HALLOWEEN FICTION: Base Camp by Bob Canning

Recent events inspire story of a firy escape (with a hellish twist)|

Inspired, not by a Lovecraft Prompt, but by “current events,” near and far

The flames to my left were as wide as they were high.

A blazing tree fell across the road just a couple yards in front of my Jeep. I had no choice but to swerve, and I lost control, crashing hood-first into a gulley.

“Damn it!” I snarled and climbed out of the ditch. I ran through the woods, away from the flames, along what must’ve been a long-unused cow path.

The smoke was thick and blinding, and I began to cough. My lungs were bursting, my eyes were tearing, and I couldn’t run anymore. I had to stop, to catch my breath.

Voices? Did I hear voices up ahead? And laughter?

I walked up a rocky hillock, and when I reached the crest, I saw an imposing castle-like mansion surrounded by a vineyard a couple hundred feet away.

As I approached the house, I spotted a dozen boisterous people, all in costume, through the large picture window.

A Halloween party while Sonoma burned?

What the hell, I thought, any port in a firestorm!

I went up the steps and rang the bell. A cardboard devil pinned to the oaken door grinned at me. Inside, an appropriate recording played - “Apocalypse” - by a singer whose name escaped me.

“Are we a kingdom worth saving,” she sang. “Is it a shadow I’m chasing?”

The door swung open. In front of me was a tall, sultry brunette wearing a tuxedo and a black satin cape. A streak of blood glistened in one corner of her voluptuous mouth.

“Goot evenink,” Countess Dracula greeted me, giving her long dark hair a toss. “Velcome to-”

“Excuse me,” I interrupted, “but there’s a huge fire coming this way and-”

“Don’t be foolish, dollink,” the Countess laughed. “Ve are all safe and sound here. Everythink gonna be fine. Come in!”

Stunned and exhausted, I entered and looked around. Under a gaudy gold and crystal chandelier, I gaped at the giddy, clueless masqueraders.

A zombie toasted me with his drink, a pinhead drooled as he grinned my way, and a wicked witch cackled. It was madness!

“Vould you like some champagne?” my Transylvanian hostess asked.

“No thanks,” I replied. “I was on my way home to Petaluma when I crashed my car and-“

“Vait, dollink,” she interrupted. “My husband is ready to make his grand entrance.”

Everyone in the room bowed worshipfully.

Descending the ornate stairway was a tall, overweight man in a red, ermine-trimmed cape. The white bags under his eyes emphasized his bloated pumpkin complexion, and evident even under his gold crown, his hair was a weirdly coiffed mélange.

“Hail to the Chief!” the crowd shouted.

“Thanks for coming, my loyal base,” proclaimed his majesty. “Don’t believe what’s going on outside. It’s all fake, believe me. Everything’s perfect here, thanks to… who?”

“To you, Grand Imperial Doppelganger,” his adoring subjects chanted.

Then as “Everything is Awesome” began to blare from the speakers, I bolted out the door, screaming, and took my chances with the conflagration outside.

UPDATED: Please read and follow our commenting policy:
  • This is a family newspaper, please use a kind and respectful tone.
  • No profanity, hate speech or personal attacks. No off-topic remarks.
  • No disinformation about current events.
  • We will remove any comments — or commenters — that do not follow this commenting policy.