HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
Here's a story that's sure to make you scream.
Beware! This tale is written to scare. It is not for youngsters, their fingers and toes are too small for Ferry's taste.
“No way!” Georgie exclaimed. “Mom told you to stop making up stories.”
“It's true. I saw Ferry Blackwell,” Macy said. “He had a head like a melon.”
“You did not. Get your stuff and let’s go. We’re gonna be late.” Georgie walked out the door, and Macy followed, wishing her big brother would believe her this time. She did like to make up stories and their mom had asked her to knock it off, but this wasn’t a story. She had spotted Ferry Blackwell, she was sure of it.
***
Shifting from one foot to the other, Macy stared down the
school driveway. All the buses had left; everyone was gone. Georgie was late.
She'd tried to call him on her cell phone, but there was no answer. Her mom
was at work, and Macy knew interrupting her would guarantee a whole evening of
arguing. Slipping the phone into her back pocket, she decided to walk
home.
As the pavement twisted and turned she
found herself thinking about Ferry Blackwell again. Last week she had started
reading a book about the history of her town, Devilsville. It hadn’t been very
interesting, except for one phrase, which was handwritten on page thirty-three.
It said:
In the woods of Devilsville, you’re sure to find a gory thrill. When the Bakerman wants to eat, hide your hands and cover your feet. With a head melon-sized and fire burning in his eyes, he’ll harvest your fingers and your toes, then hide the rest so no one knows. Murdered by an angry town, he swore revenge when they shot him down. So watch your children, but never tell- if Ferry Blackwell comes back from hell.
In the woods of Devilsville, you’re sure to find a gory thrill. When the Bakerman wants to eat, hide your hands and cover your feet. With a head melon-sized and fire burning in his eyes, he’ll harvest your fingers and your toes, then hide the rest so no one knows. Murdered by an angry town, he swore revenge when they shot him down. So watch your children, but never tell- if Ferry Blackwell comes back from hell.
Macy knew the words by heart. She'd looked through a few other books, but found nothing else about Ferry Blackwell.
Then, the other day, she saw him. There had been an odd rustling behind the
bushes in her backyard, and when she went over to investigate, someone was
there. It looked like a man, but with a huge head. He'd flashed a mad, toothy
grin at her, and then disappeared.
Her mother had come running out when she'd heard Macy’s rants of terror. “Macy! What did I tell you about scaring people with your stories?” she'd yelled.
Macy knew that no one was ever going to believe her, and why should they? After all, she did have a long history of making things up, which had opened more than one can of worms for her parents to deal with. Things like, Ginny Wader, in the third grade, refusing to touch door handles ever again or Georgie wearing a helmet wherever he went for a year. The list was long, she mused.
Her thoughts were suddenly cut short. Just ahead, at the bottom of the hill, a school bus was stopped in the middle of the road. Macy cautiously walked up to it and climbed the steps. Other than the backpacks strewn about on the seats it appeared empty.
“Hello?” she asked quietly. “Is anyone here?” Macy made her way down the aisle. Midway, something caught her eye and when she turned to get a closer look, her mouth dropped open in horror. On the seat to her left was a bloody pile of shoes and socks, and what looked like fingernails tossed into the gruesome heap.
BANG! Something hit the side of the bus. “What was that?” she whispered. BANG! Again, the bus shook and teetered. Macy reacted fast. She ran up the aisle and grabbed the door handle. Just as it was about to latch, long fingers pried it back open. Two red, veined eyes zeroed in on their target. Terror forced the air out of her lungs, and she screamed.
Her mother had come running out when she'd heard Macy’s rants of terror. “Macy! What did I tell you about scaring people with your stories?” she'd yelled.
Macy knew that no one was ever going to believe her, and why should they? After all, she did have a long history of making things up, which had opened more than one can of worms for her parents to deal with. Things like, Ginny Wader, in the third grade, refusing to touch door handles ever again or Georgie wearing a helmet wherever he went for a year. The list was long, she mused.
Her thoughts were suddenly cut short. Just ahead, at the bottom of the hill, a school bus was stopped in the middle of the road. Macy cautiously walked up to it and climbed the steps. Other than the backpacks strewn about on the seats it appeared empty.
“Hello?” she asked quietly. “Is anyone here?” Macy made her way down the aisle. Midway, something caught her eye and when she turned to get a closer look, her mouth dropped open in horror. On the seat to her left was a bloody pile of shoes and socks, and what looked like fingernails tossed into the gruesome heap.
BANG! Something hit the side of the bus. “What was that?” she whispered. BANG! Again, the bus shook and teetered. Macy reacted fast. She ran up the aisle and grabbed the door handle. Just as it was about to latch, long fingers pried it back open. Two red, veined eyes zeroed in on their target. Terror forced the air out of her lungs, and she screamed.
***
Macy was flat on her back when she woke. She was chained to the floor, and her feet were bare. A painful stinging in her fingers and toes sliced through her body. Where was she? What had happened?
“Who else is here?” she questioned the
darkness.
“Shhhh,” a panicked voice said.
“Who’s there?” she said again.
“Stop talking, you idiot.
He’ll hear you.” It was a terrified sounding boy.
“Why’s it so dark?” Macy
continued. She had no intention of shutting up.
“I think we’re in a
basement,” another voice chimed in.
Suddenly it dawned on
her where they must be. It had to be the abandoned house on Hull Street. She
and Georgie would come here when things around the house got too serious. It
was their hiding spot, and she knew it well. Even the moldy, abandoned smells
were familiar. “How many people are here?” she asked.
“I’m
here, Marcus Beltane,” came a nervous voice.
“Me too, I’m Jen Andrews.”
The voices started to pick up, “Justin
Deluca, Melanie Grism...” There seemed to be about ten kids sitting in the dark
with her; all scared, and all, she was certain, without their finger and
toe nails.
The
creaking of a door silenced the murmuring. A light flickered on, cutting
through the blackness. Macy squinted her eyes and stared at the
ceiling, watching as a shadow with an enormous melon shaped head moved across
the room. Its heavy footfalls came to a halt.
Suddenly, a cackling voice bellowed out, “Looky here, girls and boys, forget your mommies and your toys. The fun and games will soon begin; to scare me back is how you win. But should you lose, you’ll pay a price, your fingers and toes I’ll surly dice. Just try to leave! It won’t do you well. For I’m back from hell. I’m the Bakerman, Ferry Blackwell.” His howling laugh sounded insane, like a hyena calling out to its prey. He did an odd little jig. Then, in an instant, he was gone.
Suddenly, a cackling voice bellowed out, “Looky here, girls and boys, forget your mommies and your toys. The fun and games will soon begin; to scare me back is how you win. But should you lose, you’ll pay a price, your fingers and toes I’ll surly dice. Just try to leave! It won’t do you well. For I’m back from hell. I’m the Bakerman, Ferry Blackwell.” His howling laugh sounded insane, like a hyena calling out to its prey. He did an odd little jig. Then, in an instant, he was gone.
“Okay, this is
really happening,” Macy said, more to herself than anyone else. She took a deep
breath, then continued, “He said something about winning, didn’t he?"
“Yeah, he said, to scare me
back is how you win,” a trembling voice squeaked. “He also said that he was a
bakerman. What’s he going to do? Bake us into bread or something?”
“I think that’s exactly what he’s
going to do,” Macy responded, remembering what she'd read. “But, it sounds
like if we scare him back, we win. Which, I guess, means we get to live.”
“How are we supposed to scare
him? He’s a demon who makes bread out of kids’ fingers and toes. I mean, what’s
scarier than that?” Macy recognized the voice of Jen Andrews.
“I know, but...” Her mind was
whirring. Then, it hit her. She remembered the cell phone in her pocket. The
door opened. Macy threw caution to the wind and whispered, “I have
a plan.”
***
Her heart thudded in her chest as a shadow moved into
the room. “So kiddies, who’s it going to be? Who wants to be the first to try to
scare me?” His voice sounded crazy.
Macy mustered up
all of her strength and called out, “I’ll go first, you don’t scare me. You’re
going to be caught any minute.” She kept her breathing even as Ferry Blackwell
loomed above her, searching her face with his terrifying eyes. He was so close
that she could smell his putrid, stinking
breath.
“You wait and
see! I’ll show you how scary I can be!” He pulled her up by her hair and
dragged her to a chopping block in the center of the room. The chains rattled around her ankles, tightening their grip as she moved. The pain sliced through her legs, but she held her tongue, not wanting the demon to sense her fear. Grabbing her left
arm, he slapped her hand down on it.
She focused her mind on the weight in
her back pocket, hoping beyond hope she hadn’t been knocked out for more than
thirty minutes. The reminder alarm on her phone had been set to go off at
exactly 4PM, and it had to be about that time. Macy glared up at Ferry
Blackwell and said, “Everyone in town already knows where we are. Kids today
have GPS trackers implanted in our bodies that tells our parents exactly where
we are at all times. You’ll see, the town’s people will be here any moment to
shoot you down and send you back to hell, Ferry Blackwell."
He looked bemused, as he replied, “Clever girl! You know my name! Now, let’s begin our little game. Terribly funny to think you’ll be saved- when for a century, fingers and toes I’ve craved!” He raised a sharp blade above his head, poised to strike.
Macy squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself. Please go off alarm, she prayed, believing that this would, at the very least, buy her more time. As if on cue, a loud beeping blared out from her pocket.
Ferry leered at her, unsure. Just then, in a brilliant moment of pure luck, another cell phone rang out, perhaps a concerned parent. Another one went off with a mechanical jingle. The timing couldn’t have been better.
There was a frantic banging on a door. The demon spun around wildly, looking terrified. “No, no, not to hell. Hide, I must and never tell,” he bellowed and dropped the blade. It landed with a clink just as Ferry Blackwell shot into the air and burst into flames, disappearing in a black puff of smoke.
No one breathed. Somewhere above, Georgie’s worried voice called out, “Macy, are you in here?”
He looked bemused, as he replied, “Clever girl! You know my name! Now, let’s begin our little game. Terribly funny to think you’ll be saved- when for a century, fingers and toes I’ve craved!” He raised a sharp blade above his head, poised to strike.
Macy squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself. Please go off alarm, she prayed, believing that this would, at the very least, buy her more time. As if on cue, a loud beeping blared out from her pocket.
Ferry leered at her, unsure. Just then, in a brilliant moment of pure luck, another cell phone rang out, perhaps a concerned parent. Another one went off with a mechanical jingle. The timing couldn’t have been better.
There was a frantic banging on a door. The demon spun around wildly, looking terrified. “No, no, not to hell. Hide, I must and never tell,” he bellowed and dropped the blade. It landed with a clink just as Ferry Blackwell shot into the air and burst into flames, disappearing in a black puff of smoke.
No one breathed. Somewhere above, Georgie’s worried voice called out, “Macy, are you in here?”
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| Ferry's Toe Finger Bread |
INTERVIEW
WITH FERRY BLACKWELL
Hosted by Cate Masters
Cate Masters: What
do you love most about Halloween?
Ferry Blackwell: Halloween's a joke, that's what I say! It’s better in hell on that boring day. I can't even scare, so there's nothing to win- the people want horror and are likely to sin. I'd rather lay low and bide my time, when the moment's right, I'll get what's mine.
Cate Masters: Do
you have a favorite memory of a Halloween past?
Ferry Blackwell: There was this one time, now let me see- I remember a Halloween treat that I baked just for me. I'd gathered my wits, then sought the ingredients, hoping to find a few fresh, young deviants. Mostly I needed fingers and toes, so I snatched them right up, despite all their woes. I sliced and diced, and baked my bread, even shared it graciously with those not yet dead.
Cate Masters: Have
you ever had an unusual experience you can't explain?
Ferry Blackwell: I am an unusual experience you can't explain! You won't see me coming, and then you'll know pain. (Stands up, does a quick jig, then sits down again- grinning).
Cate Masters: What
frightens you the most?
Ferry Blackwell: The time I told you about the treat, that Halloween was not so sweet. You see, though the bread did taste grand, the people found me, guns in hand. I was scared when they shot me down, but I swore I'd be back to haunt their town. Now here I am, as you can tell- Ferry Blackwell's back from hell! (Cackling laugh)
Cate Masters: Ever
gone on a ghost tour? Or ghost hunting on your own?
Ferry Blackwell: Bah! Ghosts are for babies! They can't even speak. Nothing scary about them, they're flimsy and weak.
Cate Masters: Any
favorite Halloween recipes you'd care to share?
Ferry Blackwell: Lookie here! I'll grant your wish- Toe Finger Bread's my signature dish! It's so scrumptious, you'll surly agree. Next time I bake it, I shall slice some for thee.
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| Preview the book on Amazon |
Ferry Blackwell Strikes Again is included in an H.P. Lovecraft anthology published by the spooktacular Macabre Maine. Pick up a copy and give yourself a fright this Halloween!
In the mood for more spooky stories?
