Lyla popped on her headset. “No, I’m good. Ready to go when­ever you are.”

  “Oh, champing at the bit, are we? That’s fantastic. Okay, well, I’ll just get started as soon as this song finishes.”

  Lyla hadn’t paid much attention to the song being played over the speakers, but she wasn’t surprised to hear it was Monster Mash. Tim played that song every Halloween.

  “Monster Mash is such an iconic song, don’t you think, Lyla?” he said with a Cheshire cat grin.

  “It sure is.”

  Tim held up a finger as the song faded out and launched into his spiel.

  “Hey, welcome back everyone! Well, it’s time for our main event—the interview you’ve all been waiting for on this spooky Halloween morning. Our chat with Halloween expert, Lyla Martin. Welcome back to Radio 2NGB, Lyla!”

  “Thanks for having me back, Tim.”

  Lyla sat perfectly still, picking anxiously at her fingernails under the desk as Tim continued his introduction.

  “Lyla is a New Hampshire native, author, and historian. Her book, Halloween Horrors, made the US Today Bestseller list, but her biggest achievement in my opinion is that she was actually born on Halloween. Isn’t that right, Lyla?”

  Tim flashed her a smile and Lyla smirked back. “Um, yes, that’s right, Tim.”

  “Lyla, have you ever considered that the reason you know so much about Halloween is because you were born on October 31st?”

  Lyla cleared her throat nervously. “Oh, no, I think it’s purely coincidence.”

  “Have you ever gone back into your family history or anything? Weren’t any witches in your family, were there?”

  Tim seemed to run with the same jokes every year as well.

  “Not as far as I know, Tim, but in truth, I’ve never really looked into it.”

  Lyla gave Tim a slight glare, as if to say, where are you going with this—stick to the script! But he laughed, a guffaw that made him bounce like Santa Claus.

  “Okay then, let’s move along. So, let’s dive into all things Halloween. Lyla, can you tell us how you became so invested in Halloween? How did you become such an expert—was it something you grew up with?”

  Lyla cleared her throat again as she conjured a mental image of her parents repeatedly telling her she wasn’t allowed to celebrate the holiday with her friends, how her father always used to pray over her at bedtime instead of reading her a story. She blinked the thoughts aside and answered.

  “Well, actually, no, I didn’t grow up with Halloween. In fact, we didn’t celebrate at home at all.”

  Tim’s eyes widened. “Wow, you’ve never mentioned that before, Lyla. So, it wasn’t a thing in your home?”

  “No. I was raised in a Christian home where Halloween was frowned upon as being something, well…evil. But the thing is, my curiosity about Halloween grew from that very denial. I secretly learned all I could about Halloween and once, I even snuck out to trick or treat.”

  Tim leaned closer to the microphone. Lyla didn’t know why she was revealing so much of her past.

  “Gee, I bet your parents weren’t happy about that,” he said.

  “No, they weren’t. When they found out, I was grounded for several weeks. But, in the end, it didn’t stop me from fostering my passion for Halloween.”

  “What do your parents think of your chosen line of work these days?”

  “My parents are both deceased.”

  “Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that.”

  Tim didn’t know what to say so there was an awkward silence, which didn’t suit live radio. He quickly adjusted himself.

  “So, Lyla, what about the perception of um, evil around Halloween? I was always brought up to believe it was fun.”

  “Yes, it is meant to be fun. These days, particularly in the US, the holiday is all about trick-or-treating, yard haunts, and candy. But the connotation that Halloween is evil is a total misconception. Some connected Halloween to the Celtic festival, Samhain, which signifies the end of summer. It’s celebrated on October 31st as the time to start preparing for winter and because the Celts saw it as a new year type festival, they believed it was also the time when the veil between the worlds was at its thinnest and that some spirits could cross over. But it’s not associated with evil and the Celts did not worship a Lord of the Dead or make sacrifices. That’s just something that organized religion locked onto and spread to try and discourage children from participating.”

  “I see.” Tim checked the screen on the recording panel. “Well, apparently, we’re already getting some questions. So, listeners, you can now call our hotline to ask Lyla some questions on 555-2NGB. That’s 555-2642. Hello, you’re on the air!”

  A woman’s excited voice came over the speaker. “Oh, hi! Hi! My name is Marie. Great to meet you, Tim! And Lyla!”

  “Hi, Marie, do you have a question for Lyla?”

  “Yes, yes. Um, Lyla, can you tell me why people started checking candy? Was it true that people tried to poison kids’ candy because they were against Halloween?”

  Lyla scoffed. “None of that happened. There were cases of people doing it, but they weren’t these anonymous psychos. One woman, years ago, didn’t like older kids trick-or-treating and would put ant buttons into their baskets and that was blown out of proportion with this idea that people were putting razor blades in candy. It’s all just something that became an urban legend.”

  “Oh, okay,” Marie said. “That’s interesting. Thank you, Lyla!”

  Tim nodded Lyla’s way, but then he pressed his headset on tighter. “We have another caller on the line. Welcome to Radio 2NGB Breakfast. Who do we have on the line?”

  Lyla listened intently as a strange silence pervaded the booth. But a sound did rise, like the echo of what sounded like a howling wind rushing through a tunnel.

  “Hmm, looks like someone’s calling from outside their home?” Tim said. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  The wind constricted, focusing to become one word: “Lyyylllaaaaaaaa!”

  Lyla froze in her seat and shared a look of terror with Tim, whose face suddenly matched the tone of his beard.

  “Okay, we don’t appreciate prank calls here, even if it is Hallow­een—”

  The voice boomed over Tim’s:

  LYYYYLLLLAAAAA’S SSSOOOULLLLLL!”

  Feedback burst in their ears, like an electric guitar held too close to a speaker. Lyla and Tim wrenched their headsets away before Tim quickly cut the signal.

  “Oh, my God—what was that?”

  Lyla didn’t want to know. She grabbed her handbag and ran out of the booth, kicking over the plastic jack-o’lanterns and getting fake cobwebs in her hair. Tim called out for her to stop, but she had to get as far away from that voice as she could. The sound was going to live in her mind forever.

  Lyla ran from the building, desperate for something other than the rancid stench of cigarettes and body odor, but the air that greeted her was ice cold. Monochrome clouds threatened rain and the encroaching wind sacrificed autumn leaves to the ground below.

  Everywhere Lyla looked, Halloween was beginning to make itself known, and after hearing that voice in the studio, the thought of Halloween terrified her—for the first time in her life.

  She left the street for the car park, unlocked her Prius, and climbed inside. She took long, deep breaths in a bid to calm herself, to block out the howling voice, but the wind buffeting the car sounded all too familiar.

  “Goddamnit— it wasn’t real! Just some guy playing a stupid prank. Get over yourself!”

  A check of her watch showed she was going to be late for the seminar if she didn’t get on the freeway soon. She started the car and left the car park for the road, merging into traffic. Focusing on the traffic calmed her, but as she started to merge into the right lane to enter the freeway, a fresh gust of wind smothered her car with a vortex of leaves. The hundreds of deathly pale leaves seemed to come out of nowhere, slapping wetly against her windshield and blocking her view. Panicked, Lyla applied the brake and swerved to the left. She heard the blaring of multiple car horns from the drivers around her as the swarm of leaves lifted away to reveal she was about to collide with the rear of another vehicle. Lyla screamed and again swerved hard to the left to avoid the collision, only to strike the guard rail, releasing a hail of sparks and bringing the car to an abrupt stop.

  Panting in fear, Lyla scanned the sky, only to find the leaves and the wind had mysteriously vanished.

  Lyla’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking during the Uber ride to the New Hampshire Historical Society Hall. She had to arrange for her Prius to be towed as it had some damage to the suspension and a long scrape down the driver’s side, but at least she wasn’t hurt. The experience rattled her, the aftermath leaving her with a sickening feeling. Her mouth was dry, her skin clammy. The accident replayed in her head, the leaves twisting over and around the car as if they were attacking her. First the creepy prank caller and then a swarm of leaves. Halloween was turning into a nightmare. The Uber driver pulled up at the hall and Lyla climbed out, only to be greeted by a concerned Renata Dawson.

  “Oh, my goodness, Ms. Martin—are you okay?”

  Lyla gathered herself and tried to get her bearings. “Yes, I’m fine—I just got a bit of a fright, that’s all.”

  Renata put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, when you called me and said you’d been in an accident I feared the worst. Are you sure you shouldn’t go to the emergency department? Get yourself looked at by a doctor? People will understand if you have to cancel.”

  Lyla shook her head and walked towards the entrance. “No, it’s fine. I’d like to just get started.”

  She entered the hall where about two dozen members of the society were waiting. Mostly retirees, Lyla was astounded that they had nothing better to do than spend their remaining years trying to relive the past. They started clapping as she walked up the stage stairs to the podium. Every year they invited her to come and talk about Halloween and its history in the area and Lyla had always suspected they were using her for pointers on how to write history books of their own. Once the applause ceased, she scanned the crowd, took a deep breath, and began.

  “Um, good morning, everyone. I apologize for being late. I had a bit of a mishap on the drive here, but I can assure you that I am perfectly fine. So, without further ado, I’ll get started.”

  She glanced into the crowd. They were all watching her, waiting on her every word. In the back row, however, she noticed an elderly couple and immediately had a feeling that they looked out of place. She turned back to her notes.

  “Um, when I started writing my current book—Halloween Histories—which is a follow-up to my first book, Halloween Horrors, I aimed to dispel some of the myths surrounding Halloween, while also highlighting its rich lore.”

  Lyla looked at the old couple again and her heart quickened. Their blank faces were gaunt and greying, the flesh stretched taut over the bone. They didn’t move, only stared at her from sunken eye sockets. She wanted to turn away, but they held sway over her.

  “Take um, one piece of lore around people born on Halloween, for example. As you know, I was born on Halloween in 1962. One of the beliefs was that babies born on Halloween emerged from their mother’s wombs wrapped in a fleshy caul. It was also believed that children born on Halloween had what was referred to as “second sight”, a psychic ability to see spirits and—”

  A loud clatter rang out in the hall, drawing Lyla’s gaze directly to the back of the room. The two chairs where the elderly couple had been sitting had toppled over, but the pair was nowhere to be seen. Others in the crowd turned to the back row as Renata picked the chairs up and then shrugged at Lyla in confusion.

  What the hell is going on? Lyla thought. Had Renata seen the old couple? Had anyone else other than her? She refocused on her presentation.

  “Yes, so as I was saying, ‘second sight’ was—”

  Lyla sucked in a sudden breath as her tongue went slack. The words formed in her head, but she had been struck dumb. She stood on the podium, her lips moving without sound. She coughed and poked at her throat, but she was mute. Renata noticed and quickly came to her side.

  “Are you all right, Ms. Martin? Do you need a glass of water?”

  Renata left the stage and returned with some water a moment later. Lyla took a mouthful and felt her tongue once more.

  “Thank…you,” she said to Renata before turning to the group. “Not sure what happened there.”

  Murmurs rose through the crowd, the members concerned with their star presenter’s behavior.

  “Sorry, everyone. I’ll continue. So, ‘second sight’… Tha sinn a” tighinn air son d” anama an nochd

  Lyla had lost control of her words. The gathered crowd frowned and gasped.

  “Fosglaidh am brat ort”

  “Gus do Ifrinn Oidhche Shamhna a thoirt thugad!”

  Lyla pressed a hand to her temple. The crowd seemed to blur in a haze of distorted color. She didn’t know what was happening, but something else had control of her mind and body. Renata came to her again, but the woman’s cries of concern were lost in a void. Lyla looked to the exit and saw the elderly couple had moved closer. Their filthy black clothes and gormless faces watching seemed all too familiar. Then Renata’s voice broke through.

  “Do you need an ambulance?”

  Lyla blinked and the elderly couple was gone. She pushed Renata aside and ran for the exit and once she made it outside, she kept running—running for her very soul.

  Lyla sat in the back of the taxi with tears streaming down her face. Her day—her Halloween—was inexplicable. Something was reaching for her with icy fingers. The things she had witnessed didn’t make sense, but she knew they were real. The voice, the swarm of leaves, the ghosts of her parents, and now something had taken control of her voice.

  Oh, God, my voice. What happened to my voice?

  The driver asked if she was okay, but Lyla ignored him, instead watching out the window to gather her thoughts. The words she’d spoken—or the words that had been spoken through her—she knew to be Gaelic, the ancient language of the Celts. She’d read some Gaelic during her years of research into the origins of Halloween, but she’d never been able to speak it, or even tried. Lyla removed her glasses and squeezed the bridge of her nose in exhaustion. She tried to recall the Gaelic that had escaped her lips, but it was garbled, like the rest of her head. One of the words did push through: anama. She grabbed her phone and searched for the word. The English translation came up as the old Irish word for soul.

  The voice on the call at the radio station crept back into her mind.

  Her soul.

  Was something truly coming for her soul?

  She shivered and closed the phone. Despite her field of research, and upbringing, she’d never truly believed in an afterlife. She saw Halloween as a celebration of remembrance of the dead, a way to soften the dread feelings around mortality and death. The notion of evil spirits had been laughable to her, childish—until now.

  The taxi turned into her street and in her shaken state, she’d forgotten that children would be out trick-or-treating. A number of her neighbors had decorated their homes, not knowing a Halloween expert lived just a few doors away. Lyla asked the driver to pull over, paid him, and stepped onto the sidewalk. Small children, draped in white sheets, Spider-Man costumes, and witches’ hats were roaming in search of candy, their parents in tow. Lyla weaved through one group to her front gate. She opened it and quickly went inside, locking the door. For the first time in years, there’d be no trick-or-treating at the home of Lyla Martin.

  The scotch and soda did little to calm Lyla’s nerves. She paced her house and focused on her breathing, but still the fear grew in the pit of her stomach. The sounds of the trick-or-treaters bled in from the outside—laughing children and cackling toy witches, mingling with the chill breeze and flutter of dying leaves.

  Lyla tore herself away from the windows, the leaves reminding her too much of the near-fatal accident on the freeway. She sat in a chair and tried to stay calm—to make sense of the day’s events. The scotch became sour in her mouth and she thought she was going to throw up. The glass, slick with condensation, slipped from her fingers and splashed on the rug.

  “Shit!”

  Lyla was bending to pick up the glass when her cell phone rang. She answered it while trying to sop up the spill.

  “Lyla, it’s Theresa? Are you okay?”

  Theresa had been her agent for almost five years. She was the one who’d encouraged her to write Halloween Horrors.

  “Hi, Theresa—I guess you’ve heard about my day?”

  “Yeah, Tim from 2NGB called. Said you’d stormed out of the interview.”

  “I didn’t storm out! I was…”

  “You were what?”

  “Look, Theresa, I’m not feeling that well. Can we pick this up tomorrow?”

  “I need to catch up with you about your book—the deadline’s fast approaching.”

  Lyla moved to her writing desk to sort through her papers. The printout of the third draft of Halloween Histories lay in a large stack near her laptop.

  “Okay, yeah, it’s coming along. I’ll make the deadline.”

  Lyla flicked through the pages and gasped. The computer-printed text was gone, replaced with a handwritten scrawl. Scratchy handwriting, done with a quill or fingertip. She blocked out Theresa’s voice and stared in horror at the macabre screed.

  “What the hell?” she said.

  “What—what’s wrong?” Theresa asked.

  She turned the page and the next and the next. Each one was in different handwriting, the writings of madmen and monsters. She couldn’t read it, couldn’t bear to.

  “Someone…someone has written all over my copy of the manuscript.”