I haven’t seen this past year. The isolation of working from home and the magic of Halloween are surely weaving their creepy spell over me today.
Still no messages.
Worry crawls in my stomach, overshadowing the hunger pangs; why is everyone so quiet today? Trying to call Carrie, my jagged nerves jump at the shrieking tone in my ear as I realise my phone has no service. When did that happen, and when last did I eat something? The buzzing in my head and the odd lightness are getting worse. I need to get out of here. I need coffee. I need something to eat. Throwing on a warm tracksuit, I head for the front door, but can’t find my keys anywhere.
“Come on, Abby, think! Where did you put them, dammit?”
I can’t even remember the last time I left this apartment, and I bang on the door in frustration. Feeling trapped, my throat constricts, and the crawling sensation in my stomach intensifies as panic slithers through me. I can’t breathe.
Stumbling back into my bedroom, desperate for fresh air, the terror of realisation stretches my mouth wide, forcing out a strangled scream. The sad little ghost is not my Halloween outfit, after all, but my reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe. There is no costume; only my frozen eyes and frozen scream.
My bloodless face is as translucent as my body, and I lift my arm slowly, pointing at the reflection I hardly recognise. The memories shower down like heavy clumps of earth striking a coffin.
Bladon’s cold fingers around my throat, squeezing tighter, his black eyes glittering. “Thought you’d screw me over, babe? Well, you’re not going anywhere. You’re not fucking this up for me, Abby. I told you what would happen if you breathed a word!”
My last words tore a jagged path through my closed throat, “Bladon, please! Please stop! It wasn’t me, I swear. You know I don’t care where you get your money! Bla-.”
The crushing pressure on my throat severed my final pleading attempt, as his other hand slammed the knife down again and again, splashing the walls and carpet in scarlet impressionism. Such perfect blood spatter for the party later, I thought from a distance.
Turning my fading eyes from the black malevolence in his, the last thing I saw was my pre-party mango and peach cocktail spilled over the floor.
The horror darkens my tormented eyes further, as it all falls into place. The thick cobwebs and layers of dust. The deep abyss of isolation and loneliness. The constant chill. The empty fridge and disconnected phone service. The metallic smell of rusted blood in the air.
Being unable to leave.
“NO!” Tripping over the rotting Halloween pumpkin with its wide, slashed smirk, I pull myself to the front door, my movements slowed by dread, and bang wildly again. My frantic screams are sandpaper against my raw throat.
But nobody can hear me.
Through this agony of despair, I catch sight of myself in the hall mirror, and the wretched ghost stares back sorrowfully.
A deep sigh of resignation drifts through the empty rooms as my shoulders slump and my head drops in exhaustion. I need to lie down. Wearily dragging myself back through the freshly clawed earth, I head back to my resting place, where my gravestone taunts me with its undeniable truth.
Lying back, grateful for the escape, I place my hands over my still heart as my eyes drift slowly closed.
It was, indeed, the last Halloween.
- Last Halloween - October 30, 2025
