The Eternal Invitation

The house on Bush Avenue had been vacant for years before the Roths moved in. Its paint, once a crisp white, had faded to a dull grey, and the shutters hung crookedly as if they were too tired to hold on. Yet, there was a charm in its age, a potential waiting to be uncovered, which is precisely why Eloise and Sam Roth decided to make it their home.

“We’ll bring it back to life,” Eloise had said as they stood on the creaking porch, peering through the warped glass of the front door.

Sam had chuckled. “Back to life? Feels like we’re reanimating the dead.”

Despite the house’s quirks, they quickly settled into the neighbourhood. It was a small, tight-knit street lined with towering oaks that turned brilliant shades of orange and red as October crept in. Their neighbours were quick to introduce themselves—overly so, in Eloise’s view. Each day brought new knocks on the door: baskets of muffins, casseroles, and wine.

“They’re too friendly,” Eloise remarked one evening, her arms full of baked goods. “It’s almost… unnatural.”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe we’ve just forgotten how to be neighbourly. City life does that.”

By mid-October, they’d met nearly everyone on the block, but it was the Smiths from across the street who made the deepest impression. Diego and Martha Smith were an elegant couple, always impeccably dressed. Diego’s tailored suits and Martha’s vintage dresses seemed out of place in the modern world, but they wore them with ease as they had stepped out of an old photograph.

“Welcome to Bush Avenue,” Martha had said during their first meeting, her smile revealing teeth so white they almost gleamed. “We simply must have you over soon.”

And ‘soon’ came quickly. One crisp evening, as Sam raked leaves into neat piles, Diego strode across the street. “We’re hosting a Halloween gathering,” he announced, handing Sam an ornate invitation embossed with gold. “It’s a tradition here, you see. Everyone comes.”

The night of the party arrived with a full moon rising high over the neighbourhood. Eloise had chosen to dress as a witch, a predictable but reliable choice, while Sam had donned a Dracula cape over his regular clothes. “When in Rome,” he joked.

The Smiths’ house, usually dark and unassuming, was transformed. Twinkling lights adorned the eaves, and carved pumpkins lined the walkway, their faces flickering with candlelight. Inside, the house was stunning—far grander than its modest exterior suggested. Chandeliers cast warm, golden light over polished wooden floors, and antique furniture filled the rooms.

“We had no idea your home was so beautiful,” Eloise said to Martha, who greeted them at the door.

“Oh, it’s been in the family for generations,” Martha replied her, tone light but evasive. “Shall we show you around?”

The guests were dressed extravagantly, their costumes elaborate and detailed. A man in a Victorian frock coat sipped wine from a crystal goblet while a woman in a velvet gown glided across the room. Eloise felt underdressed in her black hat and plastic broom.

Martha and Diego moved through the party like royalty, greeting guests with familiarity. “They must have lived here forever,” Eloise whispered to Sam.

As the night wore on, Eloise began to notice oddities. Though wine flowed freely, no one seemed to eat. The spread of food—a sumptuous display of roast meats, cheeses, and pastries—remained untouched. And the guests, for all their laughter and conversation, had a strange pallor to their faces, their movements oddly fluid.

During a lull in the music, Martha clinked her glass. “A toast,” she said, her voice melodic yet commanding. “To our newest neighbours, the Roths. May their time on Bush Avenue be as long and memorable as ours.”

The guests turned toward Eloise and Sam, raising their glasses in unison. The room seemed to quiet, the clinking of crystal ringing louder than it should have.

“Thank you,” Sam said, his voice faltering. “We’re glad to be here.”

Martha’s eyes glittered as she replied, “Oh, you’ll find we’re a close-knit community. Once you’re part of Bush Avenue, you’re part of it forever.”

The way she said “forever” sent a chill through Eloise, though she couldn’t explain why.

As the clock struck midnight, Diego announced the highlight of the evening. “The cellar,” he said with a grin. “A place of mystery and history. We always end our Halloween night with a tour.”

Martha took Eloise’s hand, her grip surprisingly firm. “You’ll love it,” she purred. “It’s tradition.”

Eloise glanced at Sam, whose unease mirrored her own. But the other guests were already filing toward the cellar door, their excitement palpable.

The cellar was as grand as the rest of the house, its stone walls lined with shelves of wine bottles. Candles cast dancing shadows across the room, and the air was thick with the scent of earth and age.

“This is where we keep our most treasured possessions,” Diego said, his voice echoing. “The lifeblood of our family.”

Something in his tone made Eloise’s stomach twist. She turned to Martha, whose smile had grown wider, her teeth unnervingly sharp.

“You’ve been such gracious guests,” Martha said, stepping closer. “And we’d like to return the favour.”

Eloise backed away, bumping into Sam. “What’s going on?”

The guests formed a circle around them, their faces no longer friendly but predatory. Their eyes glowed faintly in the candlelight, and their smiles revealed elongated canines.

“Welcome to Bush Avenue,” Martha said, her voice now a low hiss. “You’ll find our hospitality… eternal.”

Panic set in. Sam grabbed Eloise’s hand, pulling her toward the stairs, but the guests blocked their path, moving with inhuman speed. Eloise swung her broomstick at the nearest figure, but it shattered against their chest.

“Don’t struggle,” Diego said, his voice calm. “It’s so much easier if you don’t struggle.”

Eloise’s mind raced. “This can’t be happening,” she thought. But the fangs, the glowing eyes, the unnatural strength—they were real.

Just as one of the guests lunged, Eloise spotted a rack of wine bottles. Without thinking, she grabbed the heaviest one and smashed it against the stone wall. The sharp, jagged edge glinted in her hand.

“Stay back!” she screamed, brandishing the broken bottle.

To her surprise, the vampires hesitated. Their smiles faltered, their eyes narrowing.

“Garlic,” Sam whispered. “The wine—it must be garlic-infused!”

Eloise didn’t stop to question it. She swung the bottle in wide arcs, the vampires retreating as she and Sam edged toward the stairs.

They burst out of the cellar, slamming the door behind them. The house, so welcoming earlier, now felt suffocating. The front door loomed ahead, but as they ran for it, the chandelier flickered, and shadows shifted.

Martha appeared in their path, her once-elegant face now monstrous. “You can’t leave,” she snarled, her voice guttural. “You belong to Bush Avenue now.”

Sam grabbed a candelabra from a nearby table and thrust it toward her. The flames flared, and Martha recoiled with a hiss, giving them just enough time to reach the door.

Outside, the night air hit them like a slap. They ran, not daring to look back until they reached their own house. Slamming the door behind them, they locked it, bolted it, and pushed a heavy cabinet in front of it for good measure.

The next morning, the street was eerily quiet. The Smiths’ house looked as it always had—unassuming, its windows dark. No sign of the grand party or the horrors of the cellar remained.

“We have to leave,” Eloise said, her voice trembling. “Today.”

Sam nodded, already packing.

As they drove away, they passed the Smiths’ house one last time. Diego stood on the porch, smiling and waving as if nothing had happened. Martha was beside him, her eyes glinting in the sunlight, though her shadow stretched unnaturally long across the yard.

For years, the Roths told no one of their ordeal. But every Halloween, no matter where they lived, they made sure to leave their porch dark, their door locked, and their thoughts far from the cursed street of Bush Avenue.