Good evening, it’s Spooky Boo welcoming to the first of October 2021. What does this mean for the people in Sandcastle and you? It’s the best time of the year! Halloween festivities begin today everywhere. The streets in Sandcastle are decorated with pumpkins and skeletons and the people in town even begin to cosplay earlier than anyone. It’s their way of trying to feel normal while living in a spooky town.
This month we celebrate Halloween by having a daily podcast about Halloween. Yes, it’s the 31 Days of Halloween celebration where I will read podcast stories every day with at least one story being about Halloween. Today I have two creepypasta scary Halloween stories for you about Halloween candy. So sit back, grab your pumpkins and listen to the spooky tales of the 31 Days of Halloween.
Now let’s begin…
Candy Pieces
The head-pounding knock at the door comes for the 28th time that same night. Having to abandon my cooking once again, I promptly hustle out to the doorway, orange bowl filled to the brim with a variety of homemade candies made by yours truly.
“Trick or Treat!” The toddler squeaks. As he looks up at me, the dinosaur hoodie droops over his beady eyes.
“What a nice costume,” I sigh, grabbing a handful of candies and dumping them into the half-full pillow sack.
“Thank you,” he says as he waddles down my porch steps and back to his dad.
I slowly shut the door closed and retreat to the kitchen. I quickly pull my golden-colored chicken out of the steaming oven and onto the counter, where I begin to bombard it with spices of all sorts.
I still do feel the slightest feeling of guilt; I mostly enjoy handing out my candies to the troublesome teenagers, as the older they are, the more I give them.
It’s really just a fun-sized chocolate bar filled with a dash of vodka and some meth. I usually individually wrap them with pink or purple ribbons to make it look cheesy. Ever since I began giving out these candies, which has been for well over 3 years now, no one has accused me (yet) of their children waking up the next morning, vomiting and sweating until they either drop dead or take a visit to the hospital.
After all, I’m not the only one that does it in the neighborhood; there’s Peter down the street that hands out similar homemade lollipops that appear to be store-bought.
I have to admit I’ve really outdone myself this time; the chicken looked great and ready to devour. Before I can bring it to the dining table, I hear the knocking at the door for the 29th time…
The knock sounds hard, shaking the floor. Shocked, I peak through a small crack I make in the door and see a small boy, 6–7 years old wearing a small little white mask, similar to the Jabbawockeez dance crew mask. He is wearing a black hoodie and black jeans. He stands there, staring at me from behind his mask. I grab the bowl of candy off of the drawers behind me and hold it in front of him.
“Take a candy; your costume scared me.”
He peeks down at the candy and looks back up at me.
“I know your secret, Anne.” A ghostly voice cold as ice mutters. His voice shoots chills throughout my body. How did he know my name? Where were his parents?
He remained silent after this statement, waiting for my reaction.
“W-what do you mean?” I stammer.
“Your candies are drugged. They made my friends sick.” Following this statement, he slaps the bowl out of my shaking hands, scattering candy all over my porch. The bowl shatters upon impact.
“What’s your problem, kid?! Pick that up this instant!” I shout, stomping out my door.
The child tilts his head, appearing to be confused at this statement.
“You heard me. Pick up my candy.” I repeat.
He shakes his head, backing up a couple of steps.
“Well how would you like it if I slapped your candy bag out of your hands? Not very nice, huh? Now pick up my god damn candy!”
He shrieked a high pitch scream and ran down the steps of my porch and across the street.
“HEY, GET BACK HERE!” I shout, slamming the door behind me and slipping on my slippers. I sprint across the street and past innocent children in costumes and bewildered parents. I manage to see a small, dark figure pushing his way past others. He turns onto the next street, crowded with cars and screaming kids. At least this street is lit up; I could clearly see him far ahead on the uneven pavement, but he was far too fast; he turned the next street very quickly, causing me to lose him. Grumpy, I make my way back home to see kids huddled on my porch taking fist fulls of chocolates like a piñata just burst.
I make my way up my porch and realize my front door is locked. The kids, watching me curse at the starry sky, flee towards their angered parents and quickly make their way onward.
Luckily, I usually keep my back door unlocked, so I hop my fence and manage to make my way into my nice, cozy house. Locking the door behind me, I turn on my porch lights and return to my kitchen.
Great, just great. The chicken is now cold. Ruined. I don’t think I could have a worse Halloween Night. I decide to clean up my porch. I make sure to unlock the door this time and head outside. I hand two handfuls of candy and bring them inside to put them in a fresh bowl. I bring the bowl outside and begin to clean up. Finally when every candy is returned to the bowl and every last shard of orange bowl is swept up, I feel a whole lot better, considering Halloween night is almost over, as it is 11 o’ clock.
I decide to bring a chair out and sit on the porch for the rest of the night. Only a couple of guests attend, all teens. Once the last light on the street turns off, I return back inside, feeling a little bit better, but still very exasperated.
With the remainder of the night, I pop one of my old horror movie flicks, Hellraiser, into the VHS and begin to doze off on the lumpy couch next to my bowl of steamy, buttery popcorn.
But before I can completely fall asleep, a loud knocking comes at my door.
“What in the world…” I mutter, bolting up from the couch. I swing the door open and shout,
“Go home, its past midnight you…” I pause. Its the boy in the black hoodie. Before I have a chance to react, he disappears across the street once again.
“You best run away before I call the cops on you,” I scream, “Get away from my house!”
With all my force, I slam the door shut and lock it.
Just in case, I grab a knife from the kitchen and return to the couch, ready to scare off any late night visitors. I return to the couch and lie down like nothing happened. The movie is near the ending, the same ending I’ve watched as a kid, as a teen.
The movie has long finished and I have turned off the television. I sleep on couch for no apparent reason, and began to doze off once again.
I believe I got 2 hours of sleep before I heard my back gate creaking open. Now fully awake and alert, I grab my sharp knife off the floor, standing in the middle of the living room. I quickly flick on my light switch and stare at my sliding doors, eyes round as quarters. For around 15 minutes, all I can see is the sprinklers lying dormant in the middle of my lawn and my garden, flowers swaying in the gentle wind. Just when I think it’s my mind being paranoid, I hear the 29th knock at my door of the night, or morning. It’s the same knock as the other two; shaking the floor, causing me to jump out of my skin. I dare not open the door, as the child might be there.
I creep towards a nearby window in my bedroom that reveals a part of my porch.
I slowly and quietly move the shades on the window…slowly…slowly…I don’t want to draw any attention…
I open the shades enough to peak through without any suspicions. I see the same little black hoodie sitting on my porch steps, waiting for me to answer. He seems harmless; maybe he just needs help and is afraid. But then again, he knew my name and my secret…no, I should probably leave him there. He might leave…
I inspect his every movement, making sure nothing is harmful or will damage my property for the next 20 minutes. Just when I think he’s going to get up on leave, he stands up and whispers something to himself, but I hear it loud and clear.
“I know you’re watching me through the window. Come out here, now.”
His voice is soft; ghostly. His words seem to pass right through me, shaking me right down to my core.
I jolt back from the shades, heart racing. This cannot be happening; I need to wake up. I scramble out of my room and into the living room; I needed to act fast before this boy causes me any harm. Without thinking, I scream,
“What do you want from me, anyways?”
There is no response; the only noise I can hear with my delicate ears is the wind picking up dead, crunchy leaves.
I decide to call up Peter for help; the only thing the police would do would be locking me up for my candy. I punch in the numbers, heart feeling like it will leap out of my chest any minute now.
To my dismay, Peter picks up.
“Anne? What are you still doing awake?”
“Pete, you gotta help…there’s a little boy that won’t leave me alone…he’s some kind of spirit.”
“Jeez, Anne. Did you eat one of your own candies on accident? Here, I’ll come over there, but I assure you nothing is wrong.”
“T-thank you…”
Peter hangs up shortly as I sit on the couch, miserable. Peter calls me up 5 minutes later.
“Help…me…” Peter says in an agonizing voice. He strains the words out slowly.
“Pete? You OK? Pete!” I cry.
“The…boy…” Peter mutters, hanging up.
Tears streaming from my face, I sprint out the front door to see Peter standing on my lawn, cackling like an idiot.
“You asshole!” I sob, socking him in the chest, “Do you know how hard this night has been?”
“Sorry, sorry.” He holds in a laugh, “It’s just that…”
“Just shut up…” I shout, clenching my fists, “This boy has been tormenting me for hours now! For all I know, he could be inside my house right now, wrecking everything.” I shove Peter and storm off into my house, furious at the boy. Furious at Peter. Furious at myself. I climb into my bed and scream. I begin to cry a river as Peter hustles down the sidewalk, laughing.
As I sob in the darkness of my eerie room, I hear the shattering of glass, probably my sliding doors. Springing into action, but still sobbing, I grab the knife that was sitting on my nightstand and roll under my bed, the best hiding spot I could think of at the time.
I hear small, soft footsteps on my wooden floor outside my room. I control my sobs as much as I can as the shadow of tiny feet walk pass my doorway. The little feet return and head towards my room. The door creaks open, and the black-hooded child wearing his white mask tip-toes inside, holding a glass shard from my sliding doors that he broke.
“I don’t even have to look, Anne. You’re underneath the bed holding a knife, wishing for Peter. Just come on out.”
I begin to sob uncontrollably as the boy crouches down and gives me the good old stare. He offers me a tiny hand, so friendly, so innocent. With pleasure, I bring the knife down upon the boy’s hand, creating a large, gaping gash in his hand. He lets out an inhuman roar as he retreats, leaving a slot of time to run out the room and run. He chases after me with ridiculous speed, diving on top of my back and slicing the back of my neck. I throw the boy off me, sending him down onto the wooden floor. I jog into the living room, grasping my wound with one hand and my knife in the other a prepare myself for the worst.
What I see limping around the corner is no longer a child; it is a pale, skinny, boney monster still wearing the same mask and same hoodie hissing and spewing out black liquids that appear to be blood. The height of it has increased, as well, to about the same height as my waist. It crawls across the floor as it gets a good grip on my ankle, taking two nips. I slice halfway through its neck, causing it to let go for a moment and drip black, slimy liquid all over the carpet.
The pale figure squeals as it makes its final lunge at me. I plunge the knife through its mask, causing it go to limp and hit the ground.
As the monster slams to the black carpet, I wake up in a padded cell, hair a mess, limbs aching.
As I later learned, there was no boy with a white mask, no monster, but there were the candies that I confessed to giving out, and there was a Peter, now dead.
I had half imagined the events of the night; when Peter really walked away, he heard me screaming, so he grew worried. The front door had been locked, so in a panic he had smashed through the sliding doors. So basically, the boy/the white figure monster had been Peter all along. Near the beginning of the night, the boy in the white mask was real; he really did know that I had drugged the candy because he lived next door without me knowing for the past few years and saw me preparing the candy one day.
My mind had cracked near morning. I had been taken in a few days later, lying next to Peter’s corpse.
I sat silently in my padded cell, admiring my surroundings where I would remain for a long time.
I peer at my door, where a figure out of sight knocked at my door for the 30th time.
Full Sized Candy Bars
Written by Sumgigh
There’s a point in your life when the things that have happened to you just become stories. I don’t mean that they are less important or that they didn’t happen, but they just turn into that thing that happened once. No matter how much it affected you, it’s just a story.
Even if you’re the one who survived.
Five years ago, when we were 15, my best friend Andy and I decided to go trick-or-treating one more time. I know we were probably too old and the adults in the neighborhood would roll their eyes when we showed up, but we figured they would give up the candy because kids our age were more likely to mess with their house if they didn’t get free chocolate.
Andy and I weren’t like that at all, but it didn’t make us any less likely to embrace the idea. Free candy is free candy.
Being of that age when lazy becomes an art form in itself, Andy and I weren’t just going to go out only to find that we were getting crappy stuff like butterscotch candies or the sort of stuff you’d see in grandma’s candy dish. Leave that for what our parents did. This is the digital age.
If you know what to look for and with even basic social media skills, you can actually get your route mapped out for you in advance. Even four years ago, kids were all over Twitter posting pics and putting up hashtags were the really good candy was. It’s probably more Instagram now.
We looked for #fullsize. While it sounded like a good idea at the time it also led to more than a few pictures of dudes naked below the waist. It wasn’t a foolproof way to find the candy, but it worked at least a little bit. We were able to find a neighborhood not too far from Andy’s house that had four different stops with full-sized candy bars.
We each had three different masks, you know, the cheap thin plastic kind that gets held onto your head by an even cheaper and thinner piece of elastic or rubber band? They were only a buck a piece at the local dollar store and we got more than that back in chocolate just from those few houses. Sure, by the third time the parents got the clue, but what difference did it make?
By the time we actually went out, only about an hour had passed until most of the houses were turning off their lights or blowing out the candles in their pumpkins. We went out a bit later than other kids because we were older and of course that meant we couldn’t be out at the same time as the little kids.
Andy was scrolling through Twitter trying to see if there were any other houses close by that we could hit up and wasn’t having much luck. I was looking through what had turned out to be a pretty epic haul when he nudged me with his elbow and held out his phone for me to see.
“Hey, there’s one more,” he said, his voice muffled behind his white skeleton mask.
I looked at the screen and saw a picture of three full-size Snickers bars on a picture with the hashtag #fullsize. Andy scrolled his thumb across the screen and showed the address. It was about two miles away, which, where we lived meant that it was out in the middle of nowhere near the edge of the woods.
“Dude,” I said, “that’s way out there. We won’t get there before they go to bed.”
Andy shook his head. “Nah, check it out,” he kept scrolling his thumb to all the people who had replied to the picture. No one was going out there, everyone saying it was too far away or too creepy or whatever. “If they went through the trouble of getting full-sized candy bars and barely anyone showed up, they are for sure gonna wait up. I bet it’s some lonely geezers who just want people to remember they’re alive.”
I hesitated. I really didn’t want to go that far out. It was cold out and I watched as the thick clouds of breath came out from behind Andy’s mask.
“Two miles?” I asked.
Andy proceeded to goad me with some of the more off-color insults I’d ever heard. None of which meant anything to me until he pointed out that if no one was going there, then they would probably just give us a bunch of candy without needing to do the mask routine.
Finally, I agreed. If nothing else, it would make for a good story. We could make it sound even better, maybe even live tweet it and see if people could make it go viral.
We talked about doing that the entire walk there. How we could make it seem like we were in the middle of a scary movie.
“Going up to the house #creepy”
“There’s some weird music playing inside #wtf”
“WTF!?!?!??!?!”
Just that sort of thing to get people paying attention. Even if they were asleep we could take some pics or something and make it seem like a big deal. What else were we going to do?
Except that we forgot most of that by the time we got there. The house was even further back in the woods than I thought. The start of the driveway seemed about a half a mile from the road to the house and there was a slight bend in it so you really couldn’t see the house beyond a light that was on in one of the windows.
We didn’t stop at the road or anything that dramatic. We had been walking that far and I think that as much as we had excited ourselves at the idea of the Twitter thing, we were also tired and just wanted to get the candy and go home to watch scary movies.
As long as the driveway was, it felt like a fast walk. I didn’t take my eyes off the door from the moment we could see it. There was just the one light on in the side of the house, I think it was a garage light and it shone out the side window, so you couldn’t actually see inside anything.
There was a carved pumpkin with a flickering flame on the stoop, but it was really poorly done. Like a little kid or some old person with palsy tried to make it. And there was a lock on the door. I don’t mean like a deadlock, but one of those little five-button things that you see attached to doors of houses that are for sale.
“See, old people. They keep that on there in case they lock themselves out or something,” Andy said in a tone that didn’t sound all that sure. But it sounded good enough to me as my arm reached out to press the doorbell.
The sound of the ding-dong had barely stopped when the door cracked open. Andy and I stood there, not a single word between us as we stared at what we could only assume was a man in the doorway. He was about average height, a little overweight, but he was wearing this weird mask. It had squinting eyes and really fat cheeks and a puckered mouth like it was trying to hold its breath.
Behind the man was a single exposed red lightbulb that backlit him. He just stood there, wheezing with each breath behind the mask as it slowly turned back and forth looking at each of us. I’m not sure which of us spoke first, but eventually we each remembered to say trick-or-treat. The man stood there for at least another minute looking back at forth between Andy’s skull mask and my fox mask before turning around and walking deeper into the house.
Andy and I looked at each other. Even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I imagine they had the same confused/terrified look as mine. When we looked back I could see the man pick up a box of candy bars. As he slowly turned back to the door his arm hit a railing and he grunted as the box flew out of his hands, the candy bars spilling out onto the ground.
A few actually slid to within a foot of the door. The man grunted and cursed as he bent over to pick them up. Andy and I didn’t move from where we were on the front step until the man turned around. He was on his hands and knees picking up the candy bars and Andy nudged me, pointing at the candy that was just inside the door. I think I shook my head, but I can’t remember, a moment of panic overtaking me I just wanted to leave so I reached inside the door to grab the candy. The man’s back was still turned and I knew I could just grab a bar and we could take off running, splitting-up if we needed to. Why he would chase us I had no idea, but we were pretty worked up by that point.
It all happened in a matter of seconds. As my hand touched the smooth cool wrapper of the candy bar I felt a vice-grip clamp down on my wrist so hard I thought it would break. The man had spun in place and grabbed me. He had been way closer than I realized, something about the light and my mask messed with how well I had seen him.
In one smooth motion he tugged my arm and I went flying into the door. But as soon as he pulled me past him, my body falling to the ground like a lump, he lunged at Andy. Something flashed in his hands. Andy had turned to run and suddenly crumpled to the ground. The man stood over him, still breathing insanely loudly, his breath a cloud in front of his face.
I was trying to get up as he turned and I saw what was in his hand: a taser. That’s the last thing I remember before waking up again outside of the house. My body ached and my head was killing me. My face was cold too. I realized that I wasn’t wearing my mask. I looked around desperately for Andy, but I was all alone.
The front door to the house was closed. The pumpkin was gone off the front step. The lights were off. I scrambled to grab my phone, but that was gone too. I was just about to start running when the panic shifted in me and I realized that Andy might be in the house still. Yeah, he could have run away, but what if he didn’t?
As quietly as I could I went around the house, trying to look into the darkened windows, but I couldn’t see anything. I was too scared to knock on the door. I mean, it wasn’t a prank. The son of a bitch had used a taser on Andy. When I had almost done a complete lap I thought I saw something moving in the dark. I cupped my eyes to the window and almost passed out as the fat, round mask burst toward the window, thumping the forehead against the glass. I let out a scream and it just stayed there, staring at me, then it looked down at the side, next to him and I watched as something white lifted into view.
It was a skeleton mask. Andy’s skeleton mask. And there was something splattered on it. Something red.
I ran.
I ran until my legs gave out and I tumbled against the first house I found that had all the lights on. I was gasping and crying and begging them to call the police.
By the time the police got out to the house, there was nothing there. No man. No Andy. All they found was the splintered door frame from where the back door had been kicked in. I hadn’t even noticed that in the dark. If I had… maybe I could have done something instead of running away like a coward.
I later learned that the lock was on the door because the house had been foreclosed on a week prior. The Twitter account that Andy and I had found was a week old as well. If we had bothered to look, we would have seen that the account followed over 1000 people and had all of 15 followers. All the tweets were retweets from other legit accounts except for the picture of the candy bars. It was registered in the name of a kid who went to a nearby middle school, but that was just a lie to throw people off.
To lure someone in.
And it had worked.
I cried a lot. I cried as I told the strangers whose house I ran to what happened, begging them to call the cops. I cried when I told the cops and my parents what happened. I cried as I tried to understand why any of it happened, why he let me go.
Why he only took Andy…
It’s been five years since Andy disappeared and there’s been nothing. No response. Every year, I sit on Twitter and I look up the hashtag #fullsize, checking everything out, making sure it isn’t a lie or a lure. I’ve called the police more than a few times thinking I found the guy.
But mostly… mostly I’m just looking for my friend, so I can stop telling this story and start living my life again. The life that I lost the day Andy disappeared.
All for a full-size candy bar…
Thank you for listening. If you enjoyed these stories, head on over to my website at www.scarystorytime.com and make a comment. You can also find me on social media by searching for Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time.
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Come and watch Creature Features with me on Saturday nights at 9:00 PM Pacific on YouTube where the fans and I watch Vincent Van Dahl interview fun guests and we watch the campy old horror movies. You’ll see Mr. Livingston and Tangella and sometimes even Handrew. It’s a lot of fun. Find out your showtime at www.creaturefeatures.tv.
That’s all for tonight. I’ll see you in your nightmares.
