A Horribly Haunted Halloween

She doesn’t want to think about . . . coming home. Or what it will mean.”
“Of course. I understand,” Angela said smiling. “Did you notice anyone the night before? Did you hear anything, see anything?”
“I’m so sorry. Nothing. I woke up and left and saw it and thought . . . wow. Good job. I had no idea . . . oh, God. I wouldn’t let the kids onto the property. It’s still not our property. But I just thought someone had done one hell of a job making the old place fun. I wish I could help.”
“You have helped. It was first there the morning of the 27th, right?” she said.
He nodded gravely. “Good thing I had an appointment that morning, I guess.”
“Yes,” Angela said softly. She handed him her card. “If you think of anything—”
“Of course. On the other side of the old place—the Miller house—you might have better luck. Ned Miller and his wife Greta are younger. Both in their late thirties. She’s a doctor and he’s a real estate whiz. Made their money young and bought the place when old man Kelly and his wife sold out and moved to Florida.”
“Thank you.”
“Should I be worried? The grandkids are coming this afternoon.”
“Sir, we don’t know much of anything yet, but you might want to keep the kids in the house today. I believe a forensic crew will be out there quite a while,” Angela said. She smiled and left him, noting again the hearse being driven by the skeleton. Quite a display. Available at the chain of hardware stores and probably others. It was costly—several hundreds of dollars—but if she remembered the sign right, it was easy to assemble.
She was crossing by the old Fillmore place—with the hearse and police cars now in front of it and the forensic crew picking their way through creatures and ghoulish objects—when Jackson joined her.
“Did you learn anything?” he asked her.
She nodded. “It went up the night of the 26th. Mr. Greenburg is sure he saw it first on the morning of the 27th.”
“And today is the 30th. Tomorrow is Halloween,” Jackson said.
“And displays will come down,” Angela murmured. She pulled her phone out. “I’m going to let Barry know right away when the display was first seen.”
“Good. We need to make sure all information is shared as quickly as possible.” He was thoughtful as they walked. “I let Corby take a walk down this street because every house has decorations out, elaborate decorations. It’s an affluent area. And yes, they’ll all come down in a few days’ time. But what if . . . what if our guy is just planning for Halloween?”
“You mean something . . . like a display with all victims? He’s only getting started and his grand finale is going to be Halloween?”
Jackson nodded grimly.
“Do you think the victim was random? Someone in the wrong place at the wrong time? If we can get an identification on the victim, it would help.”
“They’re running his prints. Angela, we may have a serious problem. People are staying in this year, but it doesn’t mean America isn’t recognizing Halloween. There are more and more displays—bigger and more elaborate.”
They had reached the Miller house. Jackson knocked on the door. An attractive woman in a T-shirt and jeans answered the door, looking at them suspiciously.
“Are you cops?” she asked anxiously.
“FBI,” Jackson said. And they both produced their credentials.
“I’m Greta Miller. Dr. Greta Miller. Oh, God, what is going on? I saw the police cars and the medical examiner . . . and I have kids! What happened?”
Jackson explained and asked if she or her husband—or their kids—had seen anything the night the display had gone up.
“I start work at seven—I have the kids up and going by a quarter of six,” she said. “We go to bed at ten o’clock around here.” She frowned worriedly. “At night, there was nothing. In the morning, it was all set up.”
“Did you see strangers surveying the place recently? Anyone in the neighborhood who shouldn’t have been around?” Angela asked.
Greta Miller suddenly made a little squeaking sound. Angela saw she wasn’t alone; a little boy of six or seven was behind his mother.
“Jeffrey! Go back to the television room,” Greta said. “Mommy will be right there.”
Angela smiled at the little boy. He looked at her with huge brown eyes.
“I saw the bogeyman!” he said.
“Jeffrey, please—” his mother began.
Angela hunkered down on one knee to look at the boy. “It’s okay, Dr. Miller,” she said. “Jeffrey, hi, I’m Angela. What bogeyman did you see?”
“He’s a child,” Greta murmured.
Angela just smiled. Jeffrey looked nervously at his mother.
“I’m not supposed to be up at night,” he said. “But it’s really hard to make yourself sleep.”
“Of course,” Angela agreed.
“I saw him out the window. My bedroom is by the old haunted house. I almost screamed but I was afraid he would see me. I ducked low and watched him. He walked in with all the stuff. I was afraid he’d come here. But I didn’t want to scream because . . .” He paused to look at his mother again. “I’m not supposed to be up in the night.”
Angela glanced at Greta Miller.
The woman understood. She set her hand gently on her son’s head. “Jeffrey, it’s okay. You couldn’t sleep. I understand. Please tell this lady what you saw.”
“What did he look like?” Angela asked gently.
Jeffrey frowned, confused they didn’t understand already.
“The bogeyman,” he said.
“What did the bogeyman wear?” she asked.
“Bogeyman clothes,” Jeffrey said. “A big black cape with a hood. He was still for a minute, and I thought . . . I thought he turned into one of his creatures. But then he moved. He walked back to his car, and I saw him drive away. I grabbed my teddy bear and went back to bed.”
Jackson hunkered down by Angela. “Jeffrey, did you see the Bogeyman’s car?”
He nodded gravely.
“What was it like?” Angela asked.
“Black . . . like . . .”
He pointed outside, to a black SUV.
“I