In “Everyone Dressed Up to Look Like Me for Halloween,” a man feels confused and disturbed as trick-or-treaters wear costumes that frighteningly resemble his own look. What begins as an interesting take on Halloween quickly turns dark when the man starts to contemplate his own frightening features.
Halloween is such an exciting time of year, full of monsters, spooky creatures, and all sorts of scary characters. Lots of Halloween horror stories, too. I love seeing the creative costumes people come up with—it’s always a blend of unique and fun!
This year, though, I noticed something strange: people were dressing up like me. At first, I was surprised because I always thought Halloween costumes were meant to be scary, not something ordinary like my look.
It was a bit unsettling to see so many people mimicking my exact appearance as they went trick-or-treating or scaring their neighbors. I never imagined that I could be seen as spooky!
Sure, I know my chattering nose can be unsettling, and my black, oozing eyes might be disturbing, but is it really that bad? Walking the streets felt like staring into a mirror—everyone thought I was just another person in a costume of myself.
It was strange, and I wasn’t sure if I should feel flattered or uneasy. Maybe I should’ve started a business selling costumes of myself, but I’m at a loss. It’s my likeness, and people shouldn’t copy me without permission.
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The costumes are crafted with eerie precision, capturing every detail—even the gashes on my hands where flies and insects crawl in and out.
It’s gross, sure, but nature lovers find my hands fascinating, and spiders sometimes slip inside to hide when they’re scared or weary. They even nailed my toe, where every hair is tough as nails, constantly cutting whoever touches it.
They got my mouth perfect, too, with gums sprouting tiny faces full of teeth that chew my food. I’m a decent person most of the time, but I’ve done things that land me among the monsters and creatures people dress as on Halloween.
They even replicated the knives stuck in me—fake blades protruding from the costumes. I was born with these knives embedded in me, and when someone pulls one out, they become my murderer. Until a new knife grows, I form a bond with that killer, so to speak.
The bond ends in two stages: I consume them, and then another knife sprouts from me, and I wait for the next person to pull one out.
Even in these costumes, people mimic my actions, knocking on doors and saying, “Pull a knife out of me, please.” At first, homeowners are startled but realize it’s not me and hand out candy.
Can I really be that terrifying?
