On Halloween night in Pleasant Grove no one goes out. There are no bands of little Spidermans, no Jedi knights, or princesses of various sorts parading and laughing down the street. No throngs of children dressed as witches or pirates. The houses are dark, and although a few are hiding behind the façade of abandonment, most have fled to safer cities, like Orem or Salt Lake, or to the neighborhoods of friends and family that live in more safely mundane places—those where children and adults can walk from house to house and with a cheery, ‘Trick or Treat!” expect to be given some candy or other bobble that will lighten the heart or feed a sweet tooth.
In Pleasant Grove the streets are abandoned. Those who stay make sure the doors and windows are locked. Every curtain closed. From the outside, the place must attract no attention whatsoever from those things that might be drawn to human activity. Once in a while some teenagers from Linden, say, will, on a dare, cruise into the city’s boundaries. Some return again to their own city and for those we should give thanks—if they are not so scarred from the terrors they found that they are forced to spend the remainder of their lives as tenants of the big house on the hill in Provo in which there is a wing devoted to those foolish enough to venture out into the streets or sidewalks of Pleasant Grove during Halloween. At night in that institution, you will hear the mutters and cries of those who are left to stay up rocking and whispering their fears. Their eyes locked open, forever viewing the images of horror burned into their retinas, freezing the images of that night on that dreadful day they opened their eyes in Pleasant Grove.
Kimberly Cooper sent her husband and three children to his mother’s home in Springville because there was a project she had been working. It was about to reach fruition. She knew there were certain dangers in staying, but she looked forward to the quiet that she would enjoy while the family was away. For a little time to herself, some dangers were worth facing. Since it would not be safe to return to Pleasant Grove until after midnight, the rest of her family would just spend the night there and return in the morning.
It had been dark for several hours but it was not late. Even so, she had changed into her pajamas. As advised, he had not turned on any music or the TV—one did not want to advertise that anyone was home, and a few claimed that an electronic device was like a beacon to certain dark forces. She had been working in the basement in a cold, windowless room from which the illumination from her light would not bleed outside the house.
She was starving. What she was working on demanded concentration and she had not taken a break. She decided to sneak upstairs for a snack. She crept upstairs and entered the kitchen. It was bathed in moonlight and the window above the sink was manifest on the floor in a moon bright image. She was moving toward the refrigerator when she felt a cold draft on the back of her neck. She spun around. The kitchen window was open, and a slight breeze was entering from outside. The potted plant she had placed on the window shelf had been upended spilling the rich black potting soil onto the counter top. She was sure that no wind that night had been strong enough to upend the pot. She ran toward the window and slammed it closed, then ran to the pantry and grabbed the mag-light off the wall and began a systematic search of the house, shining the light into every closet, under every bed, behind every piece of furniture that something could hide. She hunted through every bedroom upstairs. Nothing. She searched every grotto and crawlspace in the basement. Nothing. Maybe nothing had entered the house. Could one of the kids have knocked the potted plant over and she had just not noticed? At last she sighed, convinced that the house contained no terrors.
If she had been starving before, now she was doubly so! It had taken nearly an hour to search the house. Kimberly returned to the kitchen and opened the fridge quickly, hoping its light would not betray her. She retrieved a plate of cold fried chicken covered in foil and took it over to the counter. She peeled back the metallic covering and removed one of the thighs.
She heard the click of a claw on the tile just as she bit into the cold meat. Kimberly spun around and there it was standing in the darkness of the doorway that led into the hall. It stepped out of shadow and into the bright lunar glow of the kitchen. She screamed despite herself. The creature was not fazed.
“You startled me,” she said explaining.
The creature bowed and replied, “Of course.”
It was short and manlike. It was about three feet high wearing ragged gray breeches down to its naked calves. Its feet were bare and tipped with curved claws reaching to the floor. The face of the thing resembled a human’s, but its features were sharp and angular, its mouth wide, with sharp teeth, long and daggerlike. Doberman pinscher ears rose from each side of its head, but attached higher on the side of his cranium than in someone of Kimberly’s species. A tuft of hair was splattered on top of his head but it was neither styled nor arranged. Its eyes were massive and gave off a faint blue light—cold and cunning. It wore a dirty jacket leaving open to view his hollow chest and sunken stomach exposing its grayish green skin. The creature’s wide hands were opening and closing, long twiggy fingers stretching wide as it breathed in, which then closed into a gnarled fist when it breathed out. It was a gnouderak. Extremely dangerous.
“I am pleased you invited me in.” It bowed.
“The open window.” She said this without emotion. She had to keep it talking.
“Yes. A kind and welcome gesture.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” she said.
“I am confused,” said the creature its teeth flashing, “For, while I’m pleased to be invited in, I am surprised that there has been no nourishment provided for my visit.”
“Would you like some cold chicken?” She asked holding up the plate as evidence of her intent. “I could even warm if you would like that better?”
“I come as a guest and you offer me cold chicken? Surely there is something more fitting a visitor?”
It moved to the refrigerator with the speed of a closing mousetrap and opened the fridge and stared within. Its face twisted into a mask of disgust. Turing to her it asked, “You have nothing living? Nothing with warm sweet blood flowing in its veins?”
“I am sorry. I did not know who would accept my invitation.”
“And yet I am hungry. Many would have on hand some ill-favored child that they wanted to be rid off. Or in a pinch, a neighbor’s baby. But you’ve offered me nothing. Really that is most unwise to treat a guest such as myself like that.”
It smiled wickedly and licked its razor teeth with its pointed tongue and its grin seemed to broaden beyond the previous limits of its face. The fingers of its hands from the first joint up began to narrow and glow a bright red-orange like the color of molten steel.
“Well, never mind,” it said. “I’ll find something here I might enjoy.”
The terminus of each finger now had narrowed in diameter forming a savage claw that was radiant, to a degree that the tip began to glow white hot like the arc between two metals being joined.
She knew this was the end. She reached into her pocket and brought out something that looked like it might be used to unlock a car. She looked at the creature and pushed a button.
* * *
Kimberly had spent the last two hours trying to make everything perfect. When the doorbell rang late that Halloween night, she took off her apron, looked over her gorgeous black evening dress in the mirror one more time, adjusted her lipstick with her finger, straightened her pearls, checked that her heels were shining like polished silver, and then moved to the door.
At the door were three visitors. A man dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt with a long shiny black leather black overcoat. Despite it nearing midnight, he wore dark sunglasses. The other man was a black older gentleman with sliver hair. He was wearing a Norfolk jacket with tweed pants and patent leather shoes. He had a cane and a slight limp. The last was a woman about Kimberly’s age wearing a fifties party dress, with bobby socks, pearls. Her hair was in a bouffant. All three entered smiling and laughing and clearly in a jovial mood. They praised Kimberly’s dress and the condition of her house.
They chatted in animated tones, the subject jumping from topic to topic with abandon. She led them to a gorgeous table set with fine bone Wedgewood china. She showed them to their seats and once obtained they unfolded their white cloth napkins and placed them on their laps. There was a light salad, which Kimberly served her guests along with a dry red wine from the Melk region of Austria. The conversation never slowed and the laughter at the table was infectious and genuine.
At last Kimberly rose from her seat, redonned her apron, and went to the kitchen where she removed from the oven a large roasting pan. She carried it triumphantly to the table.
“Oh my,” the other woman said, “the smell is to die for!”
She lifted the lid and there was perfection laid bare—roasted gnouderak.
The older gentleman could not help but let his canines grow a little at the sight of this delicacy and he quickly put his hand over his mouth to cover his indiscretion. The beast was cooked with potatoes, leeks, parsnip, rosemary, and basil. No garlic! (Of course.) Lamb stock and Guinness rounded out the thickened juices it bathed in.
“Look,” exclaimed the man in the t-shirt, “she got it when nine of the finger-claws were at full white hot glow! How in the world?”
Kimberly waved off the question playfully with her hand, “A girl never tells her secrets. But it did involve a tessellation trap.”
“Genius. Pure Genius,” said the younger man. “This was daring! Bold. Such risk! Another second the thing would have completed its transformation and moved to feed so swiftly that it would have dined instead of us. Magnificent! Simply Magnificent.
“The woman added, I haven’t seen one captured at this moment since . . . since . . .”
The man patted her thigh smiling, “King Henry the Sixth’s reign.”
“Yes!” She said remembering. That’s right. An awful and weak king, but he had the most wonderful chef, I believe the queen brought him with her from France.”
“I believe you are right my dear! From France he was.”
The older man was smiling, “I’ve never had it before. I’ve heard stories.”
“Well then the first slice is yours!” Kimberly sliced off a piece of the roast and passed it on the blade of her knife to the plate of the older man. He pressed off a piece with his fork and placed the succulent meat into his mouth. His expression was one of ecstasy.
“Superb.”
The younger man placed his napkin on his table, stood, and bowed low to his hostess. He raised his glass (after ensuring that the others’ goblets were full).
“A toast to Kimberly! With this I’m sure we are all agreed she will be going through the rite and joining us.”
“To Kimberly,” the voices all rang out.
“Once you have made the change, I have a feeling that your reign as an associate of our order will be well remembered!”
She bowed her head and said, softly, “I am ready. I’ve waited a long time.”
Then she added with a fierce and seductive grin, “And yes. I will be remembered.”
Steve L. Peck most recently received the received the AML Short Story Award for “Sister Carvahlo’s Excellent Relief Society Lesson,” a story which, like this one, first appeared in his collection Tales of Pleasant Grove. More on his work at stevepeckniche.com.
