Halloween is probably my favorite time of the year. I guess that probably doesn’t come as too much of a surprise to you. After all, I call myself “The Final Girl." I love horror movies, and while, yeah, I watch them all year long… they just hit differently at this time of year.

But it’s not just the horror movies that do it for me.

It’s the time of year when the ghosts, ghouls, and monsters come out to play. Streets are filled with little vampires, witches, werewolves, and superheroes running from house to house in search of candy. Haunted houses offer up scares to those who are into that sort of thing. And then you have the bars, much like the one I find myself in tonight, where people go out and get wasted while dressed up like slutty nurses, teachers, doctors, mail carriers… you name it, it’s slutty. But for one night every year, that’s okay.

Bars are where I spend most of my nights on normal nights. For one, I have a habit I gotta keep up. Secondly, it’s a good place to hunt for monsters… even when it’s not Halloween.

So this Halloween I find myself at some bar in Pittsburgh ahead of my next Vanguard match. Because, unfortunately, I outgrew trick-or-treating around fifteen years ago and I ain’t got no intentions of having kids anytime soon. Nowadays, I find more joy in hunting for monsters than hunting for candy, anyway.

See, the monsters I'm interested in aren't going around ringing doorbells. They don't need to wear hockey masks or carry machetes. They don't have rotting flesh hanging off their bones, sharp claws, or blood dripping from their mouths. They don't howl at the moon or crawl out of the grave. And they certainly don't need a costume from the Halloween store to make themselves look scary.

No, the monsters I'm talking about are a little harder to spot.

They wear masks, sure, but they're not the kind you can buy at Spirit Halloween. Yeah, a lot of the time monsters are hideous. A lot of the people you see on the news arrested for those truly heinous, disgusting, vile acts are people you look at, and you think, yeah… obviously that weirdo is a fuckin’ pedo. Or then you have your typical douchebag gym bro who has no problems with some casual date rape. I can typically spot those assholes from a hundred miles away.

But… sometimes… monsters aren’t who they seem.

Monsters can also be beautiful, sexy even. Sometimes they're the kind of person you'd cross a crowded room just to get a better look at. They're smart, manipulative, and patient. They know exactly what to say, when to say it, and how to make you feel like you're the most important person in the room. They don't need to chase you down an alley or drag you kicking and screaming into the darkness. They'll make you think going with them was your idea.

Take that woman over there, for example.

No clue who the fuck she is, but for the sake of our story, we’re gonna call her Charlie.

Charlie is hard to miss. Tall, probably over six feet with those heels on. Pretty face, long hair, and a figure that her costume does absolutely nothing to conceal. She's dressed up as some sort of sexy priestess, which is a little ironic when you consider how much cleavage she's showing. Not that I'm complaining. It's a good look. She's clearly put some effort into it, and judging by how many guys have been looking her way since she walked in, I'd say it's working.  And yet, she's not really interested in any of the guys who've been trying to get her attention. No, her eyes keep drifting to a little corner booth where another woman sits by herself.

Let’s call her Sally.

Sally is pretty much the opposite of Charlie. She's a little thing, blonde, wearing a pair of glasses, and has a book open in front of her…. Stephen King’s Carrie. Nice choice. A favorite of mine as well. How fitting. A drink sits on the table, but she's barely touched it. Now and then she'll glance up towards the dance floor, where a group of her friends is busy getting absolutely shitfaced and dancing with a few guys. But Sally doesn't seem particularly interested in joining them. She's quite content to sit there with her book and let everybody else have their fun.

Maybe she's the designated driver. Maybe she doesn't like drinking that much. Or, most likely, she's simply not the sort of person who feels comfortable throwing herself into the middle of a crowded bar full of strangers.

Yeah, I get it. After all, that was me, once upon a time. That was before I discovered that I was capable of doing some pretty terrible things myself. Such a simpler time to think back upon, but I was never much of a party girl. I was the quiet one who would rather spend the evening with a book than trying to make small talk with a bunch of people I didn't know. But back then, I was naive. A real people pleaser. Okay, okay, I’ll just come out and say it… I was a pushover.

But back then, I was also naive. A people pleaser. Yeah, I was a pushover. And poor Sally here, I fear, is just like I was back then.

And Charlie has clocked it. She eventually makes her way over to the booth, flashing a smile and asking if the seat across from Sally is taken. Sally looks up from her book, a little surprised, before shaking her head. Charlie slides into the seat and immediately starts making conversation.

I’m not much of a lip reader, but I imagine the conversation goes something like this.

“So, whatcha readin’?” Charlie asks.

“Huh, oh, Carrie,” Sally responds with a faint smile. “I’ve read it a dozen times, but I never get tired of it… and well, it’s Halloween, so it felt like the right choice tonight.”

“That's actually really cute,” Charlie responds, leaning forward a little. “I love that. I don't think I've ever read it, though. Is it any good?”

“Oh, absolutely. It's one of my favorites. It's a little different from the movie, obviously, but I think that's part of what I like about it. Stephen King does a really good job of making you feel for Carrie, you know? Like, you understand why she is the way she is. She's just this lonely girl who doesn't really fit in anywhere.”

Funny thing about Carrie. Her mother had a Bible verse for everything too. Kind of reminds me of someone I know. Oh, more on that in a minute. I’m getting a bit ahead of myself.

Charlie nods, smiling. “Sounds like you two might have something in common.”

Sally laughs, though it's a little hesitant. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe that's why I like it so much.”

“Well, I think you're selling yourself a little short. You don't look like somebody who should be sitting all alone in a corner.”

Sally glances towards the dance floor, where her friends are still busy enjoying themselves. “Oh, I'm not really here alone. I came with them. I'm just not much of a dancer.”

“Neither am I,” Charlie says with a playful little laugh. “At least, not until I've had a few drinks. You should come and join me. I promise I won't make you look silly."

Sally smiles and looks down at her book, almost as if she's embarrassed by the attention. Charlie continues, telling her that she's pretty, that she has lovely eyes, and that she really ought to stop hiding behind her book and let herself have a little fun. It's all very complimentary. Very sweet. The kind of thing that might make somebody like Sally feel a little special.

And I can see that it’s definitely working.

That's the thing about being a people pleaser. Sometimes you don't even realize you're doing it. You spend so much time worrying about making other people comfortable that you forget to ask yourself whether you're comfortable. Somebody gives you a little attention, makes you feel wanted, and suddenly you find yourself agreeing to things you probably wouldn't have considered five minutes earlier. Not because you particularly want to, but because you don't want to disappoint them.

Eventually, Sally closes her book and places it on the table. She glances towards the bathroom and says something that makes Charlie laugh. I'm guessing it's something along the lines of needing to pee before they go out dancing, while Charlie insists on waiting for her to come back.

Sally gets up, gathers her things, and disappears towards the bathrooms.

And that's when the smile drops.

Charlie watches her go for a moment, then looks around the bar. Once she's satisfied nobody is paying attention, she reaches into the front of her costume and pulls out a small vial. She unscrews the cap, holds it over Sally's glass, and tips a few drops of something into the drink. She gives it a little swirl, puts the vial away, and settles back into the booth.

There it is.

That's what I mean when I say monsters don't always look like monsters.

Take my pal Karlie Nash, for example. Like our tall, buxom friend with the panty-dropping serum she just planted in our unsuspecting little bookworm’s glass, Karlie is gorgeous. She’s smart. She’s strong. Hell, she calls herself a woman of faith. She's intelligent, articulate, and more than capable of making a room full of people listen when she speaks.

And yet she’s one of the monsters of the Eternal Grove.

I mean, if you walked into a room and saw Karlie Nash standing there, I doubt your first instinct would be to cross to the other side of the street. Quite the opposite, actually. She's the sort of woman people are naturally drawn to. She's got the whole package. The brains, the beauty, the strength. She can quote scripture with the best of them, talk about faith and righteousness, and probably convince you that she's got your best interests at heart before you've even finished introducing yourself.

And that's what makes her so interesting.

People tend to associate monsters with ugliness. They think that if somebody is capable of doing something truly awful, there must be something about them that gives it away. Some physical deformity, some obvious character flaw, some warning sign that tells you to stay the hell away. But that's not how it works. Some of the most horrible people in history have been perfectly ordinary. Take Ted Bundy, for example. I'm sure most people have heard of him. He’s only one of the most notorious serial killers in American history. And yet, when you look at pictures of the guy, he doesn't exactly look like somebody you'd expect to be responsible for the deaths of all those women. He was handsome, well-spoken, educated, and apparently quite charming. He could be funny, charismatic, and personable. The sort of guy who could strike up a conversation with you and leave you thinking you'd just met a perfectly nice young man. He knew how to use that to his advantage, too. He’d fake a broken arm and wait for some nice girl to offer a hand.

And that's the part that always gets me. Not that he was some kind of master of disguise, but that he didn't really need one. He could walk into a room, smile, strike up a conversation, and look like anybody else. Meanwhile, something absolutely fucking horrific lurked beneath that charming exterior.

The scariest part of any horror movie is when you don’t see the monster until it’s too late. That’s what it must’ve been like with ol’ Teddy.

And Karlie, too, has something vile beneath that sexy body of hers.

Which brings me back to our friend “Charlie.”

See, Charlie doesn't need to force Sally into anything. She doesn't need to threaten her or overpower her. She's already done the hard part. She's made Sally feel comfortable. She's made her feel special. She's given her a reason to trust her. And now all she has to do is wait for Sally to come back, pick up that drink, and let the rest take care of itself. That's the scary part. Not the vial. Not even what's inside it. It's how easily somebody can take advantage of another person's trust when they know exactly how to earn it.

And I suppose that's why I find people like Karlie so fascinating. There's a certain contradiction there. A woman who presents herself as intelligent and calculating, who prides herself on reading people and exploiting their weaknesses, yet seems so desperate to prove something that she's willing to throw all that composure out the window.

It's almost like watching somebody take off one mask only to put on another.

Maybe that's the difference between Karlie and me. I don't feel the need to convince anybody that I'm something I'm not. I don't need to pretend that the things I enjoy are righteous or noble. I know there's something ugly inside me. I've made peace with that, or at least I've stopped wasting my time pretending otherwise. I’m not making excuses about why I feel the way I feel or placing the blame at someone else’s feet.

I already know I’m my own worst enemy.

And I find it a little funny that a woman who looks down her nose at the kind of wrestling I do is suddenly so comfortable embracing violence when it's convenient for her. She likes to call deathmatch wrestling a cesspool, but she’s okay sitting by while her little Eternal Grove friends bring down a black rain over an entire fucking arena of bystanders? She’s okay with the sick, twisted shit her little group is doing to the CWF? God damn, I really try not to believe the stereotype, but Jesus Christ, all these religious people really are all fuckin’ hypocrites, aren’t they?

But hey, whatever. At the end of the day, I’ve shown I’m willing to play by her rules. The first time, she got the best of me. She made me tap out, and I looked like a fuckin’ joke. She got to sit on her little high horse and preach to her own personal choir about how real wrestling won out.

When she beat me, I didn’t sit back and cry. I didn’t blame anyone but myself for my loss. I do what I always do. I learned from it, and I got better. I knew the next time I stepped into the ring with her, I knew it wasn’t gonna happen again. And lo and behold, the very next show… the VERY NEXT FUCKING SHOW… I got my chance. And you better fuckin’ believe I didn’t waste it.

I know it eats her up inside that I not only beat her, but I beat her at her own game, not inside a death match but in a pure wrestling match with a submission.

And so we meet again. It’s too bad that I can’t get her to face me on my terms. Especially after the match I just had with Zolothach. My first taste of actual fuckin’ violence in the CWF, and god damn… I get shivers down my spine just remembering the feeling of the glass that she threw at me. Now that… that was a good time. Not even sex can give me a release like that. It’s a shame that Karlie won’t ever get to give me that kind of release. Guess you guys will have to save it for your fantasies.

What? Don’t act like you guys aren’t already shipping us. I’ve seen the fanfics and yeah, not even gonna lie, they’re hot.

But no, actually, I’ll just settle for humiliating her at her own game again. This time one-on-one. Because before I took down Zolothach, I said I was going monster hunting. Tabitha was the first… and I’ve got my eyes on the Eternal Grove, which has thankfully put me right back to Karlie. And I look forward to watching her tap out once again.

Now, where was I with our story about Charlie and Sally? Oh yes, Sally is on her way back from the bathroom now, completely unaware of what happened in her absence, while Charlie is still waiting for her. She smiles and greets her with a hug. "C’mon, sweetheart. Loosen up a little. Come have some fun with me."

Sally hesitates, looking between Charlie and the dance floor. Charlie encourages her again, holding the glass out towards her.

Okay, now here comes the good part. The part where I get involved.

I get up from my stool and make my way over to the booth, stepping between the two women just as Sally reaches for the drink. I take it right out of Charlie's hand.

“What the fuck?” Charlie exclaims.

“Hey, that’s my drink,” Sally reacts quietly.

“She ain’t drinkin’ this,” I say, glaring right into Charlie’s eyes and letting her know I know. Both women look at me. Sally is confused. Charlie, on the other hand, looks downright pissed.

“What the fuck are you doin’?”

I glance down at the drink, dip the tip of my middle fingernail into the liquid, and give it a little stir. “Just doin’ this girl a favor.” I pull it out and, fittingly, stick my middle finger right up to Charlie as the fingernail changes from orange to black. “Your new friend here is trying to drug you.”

Sally’s jaw drops while Charlie’s formerly friendly demeanor quickly fades. "You fucking bitch," she spits. No, literally, she spit on me.

I wipe away her saliva with a shrug. “Yeah, I’ve been called worse.” She doesn't seem to appreciate my response. In fact, she takes it as an invitation to swing at me. It's a pretty sloppy punch, all things considered. I lean back and let it sail past my face, then look at her for a moment. "Well, that was a stupid fucking idea."

The next few seconds aren't particularly pleasant for Charlie. I catch her before she can recover by driving a fist right into her face, which sends her stumbling backward into the booth. She tries to swing again, but I grab her and bring her down hard against the table. Glasses scatter, chairs topple, and the pretty little priestess finds herself on the floor with considerably less confidence than she had mere moments ago.

I don't particularly care to give her a chance to get back up, stomping my boot down right onto the bridge of her nose, sending blood squirting across the barroom floor. Ah, that feels good.

The bartender comes charging around the counter, holding a baseball bat in both hands. He's shouting at us to get the hell out of his bar, telling us he's already called the police.

“Cool.” I was ready to go anyway. Guess you could say my job here is done.

I turn to leave, but then I notice Charlie trying to push herself up from the floor. I stop, crouch beside her, and look down at the mess I've made of her pretty little face. There's a cut near her cheek, with blood running down towards her jaw. I reach out and drag my fingernail through it, causing her to scream in agony. I love it when they scream.

“Make better fuckin' choices,” I warn her one last time, then pat her cheek. “Oh, and Happy Halloween,” I smirk as I stand up and make my way toward the door. Sally is still sitting in the booth, shaken up but thankfully unharmed. Her friends have finally noticed something is going on, and one of them is making their way over to check on her. I give Sally a little nod as I pass. She doesn't say anything, and I don't expect her to. She doesn't owe me a damn thing.

Outside, the night air is cold, and the streets are filled with little monsters running around in search of candy. I pull out a cigarette, light it, and take a long drag. It's funny. All these people dressing up as monsters for one night of the year, when the real ones don't have to dress up at all.

And so my hunt continues. On to Vanguard.

Love you, Karlie!