October 24, 2025
Once a year we cheer this fear and get our fill, each chill a thrill. We’re children still down deep inside where we must hide from guts and gore galore.
October 23, 2025
The gangway connection door opened and a sable-haired woman seemed to float into the car. She wore a black Venetian gown with tangerine trim and a crown of naked branches festooned with marigolds. An onyx pendant dangled from her choker, reflecting the train’s fluorescent light.
October 22, 2025
An ancient crone’s nose pressed against the glass, inches from me. A scattering of teeth punctuated her mouth, and her eyes, devoid of expression, stared right through me.
October 9, 2025
It’s that time of year — when the ghouls come out to play with the creepy twins in the shadows of that old house on the hill. You know the one. Where the family gets all “creepy, kooky, mysterious and spooky…” Yes, it’s October and time to get your ooky Halloween books list ready to indulge in some spooky fun!
October 31, 2024
I was 12 that year, and my friends and I dressed up in our costumes and went trick-or-treating up and down the elevators… Every neighborhood has a witch, an old person every kid avoids, out of fear of something we couldn’t exactly grasp at 12. They were so foreign to my Yankees-loving, Keds-wearing self – their thick Yiddish accents, their mouths and ears seemingly oversized for their faces, the women smelling like talcum, the men of spittle and phlegm. But the scariest of them all was Mrs. Pincus, apartment 12B.
October 24, 2024
The stinging rain came in where the old wooden roof had blown away years ago on the ancient ruins of the castle on the hill. George the ghost lived here, where he performed his job of protecting his wife and children and giving them a happy home. At the beginning of every year, the wind was fierce and the air icy cold inside the castle.
October 22, 2024
Step into my cauldron — I will bring you to a slow simmer, unspooling your stories with your ligature…
October 20, 2024
October 16, 2024
October 7, 2024
The attic felt like a doorway to another present, where the border between the future and the past was homogenous. The remnants of my grandfather’s life merged with the fragments of dreams that haunted my sleep.