In “A Halloween Horror Story,” Allison, a young woman alone in a new Pennsylvania town, eagerly embraces her favorite holiday, Halloween, despite being far from loved ones. Her festive evening of handing out candy and enjoying horror movies takes an unexpected turn when she finds a mysterious letter under her doormat, warning her to lock her doors by 10:00 PM.
Halloween was Allison’s most cherished holiday. At twenty-one, she still threw herself into the spooky season with enthusiasm. She loved dressing up in creepy costumes and walking through pumpkin patches with friends. She also adored the Halloween horror movie marathons that played all through October.
But this Halloween was different.
Her strict job in the pharmaceutical industry had brought her to a quiet Pennsylvania town, far from her family and friends—over two hours away.
This left her spending most holidays and birthdays by herself. However, always the optimist, Allison was determined to make this Halloween fun, even without her loved ones nearby. These thoughts swirled in her head that Halloween evening as she approached her front door.
Down the street, costumed children laughed with delight as neighbors handed out candy. Quickening her pace, eager to join the thrill of giving out treats, Allison unlocked her door and swung it open.
Before stepping inside, she spotted a white envelope tucked under her doormat. Curious, she crouched down and picked it up.
Strangely enough, there was no return address, just two words scribbled on the front: “For Allison.”
Wondering who sent it, she ripped open the envelope, pulled out the letter, and read:
“Dear Allison,
How are you? I hope you’re settling into your new home. I’ll keep this short, as time is limited.
Tonight, on Halloween, ensure all your doors and windows are locked by 10:00 PM. No matter what, do not open your door after 10:00 PM.
Whatever you hear, or think you hear, do NOT OPEN YOUR DOOR.
Forces beyond our understanding will stir, and you must not open the door at any cost. Please, take my warning seriously—I only want your safety.
Stay safe. Stay strong. Please do not open your door after 10:00 PM.
With love,
Your Aunt Cinthia.”
Allison reread the letter, glancing down her street for any hint of a prankster. She didn’t have time to dwell on this weak attempt at a fright. Not only did she have no Aunt Cinthia, but the trick-or-treaters were now just three houses away, and she needed to prepare her candy bowl.
It was her first Halloween in this neighborhood, and she was determined not to disappoint the kids. She stepped inside, her mind quickly overtaken by Halloween excitement, trick-or-treaters, and the joy of handing out treats.
The bizarre letter and its feeble scare slipped from her thoughts.
By 9:15 PM, Allison’s candy bowl was nearly empty. Despite being alone, she was having a fantastic Halloween. She flitted between answering the door for trick-or-treaters, reading Halloween horror stories on her laptop, and watching a horror movie marathon on TV, sipping red wine.
By 9:45 PM, she decided to call it a night. No trick-or-treaters had knocked for almost an hour—this was a young neighborhood, and most children were likely tucked in, buzzing from their candy hauls. Besides, John Carpenter’s Halloween was about to start on TV, and she didn’t want to miss a second.
She stood to turn off her porch lights. A universal sign that her candy supply was gone.
As she got to the front door, she noticed it was 10:00 PM. The letter’s strange warning crept back into her mind, but in her wine-fogged state, she laughed off the silly attempt to spook her.
As her hand reached for the light switch, a knock came at the door.
“Trick or treat,” a voice called from outside.
She reached for the doorknob, nearly opening it. Nearly. But something about the voice was strange.
Allison cleared her throat. “Sorry, I’m out of candy!”
She expected the visitor to leave, but instead, the doorknob began to turn.
She quickly locked the door and slid the deadbolt into place.
“I said I’m out of candy. Sorry. Try another house.”
A heavy silence followed, thick as fog.
“Allison. Open. The. Door.”
The wine’s warmth vanished, replaced by icy fear. She stepped back, pulling out her phone. “If you don’t leave, I’m calling the police.”
Another long pause.
“Allison, we both know they can’t help you.”
The door rattled violently, its frame splintering as wood chips fell to the floor.
In a panic, she dialed 911 and explained her situation. As she spoke, the violent shaking stopped, leaving an eerie stillness.
Allison rushed to the kitchen, grabbed a steak knife, and cracked the door open an inch to check if the intruder was still there. That’s when she saw red and blue flashing lights. Police cars and ambulances littered her neighbor’s lawn and street.
She opened the door wider to take in the scene. An officer sprinted toward her. “Ma’am, please lock all doors and windows and stay inside tonight.”
Allison complied, noticing the dark red stains on the officer’s uniform. She re-locked the door and sank onto her living room couch, waiting for sleep that never came.
The next morning, the local news provided answers.
The newscaster referred to it as the “Halloween Massacre.” Allison’s neighbors, the Doyles—a family of six, parents and four children—had been brutally killed, their bodies unrecognizable.
Worse, there were no fingerprints, no DNA, no evidence at all—just a family slaughtered without explanation.
Allison watched the news all morning, tears burning her eyes. She searched through her kitchen trash until she found it—the letter from her mat.
She called her mother.
“Do I have an Aunt Cinthia?”
A pause.
“Allison, is everything okay? Why are you asking?”
“Just answer me. Do I have an Aunt Cinthia?”
Her mother swallowed hard. “Technically, yes.”
“Who is she? Why haven’t I met her?”
Her mother sighed. “Sweetie, Cinthia was my younger sister. She died at birth, strangled by the umbilical cord…”
Allison froze, clutching the letter. Then she noticed writing on the back that she hadn’t seen before.
She flipped it over and read:
“Sweetie, good and evil have always existed. It’s our duty to shield our loved ones from evil. We’ve never met in this life, but I am your protector. That’s what family does. Stay blessed, Allison, and stay safe.”
Allison pressed the letter to her chest. Her Aunt Cinthia was her guardian angel.
