by Michael. B

Created on: April 22, 2008   Last Updated: June 11, 2008

Anna woke early, anxious about the day, but not in the spirit of dress up and trick or treats, or the ghoulish essence of Halloween, she was wise enough to enjoy partial participation in all that. The day was more affecting for her as it was a second and sad anniversary.

Steve called to pick up the kids, reminding her to have them ready, as he'd done for the second year in a row. He was their favorite uncle and took them to the mall to get them fitted out in their costumes and buy "special treats" and they'd emphasize the word "treats" for days to come.

Then there was the "incident" freakier than any Halloween costume flash across her mind. The image of a pumpkin, laughing fire and seeping blood out of its mouth, hanging from the door frame of the shed. She grasped the night in question and the night just gone, wondering if the nightmare existed inside her close circle of friends even then. She saw it in her mind as it was designed to be seen, scaring her half to death, and it was the very same that morning, as she stood at the counter and boiled the kettle for coffee, gazing out the window. The cup fell and smashed in little pieces against the hard floor. And she darted upstairs.

It just swung there, like it did on the night that haunted her dreams. And she recalled the event as vivid as the death of her dog Howard on the same occasion, found beneath the very same moonlight in the field beside her house, his throat was cut and all that remained of him in memory was the laughing pumpkin and drops of blood. Was it really Howard's blood she saw that night? She didn't know then and it frightened her more now.

She tried to bring last night up like an old memory struggling for detail, and it came but in slow dribs and drabs; the party, her friends. Was one of them her enemy? Alison lit candles and laughed at Pete's jokes. Phillipa sat back smiling merrily while Jake brooded more with each sip of the cocktail he'd made along with the mess in the kitchen.

Now all that was left was an empty house and remnants of gathered friends. It was just her. Just Anna and her shaking hands, as she glared in the mirror of her bathroom at a pale ghostly reflection. She tried to breathe regularly and calm herself, but her weak attempts felt useless.

"Not again, oh please not again" she said, searching for strength in the face staring back, but it looked frail and broken. Was it just her imagination playing wicked tricks, or was one of her friends really cruel enough to carry out

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