"Hey guys, since Halloween is tomorrow, I was thinking we should go this afternoon after school and buy our costumes." Tessa said brightly.

Me, Christy and Samantha looked up from our phones.

"Yeah, that's a good idea. I'll have to ask my mom though." I replied.

"Okay, does four o'clock sounds good to you guys?" Tessa asked, eyebrows arched.

Samantha and I replied "Yes," in unison, while Christy looked indecisive. Our eyes shifted to Christy.

"I just don't know guys. I have homework to do and a project coming up . . .”

"Wait . . . what!" Tessa interrupted, "You want to ditch us to do homework on one of the biggest holidays of the year! You're going crazy! It must be school . . . Which is exactly why you need tomorrow night off. Come with us and have some fun. You won't regret it."

Christy rolled her eyes before finally relenting.

"Ok, sure, I'll go."

Tessa did a little happy dance and smiled warmly at Christy before checking her phone.

"Great, I'll see you guys at four. I have to go; my mother is texting me to come home. She invited her new boyfriend over for lunch and she wants me and Lena to meet him." Tessa sighed loudly, giving us all a quick hug before walking out the door.

Soon later Christy proclaimed that she had to go home and work on her project and Samantha said she wanted to go home and paint her nails before we left. I wasn't in any rush to do anything so I meandered out of the coffee lounge and headed down the street to my house.

As I strolled down the quiet sidewalk, a black Pomeranian rushed me, bumping my leg in the process. I stumbled, almost falling into the street. I looked around for the dog's owner and spotted them, a young boy about my age, dashing toward me. I sidestepped out of the way, the boy not even pausing to apologize. I rolled my eyes, continuing down the sidewalk. Soon I came upon an intersection. I pressed the walk button on the pole next to me, waiting until it turned green before venturing out across the street. Two blocks later I reached Albany Lane, the street across from the street I lived on. I scanned the area, taking in the white-washed houses, cobblestone paths and massive oak trees in the front yard. In the yard of one a child ran around chasing after a dog, while in another a man washed his car in the driveway. Looking further down the street I spotted the abandoned Blackwood mansion on the hill at the end of the street. It looked so lonely, just resting atop the hill, the paint peeling and ivy creeping up the sides. I stopped and stared, thinking back to what I knew about the old Blackwood house.

People say that a young rich newly-wed couple once lived there, Alison and Charles Blackwood. They had inherited the house from Charles’ mother when his father died. His mother couldn’t maintain the house anymore so she gave it to her son. Alison worked as the local school teacher, while Charles was a carpenter, making beautiful furnishings for the town and their new home. They were very happy, always sharing a smile with the townspeople, helping out where they could.

One fateful day her Charles was driving back from work and a drunk trucker appeared out of nowhere and rammed his pickup truck in the side, flipping the truck several times. The hit was positioned right behind the driver’s seat so Charles was killed instantly, the driver sustaining critical injuries. The driver was rushed to the hospital where he died a few hours later. Alison was inconsolable, and she drifted into a deep, impenetrable state of mourning. They had Charles’ funeral two Sundays later, and after that none of the townspeople ever saw her alive again. She even had her groceries hand delivered to her house by her sister Bethany who came once she heard the news. People would ask, wondering how she was doing, some wanting to send her home-cooked meals, but the meals were declined and the questions unanswered.

Wednesday, about a year later, her sister Bethany was delivering groceries to her house. Upon knocking on her front door, she got no answer. She tried the door, but found it was locked. She pulled out a key from her pocket and unlocked the front door, silently stepping into the foyer. She called Alison’s name several times and got no answer. She checked her bedroom and it was empty. Now puzzled she retreated and turned back around, this time heading down to the cellar to check if she was there. The door was open when she reached it and her fears lessened realizing that she must have not heard her from the front of the house. She pushed the door further open, her mouth open to call her name up again, but instead of her name a shrill scream clawed its way from her lips. In the center of the dimly lit cellar was Alison. Her skin was a ghostly translucent color, even more so against her black mourning dress. Her hair was matted, her head hanging limp. Her eyes were wide open, staring lifelessly into the distance. A thick rope noose was tied around her neck, the end attached to one of the support beans. Her bare feet were several feet off the ground, giving her the appearance of floating. Bethany was horrified, her eyes barely able to take in the horrid scene. She scurried up the steps and out the door, frightened screams erupting from her mouth.

The neighbors remember this day clearly, saying that they saw Bethany running from the house, his face dampened with tears, her piercing screams shattering their ears. Several people tried to calm her down, offering tissues and a comforting shoulder but she wasn't having it. Instead she kept whispering, "Alison, Alison, Alison." Finally the neighbors realized that something had happened and they called the sheriff and his men, taking them up to the house. A few of the ladies, including the mayor's wife wrapped their arms around the anguished Bethany, leading her away. The sheriff and his men returned, their faces a few shades lighter. They called up the morgue, reporting a new body. Her body was delivered the same day.

Alison’s funeral was planned on a Sunday, the one-year anniversary of her husband's death. The whole town was there morning the sweet and kind Mrs. Alison Blackwood. Her body was placed next to her husband and on her maker the words," Devoted wife and loving friend. May she live in peace," were intricately carved. The very next day her house was boarded up, sealed off from the world. Since then no one has ever touched the house, much less ventured that far down the street.

I shook myself out of my reverie, a shiver tingling down my back. I continued walking down the street stopping when I had arrived at the crosswalk. I was in the middle of the street when I heard a loud honk from my right. I turned, my eyes widening at the sight of a truck barreling down the street, headed straight for me. In that moment everything seemed to move in slow motion. Maybe it was my imagination but when I looked up at the trees lining the road I thought I saw a dark shape. It was blurry and resembled a human but I couldn't make out the features. I vaguely remember my feet moving me out the way of the oncoming car. After I had calmed my breathing and stopped the shaking racking my body, I glanced back up at that spot where I had thought I spotted something, but the space was empty. My eyes darted around searching the immediate area, but the mysterious figure was no longer there.