Title: It’s Halloween, Isn’t It?

“Master, please have mercy on me! You are my Lord, you are my God,” pleaded the poor slave. Can’t really remember his name though, since he was just freshly bought. Oh well, I bet he won’t have any name either after entering this kingdom of hell.

“Oh no! I know exactly the type you are. Don’t try to put on this act. Now bear it,” Master Craddock said roughly while whipping the slave. He would do this to every new slave he bought. I don’t know why but in his words, he thought it was very manly and masterly of ‘showing’ the slaves their place  in the house or else, they may try to flee. Honestly, I really felt very bad for that slave but I did not have a voice. I must not speak or else…or else, he would do the same to me. [A Bitter Laugh] I can really get forgetful sometimes. He can’t do anything to me…….. not anymore.

Well, I still remember that day. The poor slave (what must I call him? Umm… “Mr. S” sounds fine) helplessly begged for mercy. Seriously “mercy”? From whom?! The Devil himself? Oh well, he was new so, he barely had any idea about his master but soon he was going find out all his master’s dark little secrets that was buried in the house. But still, what’s the point? It’s not like he was going to rebel or something. It’s not like he was going to help me….or was he?

The day ended with pain, blood and scars on the body of Mr. S. and as the sun crawled up, so did his misery for another day to bear until the “so-called-life” would come to an end.

Oh wait! Did I mention how sinful it was considered to attempt suicide in the Master’s house? You must be wondering it was hell already so, why not kill himself? Well, that’s not how Mr. S wanted it. He’d rather live this hell for few more years than bear another hell for eternity. I would call him smart and I really needed a smart lad.

Moving on, Mr. S had a lot of work on his shoulders. He had to toil all day, not get enough food nor sleep and on top of that, he would have to listen to the bad mouth. Mr. Craddock may forget to feed him for a day, but he never really forgot to beat him up on every little thing that you could ever possibly imagine…or not imagine. Mr. S never really wasted his breath on complaining to the Almighty as if he made peace with this lifestyle (although I would not call it a life); as if he was born to serve and as if Mr. Craddock was superior to his being. Nonsense! I tell you, absolute nonsense!

As the days passed by, Mr. S became more familiar with the rooms and things in the rooms of the house. A planter’s house was always more like a palace to the slaves, in context to the size and not  to the feel.  One day, he noticed a locked room. He murmured and thought to himself, “What room is this that I never cleaned? It is weird that it is locked as no room is ever locked in this palace. Why is it locked? Is it…could it be? Could it be a room full of treasure that the Master is trying to protect and possess? “

I don’t know about you but I had doubts in his intentions that time. It never really occurred to me that he could be the ‘needy’ one, instead of the ‘greedy’ one. Oh well, who cares! That’s not what he thought it was and he soon discovered it when his Master went out of the house for work for few days and left him locked up in the house.

Worked out pretty well for Mr. S. He attempted to break the lock. Obviously! He did not have a key to the “safe”. After a long hard work, he finally managed to break that big, heavy lock. For the first time, I saw a slave smile. Really, such a beautiful smile. But it did not last…I wish it did because I had forgotten how to smile as well…but sadly, it didn’t as he was disappointed, deeply disappointed after entering the room. He saw a dirty old room with nothing much in it except a rotten pumpkin lying in one corner and a bed and a mirror and few cheap toys. But whose room was it?

If you ask me, I would say he rather looked very curious than disappointed. He wanted to “know” why on Earth was that room locked? I was hoping and praying that he would tread towards the pumpkin and come into some good use. Oh! How hard I prayed for him to come towards the pumpkin but he didn’t. He seemed appalled as he looked at the pumpkin. He looked at my baby with disgust!

But somehow something knocked sense into him and he walked slowly towards my baby. If only he had lifted the pumpkin, he would have discovered….well, too bad his Master showed up out of nowhere and looked as if any second now he would explode! Well, he sealed his own fate that moment. I am telling you. He sealed it for real and for good.


Oh well, I remembered how the curse on my soul, which was limiting my power, was lifted once the door was opened. I picked up the entire bed and crushed that bloody Craddock under it! Just crushed him and stared at him with an unconscious smile. A smile that was lost, a smile that was destroyed and a smile that is now found!

Craddock couldn’t see me but it sure did scare him to death. I mean literally, to death. I ran towards my baby and rescued her body, which was buried under a little box. That monster didn’t even bother a coffin for my baby. How can a man be so cruel that he tried to rape and murder the mother just for the sake of his lust and when my poor baby came for trick or treat that Halloween, he had to kill her too. Well, the suffering and struggling soul of a mother finally found peace as her daughter’s body was rescued. Her soul finally made it to heaven…finally made it. This Halloween, a mother freed her daughter and her self. This Halloween there was both the trick and the treat!


6 thoughts on “Title: It’s Halloween, Isn’t It?

  1. Don’t know why, but I found that slightly hilarious. Was that the intention?
    It was good though. Could use some work, depending on what the point of the story was or what sort of feeling you wanted to convey. But, It was good. 😀
    WE WANT MORE!!!!


  2. That was a very interesting story, especially in the combination of topics from a less expected perspective. Intense and engaging. It feels like the story shouldn’t be over yet. Well done.


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