Free Johnny Halloween by Norman Partridge

an ugly shriek.
    Bill snatched up the cultist’s knife and moved to finish him, but Nardo held him back. “Let me go, damn it. The bastard tried to kill me!” Bill pointed the knife at the singed grass beneath his feet. “And besides, look what the fucker’s done to my Kentucky bluegrass!”
     
    ****
     
    They couldn’t leave the circle. None of the bat-things could enter, though they kept trying. The creatures battered the invisible barrier like moths drawn to a well-lighted window. As soon as the blistering wind dried the grass, the things landed and slammed their furry bodies against the barrier, folding their wings and using the tips of their long, bony fingers as pole vaults. Hell, Nardo had never seen a bat pole-vault over a tombstone before. That was weird enough, but the snot trails they left on the invisible wall when they bashed it with their rubbery pink snouts were just plain disgusting.
    Okay. They couldn’t get in, and Nardo and Bill couldn’t get out. But the scorching whirlwind could pass straight on through. It burned Nardo’s lungs, hotter now than it had been at the ballpark, though he couldn’t understand how that was possible.
    The one-armed man stood at the opposite side of the circle. He refused to meet Nardo’s gaze. Bill sat in the circle’s center, nervously tugging brown clumps of Kentucky bluegrass, the knife cradled in his lap. It had been about a half an hour, Nardo figured, since they’d been trapped.
    Nardo spoke first. “This boy is pretty quiet, isn’t he. Bill? I mean, considering all the excitement.”
    “Now, hell yeah, but you should’ve heard him earlier. As soon as his boys pulled me off my mower he starts in with ‘All glory to Satan’ and some shit about the full moon and Halloween and sacrifice and rebirth, and they’re all bowing down to him like he’s the Grand Poobah or something. C’mon, Nardo, we already know the bastard ain’t human. He lost a good chunk of his anatomy to the chalker, and he ain’t even bleeding.” Bill quit pulling grass and gripped the knife. “Why don’t you just let me whack the fucker’s head off and we’ll see if he’s still so cheery!”
    “Naw,” Nardo said. “That happens, maybe we’re stuck here forever. Our friend here is probably the only one who can tell us the way out of this fix we’re in. Maybe he’s got some little way we can help him out, and we can just call this whole evening a standoff.” Nardo stared down at Bill. “Now, be a good boy and give me that knife before you get us into trouble.”
    Protesting, Bill did as he was told, and Nardo tucked the blade under his belt, noting with satisfaction the cultist’s appreciative smile. Nardo returned the grin, then winked at Bill. Good cop, bad cop. It had worked before. It was probably a brand new scam to a werebat, or whatever the hell this guy was, and maybe it would buy them some time.
    Nardo pointed his pistol at the cultist’s severed hand. “Sorry about that. Bet it hurt like hell.”
    “Not much.”
    “Well, I guess it’ll put a crimp in your human sacrificing for a while. Damn shame, I suppose. I hope it doesn’t get the man downstairs all pissed off at you.” Nardo wiped sweat from his brow. “Look, I’ve read Rosemary’s Baby and I’ve seen Brotherhood of Satan . Isn’t this the point where you’re supposed to offer me three wishes, or immortality, or something?”
    “That could be arranged.”
    “C’mon, Nardo, let’s ice this fucker—”
    “Put a sock in it. Bill.” Nardo slipped his .357 into its holster and raised his empty hands to the cultist. “Do tell,” he invited.
    “Well, Sheriff—”
    “Don’t gild the lily. Make it Deputy .”
    “Very well, Deputy. There is one way out of this situation, and that is to raise that knife and plunge it into your friend’s heart.”
    “I wouldn’t call him a friend. He’s my brother-in-law. But say I do that little thing. Then the walls come tumbling down and you just let