We swore we’d never celebrate Halloween again after what happened last year. It wasn’t just a casual promise, it was a pact, a silent agreement to never speak of that night. The accident, the police reports, and the grief were too much for any of us. Jackson, Taylor, Sam, Ava, and me—we all knew we were lucky to still be standing. But tonight, as I sit on the couch, watching the flickering candlelight from a carved pumpkin we didn’t order, I can feel it. Something isn’t right.

The night started quiet. We had planned a low-key evening. No costumes, no decorations, just a lazy night of bad TV and takeout. None of us wanted to be reminded of the past. But the pumpkin ruined that.

I asked, “Did one of you bring it in?”

Everyone shook their heads, avoiding eye contact. Ava placed it on the kitchen counter, muttering something about stupid pranks. But it didn’t feel like a prank. The pumpkin looked too perfect—almost like it had been waiting for us.

Jackson tried to play it cool, kicking back on the couch with his phone. “Probably just some kids messing with us.”

But deep down, I knew better. Last year’s Halloween started with strange things too. And look how that ended.

At nine, there was another knock on the door. Sam opened it, expecting the pizza we ordered. Instead, there was a folded costume—a black-and-orange clown suit—lying on the doorstep.

“Alright, what the hell is this?” Sam called out, dragging the costume inside.

Ava crossed her arms, looking more annoyed than scared. “Okay, who’s screwing with us?”

“Not me,” I said, glancing at the door. No one was outside. The hallway was empty. But the costume… it was unsettling. I didn’t know what freaked me out more—the fact that someone knew we were home, or the fact that the costume was our size. We tossed it on the couch and tried to laugh it off, but the unease settled over us like a cold fog. Every time I glanced at that pumpkin, the candle inside seemed to flicker just a little too long, as if someone were breathing on it.

At ten-thirty, things started to disappear. It began with Ava’s phone. One second, it was on the coffee table; the next, we found it soaking wet in the bathroom sink. Then Taylor’s car keys went missing. We found them buried under the couch cushions, even though Taylor swore she hadn’t touched them. And Jackson’s shoes? Gone. Completely vanished. That’s when the power cut out. For a moment, the apartment was silent and pitch black. Then the lights flickered back on—and there, on the kitchen counter, was another pumpkin. This one was different. The face carved into it was jagged and angry, gouged out with frantic, uneven cuts. The candle inside burned a deep orange, as if the flame was breathing.

“I’m out,” Jackson said, standing abruptly. “We’re leaving. Now.”

We grabbed our things and ran for the front door, but it wouldn’t open. The lock was undone, and yet the door wouldn’t budge, like someone was holding it shut from the other side.

“Try the back door!” Ava shouted, her voice edged with panic.

We raced through the kitchen. Sam smashed a chair through the window—but beyond the broken glass was… nothing. No street, no cars, no lights. Just endless, suffocating blackness.

“What the hell?” Taylor whispered, stepping away from the window. “Where are we?”

By eleven, the apartment had started to change. The walls felt closer, the hallways stretched longer, and the air was heavy, like the place was breathing around us. Every time I turned a corner, it felt like the rooms had shifted, as if the apartment was folding in on itself. Jackson yanked open a closet door—and found his missing shoes inside. Relief crossed his face, but it didn’t last. As he reached in to grab them, a hand shot out from the darkness and grabbed his wrist.

He screamed and pulled free, stumbling back into the wall. “There’s someone in there!”

“No,” Ava whispered, her face pale. “It’s not someone. It’s him.”

The air thickened with tension, and suddenly, it all clicked. The pumpkins. The costume. The missing things. It was a warning.
Last Halloween, we threw a massive party—too much drinking, too much chaos. And one of us didn’t make it out. We tried to tell the cops it was an accident, but deep down, we knew better. Someone had been pushed off the balcony that night. And whoever did it… never confessed. Now, that night was coming back to haunt us. The friend we lost wasn’t gone. He was here. And he wanted the truth.

We all stared at each other, the weight of unspoken guilt hanging between us. One of us was a murderer. But no one was willing to admit it. Not yet.

“I’m not staying here,” Jackson muttered, grabbing his jacket. “I don’t care what’s going on. I’m getting out.”

He ran to the door, yanking at the handle with all his strength. The door swung open—revealing another pumpkin, grinning wide and wicked. Behind it, the hallway stretched endlessly into the dark. Jackson froze. And then we heard it—the soft shuffle of footsteps coming from somewhere deep within the shadows.

“No,” Taylor whispered, stepping back. “It’s him.”

The footsteps grew louder, faster, heading straight toward us. Something was coming. And it was furious. We slammed the door shut, locking it as the footsteps pounded against the other side. The door shuddered with every hit.

Ava turned to us, her face pale. “He won’t stop until someone confesses.”

Silence fell over the room.

And then Jackson whispered, “It was an accident.”

We all stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to push him. I swear. It just… happened.”

The pounding on the door stopped.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, slowly, the pumpkin on the counter flickered—and went out.

We all stood there, breathing hard, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

And that’s when the front door slowly creaked open.

Jackson stepped toward it, as if in a trance. Before any of us could stop him, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

And then, he stepped into the darkness.

The door slammed shut behind him.

And the lights went out.