“Spores,” is a bizarre Halloween horror story about a group of friends on a seemingly ordinary Halloween trick-or-treating adventure. However, their night takes a strange turn when one boy’s peculiar ghost outfit and unusual behavior hint at something far more sinister lurking beneath the surface.
It was Halloween night. The four of us—me, Joe, Gary, and Will—had planned this trick-or-treating route for weeks, mapping out the neighborhoods with the biggest hauls from last year. We were meeting outside my house, under the flickering orange glow of the jack-o’-lanterns my parents had carved earlier that day.
I was dressed as a werewolf, with fake fur glued to my jacket, plastic claws on my hands, and a snarling mask pushed up on my forehead so I could see better. Joe had gone all out as an axe murderer, complete with a rubber axe smeared in red paint and a bloodstained flannel shirt. Gary was Batman, cape billowing dramatically every time the wind picked up, utility belt jingling with fake gadgets.
Will was the last to show, and honestly, I wasn’t sure he would. The last time we’d all hung out, a couple of weeks ago at the park, he’d been coughing nonstop, looking pale and sweaty like he had some bad flu. He barely said a word then, which wasn’t unusual for him—he was always the quiet one in the group, more of an observer than a talker.
But that day, he’d mumbled something about feeling off and headed home early. We waited on my front porch, bags ready, flashlights in hand, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the streetlights buzzed to life.
Finally, around 7:30, I spotted a figure shuffling down the sidewalk toward us. It was Will, or at least I assumed it was him under that costume. He wore a simple ghost outfit: just a white sheet draped over his body, with two dark smudges for eye holes and more black staining around the hem, like it’d been dragged through mud or ink.
Something about it reminded me of those ink cap mushrooms we’d learned about in science class—the ones that look all innocent but dissolve into black slime when they mature. He moved slowly, almost dragging his feet, and there was a faint cloud of dust or powder kicking up behind him with each step.
“Hey, man, you made it,” Joe called out, clapping him on the shoulder. Will didn’t react, just stood there silently.
“You feeling better?” Gary asked, adjusting his Batman mask. No answer, but that was Will for you. We shrugged it off—Halloween excitement and all that.
“Let’s get going,” I said, eager to hit the houses before the good candy ran out.
We set off down the block, our bags swinging empty at our sides.
The first house was Mrs. Thompson’s—always a reliable start with full-size candy bars. We rang the doorbell, and she opened up with a big smile, her porch decorated with fake cobwebs and plastic spiders.
“Trick or treat!” we shouted in unison. She dropped Snickers into our bags, complimenting our costumes.
I glanced at Will as he held out his bag; his sheet was hanging a bit unevenly, and up close, I noticed how grimy it looked, like it hadn’t been washed in ages. There were faint stains on the white material, and that dust was still trailing from him, settling on the porch steps like fine pollen.
As we moved to the next house, a two-story colonial with glowing purple lights, I fell into step beside him.
“What’ve you been doing?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “You look like you rolled around in the dirt or something.”
He didn’t say a word, just kept staring ahead through those smudged eye holes. The silence stretched, broken only by the crunch of leaves under our feet and the distant laughter of other kids. I figured he was still under the weather, maybe his throat hurt from being sick.
We kept going, house after house, our bags growing heavier with each stop. The neighborhood was alive with costumes: witches on broomsticks, vampires with plastic fangs, superheroes posing for photos.
But I started noticing more and more ghosts—simple sheet ones, like Will’s. At one point, we passed a group of them standing motionless on a lawn, not even trick-or-treating, just watching the street. Their sheets had that same dingy look, with blackish edges. Weird, but Halloween trends come and go, right?
You May Also Like: The 12 Creepiest Halloween Horror Stories Ever Told
We hit the jackpot at the cul-de-sac on Elm Street, where a bunch of houses were competing for the best decorations. One had a full haunted maze in the yard, with fog machines and jump-scare actors.
We navigated through it, laughing as a guy in a clown mask popped out at Joe, who swung his fake axe in mock defense. Gary struck Batman poses for the hosts, earning extra candy. Will, though… he just shuffled along, not reacting to the scares, not joining in the banter. And that dust—it was everywhere now.
When he reached into a candy bowl at one house, I swear I saw a puff of it rise up, mixing with the air like smoke. The homeowner didn’t seem to notice, but it made my nose itch.
By 9 o’clock, our bags were bulging—Reese’s, Twix, gummy worms, the works. We’d covered three neighborhoods and decided to call it a night. “Alright, guys, this was epic,” Gary said, high-fiving Joe. “See you at school tomorrow?”
“Yeah, don’t eat it all in one go,” Joe joked, heading off toward his street.
I waved goodbye and started toward my house, but after a block, I realized Will was still behind me. Not heading to his own place, which was in the opposite direction. He was trailing a few feet back, that sheet fluttering slightly in the breeze, more dust swirling around his feet.
“What’s up?” I asked, slowing down. No response.
We walked another half-block like that, the street quieter now as the younger kids had gone inside. The only sounds were our footsteps and the occasional car passing by.
“Hey, why’re you following me?” I tried again, turning to face him.
Silence. Just that unblinking stare through the sheet. It was starting to creep me out—the way he stood there, not fidgeting, not shifting his weight like a normal person would.
“Enough already. Take off that dumb costume and talk,” I snapped, frustration bubbling up.
I reached out and grabbed the edge of the sheet near his shoulder. That’s when I felt it—not the rough cotton or polyester I’d expected, but something soft and slick, like the underside of a mushroom cap after rain. It was warm, too, almost pulsing under my fingers.
“Gross, what is this?!” I yelped, but the revulsion only made me grip harder. In a panic, I yanked the whole thing off.
The sheet came away with a wet, tearing sound, and what was underneath froze me in place. Will’s face—his entire skin—peeled off with it, like degloving a glove from a hand.
The top of his head was gone, just a ragged opening where his skull should have been, exposing chunks of brain matter overgrown with thick, white fungal threads.
You May Also Like: 10 Scary Campfire Stories That’ll Keep Everyone Awake All Night
They webbed across the exposed tissue like mold on old bread, tendrils reaching down into what was left of his neck. His eyes, no longer held in place, slowly slid down the raw, glistening muscle of his face and plopped to the ground with soft thuds, rolling into the gutter.
He didn’t scream, didn’t even flinch. Just stood there, staring with empty sockets as the fungal growth quivered.
I screamed then, a raw, throat-tearing sound, and bolted. My werewolf costume snagged on a bush as I ran, but I didn’t stop. Will was like a zombie, but not from some virus. It had to be like those fungi that infect insects, such as cordyceps, which take over ants and make them climb to great heights before bursting out of their heads.
But for humans? How? Then I remembered the dust—spores. That trailing cloud everywhere he went. How much candy had he touched? How many doorbells, how many hands shaken, how many people had breathed in that powder tonight?
My house was just a few blocks away, but as I sprinted, panting and sobbing, I started noticing them. Everyone on the street—kids winding down from the night, parents handing out last treats—wore ghost costumes now.
Simple white sheets, smudged black around the edges. They turned as I passed, stopping whatever they were doing to stare in silence. No laughter, no chatter.
All staring at me in silence.
