I dragged my fatigued feet up the endless hill, the parched plant life was infuriatingly abundant and the dead limbs seemed to reach out and grab my ankles, tangling me and catching on my clothing and the unresponsive body I carried. It slowed my already miniscule pace, the large load I carried intensifying the pain in each unbearable step I took. My spoils of war fell to the ground like breadcrumbs and would have attracted vultures from miles away had I not been on cursed land. If I had any energy, I would have stopped to pick up my treasures but I feared that if I stopped, even for just a moment, I wouldn’t resume this fool’s errand.

Undaunted by the continuing depletion of precious gems and the loss it signified, I continued on my way with bloodshot eyes and a heavy heart. But no matter how long I walked, I couldn’t make it up this mountain of suffering. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, I would have to halt to the harsh pain of excessive exertion. Dropping the unconscious princess to the ground I stopped for only a second, which then maliciously turned into minutes as I tried to gather my breath. Turning back I noticed my one true enemy, the werewolf, in the far distance attacking the abodes with unfathomable vigor. Drawing strength from the rage and revulsion bubbling inside me, I threw the young girl over my shoulder and continued on my way. I would destroy the werewolf, shaming him into submission. No one would ever question my leadership again.

This war between myself and the werewolf child has spanned over many ages. Every year on All Hallows Eve we refight the battle of conquest to acquire the most riches and at the stroke of midnight, we meet in the center of Frankenstein’s forest in order to count our wares.

I have never won a battle.

I must win this year.

As the wind picked up, it mercifully joined my side in this war of gods. With loathing flowing in my veins and invigorating me, I made short work of this molehill. As the princess slowly came back to the land of the living, my destination, the dreaded dwelling of the dead, came into view. The story that surrounds the dilapidated mansion is as old as time itself.

Once a place of splendor and incomprehensive power, it drew weak humans towards it like the animals they were. Giving annual gifts of unholy pleasure without batting an eye, the dashing young master of the house was beloved by all. All but one. This hate-filled decrepit foe had attacked the man, drawing away his immortal power and taking up residence in the home that he deemed his right to permeate. Locking the gifts up tightly, the foe never bowed to the other vanquishers that had journeyed up the mountain. Instead he destroyed them where they stood: ripping away their souls and possessions. But I am much stronger than they were, and I shall take their possessions back along with anything else I deem worthy.

The girl finally awakens and upon seeing the primeval house in front of us screams, she too has been told the stories. With an unbreakable hold on her dress I continued on the desecrated path up to the home of the devil himself. Steeling myself with false conviction, I stood at the threshold of hell and slowly raised my hand to knock. Her royal highness whimpered quietly beside me as the gates of damnation slowly swung open. Upon seeing the evil in the doorway the girl bursts into tears and my sudden horror left me shaking, the fake bravery leaving just as quickly as it came.

“Trick-or-Treat?” I managed to quietly stutter. The incarnation of satan smiled wickedly down at us licking his chapped lips.

Pure terror overtook me, candy was not worth this, the respect of my fellow eight year old peers was not worth this, beating my smug neighbor Kevin McAdams at his own game wasn’t even worth it. My sister whimpers weakly and takes advantage of my frozen terror. Her plastic disney princess tiara falls to the ground as she breaks free of my hold, her winter coat masking the shambles that her cheap dress now resembles.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any trick-or-treat-ers on this front porch,” Mr. Vang peered down at me through his large glasses that apparently weren’t doing him much good.

I contemplated running as he stood flabbergasted at a loss of words, but my feet were so exhausted that even the silver walker clutched in his hands wouldn’t slow him down enough to allow me to escape. My only hope rested with my sister, hopefully she would know who to ask for help. And as much as it pained me to admit it, my stupid arch nemesis Kevin was the only one with any hope of defeating Mr. Vang.

“Are you suppose to be a pirate?” He finally asks straightening up and turning away from the doorway not waiting for an answer.

Fury overtook me, not only was it blatantly obvious that I was Captain Jack Sparrow, but Mr. Vang had the audacity to turn his back on me as if I was not a formidable opponent. Drawing my wooden sword from its sheath I called up my courage and followed him into the dark house already planning which fatal wound I would gift him with. I slowly walked forward drinking in my surroundings, it had been years since any outsider had graced these halls and the mundanity of the house amazed me.

“Well?” came his irritated growl from behind me and I spun around trying to find the origin of his voice.

I cleared my voice and still searching for him answered gravelly “I’m Jack Sparrow, Captain Jack Sparrow” I immediately amend with more confidence.

“Welcome to my home Captain” The amusement in his voice and his lack of respect was not lost on me, but I had more pressing issues like the fact that the world had become blackness around me.

Mr. Vang had shut the front door.

I was trapped.