Why did I agree to do this? I’m stuck in this spooky haunted house that sits on the edge of the perilous Cliff Ranta on the night of Halloween with nothing at all, dared by my friend to stay here until midnight or pay him 100 bucks. I’m totally regretting walking in as the last 8 o’clock chime came from the old, crumbling grandfather clock in the town square.

I sit down in the lounge (I think it’s the lounge) cautiously, scared something might hop out at me like a jack-in-the-box. As I look around I notice that the fireplace has wood already perfectly piled into a position ready to be lit. A box of matches lies discarded on the floor beside it. I tiptoe to it, willing the box to still have some matches in it, as I suddenly realise how cold I am. The box is completely full, so with shivering fingers I strike a match and light the wood, the fiery embers setting the place aglow. I make up a pot of soup as I wonder what I should for the next 3 hours. There’s no hope of me falling asleep with every nerve in my body on high alert, after all I am in a so-called haunted house.

The deep, presumably 9 o’clock chimes from the grandfather clock jolts me out of my trance. I count them 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9. As the last chime dies out I notice a white figure out of the corner of my eye, coming through the front door that I’m almost certain I locked. My body freezes as if I’ve been attacked by Jack Frost as I take in the rather perplexing sight before me. A man who is missing all of his right arm and the second half of his left leg, sits in a wheelchair. He’s almost completely bald with only a small patch of bright red hair right in the middle of his head. He, as well as his wheelchair are completely white and almost fully transparent. His eyes are shut, his wheelchair floating a good half metre off the dusty carpet. When he speaks his voice is deep, but drifty, sounding as if delivering a prophecy.
“Shaun, you are in for a very exciting night tonight. But you better stay put or else….”

His message sends a shiver shooting up the back of my neck and for some reason I instantly believe him knowing that the better option is to grit my teeth and make it through this, sure to be terrifying, night ahead. Something clicks in my brain and I somehow know that this man’s name is Sezill. As if reading my mind (which he probably is), he turns around and says, “Yes, that is my name.” in his deep, drifty voice, then turns back around and in slow motion floats back out through the locked door, leaving me to puzzle over what just happened and how he knew my name just like I knew his.

My brain is woozy as I try to process the events of the past 5 minutes. I have no idea how long I spend collapsed in a heap by the fireplace, but I barely register the 10 o’clock chimes. Before I know it another horror appears before my eyes. A skeleton opens one of the doors adjoined to the lounge and steps in. The same feeling passes over me, being frozen to the spot. He has absolutely no skin or fat, no teeth in his empty mouth either, the rest of his body a white mess of bones. A black cloak is draped over his round shoulder caps, fluttering behind him. In his left hand he holds a cane made out of apparent frozen blood.

"You stupid, stupid child. Don't you know better than to dare enter a haunted house alone on the sacred night of Halloween. Oh well, I don't mind, more fresh meat for me! I hope master lets me decide your fate." He cackles like an old, crazy witch, the evil sound echoing, bouncing off the decaying walls. He exits through the roof, my eyes starting to roll into the back of my head as I try to watch him, without the ability of movement from my head.

I'm still frozen to the spot, although my body has now regained feeling. I'm baffled over the fact that he was a skeleton without teeth or flesh but he still seemed quite pleased about the possibility of being able to eat me. This time I'm no longer woozy, quite the opposite actually. I'm extremely vigilant and observant, every creak, flutter, shift in the house  noted and wary of.

It seems an age before the 11 o'clock chimes ring. I brace myself for the horror sure to arrive at the last fateful chime. Despite my preparation I'm not prepared for the horrendous sight before me that seems to have materialized from thin air. Evidently a clown from the polka-dotted red jumpsuit and poofy red nose. However, the suit is vastly different to an ordinary clown suit with swiveling eyes instead of white polka-dots and a nose spouting very realistic red blood. I draw my eyes away from the popping costume and accessories but am in for a shock when I realise his eye sockets are empty. He notices my undoubtedly shocked expression and raises his hands from his sides to reveal two red, glowing eyes attached to the inside of his palm. His fingernails are a great deal longer than the average human's and look naturally perfectly black.

His voice is sure to give me nightmares with its high pitched psycho sound ringing in my head as he tells me, "Poor little boy. Stuck in this house when you should be outside with your friends trick-or-treating. Why don't you go now? Oh that's right, you can't move. Well then I guess you'll have to make do with me being your friend." He stumbles over to the kitchen to grab a spoon, then perches himself beside the fireplace and takes a spoonful of soup out of the pot.

I remain frozen to the spot as my heart pounds with fear and fright both for this utterly creepy clown before me and for the terrifying character that will doubtlessly arrive at midnight. I count the seconds as they tick by with the clown constantly blabbering about some circus. Nonetheless the midnight chimes come, echoing through the house. As the last chime fades away into the night a parade of doors slam throughout the house and a blast of cold wind whips through. A cloud of steam begins to reform into the figure of a zombie. His skin is vomit green with triangular purple eyes. His fingers and toes are deadly looking needles that probably inject a poison of some kind. He has a head of multi-colored snakes that hiss and squirm. However the most terrifying feature of this monster is his mouth. Its opening reaches down to his neck and could probably fit an entire human being inside. It drips blood that evaporates as it touches his skin and a mouthful of horribly black teeth.

The clown stands as he 'enters' and bows deeply. "Welcome, Master."
“You may leave now, Galot,” hisses one of the snakes on the zombie’s head.
“Yes, Master.” The clown stalks off with a sulky expression, glum that he does not get to watch me being tortured.
I watch in horror as his gigantic mouth begins to move as he talks. “Now, young Shaun. Why did you dare enter my sacred house? Didn’t you know that every Halloween is a special occasion for me and my crew. Why, you ask?” and with that he cackles maniacally. “Because every Halloween we treat ourselves to a feast, just like you kids with your little lollies but for us we use a human child. Usually we have to go out and find ourselves one, but every so often a stupid child like yourself wanders into our clutches and saves us the trouble. It is tradition for us to gather round at the bottom of our cliff to have this feast so down you go.” He lunges at me and his cold, slithery hands close around my neck. One of his needle fingers pokes me in the neck and I begin to lose consciousness. I am vaguely aware of falling down, down, down and landing in a bed of marshmallows, then being carried by an angel into the sky.

THE END