It's nearly the witchin' hour -- time to enter the Courier's annual Ghostwriters' Contest.

Deadline

for entries is 5 p.m. Tuesday, Oct. 15.

We supply the leads, and you write the scary endings -- in 300 words or less. Courier Sports Editor Doug Newhoff contributed the youth lead; Arts/Special Sections Editor Melody Parker wrote the adult intro.

Readers 16 and older must enter the adult category; anyone younger writes the youth ending. First-place winners in both categories win $100; second-place finishers, $50; and third-place winners, $25.

No late entries will be accepted.

Send legible entries to Ghostwriters Contest, in care of Melody Parker, Waterloo Courier, P.O. Box 540, Waterloo 50704, or e-mailed to melody.parker@wcfcourier.com.

Please include your name, address and phone number.

Here's another twist

We'll select the top five entries in each category and display finalists' entries on our Web site, www.wcfcourier.com. Click into Ghostwriters and vote. If you're 16 or older, vote in the adult category. Children vote in the youth category.

Entries will be online by on Friday, Oct. 19 at www.wcfcourier.com. Visitors have until 8 a.m. Oct. 23 to cast a vote. Duplicate votes will be discarded.

Winners will be published Oct. 28

First-place winners in each category will have an opportunity to record their stories and the audio will be available online at our Web site.

ADULT CATEGORY

The moon scuttled behind the clouds, and a light fog began to rise across the fields, drifting like a ghost across the highway. Mile markers stood out like skeletons in the headlights.

Kelley gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Her eyes flicked back and forth from the road to the "ENGINE" light on the dashboard, glowing red like a malevolent eye. "Please no … come on, baby, we can make it … we're almost home …", she muttered.

Everything went silent and dark. The car rolled to a stop on the shoulder of the road. Fear rising in her chest, Kelley peered out the windshield at the thickening fog. She checked her cell phone. Still no signal.

Her fingers toyed with the door lock. Should she stay in the car and wait for someone to drive past or get out and walk for help? Her mind made up, Kelley popped the lock and stepped out. Fishing out a small flashlight from her purse, she began walking, nearly jogging. She kept her eyes trained on illuminated ribbon of road at her feet, not daring to look back.

Nearly a half-hour later, she caught the glint of a mailbox at the end of a well-worn lane. A carved pumpkin sat on the post, its jack-o'-lantern eyes dark and menacing, its mouth agape. Kelley stopped, heart pounding, and caught her breath. Her digital wristwatch flashed 11:54 p.m. "Six minutes to the witchin' hour, pumpkin boy," she said. Hearing her own voice was startling, sort of like whistling in a graveyard at midnight.

She turned and started up the lane. "Maybe there's a phone …" she thought, gravel crunching under her feet. Rounding the last bend, she stopped and listened hard. She could hear faint music.

"… I'm on the hunt, I'm after you … scent and a sound, I'm lost and I'm found and I'm hungry like a wolf …"

Kelley laughed aloud. "Duran Duran? Now that's scary … I must be lost in the '80s."

Shriveled leaves scattered ahead of a sudden cold wind. The curtain of fog briefly parted and Kelley caught a glimpse of a Victorian-style turret rising high into the night sky. A shadow crossed in front of the lone light flickering in the window. A shiver of fright crawled across her skin as laughter died in her throat.

Should she slip back into the darkness? Or walk right up and bang on the door? Hopefully, she flipped open her cell phone. No luck.

Well, she'd come this far … there really was no going back.

Steeling her nerves, she skirted the broken concrete steps and stepped onto the sidewalk, nearly overgrown with frost-blackened weeds.

" … I'm on the hunt, I'm after you … mouth alive with juices like wine … and I'm hungry like a wolf …" the music grew louder as she climbed onto the porch.

Holding her flashlight in a death grip, Kelley pounded her fist against the front door. Time seemed to stand still.

Creaking with effort, the door slowly swung inward. A figure stepped into the void, its arms outstretched.

Kelley screamed.

CHILDREN'S CATEGORY

At exactly 2:29 p.m., every head in Mrs. Crumpett's math class turned to watch the clock.

It was always the longest minute of the day, but the little hand finally jumped to the 6 o'clock position, and not even the shrill clanging of the day's last bell could drown out the excitement of 30 sixth-graders as they scrambled for the door.

"Halloween is my favorite day of the year!" exclaimed Tessa. "I'm having a party. My mom and I are making cupcakes and orange punch, my sisters are helping me put up lots of scary decorations, and my dad is putting body parts all over the garage. Everybody is invited. It's going to be awesome!"

Jason, Freddy and Becca took a seat near the back of the scarred old Bluebird. Tessa sat in front of them, right behind bus driver Hannibal Balicann.

"I got an idea," whispered Jason. "Let's scare Tessa. Let's get old Hannibal to give her the scare of her life."

"Man, he's creepy," said Freddy. "He doesn't even need a mask. His teeth are so rotten they're black, his breath smells like the boys' restroom and that one bloodshot eye of his always seems to be looking at you."

During the half-hour bus ride to Butcher Hill, a plan was hatched and Jason, Freddy and Becca rushed home to make the arrangements.

By 5 p.m., Tessa's house was ready for her party. The jack-o'-lanterns were lit. A dummy hung from the tree in the front yard. A motion-activated recording of a chain saw and screaming victim greeted visitors, and the bloody, decapitated head of a young boy rolled back and forth on the landing.

"Pretty good," said Freddy. "But wait until she comes to our party."

The Butcher Hill threesome were perfect guests. They enjoyed the cupcakes and punch. They feigned fear as they went through the garage and felt the olives that represented the eyeballs of Igor, touched his warm, wet, beating heart and were grabbed by his bony hand.

At 7 o'clock, the party ended. It was time to trick or treat.

"Tessa, come on out with us," Becca pleaded. "We're going around the block and over to the old Jackson farmhouse. A bunch of parents turned it into a haunted house. It'll be a blast."

After a street filled with treats, the Butcher Hill gang was ready to spring their trick on Tessa. They approached the old farmstead, where the windows had been covered with boards, the door hung on one hinge and the wooden steps creaked under foot.

"Are you sure this is OK?" asked Tessa.

"Oh, yeah," said Freddy. "I'll go first. You guys follow me."

Inside, a candle provided the only light. Red stains streaked the yellowed walls, spelling out the name "Hannibal." A rat scurried off to hide. A shovel stood in the corner, and a set of muddy footprints led across the room to an ancient rocking chair. In it sat Hannibal Balicann.

Freddy muffled a snicker as he felt Tessa squeeze in tight behind him and clutch the back of his shirt.

And then the candle went out, and a hand closed over his mouth.

. : Vote for your favorite."