The night sentry on duty at the Macaulay House reported a mass exodus from the graveyard at midnight on All Hallows Eve. Every single corpse went missing, she said, leaving gravestones overturned and in some cases in pieces on the lawn.

Candy Allen, who was on the night shift at the post office, awaiting delivery of the Night Mail and the Hallowell Howler, reported seeing an “army of disgusting corpses” hobbling up Hallowell Main Street. “I have no idea where they were going, but they looked determined.”

“They did not seem to notice that bits and pieces of mud, old flesh, and rotting skin were falling off their bones as they walked.”

At the Giant Tiger, staff reported an ambush. About 15 of the undead descended en masse. “They were looking for clothes and other disguises. Good luck to them. Not sure you can cover up rotting flesh all that well,” sniffed one horrified staffer.

“We made them use the self-checkouts,” she said.

One of the cadavers walked into Gilbert & Lighthall, former undertakers and coffin makers, and demanded a refund. “My casket was guaranteed forever in 1860, but it started rotting within a year,” it bellowed. “You owe me fifty-five cents.”

Others went to the Rosehaven Yarn Shop, searching for their old friend, the Skeleton, which reportedly let them in. The dead bodies wreaked havoc, unravelling all the skeins of wool, cutting red, yellow, and green strands and gluing them on in place of hair.

Some of the zombies charged over to the Royal, saying they’d heard about the legendary cocktail bar in the underground. Night Bartender Soul Gold had the presence of mind, even with the gruesome ghouls leaning on the bar, to pour out green glasses of crème de menthe, which they loved, even if they didn’t have the stomachs for it.

“I was worried they’d see the absinthe,” he confided. “It’s imported from France.”

The corpses reunited as if by plan at the Regent at 1 a.m., where they demanded horror movies and old popcorn.

“I raced around looking for our old copies of the Jason movies and Friday the 13^th,” said General Manager Alexandra Saint. “Luckily, we just showed Nightmare on Elm Street. I emptied the trash buckets of all the old popcorn from the past week. I put it in brand new buckets for them, just the way they said they wanted it.”

“In exchange, they did not make me one of them.”

Russ Coffin, proprietor of the drinking establishment next door, welcomed the ghouls, only to be overrun with demands for green cough syrup, “like at the Royal.”

“Not here,” he coughed, terrified but still proud of his offerings, which feature small batch, local brews.

At 4 a.m. the relics proceeded to the United Church bell tower, chortling and rattling. “If there’s one thing I have to do before I die again, it’s ring the bells,” one of them was heard to say.

The formerly sleeping denizens of Hallowell reported ringing peals at 4:11 a.m., 4:15 a.m., 4:27 a.m., 4:31 a.m., 4:35 a.m., 4:36 a.m., and 4:40 a.m.

County Fire & Rescue, Prince Edward OPP, and Hastings Quinte EMS raced from their stations. The Fire Chief successfully used his shiny new ladder for the first time to scale the church tower, only to find a raggle taggle gang of dead bodies clutching popcorn boxes and ringing the bells as hard as they could. He raced right back down.

In between the bell ringing, squabbling could be heard, he said, the eternal refrain: “It’s my turn,” “you had it last,” and “give it to me.”

By 5 a.m. streaks of pale light started to reach across the sky. The cadavers’ time had come. They skidded down the fire ladder, bones jangling and bits of old flesh flying, wended their way back to the graveyard, found their stones, and settled back in to their long dark night.