It's 1 am and people are still trickling into the Halloween party. Answering the call of bottles along the counter and the half of a keg left from the pair that got tapped tonight.

I spot Sydney at the other end of the couch from an already passed out Andy. An empty Solo cup lays sideways on the carpet next to his feet. I've been hoping to run into Syd all night, so I push any awkwardness out of the way and plop down in the center of the sofa.

"Thinking about burning off?" I ask.

"Shelly's my ride and I think she found a Frankenstein for the night." She rolls her eyes. "That's not a euphemism, Billy Lawrence, he's dressed up like Frankenstein's monster. They probably are banging though, I haven't seen her in like half an hour."

I wrap my hands around my half finished soda. "Shelly's Frankenstein... you can't write this shit."

Sydney relaxes and lays back on the cushions. "At least there's somebody else here to appreciate the absurdity. You here with Chuck?"

"Yeah he's around here somewhere. Probably roped some rube into a TED talk about Carpenter versus Craven."

As if summoned, Chuck shuffles into the living room with a precarious two-finger grip around the neck of a beer. "Doesn't even warrant a ten minute debate. It's Carpenter by a mile."

Some girl in the corner dressed as a cheerleader must have finally noticed Chuck, because she squeals "Oh my God!" with more than a hint of disgust. Under his cultist hood, flesh-colored putty and makeup blends into a fine black mesh over his eyes, making them appear gouged out. Rivulets of fake blood down his cheeks complete the gory look.

Chuck raises his beer to corner girl. "Cheers!" He takes a long swallow and sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of Syd and me.

"You know what the problem is, guys?" Chuck hooks his middle finger around the longneck, sticking his pointer out at us. "Nobody takes Halloween serious anymore! Look around. Everything is either dime store costume packages or as little clothing as possible." His eyeholes roam over to Syd in her white miniskirt and midriff-baring top with red velvet hood.

"Except for you Syd, you're really channeling the storybook vibe."

She wraps her velvet cape around her front. "Okay Chuck, you're not allowed to look at me anymore tonight. I can't tell where your eyes are going."

Chuck laughs, "Fair enough, they were exactly where you thought they were. And what about you, dude? You didn't even dress up."

"Oh, I did!" I turn around to show a silvered coin that has been superglued to my shirt between my shoulder blades. I turn back around with a sheepish grin. "I'm Nickleback."

Sydney punches my arm and dramatically flops on the couch. "You're the worst, get out."

Chuck shakes his head. "The absolute depravity. I love it." He turns his head toward the kitchen and rolls his eyes. "At least you didn't show up in Crow makeup."

A couple of guys stand around the keg, conversing, both done up as Brandon Lee's Eric Draven character.

Sydney chimes in, "Hey you never know, one of them could be from Kiss, we'd never know the difference."

"Ah poor, sweet Syd. Always assuming the best in people." Chuck turns his attention back to us. "It's just all so boujee and... blah. This is All Hallows' Eve, where's the scares?" His hood lowers, then slowly raises again, as if in anticipation.

"Have you guys ever heard of the Saratoga Light?"

I sigh, "Of course I have, Chuck. We drove around for two hours last year looking for it and didn't find shit. All we did was waste ten bucks in gas."

He raises an accusing finger at my face. "Nonbeliever!"

"What's the Saratoga Light?" Sydney asks softly.

Even though they're covered with prosthetic, I can feel Chuck's eyes shining. "Mike, we gotta take her!"

"I dunno, man. It's-"

Sydney folds her hands in her lap and shrugs. "It sounds pretty fun and spooky to me. Plus, I could use a ride home afterward."

Normally I would brush Chuck off, but I can feel the big bad wolf rising inside of me. "Fine, but I've only got a quarter of a tank and the nearest 24 hour station is 30 minutes away."

Chuck pops up off the coffee table. "Shotgun!"

"Like hell, man. You get your eyeless ass in the back."

I can tell Syd's lips are curling up as we walk out of the party to my car. Syd asks again while we drive, "So you never told me, what exactly is the Saratoga Light?"

Chuck drapes his arms over our front seats to begin his spiel. "Back during the big booms in the early 1900's, Gulf Oil cut a survey line from Bragg to Saratoga to monitor the rail shipping down to Beaumont. While they were clearing the thicket, one of the trees fell over onto a railway signpost and bent it into the train's path. It also took out the lantern that used to light up the posts during overnight runs.

"Legend has it that the conductor of the night run thought it was an obstruction on the tracks, and since there was no light to illuminate it, he leaned his head outside the engine car and - BAM!"

Chuck slaps the sides of the car seats, making both Syd and me jump. "The bent over sign took his head clean off. Somehow, the train still managed to make its run. The crew in Beaumont discovered the conductor decapitated, with his hands still wrapped around the train controls in rigor mortis.

"They buried his body back in the Big Thicket, but neither the logging crew nor the local police ever found his head. Some think it bounced back under the train and got obliterated on the track. Nowadays they say his spirit wanders among the trees, with the fallen lantern lit, looking for his missing head."

I slow the car down and turn North off the farm-to-market road. We drive for a while in silence, our eyes squinted to try and see into the dim past the headlights.

"I've heard several small towns have mystery lights on haunted roads." Sydney says from the passenger side. "Experts say it's probably swamp gas. Isn't a lot of Big Thicket marsh?"

Chuck peels the putty from his face and removes the black mesh covering from his eyes. "Wait 'til you see it first, then tell me it's swamp gas."

"If we see it." I correct. "Besides, I heard it was some kind of optical illusion. Like the way the road curves what your seeing is car headlights coming from the opposite side but it looks like they're coming from the trees. And that also makes them look like the like they disappear and reappear."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Chuck says, "because the road is actually straight in line with the railroad tracks."

I throw my hands up in exasperation. "I dunno, man! Maybe the road is straight but diagonal against the longitudinal plane or whatever?"

"Now you're just making stuff up."

Syd grins diabolically and wiggles her eyebrows. "Or maybe it truly is something supernatural."

Right about then we see it, a dim yellow ball drifting lazily through the forest on our left. It seems to be heading toward us slowly, then zigs slightly to the right, toward the road.

"Oh shit, you guys seeing this?" Chuck asks.

I slow the car down as the ball of light grows, getting closer and closer. Then suddenly, it winks out. A crop of washouts in the road cause the car to bounce heavily, and we all put a hand up to keep from cracking our skulls on the roof.

Chuck pats me on the shoulder. "Dude, pull over and kill your lights. I think you scared it away."

"Ummm, maybe don't turn your lights off, Mike?" Sydney asks in a small voice. The wicked grin on her face is long gone, replaced with a hint of worry.

"I won't," I assure her, and a couple of her fingers slide into my hand as I stop the car.

We all sit for a moment, the engine's idling the only sound until Chuck breaks the silence. "So if it's not swamp gas or-"

He's cut off by the sudden reappearance of the light. It looms larger than before, then splits in two, bearing down on us. Syd yelps and there's a thrum getting louder as the twin lights close in.

A jacked-up dually races by, showering my car in a cloud of red dust. A group of teenagers from some other school whoop and holler from the bed of the passing pickup. One of them tosses out an empty beer can that strikes the roof of my car.

I slap the steering wheel with one hand. "Probably a bunch of assholes from Kountze."

Chuck watches the trucks taillights dim out the rear window. "Those guys are definitely getting Jason Voorheesed if they stay out tonight." He turns back towards us.

"So, first sighting was a false alarm. Still got a few miles to go, plus the ride back."

I put the vehicle back in gear and hit the gas, but there's no lurch forward, only the unmistakable sound of the back wheels spinning inside of a pothole.

"Shit, man, why'd I let you talk me into this?" I smack the steering wheel again.

Chuck opens the car door. "Quit complaining and help me push. Syd, hop in the driver's and gas it when we say go."

We line up and shoulder the car against the edge of the hole, but when Syd accelerates the tires eat up the dirt, widening the washout.

"Try lifting it while we push." I tell Chuck. We do, though the attempt is futile. It's a hand-me-down Chrysler LeBaron from the eighties, it's trunk end is an armored rhinoceros.

After the fifth try, Chuck leans against the back, winded. "Bro, don't you have triple-A?"

I take my cell phone from my pocket. "No service."

Chuck does the same, and frustrated, shoves his phone back into his pants. "Fuckin' BFE!"

I walk up to Syd's window and knock. "Chuck and me need to go find some branches or something to chock under the wheels. Get some traction. We'll be right back."

She immediately exits the vehicle. "Oh no, I'm going with you. None of this split the party bullshit."

"Somebody's been paying attention to what day it is," Chuck says, smiling.

"Okay, that's fine. But leave the lights on, that way if anyone is coming they won't wreck us. I can't afford another one and I only have liability insurance."

"Also, somebody could get hurt?" Syd rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, that too. And grab the Mag-lite out the glovebox."

As we walk into the woods, the barren pines allow a decent bit of full moon to shine through. Still, I sweep the Mag-lite back and forth to keep us safe. Syd walks beside me and Chuck a few paces behind.

"I think I've still got putty in my eyes," he says.

"Over there!" I exclaim, catching sight of a sizable branch we could leverage under the wheels. It rests on the thicket floor, halfway to the railroad tracks. I look back to the LeBaron's headlights, roughly fifty feet away.

Twigs snap as we quick step over to the branch and we're almost on it when there's a hideous squelching sound. Syd and I turn around just in time to see Chuck's headless body drop to its knees. Maybe it's forward momentum, but somehow he manages to crawl a few feet, bright red blood spouting onto the leaves in the flashlights beam as his arms and legs pump, before laying down for good.

The sounds of cicadas and frogs is drowned out by Syd's piercing scream. She kneels next to Chucks body, her hands trembling beside her face, wanting to cover her eyes but unable to look away.

"It's not real, this is just a nightmare. It's not real." She repeats the phrase over and over like a mantra.

My hands are shaking too, the beam from the Mag-lite quivering across Chuck's corpse. "We can't call an... I don't know... what the fuck, I-" My mind is forming thoughts faster than my mouth can make words. All of them are helpless anyway.

Somewhere behind us, more twigs snap.

I reach down and grab Syd's hand. "Syd, get up."

Again, we turn to face the dreadful noise. A light, coming from the railroad tracks. Swaying and bouncing left then right. Like the stutter steps of a drunk. It floats close enough to see the outline of the person manning the light, tall and gaunt.

It has no head.

Syd and I look back to the forest floor, to make sure this isn't some prank, fueled by Chuck's elaborate make-up work. His body lays there, still dribbling from the stump.

Syd whispers, "It's not real." The sudden pounding of footsteps makes us both look up.

The headless man crashes through the thicket, sprinting towards us at full speed. It's close enough to see that the light he holds is coming from Chuck's severed head, a lantern glass stuck crudely in his mouth, the veins of his cheeks visible behind the red orange glow from his flesh.

"Run!" I yell, dragging Syd forward as hard as I can. Together we rush back towards the headlights of my car.

But it's still stuck. Maybe we can lock ourselves in. Maybe there's something in the backseat we can fight back with.

We're only about thirty feet away. Then twenty.

And then the LeBaron's headlights disappear.

"Nooo!" Syd screams. We keep running.

Miraculously, we haven't tripped and fallen, but we have been running with all our strength for at least three minutes. We should have been back at the road by now.

"Syd!" I jerk her to a stop, wheeling us both around. The Saratoga light has stopped its pursuit. No lights around except for the Mag still clenched in my fist. The surrounding dark makes me shiver.

Beside me, Syd looks up. "Mike?" She whimpers and softly pats my arm. "Mike, where's the moon?"

She's right. Above us, the moon has fled, just as we did. The sky overhead is littered with stars, and without the light pollution, we can see the various colors of the galaxy. Looking closely, the strangest thing happens.

The purple hues of the Milky Way fade to black. I can't tell if my mind is playing tricks on me, but I think a star just disappeared. Then, another one.

It started in my peripheral view, but all around us, the stars are going out.

Drawing my gaze back down, the trees I could see in the night sky are no longer visible unless I shine the Mag-lite directly on them. The abyss even seems to swallow the beam bit by bit, engulfing the thicket on each side.

I can only see about ten feet in front of me without the flashlight now, the darkness closing in as the last stars blink out.

"Sydney, I don't know what to do."

She cradles my face as the black begins to blur her features. She's crying while smiling and she whispers, "Mike, it's not real."

Her hands are gone from my cheeks, flung out in front of her like a rag doll as some force from the abyss whips her off her feet and into the forest. In less than a second her body ricochets off of a tree with an ear-splitting crack and out of the Mag-lite's beam.

I'm running again, in the last direction I saw her disappear into. Past trees with her blood staining the white pine. Screaming her name, my muscles burning as I run and run. Which direction I'm not sure, but towards the diminishing sounds of her careening through the thicket.

I'm out of breath, still trying to sprint. It looks like a clearing or break in the tree line ahead. I pray that it's the dirt road.My lungs are about to explode as I scream one last time, "Syd!"

My feet catch on something hard and the side of my face smashes into metal, making me lose consciousness.

I wake up to the smell of steel and creosote. My temple rests on metal, cold in the autumn air, my ears ringing from the concussion. As my groggy eyelids flutter open, there's a light in front of me.

It moves, not with the jerky motions of the Saratoga light, but with a purpose, growing steadily in a straight line toward me. I weakly raise a hand to flag down the carrier.

And as the lights bears down on me, the squeal of tinnitus in my ears gives way to the song of a train whistle