 It was all business as usual at first. We moved into a new neighborhood a few months ago, so our new tricks got a fresh audience. My wife, Jamie, manned the door, dressed as a fairy godmother and handing out candies to smiling little kids. When the older ones showed up, she would give me a signal and I would spring into action in my generic monster getup, scaring the daylights out of them before stabbing her with a fake knife. The kids would run away screaming and dissolve into giggles by the end of the driveway. She was just coming back from a bathroom break when we heard a loud knocking, trick or treat. The voice sounded like that of a grown man. Jamie stepped onto the porch holding the candy bowl with me waiting just out of sight for her signal. What? Is all she got out before the bowl spilled all over our entryway? I leapt to the door to meet a truly gruesome sight, two men, one tall and wiry, holding a wreath of pumpkins I'd never seen before around Jamie's neck, the other short and holding a gun to her head. One wrong move and she'll be haunting your house. He spat at me. I held my hands up and took a step back. If it was just me, I'd be fighting for my life. But I couldn't let Jamie get hurt. She was everything to me. I backed up into the house all the way into the kitchen doorway with the two of them pulling her along after me. The tall one took her past me towards the dining room. And when the short man lagged behind, I took my chance. I'd hoped to knock the wind out of him when I slammed him against the wall, but he didn't even look confused. He fought back with a strength I'd never expect from someone his size. Having at least six inches and 50 pounds on the guy, we were evenly matched. The struggle went on until we were both panting for air. Jamie screamed, not fully, just a strangled sort of yelp. I looked up and saw the tall man had leveraged his weight against the wreath, halfway crushing her windpipe with plastic pumpkins. The moment I looked away, the short man smacked me across the face with a butt of his gun, dazing me and leaving a smear of blood across my cheek. The next second he was on his feet, screaming at me, I'll do it right now, asshole. The barrel of his gun was pressed firmly against my wife's head and his finger was on the trigger. She still couldn't catch her breath. Okay, okay. I whimpered, holding my hands up. I won't fight. Just don't hurt her. The two men looked at each other for a minute, ignoring my pleading looks. They eventually nodded at each other, to which the short one turned his gun casually toward me, while the tall one threw my wife to the floor, letting her head bounce off a cabinet on the way down. I felt the impulse to run to her, but the gun was still pointed at my face. Dining room, now. The tall one ordered. After a glance at the short one, I helped Jamie to her feet, and the two of us led the way into the dining room. Sit. He barked. I immediately helped her into a chair facing the kitchen and then took the one beside her. The short one handed his gun over to the tall one and pulled a long coil of rope from his jacket. In minutes, we were both tied very securely to our own kitchen chairs. Jamie tried to talk to him to beg for our lives. She offered money and anything else she could think of, but the two men didn't seem to care for any of it. The short one just watched us expressionless, while the tall one rummaged through our kitchen. He came back with a glass jar and a knife. I'll spare you the gory details, but he whistled to himself while filling the jar with our blood. I don't think he spilled a single drop. I was feeling faint, and I'm sure Jamie was too, but we both watched him like a hawk. He put on a vinyl glove and started smearing the blood very carefully on our walls and furniture. I swear he was writing something in the entryway across from our front door, but I couldn't make out the words. Happy Halloween. Jamie whispered from beside me. I turned to give her a questioning look. She tilted her head towards the tall man writing on our wall with our own blood, and she repeated herself. Glad you're getting in the spirit of the holiday. The short man grinned at her, because the festivities have just begun. The neighbors called the cops. I blurted out. I just wanted his attention off of her. They heard the screaming. He laughed at me. Did you hear that? He called to the tall man, who was now rinsing out the blood jar in our sink. The neighbors must have heard the screaming. They'll call the police. The two of them broke into laughter. It's Halloween, moron. The tall one mocked me. Screaming in blood is part of the deal. The doorbell rang just then. Trick or treat. A small chorus of voices rang out. So foolishly thinking the men would be scared of getting caught, I sighed with relief. That only made them laugh again. Let's get this show going. The short man grinned at the tall one and gestured towards the door. The tall man headed through the kitchen while the short one circled around behind us with the knife. Hey kids. The tall man greeted the trick or treaters enthusiastically. Would any of you want to see a haunted house? Just as he finished asking, the short man pressed the tip of the knife into Jamie's elbow, making her scream. I could see several kids poke their heads in the door, intrigued. I was suddenly overwhelmed with terror at the thought of what they might do to those children. Don't do it. I said to the kids, get out of here, run. The warning was met with giggles. The tall man turned towards the crowd with an exaggerated wink ingested inside the door. The kids shoved each other through our entryway and kitchen, giggling at the fake bloodstains on the walls. They finally filed into the dining room, lining up across from us, watching expectantly. You kids ever seen a murder? The short man raised his knife to Jamie's neck. She began to scream and thrash against her restraints. The pumpkin reef, still hanging from her neck, bounced wildly. Get out of here. Tell your parents. I said over her screams, run and tell them to call the police. I begged. The children giggled and clapped before the tall man loaded them up with candy and ushered them back out. We tried every variation we could think of that night. Help was useless. They'll kill us was a crowd pleaser. This is real, earned an actual eye roll. Meanwhile, we were more beaten and bloodied after every show. Eventually Jamie fainted in her chair from the pain or the stress. I don't know. The short man sulked, but only for a minute. By the time the next group of trick or treaters arrived, he was grinning like a maniac. You kids ever seen a murder? He repeated his favorite opening line. This time he took the knife and plunged it straight into her neck, spraying me with blood. The kids screamed and ran out. But just like our tricks at the beginning of the night, I could hear them laughing outside. The next group was met with one bloodstained captive, one probably dead woman, and one very real murderer. I remember babbling at both the children and my captors begging for an ambulance, for police, for my freedom for anything. Tears streamed down my face. I tried not to look at Jamie convincing myself it wasn't too late. I woke up when the knife pierced my eye socket. Never in my life have I had a dream so real, so vivid, or so detailed. I cried most of the morning while Jamie was at work. I touched the clean walls, not yet stained with our blood. I found the empty jar in the cabinet. I'd never noticed it before. The gloves were under the sink with the cleaning supplies, the knife they used on us or are going to use is still sitting in a kitchen drawer. I don't know how to tell Jamie what's going to happen. I don't know if she'd believe me because honestly, I don't even know if it's going to happen. But my gut tells me it is and that there's nothing I can do to escape our fates. Because when Jamie got home, she'd brought one last decoration for the house. It was a wreath of plastic pumpkins.