The Mysterious Mr. Trist (standard:Suspense, 3215 words)
Author: TJC	Added: Oct 08 2009	Views/Reads: 4614/2770	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Two thirteen year old boys decide they are too old for trick or treating. They decide to make this their final Halloween and to trick or treat the local haunted house and the frightening resident within.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

on this street that I know of, not even your older brother.” 

Benny's older brother Bill was now in his twenties and living in
Florida.  Like most adults, he never talked of old man Trist or his 
house.  Yet he was known in his time as the best ball player, smartest 
and most daring kid in the neighborhood when he was Benny's age.  Bill 
had even played minor league baseball for a few years.  He was the 
fearless type, but he wouldn't speak of the weird old man of Sunnyvale. 


“I don't think we should.” 

“We're doing it.  Either you go with me or I become a legend myself and
I tell everyone you were too chicken to join me, too scared to back me 
up in a scarey situation.  What do you think of that?” 

Benny and he knew he really had no choice.  “Okay,” he said finally. 
“Okay.” 

***** 

As they trick or treated on the final Halloween of their childhood,
thirteen year olds Benny and Rickey moved up and down Sunnyvale avenue 
until they'd hit every house except one.  The Trist place.  Some of the 
other kids were following them because Rickey had bragged to others 
about how they planned to trick or treat the most frightening place any 
of them had ever seen. 

“I wish you hadn't told all these kids, Rickey,” benny moaned to his
friend.  “Some of them of are really little.” 

“Nah, bullshit, the really little kids aren't there anymore.  Their
parents took them home.” 

Benny looked behind them and sure enough, there was just a spattering of
trick or treaters left.  The night was winding down and it suddenly 
felt darker and scarier.  They now stood in front of the huge, dark, 
brick structure that was the Trist house. 

“Ready to face the danger, Matey?” Rickey said in his fake pirate voice.
 Benny nodded, not wanting to play along as a cowboy zombie, rather 
just wanting to get this over with. 

They walked up the stairs slowly, as usual there was no outside light
on.  The porch was as dark as a deep cave, and even less inviting. 

“You know the outside light is the signal that a house is welcoming
trick or treaters,” Benny said, trying his best to sound calm. 

“That doesn't count if the light is never on anyway.  Probably burnt out
twenty years ago.”  Rickey smiled and played with the fake knife at his 
throat.  Benny could see nervousness in his friend's eyes, though. 

As they moved up to the door, their eyes became more adjusted to the
dark and could see the porch was bare, swept and nothing out of the 
ordinary.  A faint light glowed through the small window on the massive 
wooden door.  They did not see a doorbell. 

“Okay, knock,” said Rickey. 

“You knock!” 

“Oh come on, still chicken?” 

“Well this is your idea,” Benny countered. 

“We both knock, how's that?” 

Benny nodded and sure enough he and his friend both knocked on the door.
 The rapping gave them both a little bravery it seemed and after 
smiling at each other they knocked again. 

Nothing happened. 

“Oh well, he's not home,” Benny said.  He looked at the kids staring
from across the street.  “The two of us just knocking will make us 
celebrities, Rickey.” 

“Yeah,” Rickey said grinning.  Benny could swear he saw relief in his
friend's pirate face. “Let's go.”  He walked faster than he did at the 
food line at school, Benny thought with a chuckle. 

Then, suddenly, the porch was bathed in the bright shine of the light
and the great door opened.  Benny and Rickey stood dead in their tracks 
before the stair way down to safety.  They considered running, but 
Benny grabbed Rickey's arm and forced them to turn. 

“We knocked, and he answered,” Benny whispered, trembling.  “If we run,
we will lose what we've gained by knocking.” He couldn't believe his 
own ears. 

As they turned, they saw old Mr. Trist standing in the doorway.  He was
in a red and gold bathrobe and slippers, he didn't scary at all, in 
fact he looked more like Homer Simpson. 

“Whatcha ya'll want?” 

The old man had a thick southern accent.  Benny never figured on that. 
He'd always figured he'd have the smooth, steady voice of Hannibal 
Lecter. 

Rickey was really looking nervous now, what had happened to his brave
friend, thought Benny.  So he took the bull by the horns and announced 
for both them, holding out his candy-filled bag.  “Trick or treat?”  It 
was definitely a question, not a statement in this case. 

The old man laughed and shook his head.  “Don't get no trick or treaters
usually.” He gave them a long look, his eyes were crystal blue and 
could be seen clearly through his thick glasses.  “A freaked out cowboy 
and a pirate?” 

Benny nodded.  Rickey stood there like a statue. 

“Yes, Sir,” Benny said finally. 

“Well, ya'll come on in while I find something to give ya.  I didn't
expect no visitors.” 

The boys stood there.  Go inside?  Benny wasn't ready for that and
Rickey was almost shaking, the last vestige of bravery gone. 

“Either come in or ya'll get off my porch.  The light attracts bugs. 
What'll it be?” 

Benny, his curiosity trumping his fear, nodded at Rickey.  They followed
the old man into the house.  He gave the kids across the street a last 
look.  Their mouths were hanging open.  He hoped it wasn't really a 
last look. 

***** 

The interior of the house was full of old looking furniture, and smelled
stuffy, but it was clean and the pale lights gave the place a strange 
glow.  Benny sat with Rickey on an uncomfortably hard couch while the 
old man scrounged in the kitchen.  When he returned he had two large 
Godiva chocolate bars. 

“Godiva?” Benny said excitedly.  “Wow, thanks.” 

“Yeah that's the best thing we got tonight.” Rickey added quietly. 

Mr. Trist gave them a wave and leaned down to stroke his fire back to
life.  “Ya'll had guts coming here, so I felt ya'll should get 
something for it.” 

“Guts, Sir?”  Benny tried to pretend he had no idea what Mr. Trist was
talking about. 

“Don't bullshit me, kid.  I know what they say about me.”  The old man
stood up and smiled, pulling up a chair near the couch.  “Still, no 
matter the stories, you two little guys came anyway.” He sat down and 
stared at them with the icy blue eyes. 

“Just stories after all, Sir.”  Benny said, smiling, feeling nervous
fear enter his body.  Rickey just nodded. 

“Do you believe any of the stories, kid?” Mr. Trist looked back and
forth at each of them but then settled on Benny. 

“Uh, well,” Benny stammered. 

The old man turned toward Rickey.  “What about you, Captain Jack
Sparrow?” 

Rickey shook his head silently. 

“I know they all think the house is haunted,” said the old man, looking
away from them as if at some place or thing only he saw.  Benny could 
see the glow of the room on his glasses. “There's also the story that I 
murdered my wife.”  He shook his head.  “And let's see, oh yes, that 
I'm some sort of witch or wizard.  I forget anything?” 

The boys looked at each other, Benny was stunned how he'd become the
braver of the two.  Finally he looked at the old man and was going to 
tell him they had to leave, but their host spoke again. 

“Oh yeah, the bank robbery and the fact I have loot stashed somewhere.” 
Mr. Trist smiled.  “Do I look like a bank robber?”  The boys shook 
their heads.  “How about the convict that killed men while in stir, do 
I look like that?”  Again, they shook their heads in the negative. “I 
suppose the witch thing came about because I'm from ‘Nawlins and 
there's a bit of a Voo Doo reputation to the place.” 

“Yeah, people love stories, Sir.  That's all it is.” Benny stood up and
immediately Rickey followed suit.  The old man remained in his chair. 

“What if I told ya'll I had a big surprise in the back yard?”  Mr Trist
finally got up and walked to the back door.  Benny wanted to grab 
Rickey by the arm and run from the house, but he couldn't move.  “Come 
here you boys.  Come on.” 

Benny walked through the hall and kitchen and saw the old man standing
by his back door.  He flipped a switch which bathed the backyard in 
bright light.  There was lush grass, nice looking lawn furniture, and a 
beautiful tree, showing the colors of fall.  Leaning up against the 
tree were two shovels. 

“Sir, we best get going.” 

“What if I told you boys that if ya'll dig a couple feet in front of
that tree, right where those shovels are, that ya might just get a 
surprise that will change your life.” 

“What kind of surprise, Sir?” 

“The kind dreams are made of.  Do you have a college fund?  Have your
parents thought of that at all?” 

Benny wanted to go to college someday but his parents were struggling
with uncertain jobs and they'd lost money in something they called the 
economic downturn.  If it was the bank robbery money it might help his 
family, but they'd want to know how he'd gotten it.  He looked at 
Rickey, a blank expression told him he'd go along with anything Benny 
decided.  They could never tell their parents they'd gone into a 
stranger's house, much less THIS stranger. 

“So, Sir, you're saying you do have loot stashed there?” 

Mr. Trist said nothing but cocked his head in a strange way that Benny
took for a yes.  How could he pass this up?  He was scared to death, 
but, if the old man wanted to kill them or something he could have done 
that already.  The yard was beautiful, not at all scary. 

“Well, whatcha thinkin'?” 

“Just two feet you say?” 

“Yup. But I have arthritis and a bad back.  Might as well be two hundred
feet to me, youngin.” 

“Okay, Okay,” Benny said nervously.  The old man opened the back door. 
Rickey had a wide look of terror but followed him out the door. 

“Ya'll come back and get me when you find it.”  The old man shut the
door. 

*** 

Benny eyed the yard as he and Rickey walked to the tree.  The fence
along the side of the house was wide open, so they could leave easily 
if they wanted to make a run for it.  Their candy bags were still 
inside, but that of lesser concern right now.  “It's all fine, Rickey.  
I think the old man is harmless, he just enjoys his reputation is all.  
There's probably no money here but buried candy or something.”  Benny 
wondered if he was trying convince himself or his friend?  Both started 
digging. 

They got through a foot of earth fairly easily, but the second foot took
longer, it was harder and they still hadn't found anything. 

“Let's go, this is all a trick.” Rickey looked at the open gate. 

“I see you can talk again,” Benny chided as he kept digging.  “Just a
little more.” Then the shovel hit something that felt like wood.  He 
looked at Rickey who smiled nervously.  “Come on!” 

The boys dug and pushed the earth away from what appeared to be an old
wooden crate with rusted nails holding it shut. 

“Rickey, help me yank it open.  Come on, there's money in here.  I know
it.” 

Rickey used his shovel as wedge, while Benny tried to clear more earth
from the sides of the crate.  It was about six feet long and pretty 
wide. 

“It's coming loose, Rickey,” Benny yelled.  “Mr. Trist?  Sir?”  Benny
was yelling trying to get the old man to come out. 

Rickey leaned on his shovel hard and the top of the crate splintered and
came off the hinges.  Their own shadows in front of the light made it 
hard to see.  Benny excitedly got down in the hole and pulled up on the 
busted cover. 

Before the boys realized what was happening, a pair of hands reached out
of the crate and grabbed them each by the neck in a grip of death! 

“AHHHHHHHH HELP,”  Rickey screamed. 

Benny struggled and screamed “HEEEEEYYYY HELLLLP!!!!”  He tried to break
free but he couldn't.  His heart was bursting through his chest and his 
cowboy hat flew off.   “LET ME GO!” 

They were screaming as loud as they could as Benny looked into the face
of Mr. Trist, but he was in an old black suit and his face was decaying 
and dead.  He looked like a corpse except for the bright blue eyes and 
the laughter coming from his twisted mouth. 

“How's that for a surprise, you little shits?”  Mr. Trist or whatever it
was, shook them so hard they couldn't breathe.  “You bastards get out 
of here and if ya'll are thinking of blabbing, I promise you that 
anyone you ever tell will suffer for your stupidity.”  The monster from 
the crate, the corpse version of Mr. Trist, shoved them away. 

Benny fell on to the lawn and saw Rickey sprinting through the gate.  He
got to his feet and followed as fast as he could.  They left the candy 
and raced home determined never to return to the Trist house. 

*** 

A few days later in school, Rickey was back to his old self but he said
he had no memory of going into the Trist place.  He was either lying or 
had blacked it out.  Either way he would not discuss old man Trist or 
his house. 

Benny, though, felt he had to tell someone.  There was no way he could
tell his parents, so that afternoon he told his favorite teacher, Mr. 
Scott, what had happened.  He explained how the two of them had decided 
to make their last Halloween memorable and how Mr. Trist had come out 
of the ground as a corpse. 

“He's a witch, Mr. Scott, or a zombie or something.  I don't know, but
he's something evil!” 

“Well if you are telling the truth, the man might have had a tunnel and
used make up to scare you both.  You think?” 

Benny never thought of that.  He smiled. 

“The guy should be ashamed of himself scaring young kids like that, but
I doubt it's anything supernatural and you should have never gone in 
his house.” 

“Yeah, he was just a jerk trying to scare us.” 

“I'd leave him alone, though, okay?” 

Benny nodded.  “I'll never go back there.” 

*** 

Later that day, Benny saw an ambulance rushing onto school grounds.  He
was on break and followed the EMT guys as they raced into Mr. Scott's 
room.  It had been a sudden heart attack and within minutes his 
favorite teacher was dead. 

Benny heard the words of Mr. Trist in his head.  “Anyone you ever tell
will suffer.” He never told anyone else and vowed that for the rest of 
his life he would never look at or speak of Mr. Trist or his house. 

TC 


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