Carl W. Bosch

Five stories, five Halloweens, one long haunting. Since 2020, Mr. Tricks has shadowed Brunswick’s life—appearing in doorways, lakes, lighthouses, and dreams. Each year he’s changed shape, but the story has always been about something more human: growing up, carrying fear, and learning what it means to face what follows you. Thanks for walking through these Halloweens with me. Now, one more turn down the path—back to Brunswick, back to the shadow, and back to Mr. Tricks. But

”Let’s do this. You and I. A pact of a sort. It will send a message to our friends, and to our enemies. To the world.” ”Edgar, you’re mad, but with a madness that bears thoughtful consideration. How long have we known each other? But going on six months. I enjoy our letters and shared insights. Our occasional drink and a meal,” Henry motioned with a slight gesture to the almost empty establishment. ”But what good favor that we both ended up here on our respective jaunts, read

The four of them met every year just to shoot the shit, keep updated, and drink shots. They didn’t really know how it all began, but this bar, these very seats, every June they came. All in their early thirties it had been 15 years. Fifteen long years since high school ended so abruptly. Melinda, always called Mel, and Franklin, always called Franklin, still lived in town. Rob lived in New York City, only 75 miles away, and Becky lived in Charleston, but that never stopped he

Quinton Alsop bought 10 scratch-off tickets, a copy of the  New York Post,  and three Snickers bars at the 24-hour convenience. His bill came to $10 bucks for the lottery tix, $4.75 for the paper, candy, and tax. The clerk, speaking on his phone the entire time, gave Quinton a quarter, which he stuffed in his front pocket with the candy bars.  At one point on his walk to the park, reaching into that pocket, Quinton dropped the quarter onto the walkway. He never paused or hear

Barry was only eight when the first dream came. It was lucid, clear, and alive as best an eight-year-old can recall. He wasn’t accustomed to nightmares, but this was definitely a humdinger. He never even called his mom or dad, even though he was terrified. He just couldn’t. It was some kind of a creature. Not quite a person, not an animal. About the size of his dad. Barry thought the thing was actually in bed with him. Beneath the covers. Lying right alongside his body like h