If I had to die, I wanted, I had to die pretty. Die Pretty by Grover

Dead. They were all dead. Mr. Morton our teacher and adviser; Julie, Rodger, Stu, and the rest of my fellows for our student film project; my classmates who had tagged along as casting extras and the excuse to party on our dime. Everyone was dead.

Along in the oppressive darkness of the small room, I held myself tightly rocking back and forth. In retrospection filming a Halloween party at the old Schreck place wasn’t such a good idea, but how were we to know?

The Thing might look like a man in a Halloween mask, but we soon learned different. We had shot, stabbed, burned, and clubbed the Monster, but it had ignored all our efforts and continued to torture and kill us. Now it was just me, only me.

I could hear It outside the door as it tapped the blade of the butcher’s knife it favored against the doorknob. The small room I’d taken refuge in was full of stuff our film crew wanted kept safe away from our classmates’ mischievous pranks. An inner room, it didn’t have any windows and had a heavy duty lock since it’d been used as a makeshift armory and gun safe in days long gone.

Exhausted in mind, and body I could hardly move. My cuts, burns and other injuries hurt, but I had a hard time caring. Part of me knew it was shock, however that demonic tap, tap just feet away kept me from worrying about it. Shortly that thing would get tire of its game and kill me like It had the others.

I was going to die. Death.

Somehow that thought pulled me from the void where my soul stood. This wasn’t my first time standing at that bleak edge looking out into the nothingness. The only difference was this time it wasn’t despair which threatened my life.

“Die pretty,” I whispered to myself. If I was going to die I wanted, I had to die pretty.

I knew I couldn’t kill this Thing. The thirty some odd of us had tried everything and they had all failed. The only thing left now was deciding how I was to die.

Crack! A thunderous blow shook the door, but the thing was only playing with me as that horrible metallic tapping resumed.

I opened my eyes digging for the small flashlight in my pocket. Its light revealed the backup generator the film crew had stashed in here to run their equipment as well as my makeup cases and the girls’ wardrobe stuff.

Numb but still somewhat rational, I reasoned that turning on the power would simply enrage it and end this before I was ready. It wasn’t the best light to work with but Mr. Morton had made sure we brought along a lot of flashlights and spare batteries.

Opening my cases, I cleaned my face with some wipes and began hiding the damage I’d suffered on this terrible night. That was how I’d ended up here to start with. The geeky boy with a talent for special effects makeup who was always popular with the theatrical department and come Halloween time. I’d never told anyone why I’d really gotten interested in makeup and masks.

As I began my transformation, the unfeeling numbness I was experiencing was so very strange. There was none of my usual euphoria or the quiet joy that came with my revealing my true self.

Slowly the face I was born with disappeared, as appliances, and foundation did their magic. All the while that tapping kept me from forgetting my death waited just outside.

Thunk! I jumped involuntarily as the Monster sunk his bloody blade deep into the door shielding me from his rage.

Remembering to breathe, I corrected the mistake I’d made with my eye shadow. At least I hadn’t been using mascara or eyeliner right then. This had to be perfect and that would be hard to do without an eye.

Slipping on the sexy Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, costume I’d hidden among the girls’ things, I gave myself a careful critical evaluation as another “Thunk” reverberated about my small makeshift studio.

Not satisfied I made a couple of adjustments to the beautiful long dark wig that so much of my savings had gone into. There finished.

I still managed the four inch ‘witchy’ pumps despite my limp from the nail gun one of my friends had gotten me with earlier trying to stop the Monster.

Touching the doorknob to end this, I could hear its hoarse breathing on the other side of my wooden barrier. My eyes fell back on the generator. Did I dare? Did I have anything to left to lose?

Thankfully, the generator cranked to life without a murmur. Its roar was answered by one from the Monster. Maddened, its butcher’s blade turned the door into matchsticks. Like a force of nature maybe, but even he was blinded by all the lights, including the reflective photo lighting ‘umbrellas’ I had aimed at the door.

Like the rest of my costume, my dagger was as authentic as I could make it. In this case a Middle Eastern style blade with four inches of razor steel. Careful, deliberately, I stepped forward driving it into his heart.

The Thing just looked down at it. Then It grabbed the wrist of my hand with the dagger. Shaking its head at me the Monster drove the butcher knife into the rickety table I’d been using making my makeup supplies jump into the air.

Then It snatched up my other hand.

‘This is gonna hurt,’ I thought as the juice from the generator poured into us. He flew backwards as I fell twitching. Somehow I kept the bare wires between my makeshift isolators and my flesh from completing the circuit like they had when gruesome had seized my wrists.

I’d added to my collection of burns, but I’d gotten a piece of him. Reaching back with my foot I pulled the extension cord plug out of the generator. Standing, the cord snaked up my long black dress where I’d split the wires and bared the ends under my long sleeves.

Picking up the grounding rod and small mallet that came with the generator’s gear, I removed my small dagger although the suction fought me. Blam, blam I hammered the rod though the hole I’d already made in his chest.

Not taking any chances and not knowing just what in the hell it was, I poured the only salt I had from a small shaker we had bought for snacks into his mouth. Okay that should do it if he’s a zombie.

Now for the hard part; I forced myself up again. Using both hands I pried up that bloody knife that had killed so many of my friends tonight. Almost falling, I knelt next to him holding that grisly tool high above my head.

I’d hoped that having a foot of iron though his chest would be enough because I didn’t have a wooden stake handy.

His eyes snapped opened.

I brought the knife down with all of my strength.

Hands flying to his throat, he tried to stop the ichor leaking out.

“Happy Halloween,” I grated as I chopped again and again.

Wearily I looked at its face, but this time the eyes stayed shut. I let the ghastly thing roll away my energy spent.

I must have passed out because the next thing I remember is someone shinning a light into my eye. Dazedly I looked around at the sea of flashing lights and uniformed people.

They must have questions, but I’d no idea what to tell them. The truth wouldn’t be believed.

“It’s okay Miss. Everything is going to be fine,” the paramedic told me as he examined me.

I couldn’t even cry. If only. It’d never been alright. However I had to know. “Is it dead?” I asked in a hoarse whisper.

Someone in a dark suit came into view. “Yes, Miss it’s dead.”

With those words my eyes closed. It was dead. I was safe.

I heard them asking me questions, but I no longer cared. They would soon find out what I really was under this dress. Then my ordeal would really begin. Perhaps they might believe this was only a costume or maybe they would even blame me for all of this.

But right now I was safe. Sleep, please, please just let me sleep ...