Scott just LOVED the fall season. It wasn’t because he was accident-prone or tripped a lot. Yeah, bad pun. It was because he loved the changing seasons. The color of the leaves would change from their vibrant green to bright red. A shade of yellow followed before they fell from the trees. The color palette alive in each leaf rivaled a beautiful sunset.

He documented the changes through photos. Local parks with their many trees were his favorite place to take those photos. Another reason he loved the season was Halloween.

Scott did not enjoy dressing up in a costume. There’s a Grinch for Christmas, and he’s that creature’s unhappy cousin for Halloween. He hated seeing children running around in costumes. Adults just used the day as another excuse to party and get drunk. No, he loved the season because of all the candy. It wouldn’t be surprising to find him in a store, looking at the various bags of candy. He’d imitate movie characters. Movie lines would flow out of his mouth like, “Get into my belly,” in a comically bad faux English accent.

Those small-sized candy bars came with a big problem. They fit too well into his mouth. Those scrumptious bits of chocolate. Filled with nuts, nougat, peanut butter, caramel, and other items. In one bite, they would be gone. He found it funny that some candies came in ghoulish designs. Coffins and bats always made him laugh. In any shape or form, it was candy, and he had to have it. The money he made as a freelance programmer ensured he could afford it.

It was a job that fit the man like a designer leather glove. He was able to sit behind a computer desk. His fat fingers flew across the keyboard as he typed code. The dual monitors were often visible from outside his one-bedroom apartment window. The glow showed as he worked late into the night. He had all he needed in that apartment. His work desk allowed him to have his favorite caffeine-filled beverage to his right. A plastic orange pumpkin bowl to his left was always full of candy.

He even had an exercise bike in his bedroom. His doctor had told him to stop eating the candy and get some exercise. The doctor’s instructions were less like orders and more like an advisement. The bike was an attempt to get healthy. It had no cup holder and became a clothes hanger. He had a few shirts hanging off several parts of the bike and a jacket tossed on the seat.

No awards for being the cleanest man were coming his way. He would often tear open the packaging of his favorite treat. He put the candy between his lips. Pulled it from its plastic covering and chewed. The wrapper thrown anywhere but into the empty garbage can. This led to a hoarding situation. After 10 years in the same apartment, those candy wrappers grew into piles. His landlord stopped listening to complaints about the smell from his apartment. Scott paid the landlord extra every month. The use of cash also helped the landlord ignore complaints. (What the tax man doesn’t know, right?)

It was thus on a Halloween Eve that things went wrong for Scott. He had returned from a run to a local store to stock up on more candy. He had a mixture of bags, as usual, and after dropping them on the floor, ran to his bedroom. He heard the answering machine, beep beep beep. He had to have a landline for those clients who were paranoid. Coding for a national bank and a military supplier required private discussions. The type not heard over a cell phone. At least that was what those clients believed. Who was he to care? They both paid for the line, so he pocketed the extra payment.

He ran to the bedroom, plowing through the candy wrappers. The image of a twin-bladed snowplow opening up a path came to mind. Unfortunately, Jason had forgotten about the stationary bike. He found himself falling as he tripped over one of its legs. As he fell, he hit his head on the dresser and landed hard on the floor. Candy wrappers crunched under him, and others flew into the air. As there were so many, some landed on his body. He was out cold, bleeding from his forehead. Candy wrappers ended up all over the floor, and many were on top of him. To many, it would have been a funny sight. It’s a perfect fit for a viral video site showcasing a fail.

He awoke hours later, dizzy and in severe pain. His foot throbbed, and pain shot up his leg. A hand went to his head. Ouch, what did he feel? Candy wrappers were stuck to his face and hair on his head. He sat up and started to pull them off when he looked at a few and saw the dark red tint of dried blood. He was lucky to be alive, and then he heard an odd noise. The beep, beep, beep of his answering machine was still going. That wasn’t what he heard. He heard singing. No, that cannot be right. It was a female voice singing in HIS apartment.

“One, two, three,

I come for thee,

Four, five, six,

Beware what I will inflict.”

The tune repeated over and over and he started to look around. He then yelled, “Who is in here? If this is some joke get out of here or I’ll call the cops.” He said that as he tried to pull himself up and get to his phone. He heard the song again, but this time the lyrics had changed.

“One, two, three,

I come for thee,

Four, five, six,

Beware what I will inflict.

Seven, eight, nine

Watch how thy shall dine,

Now with ten,

Your life is at an end.”

Yes, he was in severe pain. But when you hear a young girl’s voice say your life is at an end, what are you going to do? Sit there, nope, you jump up to your feet to find the source. Yet, how do you react when you see a little girl dressed in the oddest of costumes? She had a princess costume on but instead of being pink it was black. She had small horns by her ears and blood red lips that were a contrast to her pale white face. Her hair was jet black and tied up in dual ponytails. They did nothing to hide those horns. She was on his bed; her legs dangled and moved back and forth as they kicked the mattress.

“Who the hell are you, and how did you get in my apartment? Better yet, you know it’s not Halloween, it’s tomorrow.”

She looked at him with her black eyes and cocked her head. She spoke in a manner much older than she appeared to be. As she spoke, she cocked her head to the left.

“One who fills his mouth with the sweets of the world should have better manners. When a stranger is in your home there are things you should do. Is it not complimentary of a host to ask a guest if they want something to drink?” She paused, looked at him. Her eyes met his, sending a chill through his spine as she spoke the next words. “Or something to eat?”

Ok he was creeped out and there was no way in hell he was giving this girl any of his candy. He had NEVER shared with those kids. They wasted their time knocking on his door on Halloween. He won’t share any now.

“I don’t care what you think or how I should act. This is my apartment; you are here illegally. You’d best get out, or I’ll call the cops. Oh, don’t even think of touching my candy, it’s all MINE!”

She closed her eyes. Shook her head and repeated her creepy song. To add emphasis, she paused for a few seconds before saying the last word.

“One, two, three,

I come for thee,

Four, five, six,

Beware what I will inflict.

seven, eight, nine

Watch how thy shall dine,

Now with ten,

Your life is at an (pause) end.”

Enough with this nonsense, he thought. He walked well, hopped through the mess of candy bar wrappers to the front door. He tried to open the door, but it would not open. He pulled and pulled, checked the lock, and tried again. The door would not open.

“Listen here, YOU little, ahh hell, BITCH! I don’t know who you are or give one shit where you came from. Get the hell out of here now…”

He didn’t finish his thought as the moment he used the word bitch she was in front of him in less than a second. He didn’t even see her move; she was so fast. She started to speak and a forked tongue showed.

“You have continued to show some poor manners. You have left me no choice. Your name is Scott. You are not the first I have collected. You are a glutton who picked your sweets over a blessed life. I have sung my song of warning. You have heard it two times. We are at three. You may not know what this means for you “, she paused and sang that song.

“One, two, three,

I come for thee,

Four, five, six,

Beware what I will inflict.

Seven, eight, nine,

Watch how thy shall dine,

Now with ten,

Your life is at (long pause) an END!”

It took three months before the landlord had enough. The rent was late, and the landlord had tried knocking many times over that time. Rent due notices left on the door had gone ignored. He finally broke down and called the cops for a welfare check.

The landlord’s key would not work when the police arrived. So, the police broke down the door. When the police entered, there was only the beep, beep, beep of the answering machine. The landlord ran out of the apartment, and the police backed out. They took a moment before they notified dispatch.

The police report was never released to the public. The internet was full of conspiracy theories about that day. People wanted to know about the large police presence at the building. There were many stories online. One stated that it was a drug bust. Another had a prostitution ring raided. One even claimed to have an eyewitness account from the landlord. The credibility of the story was brought into question. The property was sold, and the old landlord fled the state. He was last heard moving to Alaska or Hawaii.

The story from the landlord went as follows. Readers were advised to judge for themselves if they thought the man was crazy or telling the truth.

“I was pissed and figured that fat slob would be in there eating candy and typing on his computer. The cops busted the door open and I thought I’d add the cost of repair to his back rent. I don’t care if he’s been paying me extra. Then I saw the room. It was nearly spotless; all those candy wrappers were in a huge pile in the middle of the room. It was then when I looked at the pile. I saw blood. It had dried and the wrappers had an odd color to them. No mistake the dark red color was unmistakable – it was blood. As I started to look around the room I saw more blood. The walls were sprayed, the ceiling, it was everywhere. I didn’t see a body but painted on the wall by the bedroom there was something written in blood. None of us spoke.” It read:

“One, two, three,

I come for thee,

Four, five, six,

Beware what I will inflict.

Seven, eight, nine

Watch how thy shall dine,

Now with ten,

Your life is at an

END.”