Halloween “Tropes” Honorable Mention
Your sister gets possessed three weeks after her eighth birthday; three days after your dad threw a bottle at her and barely missed. You’d picked the glass shards out of her hair.
You nudge your dad with your foot. There’s another bottle within arm’s reach, and you kick that out of the way just in case he gets any ideas. It’s empty, which is a good sign for his disposition. He’s always more agreeable with a little bit of something in him. He might even listen to you.
“Hey,” you say to him, and, when that barely causes him to stir where he’s passed out on the floor, you say, louder, “Hey.”
He blinks up at you. “What?”
“My sister got possessed,” you say.
“Huh?”
“She’s possessed in there. Wearing a spooky white nightgown and everything. I didn’t know she had one of those.”
Your father blinks again. He says, “What do you expect me to do about it?”
“Forget it,” you say, sharp. You’ll figure it out yourself. You always do. On your way out of the room, you kick the brown bottle further out of reach. It rolls up against the doorjamb and stops there.
You go to your sister’s room. Technically it’s your room too; you share it. You have bunk beds. Your sister is stuck to the ceiling.
She hisses down at you, black goo trailing in strings from her mouth. Her head is almost completely backwards.
You say, “Okay, nevermind, I didn’t need his help anyways.”
The thing possessing your sister stops hissing. Her voice comes out rusty and strange. “You told him I was here?”
“Yeah.”
“He wasn’t concerned?”
“Not really.”
“Oh.”
More ichor drips from her mouth. It spatters against the carpet. It’s definitely going to stain. It steams a bit, too, like maybe it’s eating through the fibers like an acid.
“Is my sister still there?” you ask.
“Yes. I think so.”
“What do you mean you think so?”
“She’s very quiet. Is she always this quiet?”
“None of your business,” you say. “Stop possessing my sister.”
She cocks her head at you, and crawls backwards down the walls until she’s on the floor instead. She’s moving strangely, like each limb is being pulled along by invisible strings. When she stands in front of you, she smells like hot smoke.
“You aren’t frightened of me,” she says.
You’re not frightened of much these days. You haven’t seen much use in it, before.
You say, “You can’t stay here.”
Neither, probably, can your sister— or you, for that matter, though you don’t say it. The bottle had missed, but it hadn’t meant to. You’re still trying to decide what to do about that.
“If I go,” says the thing that possesses your sister, “I’ll die. I live only when I take from others. Take and take and never live, not alone. No body to keep. Cursed to steal so that I can live.”
You don’t want to leave. An inch to the left and the bottle wouldn’t have missed. You have a thought. “You can’t stay in my sister,” you say. That doesn’t necessarily mean anyone has to leave, though.
***
Your neighbor knocks on the door. She usually does, when she hears loud noises coming from inside, though so far the most she’s done is purse her lips in disapproval. Still, if you asked, you think she’d probably help you.
You know how the system works. You’d probably never see your sister again, either.
You answer. “Hi.”
“Hello.” She peers past you, into the house beyond. “Is your father home?”
“Oh, sure,” you say.
Your sister steps into the doorway next to you. She looks curiously at your neighbor. Your sister has changed her clothes; she’s wearing her favorite Sleeping Beauty themed pajamas now. You made her brush her teeth, twice.
Your father’s body comes up behind you. “Hello,” his voice says. His shirt smells like a campfire.
Your neighbor purses her lips at him. “Everything alright here? I thought I heard something, just now.”
Your father’s face stretches into a smile. “Everything’s alright now. Thanks for the concern.”
In the corner of his mouth, black ichor begins to pool. He always has been more agreeable with a little bit of something in him.
Carter Lappin (she/her) is a Californian author. Her works of fiction have appeared in publications such as Dreadstone Press, Speculation Publications, Air and Nothingness Press, and Brigids Gate Press. You can find her on Twitter/X at @CarterLappin.
Published 10/30/25