Deadname: She Stole the Wrong Life — A Halloween Horror Story

On Halloween, everybody gets to be someone else. But what if you had no name, no past, and nothing to lose? One young woman finds the perfect disguise, another girl's life. Trouble is, she has no idea who's been watching that girl.

Trick or treat! There's a chill in the air. Must be fall. Join me for a tale of Halloween. You will experience tales of horror, ghosts, and death. It is not recommended for the weak at heart. But who really listens to warnings anyway? This is Weekly Spooky.

Hello, my spookies. October has finally arrived. just as promised, and I am so excited to bring you one of many extra spookies for your weekly. Tonight is our first of many Halloween horror stories for you to enjoy to make sure you get the most out of your calendar spooky season. But before we get to that, I want to say thank you all so much for joining me.

I cannot wait to scare you with some Horror and joy. Because those do go hand in hand. So if you're new here, make sure you subscribe on your favorite podcast app. There'll be something scary, if not two or three, every single day in October. And, of course, in November and December, we bring the spooky to other holidays as well. But right now, oh my, it's time. Gather close, my spookies.

The jack-o'-lanterns are grinning. The candy bowl is getting suspiciously light. And somebody at the Halloween party is wearing a very convincing costume. Not a vampire or a werewolf. Somebody you think you know. And that is a lovely little Halloween trick, isn't it? A different face. A different voice. And suddenly you can spend a few hours being almost anyone. Usually the transformation ends when you peel off the mask, find glitter in places you didn't even know you had. Tonight we're meeting someone who doesn't have an old life waiting underneath.

No name that she can recall. No familiar place to return to. Just a terrible hunger to belong and an opportunity standing a little too close to the mirror. So settle in, keep your own face nearby, and be careful whose name you answer to. Dead Name by Morgan Moore Halloween is a weird holiday to me. It's the one day of the year when people choose who they want to be. Not in the normal way people decide how they want to be perceived or how they want to act, but actually decide, sometimes planning well in advance, who they want to become. Usually they choose to be anything but themselves, taking on the appearance and name of somebody or something else.

It's something that's always fascinated me, but then again, my perspective on identity is a little skewed. I don't have a name, or at least, I don't know my name. The way I remember it, life has simply happened. I know things, obviously, just nothing about me specifically. At the bare minimum, I have a vague idea of my age, 19 based on how others seem to treat me. Anything else is just trivial knowledge most people learn growing up.

I know how to read, take care of myself physically, write, use a computer, and things like that. But anything about me beyond my physical appearance is a mystery. A while back, I can tell time, but I have no idea how long ago this was, I woke up in a room in what I guessed was a bed and breakfast. The building was a house, so I just went with that. Anyway, when I woke up, I had my pajamas on, at least.

I assumed they were mine, and my regular clothes were sitting on a hope chest. I felt grimy, like when your hands are coated in thick film or dirt or sweat or stickiness for no real reason, so I took a shower. Naked and standing in front of the mirror, I didn't see anything to suggest I had been attacked or raped or Anything like that. I didn't see a bag, a purse, or any other belongings, so maybe I had been robbed. Hell, maybe I'd been drugged. Who knows? When I got dressed, I just left. Since then, I've wandered around the city. For a while, I tried to find clues to my identity, but I never turned anything up.

I went into grocery stores and even police stations, checking bulletin boards filled with missing persons reports, but I never saw my face. I started to think that if I had been drugged, it must have been something that really fucked with my head. If there had been any kind of bump or bruise on my head, I would have assumed amnesia, but I had nothing. Not having money meant I couldn't hire anybody to look into it for me, and I doubted donating blood or anything would help since I'd have to give my name. And, oh right, I don't have one. Eventually, I stopped looking and settled into the mindset that maybe it would come to me down the road, but it wasn't in the cards for me right now. And that's okay. Some people would probably say

that kind of thing leaves you a lot of freedom. And in a way, it does. No commitments holding me back from doing whatever I want. But you try getting a job or much of anything without a name or any form of identification. How could I do whatever the hell I wanted without money? not to mention I couldn't get a place to live, let alone figure out where I had lived before. So I live on the street and get by however I can, mostly from appropriating things I need from stores and shacking up in whatever abandoned buildings I come across. Before I knew it, Halloween was here, so at the very least, I knew it was October.

I don't remember much about Halloween beyond the usual things. I have no memory of favorite candy, but I do remember getting candy. I just couldn't tell you what kind. I can't remember any costumes I wore either, only that I must have worn them since every kid does. Costumes are what brought me to the store today. It gets tiring not having an identity, and I decided that, at the very least, I could have one today, even if it was only borrowing it. And hell, at least this way I could participate in something other than just being another person going through day-to-day motions, which, for me, meant...

a lot of time in libraries, long walks, and finding food however I could. Glancing around the Halloween section, it becomes pretty clear that waiting until the day of wasn't a great choice. There are next to no options left that are specifically based on people. My choices are generic costumes, a witch, a pirate, a student, things like that, Whatever I choose would mean adding some personal touch to it, which isn't exactly easy in this instance. While the costume selection isn't well-stocked, the masks are, for some reason. I pluck a witch costume in my size off the shelf and figure I can just throw on a mask to personalize it. Looking through them, I land on a Featureless one that's all black. If anything, the black mask and

costume fit my lack of identity pretty well. Getting it all out of the store isn't an issue. I simply slip into a dressing room, put the costume on under my clothes. That's it. Luckily, I wear baggy enough clothing to hide a good chunk of my appropriations. The mask... is a little trickier, so I just hold it and walk out of the store like an average Joe who bought something and didn't want a bag. Out of the store, I find the closest park bathroom, pull off my plain clothes, and slip the mask on. Looking in the mirror, I'm taken aback by the utter nothingness of my appearance. Tangled curls of brown hair Hanging over the mask are the only color, aside from my skin. And then it dawns on me that I don't have anything to do other

than wander around. All dressed up with nowhere to go sounds about right for where my life currently is, a living void. The bathroom door opens loudly, and by some instinct I can only attribute to basic human or animal survival, I take shelter in a stall and lock the door. A group of girls makes their way in and plants themselves in front of the sinks and mirrors where I had just been standing. Peeking through the space between the stall door and the wall, I watch them preen. Do we really have to go to this stupid party? One of them says. Looking over at her, I notice... Her hair is about the length of mine, only a few shades lighter. She's dressed as what I can only describe as a cherub by way of Mardi Gras, complete with

a mask that looks equally angelic and stereotypically clownish. I thought that's where you were meeting your secret admirer, another one asks, this one dressed in attire akin to a schoolgirl. Yeah, but I don't really have an interest now, the clown cherub says. Why? asks a girl dressed like a sexed-up Statue of Liberty. It was cute at first, but I don't know. It's also kind of creepy to think somebody's leaving notes and things all over the place for me. Well, we're still going. Unless you want to go home by yourself, you should come with us. the schoolgirl says. Of course, if you go home alone, you'd have to walk. And you never know, maybe your secret admirer slash stalker could be waiting to give you a treat or a trick,

the Statue of Liberty adds. Fine, give me a few minutes to touch myself up, the one with hair like mine tells them. All the girls save for the one with the apparent secret admirer leave the bathroom. Their friend alone to ready herself however she needs to. She slips off her mask and it's evident the similarities between us end at the face. Though our body frames are somewhat alike.

Mine is only a little thicker around the arms and legs. From her purse, she produces a small makeup bag and gets to work touching herself up. A thought enters my head as I watch her touch up her makeup. It's an idea that any sane person would never consider, never dare to act on. But it is Halloween, and my thoughts become as black as my costume. What is and isn't sane suddenly feels unimportant. I think of our only slightly different hair, our only slightly different frames. I think of really getting into the spirit of taking on the identity of something or somebody. I unlock the stall door and step out. The girl sees my ghastly appearance. and is visibly taken aback. She opens her mouth to say something,

but I give her no time. Before a full breath passes between her lips, I'm directly behind her. My hand latches on to the back of her head and slams her face-first into the mirror. I keep my eyes away from the remaining shards to avoid seeing the results of the damage as I repeat the action again. and again, and again, until I feel her go limp. Letting go of her head, I watch her slump to the ground, and for the first time, I look at what I caused.

Not wanting to risk her friends returning and finding the mess I made, I drag the body into the backmost stall, the one reserved for people with disabilities- and get to work undressing both of us. Just as quickly, I dress myself into this poor girl's costume. Looking at myself in one of the unbroken mirrors, I slide on the mask and complete the change from nameless nothing me to a girl who has plans, friends, a name, and a life.

It isn't a look I think is great, but hey, I shouldn't be too picky, right? I leave the bathroom and it doesn't take long to spot the other two girls sitting in a parked car. Thankfully, the one dressed as a schoolgirl is at the wheel. If it had been the dead girl's car, I would have had to get the keys. Aw, shit, that means I would have had to drive. and fuck me if I know how to do that. They haven't noticed me yet, and even though I don't need to look for keys, I quickly go back inside and grab her purse before making my way to the car. Well, it took you long enough, Constance, the Liberty Girl says. Constance. That was the girl's name.

Now it's mine. She is mine. It occurs to me then that I don't sound anything like her. Let's see. Maybe I can approximate it a little. Yeah, sorry, I had to pee, I say. Her voice was a few octaves higher than mine, so I raise my pitch to what I think is close enough. Excuses, excuses. the schoolgirl says in a playful chastisement. They haven't noticed it isn't the actual Constance yet. Maybe this is going to work.

I mean, I could have pissed in the car, I offer. Gross, she responds. I smile behind the mask. Can you bitches do the foreplay later so we can get to the party? The Statue of Liberty demands. Schoolgirl starts the car, and we're off to whatever party they and the old Constance were expected at. Behind the mask, I can feel my smile growing and my heart beating like somebody is playing double bass drums. I've been living, but for the first time since who knows when, I feel like I'm actually alive.

Whatever this party has to offer, I'm ready for anything, and salivating at the possibilities of what this knight, this costume, this girl named Constance, can give me. The party is what I imagined it would be. Lots of people in my supposed age range dressed in an oddball variety of costumes. Most of the boys are some form of superhero, athlete, pirate, knight, or generic thing with only a few dressed as anything related to scary movies or being creepy. The girls aren't much different, either wearing plain costumes or sexed-up versions of something ordinary. But the party itself is lively, and everybody's having the time of their lives. It's infectious, and as we walk in and my friends go off on their own,

I lose myself to the thrill of living. Nobody greets me, which I'm sure most people would hate, but honestly, I'm relieved. It means nobody knows who I am, even with a mask on, which means my little charade only has to be contained to the girls I came with. I'm sure some people here knew the real Constance. The dead Constance.

But until somebody approaches me as if I were her, I have no reason to worry. Hell, it makes partying even easier. I care little about talking to people, but I throw myself into dancing and socializing. At least a little. When I find the makeshift self-serve bar, I experiment with whatever sounds good and enjoy the rush and the slow spreading looseness. of the alcohol. The looseness, in turn, makes me a bit more willing to talk whenever somebody approaches.

I dance with people, whether they're boys or girls. When someone offers me a joint and some blow, I even do some of that, too. Because why the fuck not? If I'm going to truly live just one night before going back to the nothingness I've grown accustomed to then why not go hard or go home? I once read in the library about how the Amish will venture into the real world for a year or so, and how some go crazy with the freedom they have before returning to their old lives. In that sense, I am an Amish girl, let loose to explore and do whatever I want until it's time to go back. Making my way through the house and outside, it becomes pretty obvious that somebody is watching me. A guy in a cat-in-the-hat costume.

I have to admit, he's unique compared to everybody else. Walking around the yard, I keep finding him, and whenever I do, his eyes are locked on me. I don't know what I would have done if not for the costume, or the booze, or the drugs, or even what I would have done in whatever life I had before this one.

But I'm feeling nice and relaxed from everything, and Constance seems like the kind of girl who might have a little fun with a guy. After a while, he makes his way over to me.

Constance?

he asks. and I suddenly want to retreat. He's the first person to ask who I am. But cocaine and liquor have left me open enough to stay here instead of running away. Yeah? I say. Can we go somewhere to talk? He asks. I nod, and he takes my hand and leads me to a small park down the road, then to a pavilion. He starts to talk, but by this point I'm getting swept up in a sea of unclarity from everything I've had. What he's saying has something to do with our apparent relationship, so it's easy to guess that he knows Constance. But something about the way he talks is weird, and not because I'm shitfaced. He talks like we were an item, but... Like we're in a rough spot. Something about how I don't respond to

calls or texts or show enough gratitude for the gifts he gives me. There's a change as he keeps going. He goes from sounding like someone in love but kind of sad to angry. And not just angry but full-blown pissed. I would say something back but I don't know anything about the dead girl, and I'm too drunk and too high to think of anything as he keeps going. And then I laugh. Suddenly I'm on the ground, and the side of my face is pounding. He's standing above me, fists clenched. He hit me. I try to move to stand up, but His foot comes flying and this cat doesn't have paws for feet. He's wearing boots that I can tell are steel-toed from how they feel when one connects with my stomach, and then again when he kicks

me in the side. Inside the mask it gets hard to breathe, between the pain, the breath being forced out of me, and the confinement of my face inside rubber. I want it off so he can see I'm not the dead girl. I'm just somebody who looks a little like her. Somebody who killed her for a night just to be anything other than an empty shell. But it hurts too much to move, and my brain is going in too many directions to name, except for shock and fear.

I look up at him. and see that he's taking what looks like a utility knife out of the pocket of the suit jacket he used for his costume. With a quick click, the blade is out for the world to see. And it is that moment, at that exact moment, I realize Constance is going to die. I am going to die. I, whoever I am, am about to be killed and I can't do anything about it even if I took the mask off he would probably still kill me and when the blade starts to force itself into me again and again it dawns on me that nobody is going to know what to do with me even if the friends I came with find my body They'll realize I'm not Constance. I'm nobody. I'll only be a Jane Doe, and there won't be anybody to claim me.

They might release a description of my body, but I'm too plain-looking for anybody to know me from a description. Shit, it isn't like they'll release a picture of my dead face. No, I'm going to die utterly alone. and nobody will care, and I'll be another statistic in a list of unsolved murders. I feel cold and wet, and the man leaves me and goes wherever. Alone once more, I find that I'm not mad, or that I even have the will to fight to survive. The knowledge that I'm going to die has numbed me more than any drink or drug. And why should I want to live? I've done nothing but live a life that is a blur of trivial things followed by utter nothingness from the moment I woke up alone in that house. So little did I have in

my life that I killed a girl just to get a taste of hers. And here I am. about to stop living. Maybe this is God's punishment for killing somebody so I could be them. It's a cruel final bit of irony when I really think about it. I finally get to have a name, only to end up on a list of the dead who have no name. Well, my spookies, that's one costume you won't find on the clearance rack. This Halloween, try to stick to borrowing a cape, not someone's entire life, and if you have a secret admirer and they seem a little too secret, maybe skip the moonlit stroll. Big thank you to Morgan Moore, a regular and appreciated contributor here at Weekly Spooky. And make sure you're subscribed because there's going to be something scary

if not two or three scary things to listen to every single day in October, including tomorrow when I sit down with D.L. Wainwright to talk all about folklore and vampires. And I want to say thank you all so much for heading to weeklyspooky.com slash join and supporting us for as little as $ 1 a month. It really does make a huge difference for the show. There are over 90 Spookys supporting us, and now's a great time for you to join up as well. And speaking of, I want to say an extra special thank you to our Patreon podcast boosters. Those are folks who pay just a little bit more to hear their names at the end of the show. And they are Johnny Nix, Kate and Lulu, Jessica Fuller, Mike Eschewy, Jenny Green, Karen Weemet, Jack Kerr,

and Craig Cohen. Thank you all so much. And if you want to hear your name at the end of every episode of Weekly Spooky, just head to weeklyspooky.com slash join and sign up at the $ 15 a month or higher tier. It really makes a difference and means a whole hell of a lot to me. But now it's time for me to get back to work because as October approaches, we'll be publishing more than just once a day.

We'll have special novellas, extra stories, all kinds of goodies for you to enjoy right here, so make sure you're subscribed. Now it's time for me to get back to it. So many things to record, including a very special Thursday Thrills episode. with brand new horror Halloween releases you will not want to miss. So, see you tomorrow. For myself, for my executive producers, Rob Fields and Bobletopia.com, my producer, Dan Wilder, and my creepy composer, Ray Mattis, talk at you tomorrow.

Thank you for listening. Make sure to find your way back next week. But for now, you are safe. Trust me.

Deadname: She Stole the Wrong Life — A Halloween Horror Story

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