Halloween Short Story

Only three days left until October 31st. Everyone in the town was excited: decorations were on the lawns of every house, people were telling ghost stories, and the chilly fall air set the mood for an extremely creepy Halloween this year.

One man, however, was not as excited as his neighbors. He found Halloween boring: the same scary stories, same scary movies, and the same kids coming by his door wanting candy made him hold a grudge for the frightful holiday. To him, he would much rather find peace and quiet in his own house than dress up, go to silly parties, and intentionally scare yourself.

This was the mindset of Mr. Melvin Bates. And yes, he had always gotten teased because of his last name, even when he swore up and down his family was not related to the fictional family of Norman Bates. Mr. Bates didn't care for Halloween at all. His yard stayed bare, the only resemblance of the spooky holiday being his 'Get Out' sign on his front gate. That sign was there year round, and he wanted people to give him his privacy.

However, he never got any while he was in the house. So three days before Halloween, Mr. Bates decided to do the one thing he loved: go fishing.

The chilly air didn't stop him from loading up his truck with fishing gear and heading out to his favorite fishing spot: a quiet tank with trees surrounding the water, enclosing the spot off from everyone. It was the only place Mr. Bates could truly get peace and quiet.

Mr. Bates wasn't the only one who liked peace and quiet, though. Another person roamed the trees in solitude, and as Mr. Bates' truck drove through the pathway to get to the tank, this person became distraught. They were no longer alone. And they didn't like to have company.

Blissfully ignorant of anyone else's presence, Mr. Bates had parked his truck 300 feet from the banks of the water, and unloaded his gear to start his favorite activity. He set up his chair, and sat down as he began baiting his hook.

The wind blew through the dying trees, the October air hinting at a slim haul of fish today. Even if he caught nothing, Mr. Bates loved casting his line into the water. Being as anti-social as he was, he loved doing anything that kept him away from people. Fishing was a solitary sport; he didn't need anyone to accompany him.

Whistling softly, Mr. Bates threw his line into the water, the rippling waves forming a perfect circle around his bobber. As he patiently waited for a nibble, he observed the nature around him.

Trees were dying because of the weather change: winter would be here soon. There was no grass left, only dead brown weeds. The thought of him losing his sport over the colder months saddened Mr. Bates. He went through this every year, but it was always a struggle for him to find something else to pass his time.

Beneath the water, the fishing lure caught the attention of a predator. The scaly animal began to make its approach, closing in on the bait.

Behind Mr. Bates, an unrecognized presence loomed. Mr. Bates stayed unaware of the movement of the person as he began to get closer. The person quieted his breathing as he locked onto the target.

The bobber went up and down. The fish had fell for the bait, and was now struggling for dear life.

Mr. Bates shouted with glee, gripping his fishing pole tight as he began to struggle against the beast.

He was so caught up in trying to catch his fish. The man emerged from the trees, getting closer to the chair Mr. Bates was sitting in.

Mr. Bates reeled in his line as fast as he could, straining to catch the fish. He was sure he would get it. He almost never lost a fish.

The man walked closer to him. He was past Mr. Bates' truck.

Mr. Bates gave one last tug, and his line came up out of the water. He was dismayed to see his line empty, his lure and bobber gone. The fish had wrangled its way out of his trap. His line went behind him from the force in which he had tugged, and Mr. Bates grumbled under his breath.

Finally, chills went down Mr. Bates' back. He could hear someone's breath. The other man stood right behind the chair.

Mr. Bates turned around and was met with a metal strike to the head.

...

No one saw Mr. Bates ever again. Some of his neighbors thought he skipped town. Others thought he was that much of a recluse. But a few had a feeling something much worse had happened.

People began to talk about his fishing spot, and how he always went there. They also talked about a man who walked amongst the trees, ready to devour anyone who dared to enter.

A search party was finally sent out to those woods, and to the fishing spot where they believed Mr. Bates was. They found his truck, all four tires slashed, and his chair, still in its place on the banks of the tank. Him and his fishing rod were gone.

They searched for miles around the tank, calling for him, hoping to get an answer. They tried to search the waters best they could, but during the colder months, no one dared stay in too long.

No person ever got to the middle of the tank. It was surprisingly too deep for any man to stand in. Police guessed there was a spot in the middle dug deeper than the rest of the tank.

The searches stopped. Mr. Bates began to fade from everyone's mind. They assumed he was dead, but they also assumed wolves got to him first.

People called those woods cursed from that day on. No one dared to enter alone. People would claim they could see a shadow of a man in the woods, and began to say it was Mr. Bates' ghost, haunting those who entered.

Little did they know it wasn't Mr. Bates who they should have feared. The ghost was a man, a horrible man with a horrible secret. Because in the middle of that tank, in the spot deeper than any other, lied every person who had entered by themselves and had gotten caught.

And on top of all the bones of his previous victims, Mr. Bates laid impaled. And the object keeping him stuck underwater was the one thing he loved most; the possession he told everyone he would take to his grave.

Get spooky guys! Hope you enjoyed this little story! Happy Halloween!