Mischief Night

Leslie dragged herself out of her 2008 Honda Civic, wincing as the door slammed shut with a jarring thud. It was one more small thing that felt wrong—like everything else in her life. She tried not to think about it, but the car was falling apart, just like her world. She was doing her best to hold them both together. Leslie used to enjoy the brisk fall winds blowing through the trees on her property when she and David lived here together. Since David passed, though, she has had to work 12-hour shifts to keep things together. She didn't care about the fall or the winds. It all just added work that she had to do later. With no one to share the load, it always felt like too much.

Thinking about David, she reached into her pocket and rubbed the odd stone penguin that was found on his body. She had kept it, thinking that it had been a small gift for her. It was strange because she didn't particularly like penguins, but what other reason would there have been for him to be grasping it as he died? It was the only thing out of place the officer had told her. Of course, she had gotten his things from the morgue before the body was released to the mortuary for cremation. She hadn't seen the body herself since there hadn't been much to identify him by. "Whatever animal that had torn him apart in the woods had done a very complete job," the main detective had explained.

It was challenging with David gone. The bills were piling up, and she was struggling to keep everything together. In the end, she decided that this was her home and she would take care of it like David would've if he were still there. So she picked up extra shifts at work and tried not to think about the fact that she was trading her youth for a house. Leslie hated living a boring life—a life without anyone or anything to break up the monotony. Even in the few weeks that she had been without David, they were causing her to lose her mind a bit. She had to figure out a way to make her life more interesting.

As she approached the porch she noticed that the light wasn't on tonight. Just another thing to fix, she thought. Leslie's distracted thinking about the penguin in her pocket didn't let her ponder on this any further. The little stone had been taking up a lot of her thoughts lately. She just couldn't figure out why he had been grasping it. Why had he even had it at all? He liked wolves and birds of prey, not penguins. He wasn't even a Pittsburgh fan. Nothing seemed to explain the little bauble.

Leslie entered the house without thinking anymore about the light and turned on the light in the foyer. After her shoes, jacket and bag were put away, she walked into the living room. As she passed the couch and David's recliner, she wished that she could just plop down and sleep the rest of the night away. She couldn't, though- she had to eat. She hadn't eaten breakfast and had barely eaten lunch; if she skipped dinner, she would wither away and die. Leslie worked her way to the back bedroom to change her clothes and shoes. Food was needed, but getting out of her bra and heels was even more important for her mental health. As she pulled on her pajama pants, she heard a knock at the front door. She quickly slipped into her slippers and jogged to the front door.

"Just a second!" she yelled to the door.

Leslie wasn't expecting anyone, but maybe she ordered something from the internet without remembering it was arriving today. She did that after a few glasses of wine sometimes. As she made her way down the hallway, she heard the knob of the front door rattle as if someone was trying to get in. Leslie picked up her pace, wondering why someone was so adamant about seeing if she was home.

She reached the door within a minute of the knock, opened the door and stared out into an empty void. There wasn't anyone or anything on the stoop. Maybe she hadn't heard it right, and something had knocked against the house. She had a few trees around the home. If a branch fell, she may have gotten that confused by a door knock from so far away. That wouldn't explain the handle rattling, though. Leslie quickly closed and re-locked the door, then headed to the kitchen to figure out what she would microwave for dinner. The knock and rattle were odd, but she figured that she was hearing things that weren't there.

As she entered the kitchen, the calendar on the wall caught her eye. Crap, was it Halloween? Maybe that was the knock. If she took too long, the kid would walk away and go to the next house. She usually didn't get too many trick-or-treaters, being so far off of the road, but there were those kids that would try anything for more candy.

Leslie quickly checked her phone and noticed that it was only October 30th, not the 31st. It shouldn't be kids looking for candy. She shrugged it off and tried to remember if she had bought candy for tomorrow night. However, now she had to buy a light for the porch, too. Yeah! If the light was out, the kids shouldn't have come to the door anyway.

Once her dinner was heated up, she sat down in the living room. She turned on some medical drama as she ate and scrolled her way through the entirety of social media. The night strung on to around 9 o'clock. Leslie had put her plate, with half of her food left on it, on a side table. The television was still droning on while she was sleeping in David's favorite chair. Even though it wasn't the most comfortable, this was the only place she got any real sleep. Once she woke up, she would turn off the TV and go to bed, where she would toss and turn for the rest of the night.

Suddenly, Leslie jerked awake. She looked around and waited to see if she could remember what had woken her up. She swore that she had heard some sound that didn't belong. She waited long enough that her eyes got heavy again. It must've been a dream, she thought. As she started to fall asleep again, she heard hail hit her window. At least it sounded like hail. The sky had been clear when she fell asleep, and if it was hailing, she should hear it more on her metal roof than on a window, especially a window that was under a covered porch. Leslie sat in the chair until she heard it again. This time, though, the sound hit the window on the front door. It sounded more like pecking than hail.

Leslie reached into her end table drawer and pulled out her Glock 9mm. After checking that it was still loaded, she walked to the front door and looked out of the peephole. To her surprise, she couldn't see anything; the peephole was covered. She walked over to the side window and pulled the curtain back just a bit. The porch was dark, but the yard beyond was still lit by the moon. Leslie's heart froze. Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared at the window, the moonlight casting long shadows across the porch. And there it was, perched in the center of the window—the penguin. Not a trinket, not a forgotten object, but a small, smooth glass figure, somehow watching her, its hollow eyes gleaming in the darkness. How had it gotten there? It hadn't been there before. It couldn't have been

When she calmed her heart a bit, she slowly pulled the curtain back again and stared at the small penguin sitting in the window. It was a small toy, something that probably came from a grocery store prize machine. The toy itself was a happy, smiling glass penguin, but how had it gotten there? It wasn't there when she got home. Had it? As she stared at the penguin, her world slowly faded away until only that figure was on her mind. What did it mean? Leslie stayed in this state until she heard the handle of the back door jiggle.

Leslie made sure that the front deadbolt was secured and eased her way back into the kitchen. The laundry room, which housed the rear door, was on the other side. She knew that this door had been locked last night and this morning before leaving for work. She hadn't unlocked it, but now she was second-guessing herself. Had she locked it last night? She had taken out the trash after dinner. It was windy, and she had to fight the door to get it closed.

Leslie made up her mind and turned into the laundry room. The door was half glass and only had a sheer curtain over it. The rear porch light was on, so she could see almost everything, nothing was at the door. The wind blew, and the door shook a bit. Could that have been the noise? She approached the door with the Glock to her side. As she pulled the curtains aside, the gun fell from her limp hand and crashed to the floor. Laslie brought both of her hands to her face as she slowly sank to the floor with the gun. On the back table was another penguin toy, which was bigger and looked more menacing somehow. Someone was leaving these things. But why?

Remembering the gun, Leslie bent down to pick it up. It somehow felt heavier than it had before. She patted her pockets for her phone before remembering that she was in her pajamas. She had to call the police and have them check her yard for pranksters or stalkers. There had to be someone out there messing with her. How did they know about the penguin? Not finding it on her person, Leslie returned through the kitchen and into the living room. As she turned the corner, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. Leslie was startled, spun and brought the gun up in front of her. If someone was peaking through her window, she would shoot them. Could she do that? As she focused on the target, the gun slowly lowered to her side again. Another penguin toy had been placed inside the screen of the kitchen window. She had just walked through the kitchen, and it hadn't been there yet. Was she losing her mind? How had someone placed the toy inside the screen right next to the window? Leslie slowly backed out of the kitchen and into the living room, looking for her phone. She finally found it near the front door; she picked it up and dialed 911.

"911, what is your emergency? Police, Fire, or Medical?" she finally heard after seven rings.

"Yes, I need the police. I have..." she started to say.

"Please hold while I transfer your call," the dispatcher said.

"Police. What is your emergency?" another dispatcher said thirty seconds later.

"I have someone stalking or pranking me. I'm not sure. Can you send someone over to check?" Leslie told the dispatcher.

"Is there someone on your property?"

"I think so."

"But you haven't seen anyone?" the dispatcher seemed bored.

"No, they keep leaving toy penguins around my house," Leslie told her as she paced the living room.

"The inside of your house, ma'am?" the dispatcher seemed worried now.

"No. Outside of my windows and doors." Leslie told her as she rechecked the front deadbolt.

"It's probably just a prank, ma'am. It is mischief night, after all. Just be glad that your yard isn't full of toilet paper and shaving cream. We have been getting those calls since the sun went down," The dispatcher said. Ignoring Leslie's frightened tone.

"I think it's more than that. Can you send someone?" Leslie pleaded.

"There is a patrol heading to your area on a call. When they are finished with that, I'll have them stop by. Is that ok?"

"Sure. Do you know how long?"

"No, ma'am. It depends on several factors. Just keep your doors locked and go on with your life," the dispatcher told her in a condescending tone. "Call back if you have another emergency. Have a good night."

The line went dead. 911 had just hung up on her, thinking that this was a mischief-night prank. Maybe it was. An officer would be by in a bit. Until then, she just had to get her mind off of everything. She was just wound up after work. Kids play games; it's what they do.

She put the gun back in the drawer and her phone in her pocket. She decided that a nice hot shower would calm her nerves while she waited for the officer to show up. After turning on the shower, she pulled the window's curtain back to see if anyone was moving outside. Maybe she could catch them. She wasn't prepared for what she saw.

On the window was another penguin. This one was made of red glass, and it seemed to be screaming in pain. The thing was at least 6 inches tall and was somehow floating in the middle of the window pane. There was nothing for it to sit on. As she watched it, the penguin turned as if looking at her. She moved to the other side of the window to see if she could see a string; as she moved, the penguin moved with her. It didn't just turn, it moved along the window to stay directly in front of her.

Leslie screamed and ran from the room, the running water wholly forgotten. She ran to grab her Glock from the drawer; something wasn't right, and she needed to protect herself. As she turned into the living room, a cold breeze blew across her arms and face. She looked up and saw that the front door was wide open and slowly blowing in the wind. On the floor was a small white penguin made of glass.

Leslie's heart raced as she sprinted down the hallway, her breath catching in her throat. She barely made it to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her with a deafening thud. She pressed her back to the door, her mind scrambling. How did the front door get opened? The penguins. The damn penguins. The floor creaked behind her as the footsteps grew louder, more solid. At first, they had been light, like a tap, but now they sounded like something much heavier, something growing, gaining weight with each step.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she tried to steady herself. She reached for her phone, praying she could call the police again—but as her fingers brushed the screen, a sharp crash echoed through the house. Glass shattered from the bathroom. The unmistakable sound of wet feet slapped against the floor, growing closer. Something was in the bathroom, and it wasn't supposed to be there.

The handle of her bedroom door rattled. Something—someone—was pushing against it, trying to force its way through. The creature outside, whatever it was, gave a low, guttural squawk. Her breath hitched in her throat as she froze. What could she do? There was no way out, no way to escape.

A muffled thud sounded from behind her—another bird, faster now, pounding against the bathroom door, getting closer. She could hear its claws scraping on the tile. The door behind her groaned as something massive pressed against it, making the frame creak. The sound was almost...alive. Leslie's mind raced. An idea, desperate but her only option, formed in the split second of hesitation. She waited, counting the seconds, feeling the floor tremble beneath her feet as something heavy shifted outside the bedroom. She pulled the door open just as she thought the thing would slam against it. Her heart skipped as something—someone—slid past her, brushing her arm. She stepped aside, almost in slow motion, before slamming the door shut behind her with trembling hands. Her pulse pounded in her chest as she backed away. The door wouldn't hold for long; it didn't even lock properly. There was no time.

She darted into the living room, her mind spinning. She yanked open the drawer, her fingers scrambling through the contents. The Glock—it had to be here. But it wasn't. It was gone. Panic surged. She scanned the room, frantic, and then... wait. The front door—how had it gotten closed? The deadbolt was engaged. No. No! The lock. It was frozen. Her hands slipped around it, trying to force it open, but the metal wouldn't budge. She was trapped.

The back bedroom door crashed open with a sickening bang, followed by the unmistakable sound of wet footsteps thundering down the hall toward her. They were fast. Too fast. She bolted for the kitchen. Her slippers flew off in her haste. She barely made it to the back door, tugging at the handle with all her strength. It gave a little, but just as she thought she might break free, something struck the door from the other side. The house shook with the impact, and then... a sharp, echoing squawk rattled the windows. The air seemed to grow colder as the noise vibrated through her skull.

Leslie fell to the floor, hands clutching her ears in a futile attempt to block the sound. But it wasn't enough. The sound grew louder and angrier as the glass cracked beneath the relentless force of the bird's beak.

CRACK. The window shattered.

She looked up in time to see the largest penguin she had ever seen, its monstrous beak pressing through the jagged hole, its eyes glowing with a red-hot fury. The door—her door—swung inward, its hinges creaking under the bird's weight. The monster was inside. The floor beneath her feet trembled as the penguins advanced, their feet slapping loudly against the hardwood. She could hear the high-pitched squawks. It was impossible. The toys—they were real. They were no longer just glass. She screamed, backing into the corner of the room. Her hands fumbled desperately for the gun that was gone, nowhere to be found. Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest that she could barely hear the screeching from behind her, the relentless scratching of talons on the floor. Her entire body froze in terror as the largest penguin, its body more than six feet tall, loomed over her.

Then, in a blur of motion, the first beak struck.