 Halloween is probably my favorite holiday. I dress up in a homemade costume, I hand out treats, and I'm the life of any party. Although I eagerly participate, I refuse to decorate for Halloween. It's my mom's fault. See, when I was about 15 years old, my mother worked at a local hotel. She was a night shift restaurant manager there. She was also a kleptomaniacal pack rat. She took decorations home with her often. Shortly after Halloween, she brought home this ugly decoration. It was a plastic skeleton, dressed in a top hat and tails. The skeleton was about the size of a three-year-old child. It was painted a dim ivory, the color of old bones. She shoved the ugly thing in my face. Isn't it the greatest? Come closer and check it out. Mom said excitedly. When I got closer, I shrieked as the stupid thing spoke. Well, to be more accurate, it screamed at me with glowing redness in its empty eye sockets. Turns out, the skeleton had a battery pack in it that powered two red LEDs and a speaker hidden in its skull. Real, funny, mom, scare your kid out of ten years of his life. I asked her to take the batteries out of the pack. She did so, snickering at her joke, and placed the skeleton in a display alcove directly across from our front door. As the months passed, she dressed Mr. Bones, yes, she named the stupid thing, in different accessories for the holidays, headband on his top hat for Thanksgiving, a fake white beard for Christmas, a glittery bowtie for New Year's. At random, she would put the batteries in again to give me a scare when I got home from school. Mom, take the batteries out again. I didn't put them back in, honey. She was laughing as she said it, which gave proof to her lie. I hated her pranks. My mom left me alone a lot at night. It came with her job as a night manager. I dealt with it by playing video games or reading as late as I wanted and eating junk food I had hidden in my room. That didn't always help, though, as sometimes I got this feeling. I would say it was just paranoia, but anyone who has experienced it would never say just paranoia. That makes it seem smaller than it feels. Your mouth goes dry and no amount of drink makes it feel better. Your stomach keeps doing this strange roll to the side. Your breath becomes shorter and all you can think about is how stupidly easy it would be for someone to get into your place and make short, bloody, violent use of you. I decided to take the batteries out of Mr. Bones once and for all during one of these fits. I didn't need the stupid thing shrieking at me while I was like this. I took out the batteries and decided to clip one of the wires to make sure. As I picked the skeleton up and turned it over, it occurred to me that the decoration was a bit heavy. It felt heavier than plastic should be. I knew the hands were plastic. The little bony hands were obviously made from a bad mold, as was the skull. After I clipped the wire, I opened the tuxedo shirt and felt the ribs. It didn't feel like plastic. It felt colder and a little like stone. A little like wood. There were strange grooves in the area where the heart would be on a normal person, notches, like something had been forced there. I had never felt bone, but those ribs felt like how I imagined bone would. I quickly buttoned the shirt back up on the doll and flung it into the alcove. I was going to head up to bed and I'd tell mom about this in the morning. Maybe we could take the doll to the police or give it a proper burial. I turned to head up the stairs. Boo! It said quietly, not screamed this time. My head whipped around. Light came from the eye holes of the doll's skull, beaming red at the ceiling. After I had clipped its cables and taken out the batteries and what the hell? I didn't wait for an answer. I ran up the stairs to my room and I locked the door. Minutes passed, maybe even an hour. It was enough time that I was just beginning to wonder if I had somehow imagined the whole thing when I began to hear a soft creaking on the stairs. I pressed my ear up against the door and listened closely, nothing. And then a soft creak, then another and another. And I was sure now that it was climbing the steps towards my room. This sweat began to pour down my forehead as I desperately tried to figure out what to do next. I didn't have a phone in my room and I didn't have a ladder or any way to get down. The window was too high. All I could do was push my dresser up against the door and wait. There was silence and then another soft creak closer this time. It sounded like it was coming from the hallway, only a few steps outside my bedroom door. I listened as footsteps walked closer and then there was silence. I held my breath, pressed my ear completely against the door and listened. I must have fainted because the next thing I knew, my mom and the next door neighbor were kneeling above me and waking me. I don't remember anything else from that night. All I know is that the dresser was still pressed against my door when my mom got home, which is why she had to call the neighbor to help get inside my room. I told my mom what happened. And while she was kind enough about listening, I could tell she thought I had hallucinated the entire thing. She said maybe I'd imagine there was a burglar in the house and then been so scared that my body fainted. Who knows? All I know is I never saw Mr. Bones again. He was gone when we searched the house the next morning. I never saw him again until last Halloween when I was handing out candy for trick or treaters. It was a little past nine o'clock and I was home alone like always. Almost all the children were back home as well when I heard the doorbell ring. Not thinking anything of it, I grabbed the last of the candy, walked over to the front door and without thinking, I opened it. There, sitting directly in front of me was Mr. Bones. Before I could slam the door closed, I saw his eyes light up that same bright red. And I heard him say two words. Happy Halloween.