Zack pulled on the balaclava and climbed over the porch. The balaclava he’d bought secondhand from a guy on Craigslist who said he used to use it as a make-shift gimp mask.
Every few minutes, he’d catch a whiff of something raw and potent and retch for a solid ten seconds.
“You could have just fucking washed it first.” said Paul. His pumpkin mask from three Halloweens ago bobbed on his face.
Zack flipped him off and grabbed the window frame as Paul clambered gracelessly over the porch and fell on his ass. Zack ducked under the window as Paul scrambled to his feet.
There was a scraping as the old woman inside pulled open the window and Zack saw the barrel of a shotgun poking just above his head.
Paul stumbled, climbed back over the porch and fled. Zack, feeling his pulse begin to race, grabbed the barrel and yanked the gun.
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