Halloween

In truth, horror isn't really my thing.  I don't like scary movies, and scary books are even worse, because they leave so much up to my own (overactive) imagination.

But in honor of the holiday, your prompt for this week:  Write something spine-tingling!

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My response:

Maggie stomped through the trees, leaves crunching under her boots and flying behind her.  Her fingers curled into fists, flexed, and curled again.  Behind her, throaty screams tore the silence of the night.  Maggie threw back her head in a bitter laugh.  "Ha!"

Three years of falling all over herself, trying to get Trevor to notice her, and this was how it ended?  In some Halloween prank?  If Trevor was the kind of guy who would lure her out into the woods just to have his buddies creep up on them and scare her to death, then he wasn't the guy she thought he was.  Her heart wasn't even broken.  It was furious.

She reached into the pocket of her jean jacket and pulled out her phone, holding it up to light her way in the moonless night.  She would find the road.  She'd find a ride home.  And Trevor could find a new puppy to follow him around.  The screams behind her broke into laughter.  Maggie could picture all too well in her mind the chest bumping and shoulder punching as the guys celebrated their so-called victory.

The crackling of leaves and the fury of her own indignation kept Maggie going until only echoes of the boys' voices lingered in the crisp air.  She stopped, checking her phone.  She hadn't bothered to check it when she'd stormed off.  Now she could only guess at how long she'd been walking, and there was no sign of the road.  Wind rattled the sparse branches above her head, and Maggie shivered. 

Then she realized she was staring at her own answer.  She smiled at the phone in her hand and laughed out loud, typing her home address into Google maps.  With a chime and an arrow, her phone pointed her the way out of the woods.  Unfortunately, the arrow pointed back to where Trevor and his friends were.

Maggie sighed.  Oh well.  Maybe they'd give her a ride home and save her the trouble she'd get in if her mom caught her hitch hiking. 

A new round of screams carried on the night breeze.  A chill ran down Maggie's back, and she pressed her hands to her ears.  Both were freezing, and neither did much to warm the other.  It was too cold to be out.  She thought of Trevor's truck and the warm air that would flow from the vent.  He owed her at least that much tonight.

Trevor's voice rose, louder now, and Maggie figured she wasn't far off now.  A string of curses, followed by a howl of pain.  One of his idiot friends probably hit him in the head with a can of beer, or something else moronic.  Then the howl rose in pitch, to a squeal of agony. 

Maggie stopped in her tracks.

But of course they were still putting on an act.  They knew better than she did that she had nowhere to go.  Immature.  Stupid.  Crazy boys, and they were still playing with her. 

Another howl-turned-squeal rose into the night, then the sound of branches snapping and leaves smashing.  "Get in, get in!"  "Get us out of here, man!"  "Go, go, go!" 

Maggie's brow furrowed and she moved closer.  Maybe they'd finally succeeded in scaring themselves.

Then a truck engine roared to life, flooding the clearing in front of her with its headlights.  Maggie blinked frantically as her brain tried to make sense of the shapes and blazing brightness in front of her. 

It was Brian's truck, and the figures leaping around it seemed at first to be the rest of the guys jumping into the bed of the truck.  But there were too many, and some of them weren't shaped quite right. 

A low, throaty growl sounded to Maggie's left.  Her breath caught as she turned.  Something crouched in the headlights, one leg on a lump on the ground, one arm holding a second figure down.  Maggie blinked, and the shapes registered in her brain. Trevor lay on the ground, his red scarf and leather jacket that had looked so sleek when he picked her up tonight were torn and splattered with something dark.  Makray lay next to him, his left leg askew and half his face missing.  The figure above them dipped its head towards Trevor, and he let out a new moan of agony.  When the figure moved again, raising it's massive head, Maggie swallowed, willed her heart to stop pounding, and threw back her shoulders. 

Brian's truck swerved and screeched out of the clearing, screams and moans rising from the bed.  Maggie rolled her eyes.  They really didn't know when to stop, did they? 

With the headlights gone, the clearing was dark again, but Maggie had gotten a good look.  Whoever was playing the werewolf didn't know where she was, and she was going to teach him a lesson before she made Trevor wipe the makeup off and drive her home.  She slipped over to Trevor's truck, put the toe of her boot on the back tire, and lifted herself up.  Her fingers closed on something metallic lying in the bottom of the bed.  Trevor's bat.

Trevor's moans led her back to where they were.  Maggie flashed the light on her cell phone.  She didn't mean to do damage, just make them think twice about trying to scare her again.  But then the wolf turned to her, and she saw the light gleaming in the blood dripping from three inch fangs.  She dropped her phone and swung with all her might.

The wolf dropped as the bat contacted squarely on its skull.  It collapsed in a heap on top of Trevor.  Now Maggie knew why the guys jumping into the back of Brian's truck had looked odd.  Some of them were guys.  Some of them were wolves. 

Maggie dropped to her knees, feeling in the leaves for her phone.  Maggie couldn't hear anything over the pounding of her heart and the rustling of the stupid leaves that were everywhere.  Then she remembered Trevor kept his keys in his pocket.  With trembling fingers, Maggie gave up her search for her phone.  She reached forward and found Trevor's shoe, then his jeans.  Slowly, she worked her way up, trembling when the denim went slick with blood.  Then, finally, the lump of keys in his pocket.

The wolf lay on top of Trevor.  Maggie's brain worked furiously.  Werewolf.  Full moon.  But there's no moon tonight.  Stake through the heart?  No, that's vampires.  Silver bullet?  Maybe.  But if they're wrong about the full moon, maybe they're wrong about the bullet.

The keys jingled as they popped free from Trevor's pocket.

The wolf stirred. 

Maggie didn't have a gun or a silver bullet.  She launched herself towards the truck, leaves flying in the darkness as she prayed she got there before the wolf woke up.  Her hands smacked into the grill.  A shuffle behind her and a growl.  She moved around to the driver's side, fingers wrapping around the door handle.  Had Trevor locked it?  She lifted the handle and felt the snap of the release.

Then a pair of jaws clamped down on her ankle.  Pain seared up her leg, but her boots served to protect her to some extent.  Her boots.

It took all the will power in her body to slam her captured foot down to the ground.  Maggie pulled her other foot up and slammed it down onto the creature's head.  Once.  Twice.  Every strike sent lightning up her nerves.

Then the grip slackened.  Maggie pulled free, yanked the door open, and pulled herself up into the truck.  Slam the door.  Lock it.  Lock the other door.

Then she realized why it had let her go.  It was howling.  Calling to the pack.  Reinforcements.

Maggie slammed the key into the ignition, threw it into gear, sent a prayer up to heaven that her dad had taught her to drive stick, and tore out of the clearing the way Brian's truck had gone.

Fifteen minutes later, as the lights of town grew in front of her, she began to wonder again.  Just a prank that Trevor managed to pull off?  Werewolves?  Or stupid boys?  Did she really get bit by a wolf?  Her ankle didn't hurt anymore.  Maybe it was just her own imagination.  Go back home, or stop for a steak on the way?  Steak sounded good.  Saliva flooded her mouth.  Yeah.  Steak sounded good.