October 31st 6:08 am

When Madison Smith woke up in the early morning, something about the air had changed. It was full of dread, and it sent chills skittering over the skin of those who breathed it in.

Normally, that would be natural on a day like this. Today was October 31st, or Halloween as most people know it. Normally this would make it so the air was full of anticipation for the night, which would be full of fun. Little boys and girls would go parading up and down the streets, carrying baskets or bags stuffed full of creamy sweets. Teenagers would host extravagant Halloween parties, showing off their many creative costumes.

But not for the town Gretchen, Massachusetts. At least, not this year. Children were expected to return right home after school, and there were no exceptions. There still was trick-or-treating, but it was done in large groups, with many, many chaperones. The curfew was at nine, and after that locked doors would slam without hesitation.

These thoughts circled around Madison’s head, as she lay in the dim, blue light of the early morning, before she dismissed and replaced them with thoughts about school.

Madison swiftly crept into her bathroom and got ready for the day. She adjusted the sleeves of her orange top, then stretched a little, making sure the clothing didn’t scratch or pinch.

Walking briskly, using the blue light of dawn to see, Madison edged downstairs. Taking care not to make any noise, she snagged her lunch from the fridge, slipped on her shoes, and slung her backpack over her shoulder. Madison took the door handle and slowly twisted the cool knob, the door cracking open a bit.

Madison slipped between the small opening, and shut the door just as quietly, then breathed in the air. It smelled of the Earth and decaying dead leaves, cold and crisp.

But dread and uncertainty filled the air’s empty spaces.

Madison crunched over the dry leaves that were littered over the sidewalk. The walk from her school was only three blocks, but the distance was enough to make her leave the house before anyone else in her family woke up. 

Once she reached Fletcher Street, she turned and took a shortcut through Mr. Jerlloyd’s corn field. Mr. Jerlloyd’s corn field was off-limits to everyone, but most people didn’t care to listen, including Madison. Tall, dry corn stalks sprang from the cracked dirt, reaching twice as high as the girl. She reached out her hand and brushed it up against the long stalks, which bent easily beneath her subtle touch.

She followed the dirt path that children had made over the years, and was just about to turn onto the correct street when a voice rang out, “Hey! You! What are you doing in my cornfield!?” Madison whirled on the spot, and instantly spotted the tall form of Mr. Jerlloyd. He shouted profanities at her as Madison turned in the opposite direction and ran, crashing through the cornfield. She didn’t really hear anyone following her, but she didn’t want to pay the consequences of trespassing either way.

When it seemed like she couldn’t run any longer, she finally came stumbling out of the cornfield. She put her hands on her knees, and looked up.

The Woods was the first thing she saw. Then the worn and tattered police tape. Then the creaky chain-link fence.

The trees of the Wood were all orange and red, which might have been beautiful in the daylight, but at this time in the early morning, they cast long, black, shadows. 

Madison was still okay for the time being; she was on the other side of the street. But if she crossed over . . . what would happen? Why did last year happen?

Madison turned and ran for school without looking back.

***

October 31st 2:40 pm

Madison sighed deeply as she checked her watch for what seemed like the millionth time. It was finally the last period of the week, but it seemed to be dragging on forever.

5 minutes to go, she thought, and let her mind start drifting of afterschool freedom. Suddenly, her 9th grade LA teacher gave a comment that made Madison start.

“As you all know, today is Halloween, a day where the monsters combine with the living to create an annual celebration,” Mrs. Brigim said. “Despite the fact that there was such a tragedy last year, it is Halloween, so I think I’ll take these last few moments to talk about something related to the holiday.”

Mrs. Brigim leaned back on her desk, arms folded tightly across her chest. “What is the difference between fact and fiction?”

A boy spoke up. “Well, a fact is the plain truth. It doesn’t matter if you believe it or not, it is the truth. Fiction is fake; it isn’t real.”

“Ah, now that’s where things get interesting,” said Mrs. Brigim. “How many of you heard of folklore and urban legends?”

Almost all of the class raised their hands, including Madison.

“Now, are folklore and urban legends fact or fiction?”

“Fiction,” called out the same boy.

“Right, but I have a question to ask you: what caused those urban legends to be written? Was it because someone was trying to get attention? Or, is there some truth to the story?”

Suddenly, the bell rang. The students collected their things, and Mrs. Brigim wished them a Happy Halloween, and reminded them to go straight home.

Madison waltzed out the door, and out of the school, thinking about Mrs. Brigham’s topic. Are urban legends fact or fiction?

Madison had been walking for a while, when suddenly she stopped, and looked up. Red and orange leaves waved at her merrily, and branches beckoned her to climb them. She wanted to join them, to frolic in the mystery the forest had to offer. But none of that was possible, for the metal gate guarded the forest as though it were guarding a castle. It’s sharp swords of barbed wire reached into the sky, the links like chainmail armor.

Madison ran her hand over the links of the fence, the Witching Woods watching her every move. Suddenly, she felt a strange flexibility. When she pushed on the fence, it would sag inward, then come scraping back up to its original position. This could only mean one thing.

Madison kept pushing for a couple of feet, until she came to the source of the anomaly. Just like she thought, there was a section of the fence that had been broken off, about four feet tall, and just enough room to squeeze through. It was hidden behind yellowed bushes, the reason why it had gone unnoticed. Madison pushed against the fence, and squeezed through the tiny gap.

When she entered into the woods, it was like she had entered another dimension. While it was warm on the side of the fence she was previously on, it was freezing on this side. The trees used to be beautiful, but now they were mangled and ugly. Madison kept her hand on the fence as she walked a couple steps forward, softly reciting the “Tragedy”, and legend of the forest under her breath

“There once was a girl named Trisha Kingsly, who lived in the West Woods in 1920. Her parents had put her in a cabin in the middle of the woods, because her parents claimed that Trisha was crazy. They told the town that she would see things, and thrash around randomly, like she was trying to fight something. But there was nothing there.

“Trisha lived in the cabin with only a piano to keep her company. It was said that the people who lived in Gretchen could hear her playing the piano for days and nights on end.

“Then, five years later, on Halloween night, a fire unexpectedly happened. The legend was that the fire was started by some careless boys who accidentally started a fire to burn some weeds. But the fire spread. Trisha was not able to get out of the cabin in time. She died in the fire, either by burning, or by smoke inhalation.

“People say that if you go into the center of the woods, you’ll find the remains of the cabin, all burned, and crumbling. But, in the far corner of the house, the piano will be there. And if you play it . . . bad things will happen.

“Last Halloween, some teenagers years old went into the West Woods. The next day, they had disappeared. No one could find them. They looked all over town, but they were nowhere to be seen. Then, they turned to the West Woods. A couple of police officers went in, but they never came out. It seemed that whoever entered the woods, someone, or something was keeping them there. Our town didn’t know what to do. They put a giant fence around the West Woods, and have forbade anyone from going in there. And the West Woods lost its innocent title, and became known as the Witching Woods.”

As these last words escaped her lips, she let go of the fence, and stood in the Witching Woods independently.

Almost immediately the wind picked up, and the shadows of the forest grew darker. A twig snapped in the distance. Piano notes started floating through the air . . .

And Madison could almost see the black eyes that watched her from nowhere. They watched her while she turned around, they watched her as she escaped through the fence, they watched her tear down the street, they watched her get to her house.

Madison walked inside her safe house, while the Witching Woods watched her until she was out of sight.

***

October 31st 6:50 pm

“We’re leaving Mom,” Madison called, grabbing her sisters by their hands. 

Her mom merely nodded like she usually did, always off in some far away world.

Madison opened the door, and the genie and fairy bounded down the stairs. Then, the completely normal girl followed. 

“Love you Mom, see ya,” said Madison. Her mom said nothing. Madison sighed and shut the door behind her. Then she turned to her sisters. “Come on,” she said, walking down the front porch.

The three girls walked down the street and found group A3 easily. Mrs. Kaufman and Mrs. Oberon were leading the group. There were about five other families, but no one Madison’s age. This was going to be a long night.

Madison was too old to trick-or-treat, so, while her sisters were collecting sugary sweetness and different carmel concoctions, she was standing awkwardly with the parents of all the other parents. No one tried to make conversation with Madison, and that was quite fine with her.

The hours dragged on, the sun sinking behind the mountains, turning the night sky hues of blues, hot-pinks, gold, and pumpkin orange. On the other side of the setting sun, the sky was a dark navy, silvery stars twinkling merrily, a full moon rising lazily to take on it’s night shift.

It was around 8:40, when the keys of the piano pressed down lightly, making quiet music.

It seemed like Madison was the only one who heard it, because no one else in the group looked up, stunned and surprised. Madison’s eyes flicked toward the black trees that rose over the roofs of the neighborhood. 

She had to get there.

Madison waited until her group got to a corner, when she quickly jumped into the yard closest to her, and waited, scrunched down between two cars. She waited two minutes three, four, five. There was no noise, no shouts of alarm at having lost a group member.

Madison smiled triumphantly.

By the time she reached the Witching Woods, it was very, very dark. There were no streetlights, only the feeble lights of the moon and stars. 

Madison pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight option. She searched along the fence, looking for the yellow bushes that concealed the chink. 

After a few minutes, she found it, and crawled through it.

Here she was, right back where she started. Her hand gripped the fence, her feet shuffling with uncertainty. 

The piano called her.

Madison let go of the fence.

All was still, except for the music floating through the air. 

Madison shuddered as the woods got colder, and more malicious. She took a cautious step forward, back, then forward again. The leaves crunched under Madison’s tennis shoes, cold fingers zipping up her warm jacket. 

The Witching Woods were silent. Madison could hear the rustle of her hair as it bounced with every step she took. She heard her breath in her throat as it went in and out. She could hear the loud beating of her heart as it pumped life-sustaining blood through her veins.

Madison followed the piano music, taking no real path through the black trees. The closer she got to the music, the closer and more sinister the woods became. Some trees looked like they had been freshly burned, while others had strange, scarlet scratches on them. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the woods, casting a blood-red light on everything. The woods were thick, and smelled of dread and decay . . . and of smoke.

After about twenty minutes, Madison stopped short.

A few yards ahead of her was a tiny structure. It was a cabin. The Kingsley Tragedy flashed across her mind. This was it. It was Trisha’s cabin. 

Taking cautious steps, Madison approached the cabin. Part of the wall had collapsed, and as Madison entered through the gap, she noticed that the wood was a dark black, burned and crispy. As she brushed her hand along the cabin wall, chunks crumbled off, falling noiselessly to the ground.

Using her phone, Madison looked around the cabin. There was a blackened, twisted bed off to one side, and a small table. Off to her right, Madison saw the cabin door, but strangely, it was chained and padlocked. 

Madison walked toward the door, stepping over tree roots and weeds that had taken over the cabin after the burning, when suddenly she tripped and fell, landing on her hands and knees. Turning, Madison saw a half-buried box. It appeared that it used to be buried fully, but has slowly been uncovered through the clutches of time. 

Madison unburied it, curious about the treasure. Opening the box, she found a small black journal. Madison flipped through it, the yellow pages crinkling as they were finally opened after who knows how long. 

Turning to the first page, Madison started reading.

May 16 1920,

My name is Trisha Kingsley. I am ten. I have been locked up in this house for two weeks now. After Mother died, Father locked me up in this cabin. He told the townspeople that I went mad after my Mother’s death, and that I was dangerous. I don’t feel mad. Yes, I mourned my Mother’s death, but wouldn’t any daughter do the same? But, it was true that I had other feelings. Fear . . . and hatred. I saw what Father did to Mother. The pillow was stained by her lipstick.

When Father found out that I knew, he had me locked up. There’s nothing stopping him from hurting me. He’s already done it twice. I’ve been without food for three days.

How long is this to be endured? 

TK

Madison read the next page, and the next, and the next. The journal told the story of Trisha, the real Trisha, and the truth behind her past. Madison’s head was reeling. But then she turned to the last page.

October 31 1926,

My Father said that he is to dispose of me today. He said something about an “accident”. He also complained how hot it will be for the next couple of days. I don’t know what this means, but I am very frightened. I am going to bury this journal deep in the ground for others to find. If you are reading this, it is my last journal entry. I hope that whoever finds this will tell my story.

TK

Shaking, Madison took a deep breath, her mind fully aware of what she had just read.

Madison flipped to the next page, hoping for another entry, but she found nothing. She was just about to leave with the book, when a single page floated out of the book, fluttered through the air like a raven’s feather, and slowly sank into the Earth. 

With trembling hands, Madison picked up the paper and unfolded it. It was sheet music. 

A single note wafted through the air.

Madison looked around the room, and found what she was looking for. The story was true. The piano was still intact, covered in a layer of dust and dirt, cowering in the very back corner, where Madison’s light didn’t reach. A couple keys were missing; seven to be exact.

Almost as if she were in a trance, Madison walked over to the piano, and placed the sheet music down lightly on the piano. Brushing her hands over the keys, she read the music. Then, slowly she began to play the haunting tune she had heard earlier.

The notes vibrated around in the air, dancing gracefully on the water and on the fire. A small feeble girl with pitch-black hair in a white dress danced in a meadow as the sun set; an older and tired looking-woman watching with a smile. A girl with pitch-black hair ran her fingers over a pillow stained with red lipstick, the exact shade that her mother wears. A girl with pitch-black hair banged on a padlocked door as yellow and orange hands of death encircled her, giving her a loving embrace. A girl with pitch-black hair sitting on a small, wooden chair, her hair covering her face, listening to music that her decaying hands once wrote. A girl with pitch-black hair, crumbling, ashy features, and black eyes watched as a girl with brown hair, brown eyes, and an orange top played the last notes of a piano piece buried and forgotten by the hands of time.

Madison stopped playing, the last note tinkling, and eventually fizzling out.

The wind began to pick up, strands of icy spiderwebs creeping up Madison’s neck just like the hands of a corpse.

Hello to you my wonderful readers. Just a little note on this story. I am doing this story for an online competition that I could win $300 for first place!!! Wish me luck. But, there is more. This is a censored version of my story, since the second part of the book is a little more scary, and probably too old for some of you on Mr. Cheverton’s website. So, there was more if you were wondering, but I would rather have a censored version where most of you wouldn’t have nightmares, instead of the full thing.

But don’t worry, there is plenty more. I currently have three books being typed up: The Sinner of Venice, The Little Town of Green River, and the Elite series. So, I have plenty more. Until then, keep writing and have a good and crazy 2020 year.