Along Came the Tricksters

By Westley Smith

On Halloween: the Tricksters came. On Halloween: the Tricksters joked. On Halloween: the Tricksters played pranks. On Halloween: the Tricksters murdered. Now, Logan Parsons and her best friend, Yvette Wyss, must try to survive the night. They are alone, scared, horrified, and about to come face-to-face with an evil far greater than man has ever known. The tricks are about to begin…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312082687

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Along Came the Tricksters

Along Came the Tricksters

By Westley Smith

Copyright © 2014, Westley Smith

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

Dedication

This is for my Aunt Sonnie,

who never gave up on me…never.

Prologue:

Logan Parsons was asleep the night the Tricksters came.

As she lay snug in her bed, buried up to her neck in a mound of covers, the window leading into her bedroom was opening, and a shrouded, hunched over figure climbed through the threshold and into her life.  He was dripping wet from the storm that was raging outside and left a trail of water on the floor as he limped creepily towards her bed.  His long boney fingers, with nails as black as night and sharp as knives, reached out for the girl as if he were going to snatch the sleeping beauty from her bed and take her back to his underground lair.

He eased himself to her bedside, just as a sharp flash of lightening cut the darkness, casting his shadow across the bedspread and the wall.  He stared down at her, watching the seventeen-year-old girl sleep, seeing the rise and fall of her chest, hearing her deep restful breaths; he was fascinated with her.  He wanted to touch her, wanted to feel her skin and run his fingers through her dark hair.  He wanted to smell her, and…taste her.

Having no idea this…thing was in her bedroom, Logan, still sound asleep, rolled onto her side away from the evil that was about to turn her life into a living hell.

He pushed himself onto the bed delicately so not to awake the teenager and spoil his, or his fellow Tricksters, fun.

Their fun would have to wait until tomorrow night.

Squatting down at the end of the teenager’s bed, with his hands draped over his knees, he watched her sleep until the wee hours of the morning.

The tricks were about to begin…

CHAPTER 1

Logan awoke that morning to the annoying sound of the alarm clock.  She reached out to her nightstand, knocking a stack of unread comic books on the floor while in the process of trying to switch the alarm off – the loud obnoxious sound drove her nuts that early in the morning.  Rolling over onto her back she stared at the ceiling of her bedroom and thanked God that it was Friday.  But not only was it Friday, it was also October 31st – Halloween.  The thought made her smile knowing it would be an evening filled with junk food and old horror movies with her best friend, Yvette.  Logan had been planning this night since the beginning of October, and like every Halloween, she was super excited – it was her favorite holiday.

She pulled herself lazily out of bed to face the last day of school, jonesing to get the weekend started.  She swung her feet out from under the warm covers to the hardwood floor below, and placed them into a puddle of water by her bedside.  The cold water startled her, and she recoiled her feet up to the bed as if she had just been electrocuted.

What the hell, Logan thought. How in the hell did this get here?

Pushing a strand of dark hair out of her eyes, she then realized that there was a spotted trail of evaporating water leading away from the pool beside her bed and directly to the window of her bedroom.  There was no logical reason for there to be water on the floor of her bedroom, no reason at all.  Last night, before Logan had gone to bed, she had closed the window because of the storm approaching, so there was no way there should have been water in her room.

She looked up at the window, but the window was closed, just as she had left it.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except the water on the floor…

But why-

Logan! Her mother yelled from downstairs, pulling her thoughts away from how the water magically appeared on the floor. Logan!

I’m up! Logan hollered back, her voice still deep and heavy with sleep.

You’re going to be late for school again if you don’t get a move on, young lady!

Logan looked at the clock.  It was past six-thirty.  Her mother was right; if she didn’t hurry she’d be late for school. She had already been late enough times this semester - the next time would land her in detention for the afternoon.

As she pushed herself up from her bed, she realized that her comforter was wet, too, as if someone had poured a bucket of water on her bed while she was sleeping.  This has to be a joke.  Still Logan wasn’t so sure.  She looked to the celling.  Was there a leak (or several leaks) in the ceiling that she wasn’t aware of?

She didn’t know.  Nor did she have the time to figure it out now.  School beckoned, and she had to get a move on if she didn’t want to miss the bus.

Logan grabbed a towel off her dresser and cleaned up the water on the floor.  Then she stripped the sheets and bedspread quickly, and threw them into the family hamper on the way into the bathroom to take her morning shower.

***

Logan was in the process of gathering her school books up and putting them in her book bag when her mother yelled up the stairs for her again.

Let’s go, young lady!

I’m coming, Mother! Logan screamed back, rolling her eyes.

She picked the comic books off the floor that had fallen by the night stand and began going through them.  She had library at the end of the school day.  Library was a waste of time for most kids, but some used it to catch up on their studies and homework, since study hall had been abandoned when the school had adopted the block system where there were four, ninety minute classes a day.  Most of Logan’s homework and studying would be finished by then (since Logan always worked on her homework in other classes and on her lunch break so she didn’t have to take any home) she would need something to read, and, to keep her from falling asleep.  Flipping through the stack of unread comics, she pulled two X-Men, one Wolverine (who Logan was named after, thanks to her biological father’s insistence that his first born be named after the famous Marvel character’s real name, which was also Logan) and a Batman, then slipped them in her bag.

Logan’s mother, Joyce, hated her daughter’s love affair with comic books, and told her so plenty of times.

Young ladies shouldn’t be reading comics; it isn’t…normal, she had said.

And what’s so odd about them, mother, Logan remembered asking.

For one, comics are for dorky, pimply-faced boys who don’t have friends, and don’t have a shot at getting girlfriends. You’re a pretty young lady, Logan.  You should act like it.  Besides, you don’t want to be one of ‘those girls’ do you - the ones that never get asked out by boys and are so unpopular that they don’t have any friends.  You keep reading those comic books and that’s just what’ll end up happening to you.  You want to find a boyfriend, right?

The answer was: not really.  Logan had never been boy crazy as most teenage girls are at her age.  She wasn’t sure why this was, maybe because most of the boys in her high school were just that, immature boys.  But, unlike the rumors that floated around school about her, she liked boys, a lot of them in fact.  But they didn’t rule her foremost thoughts all the time, like some girls her age.

And when this conversation about comics arose with her mother, (which it did at least twice a week) or about her love for writing, film, reading, or really anything that was different from her mother’s ideals of what a young woman should be, Logan would just shake her head and not bother saying anything or even fighting with her mother over the issue.  There was no sense.  Joyce was a small minded individual, and couldn’t look outside her trivial world of material objects and social popularity to see that her daughter was different, was special in her own way, and had a talent for story telling that was unmatchable by any of her peers.

LOGAN! Joyce’s voice echoed in the hallway.  She was growing impatient with her daughter now.

Logan shook her head, zipped up the bag, and then opened the bedroom door.

She stopped in her tracks, caught off guard by the pile of fall leaves that was sitting in front of her bedroom door, like someone had raked them and placed them there.

What the hell?

Logan!

She stepped over the pile of leaves, confused about why they were there, turned and pulled her door shut, and then headed towards the stairs.

Joyce was standing in the foyer with her hands on her hips, watching Logan as she rounded the banister of the large, curved stairwell.  Like normal, Joyce’s reddish-brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she wore a grey woman’s blazer, white blouse, and dark skirt, which was a little north of the knees.  To Logan, her mother looked like some secretary straight out of a porno movie, just slightly too plump to be naked on camera.

C’mon, young lady.  Breakfast is on the table.

Logan started down the steps towards her mother.  She could tell already that her mother was eyeing up what she was wearing, and disapproved greatly.

I told you I was coming.  D.S.Y.

Joyce looked at her queerly. D.S.Y?  What does D.S.Y. mean?

Don’t shit yourself.

Logan saw a flush of anger rush through her mother and redden her face.  She was good at pushing her mother’s buttons since her parents divorce a year and a half ago, and took every opportunity at doing so when given the chance.  She hated living there with her mother and her douchebag husband, Kenneth, and if Logan had a choice (which she didn’t, thanks to the courts) she would’ve gone to live with her father.  At least with him she would be loved and treated with respect, not like a piece of trash that kept getting in the way.

Hey, watch your mouth! Joyce replied.

Logan rolled her eyes at her. Whatever.

This reply made Joyce ball her hands into tight fists and it took all her control to not lash out and smack her daughter in the mouth.  She took a breath, calming herself before she spoke again, and then turned her attention back to Logan’s clothes with a critical gaze.

Is that what you’re wearing to school? She asked.

Logan liked the idea that her mother disapproved of her attire.  She wore knee-torn jeans, a studded belt with a large Captain America shield for a belt buckle; a Batman insignia t-shirt was under a plaid thermal button down shirt, and a pair of worn boots to top it all off.

What’s wrong with it? Logan asked, looking back to her mother with a half-cocked smirk.

You look like a 90’s grunge rocker.

What’s wrong with that? Logan said.

Joyce said nothing.  She didn’t want to get into an argument that early in the morning with Logan on how a young lady of seventeen should act and dress.

Breakfast is ready, Joyce said instead.

I’m not hungry.

Joyce looked her daughter’s gaunt appearance over again.  Logan was a very pretty girl, with sharp model-like features, long raven colored dark hair, and eyes so blue and vivid that they looked like tropical water sparkling under a hot sun.   But it was apparent Logan had lost a lot of weight over the past year and half.  She had always been a lean girl but had stayed at a healthy weight for her body size.  Yet since the divorce, Joyce had noticed a considerable transformation in her daughter, not just in her appearance, but her personality too.  Logan had grown even more introverted than she naturally was, staying in her room most of the time; she didn’t have many friends so she didn’t socialize much, and when Joyce tried talking to her, Logan would give her a smartass answer, or would snap at her for asking a question.

I made your favorite, Joyce said.

Coffee and cigarettes?

Joyce’s eyes narrowed on Logan and she crossed her arms over her chest. Why do you have to be such a smartass all the time?

Oh, I don’t know, Mother.  I guess the same reason you had to divorce dad and marry an asshole.

That’s enough, Logan! Joyce scolded. I know Kenneth is not your favorite person in the word but he’s a-

A pervert! Logan shot back.

Joyce paused for a second, staring angrily at her daughter for the rude accusation she made against her husband, which had been an ongoing thing with Logan since early August when she claimed that she was feeling uncomfortable with the way Kenneth had been watching her.

After a moment Joyce said, I was going to say, he’s a provider.

Yeah, let’s go with that. Logan stepped down off the stairs and looked directly into her mother’s eyes; they were almost nose-to-nose.  Whatever you have to tell yourself at night so you can climb into bed with him, Mother.

The truth made Joyce pull her gaze away from Logan and look to the floor in shame, as if she already knew the truth about the man she married.

Logan turned away and started down the hall towards the dining room and kitchen.  She stopped and slowly turned back to her mother, then asked, What’s with the pile of leaves in front of my door?

Joyce looked up to her. What are you talking about?

There is a pile of leaves sitting outside my bedroom door, like someone put them there.

Joyce stared at her quizzically.  She shrugged.

I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Logan studied her mother, trying to decide whether she was telling her the truth or not.  She couldn’t tell what her mother was thinking.

It’s weird, creepy, and not very funny, Logan replied.

Hon, I… Joyce trailed off.  She didn’t know how to respond.

Logan didn’t push the issue further – what was the point? Her mother acted like she knew nothing about it, so she turned and walked into the dining room.

As Logan came into the dining room, Kenneth Updegraff, her stepfather, was sitting at the head of the table reading the business section of the newspaper like he did every morning.  His smug attitude permeated the room like the stink of shit.  He was the kind of man who thought he was better than everyone else because he worked in a large advertising firm, making an easy six figures, (one of the reasons Joyce had been so attracted to him