Ghost stories are some of my favorites to read and write. I love listening to them around a campfire ( alright, alright, I haven't gone camping yet ) but I like listening to them in the dark with a candle...err, flashlight, in front of people's faces. I am a true believer in ghosts. I think that really DO exist. This is one thing that makes them a better horror subject than most. Thrill me, delight me, and send some ghost stories my way. IMO there's not enough of them around on the net, in the bookstores,or on the TV screens today.

"Johnny, let me out."

"Please Johnny, it's dark in here."

"Shut up mother." Johnny sat, rocking in his cherry wood chair, placed at the intersection of the living room, hallway, and foyer. He faced the front door, beside which stood a small, round knickknack table covered with white linen and Halloween decorations. At the center of the table sat a deep ceramic bowl filled with candy.

To his right was the living room; featuring a plain looking couch, wide oak coffee table, TV set, book shelf, and numerous family portraits. Behind him was a wall, and behind the wall a kitchen and dining room. The kitchen was small and clean with no unnecessary adornments. Nothing fancy about this kitchen, strictly utilitarian. The dining room was larger, with a vast oak table and six matching chairs. An ornate Grandfather clock stood alone against the wall opposing the kitchen. Its body, like everything else in the house, was made of polished oak. His parents loved oak furniture. It ticked away inside the empty dining room.

To his left was the hallway; narrow, dark oak paneling and floor just like the rest of the house. At the end of the hallway was the closet; its door locked.

From behind the locked door: "Johnny, please let me out. I'm sorry I made you mad. I promise I won't do it again."

Johnny pressed his palms to his ears and clamped his eyes shut. "Remove thy form from off thy door quote the raven never more. Remove thy form from off thy door quote the raven never more. Remove thy form from off thy door quote the raven never more," he chanted, rocking in the cherry wood chair. The rocker made a subdued grinding noise on the hard floor, but it did not squeak. Johnny made the chair with his own hands in high school wood shop, choosing cherry because it was bright and stood out in a house dominated by oak. The chair belonged to him; every contour, every joint, every well-sanded fiber, and it did not squeak. "Never more never more never more mother never more mother shut up!"

She did.

It was dark in the house; twilight having come and gone an hour ago. None of the inside lights were on, only the porch light. It shone in through the narrow window above the door in a slanted horizontal bar, providing some illumination. He could not see into the living room, but he could see the closet at the end of the hallway. He was watching it apprehensively when the sound of small feet, and machine-gun wrapping of small knuckles against his door filled the foyer, startling him.

He rose from his chair, walked slowly to the door, and opened it to reveal a vampire, a witch, dressed head to toe in black rags, and a pair of identical ghosts. He saw them, and almost ran back into the house, screaming. They're just kids, he reminded himself. The tallest, the witch, was only four and a half feet tall.

"Trick or Treat," they yelled in tandem.

Johnny smiled, dropping a handful of candy into each of their bags. The witch and ghosts ran back to the sidewalk, cheering. The vampire lingered.

"Cool blood," he said, pointing at Johnny's shirt, and then vanished

He looked down at his shirt. There was blood on it. Bright crimson splashes contrasted the whiteness of his best button up dress shirt. How did that get there?

He stepped back in through the door, closed it, and went into the dark living room, giving the closet door a nervous sidelong glimpse as he passed the hallway. Through the dining room and into the kitchen, he turned on the overhead fluorescent light and began to strip his shirt. He would run some hot water in the sink and let it soak, then maybe the stain would come out.

That was when he saw the girl, small and broken, lying in the corner by the stove. She wore a small, beaded bridal gown. Her head faced the wrong way, he noted. Her neck was snapped. There was a small pool of blood under her open mouth, drying slowly on the tile.

Johnny's brow furrowed and his eyes began to water. He used the crumpled up shirt to wipe the moisture away, and tossed it absently into the empty sink.

He walked to the girl and gently turned her head in the right direction before lifting her from the tile. Her body was limp and light as a feather; her poor lips caked with dried blood.

So sad.

He carried her to the sink, opened the cupboard below it with his foot, and placed her carefully inside. He placed her little hands over her chest and crossed her with his right index finger. Then he closed her staring eyes and bent to kiss her cool brow before closing the door.

"God bless and receive this child," he spoke softly, and grant her forgiveness for my sins. Amen."

He walked through the kitchen, to the adjoining laundry room, found a fresh shirt and a rag. He lay the shirt, this one black silk, on the kitchen counter, wetted the rag in the sink, and began to scrub blood from the tile floor. It was cold without his shirt, so he worked quickly.

Once done, he threw the blood-stained rag into the sink with his shirt, filled the sink to the top with steaming hot water, and slipped on the new shirt. He buttoned and tucked it in while he walked back to his rocker. He sat and watched the door.

Some time passed, how much he wasn't sure, and more knockers came to the door. He gave them candy and sent them away. They went, giggling and laughing, swinging their heavy bags as they ran to the side walk. One of them, a little Darth Vader, lifted his mask and popped a piece of candy into his mouth, unaware that he was playing a dangerous game of Halloween roulette. Johnny gave them good odds; only one of ten was loaded.

A small part of him hoped the others would wait until they were home, until each piece of candy had been checked by a parent or adult, before they ate. Most of him, the part of him that called the shots now, hoped they would not wait. Most of them, he knew, would not wait.

"Johnny," his mother began again. "Let me out Johnny. It's dark in here."

"Shut up mother," he growled through clenched teeth.

"Let me out of here you disrespectful little bastard!"

"Shut your mouth mother, or I swear to God I'll sew it shut!" She was making him do it again, making him lose his temper. No, Johnny thought, I will not lose my temper.

"It's dark in here, Johnny. So dark."

Johnny got up and walked back to the kitchen. He turned the light on and walked to the utensil drawers. The top two drawers contained silverware and cooking utensils. The third was the junk drawer. Johnny opened it and searched until he found the two items he was searching for, a large needle and a spool of brown thread. He went back to the closet, and tried the knob. It was locked. He dug the key out of his pocket and opened the door.

Mother.

The closet was large; the rail packed with coats and sweatshirts. He saw his mother's legs, wrinkled and gray, under the hanging coats and sweatshirts. He parted them and looked at her. Yes, she was still dead. Her skin was dried and cracking; her face made of sharp curves and angles. Her cheeks were sunken. The skin stretched tight over her skull. Her lip, those venomous lips, were cracked and puckered. The closet was thick with the stench of rotting flesh.

All in my head, he thought. She wasn't really talking to him. But he knew she would start again when he closed the door and sat down. Let me out, Johnny. Let me out.

Her eyes were sewn shut with the same thread he held in his hand. He had felt her watching him from inside the locked closet, Constantly watching him. Her eyes never closed. He did not want to do it, but in the end her constant scrutiny had nearly driven him insane. So he closed her eyes, sewed them shut, and that had helped.

Johnny dropped to his knees and began to sew. Twice there were knocks at the door, and twice Johnny interrupted his work to fill bulging candy bags even fuller. He was not greedy with his candy; he gave generously to all of the children. At last he finished, and she remained silent.

His starched, white priests' collar lay curled beside the candy dish, glowing in the light from outside.

--- The little witch, now at the other end of town nearing home, fell to the sidewalk, clutching her cramping belly and crying into the night.

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