13 Days 13 Shorts: Swampmonster

Hello everyone and welcome to 13 Days, 13 Shorts, a nice little writing festival that is going to entertain almost a fortnight of chillers and thrillers leading up to Halloween. There will be an assortment of writers and each day will have a new spooky subject. Today's short mixes swampmonsters, candy and spaghetti into a cheeky tale about Halloween. I hope you enjoy and keep checking back here every day for a new haunting short.

And if you really like 13 Days 13 Shorts you should subscribe to the blog for the other projects that will be posted up here after Halloween!! Enjoy and please excuse any grammatical errors.

SWAMPMONSTER by Omar Najam

Petersville, Virginia had the air of a stuffy boarding school classroom in which no shirt may remain hanging out of one's trousers and if one had nothing pleasant to say, one would simply nod to his or her neighbor and return to their newspaper. It was a peaceful town that prided itself on its quaintness and modesty. The town itself was built in a sort of loop that started with a cluster of houses, such as the Spendington's house that had already adorned reindeers and Santa Clause decorations, that was nestled next to the police station so all the residents felt as secure as possible. Next to the police station was the church and then Mr. Benson's grocery store, which stocked up on dry ice every Halloween. Next to the grocery store was Sue's BBQ, a few smaller shops such as Mr. Fredrick's shoe repair shop, which all lead back to the neighborhood. All in all, anyone with legs could eat at Sue's and go for a walk through the town only to return to Sue's for dessert in about, oh say, 12 minutes. Petersville was built like this because smack in the middle of the town was the Petersville swamp. In the winter, the children often find themselves ice-skating over the nicer, less mysterious portions of the swamp. In the spring, everyone would fly kites by the swamp and in the summer time, the residents would pull out their towels and lounge about by the swamp in modest bathing wear. But in the autumn, a dense low lying mist would spew from the swamp, covering the grass and the low lying bushes. Every year, residents interrupt their curt conversations about the weather and the latest Norah Roberts novel to joke about the elusive Swampmonster, an urban legend that was kept alive by old man Partridge's annual story.

This is not to say that that all of Petersville was engulfed in the mist during late October. In fact, the town was alight with crimson red trees that have leafs like licking flames. For the most part, the sun remained overhead without too much trouble from the occasional but brief rain cloud. And the residents enjoyed a light amount of festivity. Carved pumpkins, plywood ghost figurines and flags that read "Witch house are you looking for?" or "Have a grrrr-eat day" would dance in the wind. And if there was one aspect of the Halloween season that Petersville complimented itself on, aside from the quaintness and modesty, it was its innocent approach to the holiday. For Petersville, Halloween night was a pleasurable five hours that lasted from 5pm to 10pm in which parents walked their children house to house for candy and teenagers would attend the haunted mansion at the library. Everyone had fun and everyone was safe, save for one year when Aaron Wilderson poked his eye accidentally on his wizard's wand. After ten at night, all the doors closed and all the children went to sleep, followed by their parents. And then everyone would wake up to attend the November first traditions. And soon the swamp mist would freeze and the swamp face would tun to ice and no one would laugh about the swampmonster.

And it would have stayed that way except for Timothy Spektor, a 4 year old blonde child who was often described as "the cutest child ever". Timothy was crawling around his floor, meowing like a cat, inspired by the whiskers that had been drawn on his face at preschool earlier that day. His mother was rummaging through her cabinets to find some orange and black sprinkles that she was going to decorate the chocolate cupcakes that were sitting on the dining table, next to a large bowl of salad and a plate of lukewarm spaghetti. Timothy crawled at his mother's leg and looked up at her with a face that read am I being a good cat?! to which his mother replied by patting him upon the head. Smiling widely, Timothy sprang up and ran off to his to room to gather stuffed animals that he could pounce on. Suddenly, a voice bellowed from the street. Timothy's mother peered through the window at old man Patridge who was dressed up as a vagabond, squawking about how he had just seen the swampmonster and how everyone should put candy outside to keep the swampmonster happy. Old man Partridge taught theatre at the local high school and would dress up ever year, running through the town in about 12 minutes time, claiming he had seen the swampmonster. It was a silly tradition because not only did it make old man Patridge look even more foolish than when he dressed up as a stork and attended Petersville baby showers, but because nothing, not even the mediocre acting of a theatre teacher could sully the calm demeanor of the town. In fact, the town regarded its Halloween as the most calm and collected Halloween in America. None the less, the residents enjoyed hearing the newest version of the tale of the swampmonster and Timothy's mother stepped outside her front door to listen in on old man Partridge's fantastical tale about the swampmonster. And that's when Timothy struck.

Timothy, still in his kitty mindset, saw the cupcakes on the dining table and leaped up, claws extended, to capture a tasty treat. He fell short and instead caught the table lining, dragging the contents of the table crashing down upon Timothy. First the spaghetti fell onto his head and cast strings of pasta all the way to his little brown shoes. Then the salad came tumbling down and dropped upon Timothy's spaghettied figure like green feathers. And finally, two cupcakes managed to teeter over the edge landed SPLAT right over where Timothy's eyes should have been. A little dazed, Timothy staggered towards the mirror in the living room where he was prone to making faces at himself. He parted the spaghetti and salad from his face and observed his reflection. He looked like a small, hairy creature with two big black eyes covered in seaweed. Timothy thought he looked like a monster. He smiled widely and raised his two hands like claws. GRRRR he growled at the mirror, just like a monster from Scooby-Doo would. He laughed at how funny he was being. Timothy looked around for his mother but saw an empty kitchen. He decided that he wanted to go show the neighbors how good a monster he was. As old man Partridge stood before the neighborhood, confessing his tale about wrestling the swampmonster back into the water, Timothy skipped through his backyard towards his neighbor's house.

Mr. and Mrs. Spendington were sitting in their living room with the television as loud as possible to drone out the irritating screeching of old man Partridge. Mrs. Spendington would roll her eyes every time she caught a few words in a row while Mr. Spendington would just squint more intensely at the infomercial they were watching. There were no cupcakes on their tables or plastic bag ghosts or even pumpkins in their windows. Instead, the Spendington house was half filled with red and green ribbon, Mrs. Spendington's first stage of decorating for Christmas.

"I do hate that dreadful story of his, Gregory," Mrs. Spendington croaked. "It's a stupid idea to run around every year clucking like a headless chicken about some stupid swampmonster. Why cant everyone just be quiet? And plus, he's going to scare the children."

Mrs. Spendington said the word children with the tonality that one would refer to a patch of mold in the bathroom to a landlord.

"A bunch of silly poppycock, I say," coughed Mr. Spendington, squinting more intensely than ever. "I cant believe anyone believes a damn word that troubled man says."

"Gregory, I know you sat down just five minutes ago but do go close the window."

"All the windows in the front room are closed, Cecile."

"Then go close the windows facing the backyard. That howling cat's voice carries like tornado alarm."

Mr. Spendington grunted with a bit of irritation and left his chair to walk over to the windows facing the backyard. He grumbled about how idiotic the whole thing was, that no one had ever seen a swampmonster and if he ever himself did come across a swampmonster, he would kick in the- suddenly! something rustled in the bushes in his backyard. Mr. Spendington cleaned his glasses and searched the backyard again. He opened the door to the backyard and then suddenly feeling a shiver down his spine, ran back to the living room to grab the poker from the fireplace.

"What in Christ's name are you doing, Gegory?!"

"I saw something outside and I-"

A noise caught both Mr. and Mrs. Spendington's attention. Their heads turned slowly towards Timothy who was standing in their living room with his hands like claws. A few twigs had fallen into his mop of spaghetti and his arms were covered in dirt. Mr. and Mrs. Spendington could not see the little boy's wide, innocent smile through the thick layer of spaghetti and therefore could not comprehend what was in their living room.

"Oh my, Gregory, oh my! Is that- is that the swampmonster?!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Cecile, I'm sure it's just a-"

Timothy jumped forward and bellowed out a long GRRRRR! Mr. and Mrs. Spendington screamed and ran backwards through the kitchen door, falling back onto the floor.

"What do we do, Gregory?!"

"Shut up, shut up, I-"

Timothy leaped into the kitchen. GRRRR! The couple screamed again, this time clawing at the red and green ribbon that lined the walls, tearing the decorations down as they raced for the bathroom. They slammed the door shut and wiped the sweat off of their foreheads.

"What do we do, Gregory?!? It is the swampmonster!!"

"I don't know, Cecile!"

"What does Partridge say every year?! How does he protect himself from the swampmonster?!"

As the two caught their breath, the bowl of mints sitting at the sink caught their eye.

Timothy stood outside ready to growl again, he was enjoying the game. Just as he was breathing in, a bowl of candy landed in his hands. He looked down, tried one and clapped in enjoyment. He giggled and ran off. Mr. and Mrs. Spendington peaked out the door and caught the tail end of Timothy's departure. As quick as a whip cracks, the two sprang at the phone and dialed 911.

Next door to the Spendingtons lived Mr. and Mrs. Ballad and their son Craig who not in fact wearing a costume on Halloween but actually dressed in all black with black lipstick and spiked hair as some sort of fashion statement. Craig dialed a number into his cellphone and waited for someone to pick up. He asked for Dr. Ballad and soon a female voice echoed through the phone.

"Dr. Ballad's office, this is Dr. Ballad."

"Mom," Craig croaked, "it's me. Listen mom, I'm scared."

Dr. Ballad sighed deeply. "What is it, Craig?"

"I heard a noise at the Spendington's and I got all-"

"Is this because of old man Partridge's silly little act about the swampmonster, Craig? Come on Craig, you're 16 years old and you dress like a Billy Idol zombie-"

"I'm unique, Mom! I'm unique!"

"Okay, Craig, you're unique. And you're a teenager. Grow a pair and stop being so scared."

Suddenly Timothy raced through the Ballad's backyard. Craig yelped.

"Mom! The swampmonster just ran through the backyard!!"

Dr. Ballad sighed again. "Then throw it some candy like Partridge says and leave me alone, I have work to do. Hold on, Craig, someone just came in with swine flu, I will call you back later. No, do not cough on-"

The phone hung up and Craig stood petrified. He peeked out into the hallway, left his room for the front room where there was a plastic cauldron filled with candy. Craig grabbed the cauldron and ran out the front door to the house of his other neighbor, Mr. Fredrick, where he felt safer.

Mr. Fredrick opened his door with a big bag of candy, chuckling over how early it was for trick-or-treaters. But his mood turned from joyous to concern as he saw the pale look on Craig's already foundationed face.

"Mr. Fredrick! I just saw the swampmonster run through my backyard!"

Mr. Fredrick laughed and handed Craig some taffy.

"Oh Craig, I've been in this town for a long time and trust me, there is no swampmonster. That's just Partridge being a silly goose."

"Oh, yeah?" begged Craig, "well if that's true, then what's that crawling through your window!?"

Craig and Mr. Fredrick watched in stunned silence as Timothy clambered his way through an open window and lowered himself to the floor. Timothy then turned around, raised his arms up and let out of a rather confident GRRRR.

"AHHH!!!!" Craig and Mr. Fredrick screamed as they ran away from the house, throwing candy behind them. "Someone call 911!!!"

Petersville police station was being inundated with calls regarding the swampmonster. In fact, the tiny station had all four of its phones ringing constantly. The second one phone was placed back after the caller was comforted by a secretary, another call would come in with a scared resident going on and on about how they are running out of candy to throw. Officer Jenson shook his head in embarrassment.

"Man, I tell you guys, I feel like we're the only ones keeping our heads in this town. There is no such thing as a swampmonster."

Just then, Timothy poked his head through the front doors of the station and waved at the secretaries who let the phones, as well as their jaws, drop.

"BOO!" giggled Timothy.

Screams overpowered the sound of the phones as everyone in the station jumped up and pulled their desks apart looking for candy. The secretary at the front desk dug into the jar of candy corn and tossed the pieces at Timothy who caught them in a pillow case he had found. He clapped and waved goodbye as he left the station for his next visit. Officer Jenson jogged from out of the break room with coffee spilled over his shirt.

"What the hell is going on?!"

"Swamp-swamp-swamp," a secretary choked as she tried to blink to hide her bulging eyes. "Swampmonster."

Officer Jenson took a few seconds to collect himself. He then pulled out his keys and walked to his cop car, repeating the words "unbelievable" and "ridiculous".

At Mr. Benson's grocery store, patrons were packed in the candy aisle, packing their shopping carts with bags and bags of sweets. Mr. Benson would have been pleased with the amount of attention his store was getting except for the fact that mass chaos was spreading throughout the town.

"Please, stay calm and collected, people, this is Petersville not... California," Mr. Benson beseeched over the loud speaker. But then another crackling voice came through the P.A. It was the sound of a child's voice yelling "GRRR!!!" Everyone fell silent, too afraid to exhale. And then Sue from Sue's BBQ pointed a finger and shrieked "There it is!!" at young Timothy standing on a checkout stand with a store microphone in his hand.

All hell broke loose. Residents of Petersville poured out onto the street, throwing copious amounts of candy over their shoulders. One unfortunate piece ended up hitting Aaron Wilderson in the eye, and for the second time, he would have to be a pirate for Halloween. Timothy simply clapped at how everyone was being so funny outside. Officer Jenson looked up from his radio to see a crowd of people in his path. He slammed on the breaks and turned the car 90 degrees just to look over his shoulder at a large white truck with the letters "MR. BENSON'S GROCERS" heading towards him. The trucker swerved to the side of the road to avoid hitting the police officer and in doing so spilled the contents of his truck, a large pack of dry ice, into the large fountain at the head of the golf course. Fog crept onto the street and soon blanketed the whole town as the residents ran around throwing candy in the air. In the midst of it all, Timothy walked around under the layer of the fog picking up the best bits of candy he could find on the floor, giggling the whole time.

Just as he was reaching for a nice chocolate bar, a pair of hands reached into the fog and lifted Timothy up. They were the hands of old man Partridge as he chuckled to himself.

"So you're the monster, eh?" asked old man Partridge. Timothy nodded and grrr'ed. Grinning widely, old man Partridge removed the spaghetti and salad leaves and cupcake eyes from Timothy's frame. "I bet your mother is a might bit afraid, eh? Why don't we get you home?" Timothy nodded and offered old man Partridge some of his candy. Old man Partridge responded by grabbing a sucker and patting Timothy on the head.

On the way home, old man Partridge told Timothy about the real swampmonster and how he was really just a nice fella who looked a bit funny. He said that if Timothy ever wanted to see the swampmonster, he should just drop by his house with some candy because the swampmonster looooves candy. The two made it back to Timothy's house where Timothy's mother was looking worn for wear.

"Oh thank you so much for finding him, Partridge! Where was he?!"

"Just enjoying the Halloween festivities, Beth."

"I can't quite call this festive, all these people running around, yelling."

"Eh, it may not be our traditional way but if you'll pardon my french, I think it's a hell of a lot more fun," laughed old man Partridge. He reached into the bag of candy and gave Timothy a handful of the treats. "I don't want you spoiling your teeth at too early of an age so how about I hold onto these and give them to the swampmonster, eh?" Timothy nodded with a toothy grin and then ran inside to make more faces in the mirror. Timothy's mom thanked old man Partridge again and again until old man Partridge told her she could make it up to him by attending this year's rendition of You're A Good Man Charlie Brown at the high school.

Old man Partridge made his way home through the chaos and the fog munching on a sucker. He opened the door, took off his coat and stifled a laugh.

"Oh boy, do I have a story for you," old man Partridge chortled.

The swampmonster in the corner of the room put down his copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula.

"Is that so?" asked the swampmonster, putting down his reading glasses. Old man Partridge threw the bag of candy to the swampmonster who received it with glimmering eyes.

"Haha I think you're going to get a kick out of this one," smiled old man Partridge.