Category: Halloween

Cursed paintings. Cursed furniture. Cursed dinnerware.
Whether you’re selling or buying, Seraph-Minton is the auction house you’re looking for.
Our team of lawyers, priests, and assessors are always available for consultation.
Discrete arrangements, secure facilities, unequaled expertise in handling and shipping.
And, of course, reasonable commissions.
Seraph-Minton can turn your family’s shameful secret burden into cold hard cash.
No matter what the curse, there is always an interested party for it.
And through an arrangement with the Transylvania Historical Society, most governments offer generous tax breaks for charitable contributions to their extensive collections.
And, of course, all sales are final.

Witch powers run through family bloodlines.
But if a witch isn’t trained before she’s thirteen, she loses her powers forever.
Emily was trained by her mother, the Queen Witch, but over the years all she ever wanted to do was be normal.
She didn’t want her daughter Susan to become a witch, so Susan ran off to her grandmother’s house to learn.
The Queen Witch tried to teach her, but nothing worked.
Spells. Potions. Riding a broom.
Defeated, Susan came back home.
“I lied about your age,” said Emily. “You’re actually fourteen.”
And that’s how the magic died in Salem.

Becky lost her arm when she was six.
The Media Lab used 3D printing, nanoactuators, and an AI control system to construct a prosthesis.
A neural interface passed motor and sensory impulses.
She could feel its fingers, brushing on her face.
Strange… a little twitch?
“Just a calibration,” said the doctor. “Nothing else.”
The arm adapted to her needs, anticipating.
As she grew older, the Lab built new frames to fit, using the original AI system.
Until one day a researcher suggested a newer AI.
The arm tore out his throat.
In blood on the table it wrote “She’s mine.”

I’ve met the Grim Reaper.
And, as you clearly see, I’ve lived to talk about it.
The first time, he looked at me, collected a soul, and moved on.
The second time, he looked at me, did a double-take, and did his usual business.
Then came the respectful nods. The handshakes. The smalltalk.
Then, after about twenty times, he put his bony hand on my shoulder, and said “I see a lot of folks in your line of work, and I’m impressed at your skill. You never leave any witnesses. I’ll see you next time.”
Quiet in here, isn’t it?

Freddy believed that he had to sacrifice his life for the benefit of mankind.
But committing suicide is a mortal sin, and he’d be condemned forever for it.
He tried suicide-by-cop, but as hard as he tried to get shot and killed, he was either tased or clubbed into submission.
And his sentence wasn’t a death sentence. He got ten years.
Running for the electrified fences would be suicide.
So, he’d try to rile up other prisoners to kill him.
After some savage beatings, the prisoners tended to leave Freddy alone.
And he sat there in his cell, utterly morose.

For Halloween, Brian bought a box of Pixie Stix.
Then he opened the tubes up, poured out a bit of the sugar candy, and added poison to each.
Then he sealed them back up and put them in the beggar bowl.
On Halloween Night, the emergency lines lit up.
Kids were dying from the poisoned candy.
It didn’t take long to figure out it was the Pixie Stix, and some kids remembered where they got them.
From Brian’s neighbor. He’d put them in their bowl.
His bowl had Snickers.
But he didn’t count on their Ring doorbell camera filming him.

I was looking for meaning, so I joined The Church.
I wish I hadn’t.
A church? More like… a cult.
A horrible, horrible cult.
The things I saw… the things that were done to me…
I can’t tell you. I’m so ashamed.
So, I escaped. I ran.
And they found me.
The others who had escaped.
And they took me in.
They helped me.
So, I stayed with them.
I wish I hadn’t.
A survivor’s group? More like… a cult.
The things I saw… the things that were done to me.
So, I escaped. I ran.
Back to The Church.

I have lifetime passes to Disney parks.
My elderly parents want me to use them to take them to Disney World.
But my dad requires a walker and my mother has the bitchy and feisty form of Dementia.
Along with gastrointestinal issues which randomly park her on the toilet for hours.
I would have an absolutely miserable time there, more miserable than they usually make me.
So… I did what any good son would do.
I took them to Disney World.
Flew First Class, got the best suite at the resort.
And I spread their ashes at the Haunted Mansion.

After his Reggie’s wife died, LazarusTech picked up the body and brought it back to their lab.
Nobody’s quite sure what they do there.
Camera crews aren’t allowed in, and employees never talk.
Bodies go in, deliveries go out.
Three days later, LazarusTech delivered the clone of Reggie’s wife to Reggie.
“She has all of your wife’s memories,” said the technician.
And she opened her eyes.
“You fucking poisoned me!” she yelled, grabbing Reggie by the throat.
Reggie fought back and killed her.
“That violates the warranty,” said the technician.
He carried the body to the van and drove off.

Ever notice those people standing at intersections, with their cardboard signs, begging for money?
Where do they go at night?
There’s a homeless camp by the freeway.
It started with carboard boxes and makeshift tents from duct-taped trash bags.
Eventually, actual camping tents showed up.
It’s cheaper to toss trash from construction and refurbs in the weeds than to pay the dump, so leftover materials led to a small village of shacks.
I drove by there and saw Halloween decorations going up.
Do they dress up for Trick or Treat?
Imagine that, kids going door to door, begging from beggars.