Spell… H-A-L-L-O-W-E-E-N 2026 – Day 8

Spell… H-A-L-L-O-W-E-E-N is back! Let’s enjoy another month of supernatural fun.

This piece of micro-fiction has an Evil Dead feel to it, and since mindfuckery is a staple of that series, well…

Ninth Floor

The woman outside Daniel’s window wore his mother’s face, but he lived on the ninth floor.

He stood with a dishcloth clenched in his fist. Beyond the glass, rain ran through her gray hair. She had no umbrella. Nothing beneath her shoulders was visible.

“Open up,” she said.

“No,” he replied. His mother had been dead for six years. He had identified the body himself. Whatever that thing outside was, it wasn’t her. It was impossible.

She pressed her cheek against the glass, flattening it. Her smile stayed in place.

“Daniel. Don’t make me ask twice.”

The dishcloth dripped onto his bare foot. Keeping his gaze as steady as possible, he backed toward the kitchen doorway.

She lifted one hand, and that’s when he noticed that between her impossible fingers hung a brass key on a blue cord. It was his spare, the one he kept religiously in the kitchen drawer.

“It can’t be!” he muttered.

He yanked the drawer open. In the chaos living inside, he found batteries and worn takeaway menus, but there was no cord or key in sight.

At the window, she lowered her hand. Then came a scrape from the hallway.

Daniel gasped and turned toward his front door, just in time to see a glimpse of the key sliding in.

Behind him, her voice came through the glass again, gentle now.

“That’s right. Keep watching the door, dear,” it purred.