12 Hours of Halloween: a novel

◆The last Halloween of childhood is the most terrifying one of all! A scare-packed coming-of-age supernatural thriller.◆One last Halloween…The year is 1980. Jeff Schaeffer, Leah Carter, and Bobby Nagel decide to go out for "one last Halloween" before adolescence takes away their childhood forever.But this Halloween is different, they soon discover. An outing that was supposed to be light-hearted and fun becomes a battle for sanity—and perhaps even survival.A Halloween curseA sinister teenager known as “the ghost boy” declares that Jeff Schaeffer and his friends will endure “twelve hours of trial” on Halloween. The three young people subsequently find their once familiar surroundings transformed into a bizarre and terrifying landscape.They discover that just beneath the surface of their suburban neighborhood lies a secret realm of haunted houses, demonically possessed trees, and spirits with unfinished business. One entity, called the “head collector”, stalks through the darkened streets in search of grisly trophies.Coming-of-age conflict...Jeff is also forced to confront new feelings for both of his old friends.He believes that he is in love with Leah; but does Leah feel the same way?Meanwhile, his friend Bobby, who had always protected him from local bullies, now seems to harbor a dark agenda that threatens to divide and possibly destroy them all.◆’12 Hours of Halloween’ will awaken your childhood fears. Be prepared for sleepless nights!◆

From the Inside Flap

Excerpt from Chapter 9: "The Vampire Lady"The house was adorned with a few tasteful Halloween decorations: a tiny light bulb glowed inside a plastic jack-o'-lantern on the front porch. A white bed sheet, roughly manipulated to resemble a ghost, had been strung up in one of the shrubs."Do you know the people who live here?" Leah asked me. There would have been no point in asking Bobby, as he did not live in Shayton Estates."I don't know any of the families in this end of the neighborhood," I said. And that made me think: What the heck had Matt Stefano been doing in Shayton Estates to begin with? Surely he didn't live here. Had he come here tonight with the express purpose of tracking me?Pushing these thoughts aside, I pressed the doorbell.The voice inside the house caused chills to ripple up my spine. It was a deep, booming voice:"Open the door! Open the door!" it shouted.Curiously, the voice also had an echo, as if the distinctly male presence were calling from the bottom of a ravine."That must be a recording," Bobby said."I don't think it's a recording," I said. The words had come as an immediate response to my ringing the doorbell."Well, then it's some kind of a sound effect."Have it your way, Bobby, I thought. How could it be a "sound effect"? This wasn't a Hollywood studio, after all. This was a house in suburban Ohio. (And in 1980, stereo systems were pretty basic.)Leah was about to offer her two cents, but then the door opened.The woman before us appeared to be perfectly normal--at first glance. She might have been in her early- to mid-thirties. She was wearing what might be described as a "sexy witch" outfit: a sleeveless black gown that featured a short (though not indecently short) skirt, and a plunging neckline. Her light brown hair overflowed from beneath a store-bought witch's hat. Somewhat incongruously, she also wore glasses. They were encased in large, round plastic frames--the kind that were so popular in those days."Hello, children!" she said sweetly. Once again, we heard the voice from somewhere deep in the house: "Open the door!"The words seemed to vibrate through the front doorframe of the house.The woman turned away from us to call back at the unseen source: "I've got the door. You can stop now!"When she turned back to us, she quickly recovered from what might have been a look of annoyance. She was clearly unafraid of the man who had called out in that preternaturally low and rumbling pitch. This was some sort of an elaborate Halloween ruse--or something unusual was taking place here. I hadn't yet decided.Was the woman's skin unusually pale? A part of me thought so; but it was difficult to say for sure in the dim lighting. "Candy," she said, as if declaring her own absentmindedness. "That's what you children want: candy."I know, even now, that all of us were feeling vaguely insulted at being referred to as children. None of us protested, though. We were the ones trick-or-treating, after all.The woman stepped briefly away from the doorway and retrieved a serving bowl filled with "fun-size" chocolate bars and lollipops. Nothing out of order here, I thought.When she gave me my Baby Ruth chocolate bar, the woman also favored me with a wide, friendly smile. Her mouth opened just wide enough for me to see her canine incisors.They're fake, I thought. They have to be. She pivoted to drop candy into the bags held by Leah and Bobby. I noticed that her hand brushed Bobby's. I saw Bobby stare back at the woman with wide-eyed amazement, then repulsion and fear. The woman shot a smile back at him. It might have been a private joke passed between the two of them. But Bobby turned away quickly, barely murmuring his thanks.I stole a glance inside the house, which looked mostly normal, except for some atmospheric Halloween lighting. (This, of course, was nothing out of the ordinary.) My attention was drawn to something small and black that was walking jerkily past the woman's feet in the foyer. The black cat walked like a robot, with stiff joints. The cat was no robot, though. Its black fur was genuine--and matted with blood. "Hit by a car," the woman said in response to my unstated question. Leah saw the cat, too, now, and she gasped aloud.The woman stooped to pet the animal. It tilted its head back in response to her caress, but not like a normal cat would. Like its walking motions, the head movement was stiff and unnatural.Rigor mortis, I thought, involuntarily."Hit by a car," the woman explained. As she scratched the animal's blood-caked pelt, she gave me another smile, another flash of those incisors. "You can revive them afterward, if you know what you're doing, but they're never the same."

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