Miss Halloween

Every year, Ambers holds an annual costume contest at the high school. As an incentive, the winner of Mister and Miss Halloween wins 10k and has a chance to win in a state contest. This year was going to be different—since my wife, Shane, is a judge. The night before the show, I sat at the kitchen table while she talked on the phone. She joined me after hanging up. 

“Is something wrong?” I asked, taking out my phone. Hannah, my former college roommate, sent me a photo of her dress on a mannequin. She was one of the 25 contestants for Miss Halloween. 

She shook her head. “One judge is running late, and they might need a backup.” 

The contest has three judges, one for each category. They judge costumes based on creativity, uniqueness, and style. Past winners had been elaborate with their DIY costumes. One of my favorites was of a mermaid, made from real shells and fish scales. My attention back on her, I couldn’t show her Hannah’s costume. It went against the rules. 

“Why did they choose you to be a judge?” I asked, scrolling through updates on Facebook. Many people were going to be at the show. 

“For one, I’m one of the few lesbians in town and two, I’m a photographer from L.A. I have an eye for design,” she said, going up the stairs. Following her to the bedroom, our costumes were laid out on the bed. I didn’t enter the contest. I never stood a chance against someone like Hannah, who was going to fashion school. 

“What are you supposed to be?” I asked, picking up her leather pants off the bed. 

“A rockstar,” she said, showing me her leather jacket, “how about you?” She asked, glancing at my bronze tank top and green, bedazzled jacket. 

“I’m a Final Girl,” I replied, “you know, the last girl at the end of a slasher?” 

She chuckled, “Clever. You should’ve entered the contest.” 

I shook my head, “No thanks.” 

“Well… tonight is Mischief Night…” she said, her lips meeting mine. Her hands were on me, taking me onto the bed. She shoved the clothes to the floor. We stayed in bed for the rest of the night.

My alarm blared early the next morning, reminding me about work. She left early for the contest since the judges get together before the show tonight. Cameras were being set up at the high school auditorium all throughout the day, based on what the news was saying. This event was enormous. One of the biggest in Ambers, save the afterparty at Hamilton Mansion. 

I stayed at the bookstore, working on my latest book, when Shane strolled in. She was already in her costume, ready for the night. It did not convince me she was a rockstar. 

“You aren’t in your costume yet,” she said, leaning against the counter. 

“It’s barely two. It doesn’t start until seven.” I saved my work onto my flash drive. One time, I forgot to save and lost part of my book. That couldn’t happen again.

“Want to get out here and get something to eat before the show?” 

I nodded, following her out of the bookstore. 

Later in the day, Shane and I went to the high school auditorium. She found her way to the judges’ table. I stayed with the rest of the crowd, waiting for the show to begin. Shane glanced back at me, giving me a thumbs up. An emcee entered the stage, “Welcome to the Annual Mister and Miss Halloween Contest,” he announced, cheers erupted from the crowd. “First, let’s welcome our judges: Taya Spencer, Shane McCallister, and last year’s winner—Travis Longhorn.” 

The audience screamed and shouted, cheering as the judges waved. The first contestant came onstage, music blasting over the speakers. Every five contestants, there’s a ten-minute break for the next five to prepare. The show lasts all night. The first woman’s costume resembled  “the universe.” She was great. Following her, a man came out in a handmade Wolfman costume. Designs improved as the night progressed. 

At the first five-minute interval, Shane and I went into the dark hallway for some alone time. Pushing me against the wall, she ran her hands over my jacket, pressing her soft lips on mine. In the middle of making out, something wet hit my cheek. “What the hell?” It was blood. I looked up, a body hung on the wall. 

“Watch out!” Shane said, pulling me aside. The body fell to the ground. Attempting to catch my breath, she continued, “Wait a minute, I know him. He was number fourteen.” She turned him over, seeing the slashes on his chest. She stood up, running back into the auditorium. It was nearly time for the next round. Someone here murdered him. 

Back in the auditorium, the emcee continued the show. I kept my eye on people around me. One of these people was a murderer. I needed to find out who. Everyone dressed up and quite a few had fake weapons. It could’ve been anyone. I turned back to show to, on number eight now.

“Next is the Monster,” he said, waiting for someone to come from backstage. He repeated it, “Monster, come on.” No one appeared. People muttered and whispered. A spine-tingling shriek came from backstage. I decided to investigate.

In the dressing room, a mangled body laid on the floor. His costume, the Monster; a combination of a wendigo, the Jersey Devil, and other hideous creatures. Two bodies. 

The show went on, “We have disqualified number eight. Next, is the one and only Guardian Angel.” 

No one asked questions—except for the contestants themselves. No problems occurred in the next round. It gave me time to talk to Shane. I informed on what happened backstage, “That’s two people dead.” 

“Okay, we need to find out who’s doing this,” she said, “keep your eye out for anyone suspicious.” 

“You mean everyone.” 

She chuckled, “Yeah. I mean, someone with a real blade.” She paused, touching my face, “Be careful.” 

I found my way back to the auditorium. Walking around, many people had machetes, chainsaws, and claws. A woman came over to the snacks table, while I questioned a few of the blades.

“Looking for someone?” She asked, taking a jelly shaped like a brain. Her costume a blood-stained wedding dress, with a veil and red flower sash. She held one of those fake bloody knives. 

I shook my head, “I was admiring the costumes.” 

“Tough competition this year,” she said, with a deep sigh, “I wonder who’ll win.” 

Not mentioning the bodies, I spotted a woman looking around, before ducking into the bathroom. Leaving the snacks table, I followed her in. She disappeared into a stall. I hid in the one next to her. Two pairs of shoes were in the stall. I waited for the right time to escape. I kept quiet, until blood dripped on the tiles, telling me it was time to leave.

The next round started. I wasn’t paying attention anymore. A woman did this. The contest kept going. A couple more contestants vanished in the meantime, including number sixteen. Her look had been called Beautiful & Dangerous. I tried to remember the shoes. Were they red or black? Maybe silver? 

“Tired?” a voice said, bringing me back. Hannah sat next to me in her Pride Fairy dress. 

“No,” I replied, “four contestants are dead. I’m trying to find who did it.” 

“It’s Halloween. Makeup’s pretty realistic.” 

“I’m not kidding,” I shot back, keeping my eye on the shoes, “It happened.” 

She leaned forward, “You’ve been watching too many horror movies.” 

I stood up, not seeing the woman in the wedding dress. Maybe she was part of the competition. Two more rounds and the voting would start. The judges decide on top five, and the people voted for Mister and Miss Halloween. I ran into a woman in a globe costume—the World. 

“Help,” she tried to say, with blood pouring from her nose and mouth. Her costume broke apart as she fell to the floor. She’d been contestant number twelve. Backing up, no one seemed to care. I needed to find who it was before the winners were going to be announced. On the second to last break, I told Shane what I learned. 

“It’s a woman. She’s here… somewhere.” 

“At the end, hand out the papers,” she started, “watch for eye contact. Ask about the dead contestants. If you get any reaction, let me know who you think it is.” 

“Not if she leaves,” I said, crossing my arms. 

 “You’re right. We need a plan—” she took me out of the auditorium for how we were going to find the woman killing people. All had been contestants, so she must’ve been too. She wanted me to say I was a back-up and see whose attention I get. Make myself bait. 

Nearing the end of the contest, the breaks were shortened. Hannah stayed at my table. I headed backstage, attempting to figure out if the woman was in the competition. The Monster’s body was still there. I “accidentally” walked into one of the dressing rooms. 

“Is it my time?” The man asked, taking out a sword. He was King Arthur. Shaking my head, I backed out of the room and tried the other rooms. One was empty. It had to be the killer’s room. I found the emcee behind the curtain, drinking a bottle of water. 

“Who’s number twenty-five?” I asked, “Who is it?” 

“I can’t disclose names,” he said, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Why do you want to know?” 

“Contestants are dead,” I shot back, reaching behind my back to grab Shane’s Glock, “I need to know who she is.” 

“No.” 

I didn’t give up, shoving the gun in his face. “Tell me.” 

“Looking for me?” came a woman’s voice behind me. “I’m number twenty-five,” she said, coming over. She beckoned me to follow her into the vacant dressing room, closing the door behind her. “What do you want?” She crossed her arms.

“You murdered people.” 

She chuckled, “You came in here to accuse me of murder?” 

Looking down, she wore the glittering red heels from the bathroom. She noticed, grabbing me, and shoved me into the door. Pulling a knife from her garter, she came to me. I couldn’t get a hold of the gun. She pinned to the wall, the knife on my throat. 

“I can kill you fast or slow,” she whispered. My heart racing. I struggled to move. “Make your choice.” 

 My mind raced, the serrated blade digging into my skin. 

“This is my night to shine,” she said, “I’m not letting you mess it up.” 

Through the door, the emcee started the last round of the competition. She chuckled, removing the blade from my neck, “Say one word—and I’ll kill you,” she stabbed me in the stomach, tossing me into the hall. Holding my side, blood soaked my hand. Attempting to stand, I leaned against the wall. Listening to the numbers being called, I couldn’t make it back onto the floor. I sat on the stairs, clutching my side. Number twenty-five came on stage, signaling the end of the competition. 

Struggling to stand, I opened the door to try and find Shane. The emcee announced the woman, calling her the Corpse Bride. She winked at me, I wouldn’t let her get away with this… the room turned black.  Screams erupted from the audience. In the darkness, I shouted for Shane, “Shane! Where are you?” I hung onto the wall, letting my eyes adjust. 

Lights returned sometime later, showing a scene I didn’t want to see. Bodies strewn all over, injuries varying. I called for her again. “Shane? Where are you?” 

She ran over to me from across the room. “Where is she?” 

“I don’t know.” I applied pressure to the wound on my side, my eyes watering.  

The lights went off again. I held her arm. A sharp blade touched my back, I spun around to see her, wearing a red-and-black lit-up masquerade mask, “Remember what I said?” She taunted me, the Glock in her hand. Aiming it at Shane, she cocked her head. “Hands up.”

Shane listened, putting her hands up, “Please don’t kill us.”

The woman snickered, pulling the trigger. Shane collapsed to the floor.  “Now, listen to me,” she continued, the Glock trained on me. Backing up, I ran into a door. Unlocked. I turned the handle, revealing stairs. “You’re no longer a Final Girl,” she said, shoving me back. I rolled down, hitting my head. Unable to move, blood pooled around me. The woman closed the door with a final sentence, “by the way, I’m Miss Halloween,” she closed the door, leaving me in the dark basement. Holding my head, I attempted to get off the floor. The lock clicked above me.