The Last Stop

**Trigger warning: Death and afterlife**

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It had been another soul-draining workday. I was the only one in the office who had dressed up for Halloween, donning my favorite childhood movie costume, The Dread Pirate Roberts. Everyone thought I was Zorro. 

My joy of All Hallows Eve didn’t prevent hostile emails, mind-numbing meetings, and staying late to finish a project. Finally, after ten hours of abuse, I shut down my computer to go home, baptizing myself in the earthy smell of brisk autumn air.

As always, Rodrigo sat at the entrance to the downtown train station. “There’s nothing sweeter than the glazed candy of Halloween nightmares,” he said, handing me a jack-o’-lantern made from orange recyclables.

I placed it in my bag. “Thanks.”

“But don’t unpack your suitcase, ’cause you’re only passing through.” 

“Well, happy Halloween, Rodrigo. See you tomorrow.”

The passenger car seemed emptier than usual and the few taciturn commuters aboard rested their heads and slept. The pumpkin sun had fallen by the time we left the city, giving passage to a ghostly moon. There was something about the train that calmed me, even on a glum Halloween night. I remember when my childhood revolved around the holiday. 

But all that waited for me at home was dinner and a hot shower before bed. 

Another workday loomed, filled with dull horrors.  

As these gloomy realizations flooded over me, the lights flickered and a brassy crash quivered through the train. Then a frigid gale woke me from my lament.

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. 

The woman scrutinized her seating prospects as she strode down the aisle. She stopped in the car’s center where I sat staring out the window. 

We exchanged glances, but I looked away first. Curiosity got the best of me, and when I peeked up again, I discovered her still peering down at me, orange fingernails tapping the pleather of my seat.

“The Dread Pirate Roberts?” she asked. 

I stiffened in my chair. “Um, yeah,” I said. “You’re the first one to get it right.”

“Guess who I am?” she asked. Her brow rose high with expectation.

“The — Halloween Queen?”

“Very good,” she said, smiling, then pointed at the empty chair beside me. “May I sit?”

“Sure.” I grabbed my computer bag and shoved it under my seat.

“Are you going trick-or-treating?”

My hand flew to my chest. “No. I don’t have kids.”

“Who said anything about children?” She raised an eyebrow as she sat. “Don’t you like trick-or-treating?”

“Oh, I used to love it. My grandma took me from morning to night.”

“And what happened?”

“Grandma passed. I grew up, got a job.”

The Queen frowned. “Work shouldn’t impede one’s happiness.”

“So true,” I said.

“Go revel in Samhain,” she replied with a sweep of her hand. “It comes but once a year.”

I chuckled. “Where would I go? I live in a fun-free zone, and don’t have friends these days.”

“You have me.”

“Yeah, I — I don’t even know your name.”

“Yes, you do. I’m the Halloween Queen.”

“Right.”

Her lips curled into a half-smile. “Care to join me at the last stop? I’m on my way to a block party.”

“Sorry, I’m only a station away from home.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, folding her hands over her lap.

Only the rolling train wheels broke the silence as I considered her invitation. I wasn’t the sort of guy who leapt out of trains with strangers. But a peculiar insight took over me — one a little more ascendant on time’s tree. From its vantage, I saw a thousand tedious days ahead with little chance of adventure. 

I blurted out the words before reason could make the choice for me. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go.”

“Wonderful,” she said.

Electricity galvanized my nerves as I watched the train pull into McHenry Station — my station. I’d never gone further on this line before, and the sudden prospect of experiencing something new kindled a boyish enthusiasm. 

“It won’t be long now,” said the Queen.

“I thought there were four more stops?”

“It goes by quicker than you think,” she said. “Cider brandy for the nerves?” The Queen deftly waved a round glass flask under my nose. An amber liquid swirled inside, smelling of cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg.

“You think I’m scared?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Doing anything new is scary, but it’s also fun.”

“You’re an interesting creature.” I smiled, then took the bottle and tasted its contents. The brandy’s fruity flavor bit at the end.

The four platforms flashed by just as she’d said and I realized I’d been missing out on the most fascinating stops. New Ravinia, Lake Bluff, Zion, and Winthrop Harbor celebrated Halloween as if they were part of a movie set. Parades, live music, and a masked ball lined the streets as we wheeled by. The Queen bobbed her head, watching out the window with a grin. 

When the conductor mumbled that we’d reached our destination, she escorted me from the car. The other slumbering passengers woke and followed.

We entered the station, vintage Halloween music blaring from the speakers above. The halogen lights shone a ghostly blue, but a line of plastic jack-o’-lanterns guided us through an outdated ticket office and into the streets. 

I glanced left and right as we arrived at the sidewalk, discovering rows of houses decorated with bright lawn ornaments and misty porches. Children and adults alike gathered in the streets, adorned in elaborate costumes, and the sounds of laughter and playfully spooky sound effects rattling the air. 

Had I wished for a Halloween dream, my imagination couldn’t have compared to what lay before me.

My heart soared. “Wow.” 

“Do you like it?” the Queen asked.

“How did I never hear about this?”

“Life tries to hide the genuine wonders.”

Leaving the station, we turned left into a neighborhood filled with charming older homes. It shocked me how many smiles, tipped caps, and greetings I received as we melded into the crowd. It felt as if everyone appreciated my presence and we were all in on a shared secret. 

The Halloween Queen took me to our first house where an old woman in a Victorian gown greeted us with a tray of glasses filled with apricot liquid.

“Good evening, Evaline,” the Queen said. “Your Hemlock Cocktails elevate you to the top of the visit list.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware we’d have royalty tonight.” Evaline’s brow rose. “And who is your friend?”

“Oh, a visitor from a few stops off the train.” 

“Hi.” I waved before sipping the Hemlock Cocktail.

“Well, Happy Halloween, young man,” said Evaline. “I think you’ll find that things here are a lot less troublesome than wherever you’re from.”

“McHenry,” I said.

“What a lovely name,” she smiled. “Happy Halloween, McHenry.”

The Queen tugged at my arm. “Come, we have many houses to visit.” 

We walked down the porch stoop and followed the cobblestone path to the sidewalk. The fragrance of old clothes and candy mixed as we wedged through the gathering. Masked children chased one another, weaving between costumed adults bobbing for apples in a pool of red wine. We closed in around the lip of the vast pool, watching people dip their faces.

“Man, they’re living it up,” I said.

“Do you realize the reason for their merriment?” asked the Queen.

“Judging by these houses, they have money,” I said.

She chortled. “I assure you, they do not keep money.”

“Then why?”

“They delight in simple pleasures instead of trivial concerns.”

“Yeesh, in this world? How do they manage?”

“They take the dive.”

The Queen peeled off my mask and pushed my head down into the wine. 

I tried coming up, but upon hearing the muffled cheers from above, opened my mouth and searched for an apple. My face hit several apples before my teeth found their mark and bit into the sweet flesh of a Granny Smith. I shot up from the wine and raised my hands in victory. The crowd applauded as I braced the apple with my hand and crunched into it.

“Well done,” the Queen said. “Come. There are people to meet.”

She handed me a spider-patterned handkerchief for my wet face. I dried off, then eagerly put my mask back on. She guided me to a beautiful white colonial home with a life-size Headless Horseman statue on its lawn. We ascended the front porch where a goose sculpture wearing a tricorn hat greeted us.

“My grandma grew up in Sleepy Hollow,” I said. “‘No better place to celebrate Halloween’, she used to say, but I’m thinking she might’ve been wrong.”

“Perhaps,” the Queen said, ringing the doorbell. “Perhaps not.”

The door opened and a woman with auburn hair curled in victory rolls stepped out with a tray of blood-red drinks. She wore a green, ditsy floral lapel dress; two-toned Oxfords; and a set of plastic vampire fangs. Two puncture marks dotted her neck. 

My heart skipped a beat. Although this woman was ten years younger than I, I could tell by the shape of her face, her slight hunch, and her wrinkled nose-smile that this was my grandmother.

“Well, hot dog,” she said. “If it isn’t the Halloween Queen.”

“Hello, Irene,” the Queen replied. “You look lovely.”

“Who’s the beanpole?” Grandma asked, brows bobbing. 

“This one?” the Queen asked, gesturing at me. “Oh, he’s from a few train-stops away.”

“Well! Welcome, stranger,” said my grandmother. “I’m sure you’ll see that things are a lot less troublesome around here than wherever you come from. Anyhow, care for a drink?”

Grandma stretched out her tray and offered me a cocktail with bat-shaped ice. I tried to speak, but it was as if someone had stuffed feathers in my throat. 

The Queen collected a pair of drinks. “Sorry, Irene. He’s in awe of all the work the neighborhood puts into the block party.”

“Isn’t it neato?” Grandma spun on her heel. “There’s no place better on Halloween.”

“Come, McHenry, time for us to leave,” said the Halloween Queen, her eyes twinkling. “Need to get this one back on the train before he turns into a pumpkin, Irene.”

My grandmother laughed as the Queen hooked her arm into mine and walked me off the porch. But my heart held me back, and I felt warmth roll down my cheek.

The Queen offered her handkerchief. “Are you alright?”

“I’m confused,” I said. I paused on my grandmother’s lawn and put my hands on my knees to keep my head from reeling.

“You know what is happening. Your mind has caught up.”

“That’s my Grandma Irene. But it’s impossible. My grandmother’s been dead for a decade.”

“You’re getting there.”

I pieced together the clues: The Halloween Queen, the town, the people — it all fit together like an equation my intuition already knew the answer to. The conclusion made little sense but I knew it to be true.

“So, if she’s dead, but I’m here, then…” I paused.

“Finish the sentence,” the Queen said.

“Then, I’m already dead.”

She smirked. “There we are. Well, you’re only mostly dead. Do you not recall the train’s failing light and the loud kerfuffle?”

“The train crashed?”

“Only your car. A Halloween prank gone wrong. Two boys disrupted the tracks on a dare and derailed your train.”

“So then—” Numbness choked my fingers as I waved them at the town. “What is all of this?”

“This is where the veil is thinnest.”

“So, like heaven?”

“In a manner of speaking. The Hereafter isn’t puffy clouds and white robes.”

“Then what is it?” I blinked. “What do I—?”

A church bell rang from a distant tower, its sepulcher tone raising the wispy hairs on my neck. The people of the town looked up. Smiles softened into somber expressions. Nine low, brassy tintinnabulations resonated — far-reaching echoes that bounced between homes. 

The Halloween Queen tugged my arm. “Come, it’s the ninth hour,” she said. “We need to get you back home.”

“But I thought I was dead?” I asked.

“No, just half-dead. There’s still a place for you.”

“Wait — no. I don’t want to go.”

She squeezed me by my shoulders as her brows furrowed into a deep V. Her lips pressed into a tight line. “I know.”

Once again my boots obeyed her despite my intentions. The people in town parted, heads bowed as we journeyed to the train station. I tried to barter with her but she stonewalled my pleas with a polite smile. 

We reached the station and cut through the ticket office. Monster Mash played from the overhead speakers as a single train facing the downtown direction awaited with open doors. I boarded — its only passenger. A hiss from the train’s hydraulics raised my car as the entrance signal chimed. 

The Halloween Queen smiled from the platform.

“Wait,” I said. “Why send me back if I’m destined to be here? I have nothing at home.”

“This town is a special part of the Hereafter. It is not inevitable and it is not your home. It is a place reserved for those who hold the grace of death, and all its majesty, close to their heart. For what is Death but life’s last great magic?”

The doors closed and the train bucked forward. I watched, heart caged and aching, as the station faded away. 

The dead continued to revel in their lit-up parades, balls, and concerts — oblivious to my whittled soul passing by. I noticed the tunnel only at the very end. Darkness fell. Then I followed.

I woke up in a hospital that looked more like a highway hotel — clean sheets, bad lighting, and bargain furniture filled my vision. The staff and their plastic smiles kept reminding me I was lucky to be alive. But they did not know how criminal that sounded. 

I knew where I’d gone wasn’t a near-death delusion or fault of the mind. Somewhere — across a sea of nothing — the place lost on every map awaited, only accessible on Halloween night. And for a cruelly brief moment I had shared in the celebration.

My wounds healed faster than expected. Only a minute after stepping out of the hospital, I called my boss and quit my job. I sold everything I owned for a pair of shoes with plenty of space for rocks. I stopped saying “please” to those who expected it and didn’t shy away from people claiming to be in charge. 

Maybe that newfound bravery was the Halloween Queen’s reason for my visit. Maybe she didn’t want to just rattle my cage, but to remind me that a life without meaning is like a house where nobody lives. They call me mad. They call me strange. But I don’t walk on burning tightropes anymore. They can call me whatever they want.

And every Halloween, Rodrigo and I collect orange recyclables from the trash and shape them round. We give them out in front of the downtown station to anyone who looks like they need them. I don’t know where they’ll end up, but I hope that one way or another they’ll find the same furtive magic I did. 

It’s not a place for everybody, but I’m crossing my fingers that I’ll return someday. You see — for me — there’s nothing sweeter than the glazed candy of Halloween nightmares. For now, I’ll enjoy the ride until I reach my last stop.

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Looking for more spooky reads? Check these out!

• One Small Bite – Halloween Poetry
• The Witch’s Familiar – Halloween Flash Fiction
• The Night Library at Sternedach – a Haunting Book Review
• Of Bats and Ravens at the Black Orb – Halloween Fiction