Why I Don’t Go Trick-or-Treating Anymore
My name isn’t really important, but for now, I’ll go by Monty. A little backstory, I grew up in a small town just outside of Hartford, Connecticut. Real nice place where everyone knew everyone, you never locked your doors, had a real charm to it. Nicest bunch of folks you could ever meet, really. We were all one big family. So this all happened in 2005. I was ten at the time and my friends Adam, Timmy and Jared were out trick-or-treating. We were, in all honesty, a bunch of little ornery shits. We weren’t malicious in any way, we just liked to pull pranks here and there. Like the time we broke into old Mr. Harrison’s chicken coup and replaced his eggs with Cadbury Cream eggs. (We left the real eggs in a basket outside the coup, so he didn’t mind much in the end. Had a hell of a time cleaning the chocolate out of his hen’s feathers, though.) So anyway, that Halloween, we decided we would bring big pillowcases to use as our sacks. Since we knew the whole town, we were allowed out until midnight so long as we made it right on the dot and not a second later. We were all about the same age, Adam was the oldest of us at twelve and Jared was the youngest at nine. So when we heard we had almost six hours of time to get as much candy as we could, we were ecstatic! In our young minds, having all that time and all that space meant we would be rolling in candy for the rest of our lives. So we went out, all dressed up in homemade Avengers outfits, and got to work. It hit eleven way faster than we thought it would, and by that time we were each lugging around about twenty pounds of candy each (we had a lot of old couples and not many kids, most of the other children were in their mid or late teens and saw Halloween more as an excuse to get shitfaced and have kinky costumed sex at parties). Soon enough, it was eleven forty and I knew I had to get going soon. As I turned to tell everyone I was heading home, I saw the car. Now, if you would have told me what a pedophile was when I was ten and explained the concept thoroughly, the image I would come up with would be an old, balding man with missing teeth and a wiry frame driving around in a beat-up and rusty van. That wasn’t at all what the man who introduced himself as Reggie Smith looked like at all. Handsome was one word you could use. He had a thick head of dark blonde hair, a slightly muscular frame, and a smile so white and perfect you could see it shining in the blackest of nights. And that’s exactly what he did when he greeted us. “Hey there, kids!” he called out. “It’s getting pretty late, you should be heading home.” Jared was the first one to speak up, waving his paper towel roll and cardboard Mjilnör in a greeting. “Oh, hi there mister! We’re just heading home!” Jared pointed to the sack he held in his other hand. “Look at all the candy we got!” Reggie smiled that fucking smile of his, and chuckled. “That sure is a lot! Say, you kids want some more? I think I’ve got some– Ah, here they are!” After rummaging around for a bit, he pulled four king-size Snickers bars from what I can only assume was a black medical bag he had sitting in his front passenger seat. Of course, all four of us rushed over and gladly took what we thought to be the Holy Grail of candy. Soon, Reggie had introduced himself and explained he had just moved in a few blocks down the road. Somehow, I picked up that something seemed… Off about him to say the least. The first red flag came when he invited us back to his place. “I’ve got a bunch of candy bars just sitting in a bag on my porch if you want to come get some real quick,” he had said. Now, that set me off because not five minutes earlier he had been saying how we should be getting home. Being incredibly uncomfortable, I saw it was nearly 11:50 and took that as my cue to leave. “It’s almost midnight and I gotta get home. Sorry.” Adam, Timmy and Jared, Iron Man, the Hulk and Thor all gave me a confused look. “Seriously?” Adam said, moving his mask out of the way to be heard clearly. “It’s free candy, dude! And really good candy, too!” “Yeah!” Timmy called out in agreement while pounding his Hulk fists together. “You can’t seriously be passing this up!” “Sorry guys, my parents’ll ground me for a month if I don’t get home soon. I’ll see you guys later.” My friends all gave out a sigh of disappointment and climbed in Reggie’s car. That’s when Reggie spoke up. “Ah, leave him alone, kids. Besides, I only have room for three right now.” That’s when I remembered that creepy black doctor’s bag in his passenger seat. I said my goodbyes and peaced the fuck out of there. Luckily, I made it home just in the nick of time, and my parents were only mildly annoyed. Soon after, my parents started checking my candy and asked me how my night was. That’s when I told them about Mr. Smith. And that was when my parent’s faces turned white as snow. And then my dad grabbed his car keys and my mom started dialing the police. Soon, I knew everything about what was really going on, and I had to give the police a statement. Of course, knowing that I was nearly kidnapped and that my friends were gone, I was a complete wreck. Once the police got their information, they tried to console me and tell me it wasn’t my fault in any way. And that, was when I heard their radios go off. “Car 3, Car 3, suspect inbound to your location on foot. He appears to be armed and dangerous, do you copy?” “This is Car 3, we copy.” The officer looked me in the eyes and smiled. “Don’t worry, kid, we’ll get this guy.” He turned to his partner. “Stevens, stay with the kid, I’m going to cut this son of a bitch off before he can get away.” The other officer, Stevens, he was an absolute saint. When all this was going down, he did his damnedest to keep me calm. Stayed with us that night for security, and for that, I’m eternally grateful. The next morning, my Dad came home exhausted and peeled off his dirty size 12s before crashing in his favorite chair. He and the other men of the neighborhood went out looking for Mr. Smith. They cornered him in one of the old abandoned manor houses and he wound up shooting himself to avoid capture. That’s the only consolation I get, knowing that if there’s a Hell, that fucker is rotting there. Now you’re probably wondering what happened to Adam, Timmy and Jared. Well, I’m pretty sure you could guess already, but yeah. They’re all dead. Jared survived Mr. Smith, but three years later he put a 12-gauge slug through the roof of his mouth. The things he told me about that night – what he, Adam and Timmy went through – they’ll haunt me till the day I die. A couple of you more morbid fucks out there probably want some of the details, out of some dark curiosity. Well, I may as well tell you the worst thing Jared told me they went through before that fucking monster cut Adam and Timmy up like animals. Once he was done “using” them, he took out his little black bag and started… “experimenting”… Did you know that the human heart can beat for a solid three or five minutes after being removed from the body? Not like you would see in the movies, but Atrial and ventricular fibrillations continue for quite a bit after removal? Oh, you didn’t? Of course, you didn’t, and neither did Adam. But he found out thirty minutes after meeting Mr. Smith. I bet you also didn’t know that the lungs cannot function if they are exposed to open air. Or maybe you did, but Timmy sure as fuck didn’t. And he definitely didn’t deserve to go out like that. I’m 23 now, and after years of therapy, and support, I have a beautiful wife and a child on the way. Once my little Theresa’s born, I’m not going to let her out of my sight for a second, let alone let her go trick-or-treating. I refuse to let anything remotely like that happen to my little girl, so I’ll just buy her a big bag of candy every year to keep her happy. There is one thing that continues to bother me, though. Before he killed himself, Jared said Mr. Smith didn’t have a gun on him. Never had one, in fact. He did have several scalpels and medical instruments, but no firearm of any kind. The autopsy report showed Mr. Smith died after receiving a single .45 round to the side of the head, from where he shot himself it seems. What that doesn’t explain is why Mr. Smith’s autopsy also turned up several ruptured organs and fractures consistent with what would happen if a size 12 combat boot were to have repeatedly stomped his chest, neck and pelvis, and why nobody outside of our little town knows about what happened that Halloween night. I guess some questions are better off unanswered. Credit: G. Montavon (a.k.a. WhiteHouseDowns) This story was submitted to Creepypasta.com by a fellow reader. To submit your own creepypasta tale for consideration and publication to this site, visit our submissions page today. Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.