FanStory.com - Halloween Ebbs and Woesby Mia Twysted

The home on the corner of Ebb Street and Woe Street gave the children chills. They avoided the house, whether daylight or dusk, but most certainly, they avoided it on Halloween night.

Most of the year, the house sat slowly decaying due to neglect. The owner, old Mr. Richerson, hardly ever came outside. He peeked through the windows, watching the kids go by as they went back and forth to school and played in the streets on the weekends. The local market, mail service, and UPS brought the aging man everything he needed. Neighbors watched as souls of all ages crept unsteadily up to the porch to drop off bags and boxes full of supplies. Packages would sit there through the day and be gone by the dawn of the next morning.

In truth, there was not a soul in a city block that could describe to authorities the features of the old man. He could be standing beside them, and they would never know it was the man who lived across the street, next door, or around the block.

I want to tell you that this was just the story of a sad old man who had outlived all his family and became a bitter shut-in; however, that would not be true. There, on the corner of Ebb Street and Woe Street, lived a man whom his neighbors didn't know they needed to fear.

Come Halloween night as the children go out to play. They move about the street, screaming and shouting in delight. Parents rushed about from house to house, watching their young with the fiercest eyes. To and from, they walk and wait for the little ones to have their turns going from door to door.

"Trick or treat," the children yelled as they collected handfuls of candy.

Parents gathered in floating groups as they helped keep the younger toddlers from the street—smiling faces, some known, some not, weaved in and out of the crowds. Laughter shifts with the wind when suddenly a parent cries out.

"Johnny, Johnny! Has anyone seen my son?"

A frantic mother ran among the children, searching through the crowd.

"He was wearing a Spiderman costume," she cried, grabbing parents as they pulled their children close to them. "Have you seen him? Please tell me you've seen him. Johnny! Johnnhy!"

Another innocent soul on Halloween night disappears from their parent's sight. Red and blue lights blink in the windows of every family watching from their houses and on the news. Each parent thanked the heavens that it wasn't their child that disappeared, and each one pushed aside the guilt for the thought even crossing their mind.

The sad truth is little Johnny would never be found. His mother would spend the rest of her life beating herself up about how she could have let him out of her sight for even just a moment. Every Halloween to come, the poor mother, in deep despair, would wander the streets hoping to see him or have him run back into her arms. Her heartache would lead her on the fifteenth Halloween that followed to take her own life.

The blonde-headed little boy in the Spiderman costume was just a short distance from his home. That makes the story all the sadder.

Every day since he was brought home from the hospital, the man across the street would watch. He sat in the attic of his shabby molding home with his binoculars in hand, leering out the windows and watching the private moments of the unknowing families around him. He took an interest in little Johnny for reasons he could not explain. He wasn't his type. Blonde was never the peeper's thing.

It was something about how his mother loved him that created the attraction. Something you and I now know that the peeper does not. Something he never would. How Johnny's mother would rock him till all morning hours every time he cried. How she would wipe her tears away and smile for the little boy she was determined to raise alone. It brought back feelings of his mother and how she failed to give him the security he needed. By now, you know, I am sure you understand the man across the street is old man Richerson.

No one crept up to the dark house to ask for candy, except maybe the cocky teen trying to impress a girl or win a bet. Richerson was vigilant at protecting his home from prying eyes, as I am sure you understand why. As if a phantom in the night each Halloween, there were traps and triggers laid out around the house on the corner of Ebb Street and Woe Street, preventing most incidents of spook night pranks and capers. Old man Richerson could be heard shouting at the intruders. His shadow was seen only momentarily pacing and walking around the house more so on these Halloween nights than any other.

When the neighborhood was new, a young man and his pregnant wife found a home on the corner of Ebb Street and Woe Street. A very successful banker, Mr. Richerson had the wealth to buy just about anything that he wanted. And he did. He had it all and wanted more. This put a strain on the marriage and also his relationship with his son, as he was never home. A few years passed, and the husband and father began to change into someone his wife said she didn't recognize and refused to subject her son to. Packing a bag for herself and her son, she drove away and never returned.

Contractors came and went from the now-single man's home for the first few years after his wife left. People whispered and pointed, gossiping about where the woman and child had gone. Tired of the looks his neighbors gave him, Richerson slowly began to withdraw from society. When he was seen out and about, his face was squinted, and his lips were cursed. As things started to get more modern, he drew away from society at large.

Time moved on, and people came and went from the neighborhood. He sat up in his attic, watching and waiting. Days into nights and nights into days, he observed, and he noted and planned.

Then, one Halloween night, from the cover of darkness, he left the sanctity of his house and went out among the people. Dressed in a costume, he mingled among the parents, pretending to have a child. Someone they would notice but forget before he was even gone. Then, with a quick step and a turn, he snatched a young child from the crowd. Making his exit with swift and fast feet, he disappeared back into the darkness.

What wouldn't be found until the house on Ebb Street and Woe Street was condemned was an underground level with secret tunnels and exits all around town. In that underground level, authorities also found small rooms. Each had a single bed, sink, and toilet. Chains were affixed to the wall, and straps to the bed. Dirty sheets and rags were collected and cataloged while the news outlets shouted their half facts across the airwaves of a serial killer living unknown in your local neighborhood.

What information would make it to the public? What information that would be known is the discovery of a scrapbook. Inside the book were pictures and dates of missing children. Ages varied from child to child, as did from boy to girl. Each child had their own section. There were notes about their daily lives, families, and routines. Pictures taken from afar and up close out in public. It started in black and white and moved into color. As time and technology became better, the number of pictures increased alongside the information about each precious little soul.

It seemed strange and sickly, yet it was only the beginning. Police would find as they turned the pages that the children were followed for years before they went missing. Reports filed by frantic parents revealed each child went missing on a Halloween night. There were no clues or witnesses, and no bodies were ever found. Little Johnny wasn't the first, nor was he the last.

The last was tiny Mary Baldwick with bright red curly hair. Disappeared on Halloween night wearing a princess costume. Her bright blue eyes matched her sparkling blue dress. Her parents would never find their way back, each blaming the other for losing sight of her. They would divorce within three years of her disappearance and never speak again. Mary's mother would go on to find love again and have three more children. Unable to move on from the loss of his daughter and estrangement of his wife, Mary's father would sink into a state of depression. Losing his house, he would end up on the street penniless. One day, he sees his ex-wife out with her husband and children. Following them home, he would break in after they went to bed and shoot them all while they slept before turning the gun on himself. This would all happen, as it happens, on a Halloween night.

Investigations would never reveal what Richerson did to the children or where he lay them to rest. Families would be told about the belief of their passing, at least the ones who still had family left. Put away up on a shelf, the records and case files would be dusty and untouched by human hands. Some questions were answered, and others are still unknown.

You may ask what started it all in the first place. What turned this young banker into a suspected serial killer who tortured and killed hundreds of children over his lifetime? Well, it's simple, true, and sad to say his wife, who left with their son, drove out of his life on a Halloween night, creating a monster that filled others with fright.