Excerpt
From a Story by Robert Jeschonek: "Trick or Treat in Hell"
Knock knock knock.
Hands shaking, Boyd Willoughby straightened his red flannel shirt, then slowly opened the door of his cozy little apartment. It was his first trick-or-treat since he'd gone to Hell, and he wasn't sure what to expect.
Just kids, as it turned out. Two boys and a girl, ages 6 or 7 or so, waited in the front porchlight, each costumed and carrying a pillowcase as a treat sack.
Boyd blew out a sigh of relief. As far as he could tell, the visitors weren't demons come to terrorize him. Their faces weren't familiar to him, either. If he didn't know better, it could have been a scene straight out of Halloween night back home in Borden, Virginia...except without all the blood.
"Trick or treat!" The kids all shouted it at once.
"W-well hello!" Boyd smiled and tried to sound friendly. "L-look at you three! A soldier, a cowboy, and a princess."
The kids giggled and held out their pillowcase sacks. As Boyd turned to get the big bowl of mini candy bars he had found on the table by the door, he took deep breaths, trying to stay calm—wondering when the other shoe would drop.
Because it had to, didn't it? This was Hell, after all; the satanic welcoming committee at the twisted security checkpoint had made that clear.
"Take what you like, kiddos." Boyd shuffled to the door and held out the bowl. For reasons that escaped him, he felt much older and wearier than his actual 63 years and pre-death good health might suggest. Maybe it was just that dying literally took it out of him. "Happy Halloween."
Gingerly, the little princess reached into the bowl. As Boyd watched her hand rooting around in those candy bars, a vision of other hands suddenly appeared before his mind's eye...his hands, drenched with glistening crimson blood.
He shuddered with horror and revulsion. Somehow, he knew, it was a memory, a moment in time he'd experienced...though he couldn't remember exactly how or why. All he knew for sure was that he'd experienced that moment on Halloween night—a non-specific Halloween night in an unknown year back on Earth before departing for Hell.
Then, it was gone. The only hand he was watching was the little girl's as it pulled a candy bar in a dark brown wrapper from the bowl.
"Thank you, Mister." She dropped it in her pillowcase, waved, and turned to go.
The kid cowboy grabbed a bar in a red wrapper, and the soldier snagged a yellow-wrapped one. Both boys thanked Boyd politely as they followed the girl off the porch.
"Have a wonderful night, children," he told them.
Standing in the doorway, Boyd waved until they were out of sight down the street. Then, glancing around to make sure no one was looking, he closed the door hard and leaned back against it, shivering.
Since arriving in Hell that day, the only punishment he'd gotten was the slight hassle at the security checkpoint. Otherwise, no demons had jabbed him with pitchforks or flayed the skin from his bones or cooked him alive. But the torture had to come sometime, surely. His memories of life on Earth were foggy, but the visions he had of his hands covered in blood on Halloween night were not.
He actually found himself wishing that whoever was in charge of Hell would just get it over with. He was dead, but the suspense was killing him.
Knock knock knock.
Yelping in surprise, Boyd sprang away from the door when the knock came. Then, he quickly regained his composure and went for the bowl of candy bars again.
"Trick or treat!" hollered the kids when he chucked the door open.
Instantly, he recognized them as the first three kids, but older. Instead of 6 or 7 years old, they were 10 or 11.
They all wore different costumes than before, too. The blond boy was dressed like Davy Crockett, the redheaded boy was a fireman, and the girl was dressed as a doctor, complete with scrubs and prop stethoscope.
They all smiled and were as friendly as before, holding out their pillowcases with no trace of hellish hostility.
It just made Boyd all the more apprehensive.
"Well, don't you all look wonderful!" He pushed the bowl of candy bars forward and gave it a shake. "Help yourselves, children."
The kids were as polite as before, each taking a single candy bar and thanking him.
But Boyd couldn't stop looking at their faces and wondering: Did he know them from his life on Earth? Had he done something to them? And why were they getting older so fast?
"You were here before," he said. "Just a few minutes ago."
The kids looked at each other and shrugged. "I think it might just seem that way," said the fireman.
"Sure," said Davy Crockett. "That was a while ago. We were just little then."
"You live in the n-neighborhood, I suppose?" Boyd returned the candy bar bowl to its spot on the table by the door and wiped his sweaty hands on his bluejeans.
"I live two streets over," said the fireman. "On Anderson."
"My street is Martin," said Davy Crockett.
"And my family lives on Tallman," said the girl.
"I see." Boyd frowned, trying to put the pieces together. "And what did you say your names are?"
"Caleb," said the redheaded fireman.
"Tammy," said the girl.
"Austin," said the blond Davy Crockett.
None of the names rang a bell. The significance of the kids' identities, if any, continued to elude Boyd.
"Well, I hope you have a fun night." He managed a weak smile.
Everything was so normal, like something out of the world before his death—as much of it as he could remember, which wasn't much. There he was in his cozy apartment, the scene of a solitary life...except on Halloween. All of it was so perfectly recreated, so achingly normal.
That in itself made him nervous, because he had a feeling it shouldn't have been that way in Hell…
