LIT ANGELS #28: Halfway to Halloween
Guest Edited by Melissa Pleckham
LIT ANGELS #28: Halfway to Halloween
Edited By: Melissa Pleckham
Founding Editor: Francesca Lia Block
Art By: Johanna Öst
Table Of Contents
1. The Midnight Treatment by Lezlie Williams Mitchell
2. Stevia Wonder, an excerpt from Venice Peach by Jessamyn Violet
3. Ecdysis by Callie S. Blackstone
4. Sympathy for the Taphophile: A Poem by Melissa Pleckham
5. Dracula’s Brides by Stephanie Valente
6. The Barking by Carol Faw
7. Ekphrastic Movie Reviews — Bad Brains, Andy Warhol’s Frankenstein, Tippi Hedren’s Talons: Poems by Jack Skelley
8. Guillotine by Robin Carr
9. Six Sins by Colin Hinckley
10. Persistence of Vision by Dino Parenti
11. Nosferatu, Monster Mash: Poems by David Trinidad
12. They’ll Come With The Cold Winds by John Palisano
13. Artist Bio: Johanna Öst
The Midnight Treatment
By Lezlie Williams Mitchell
“Walpurgis Night, when, according to the belief of millions of people, the devil was abroad — when the graves were opened and the dead came forth and walked. When all evil things of earth and air and water held revel. This very place the driver had specially shunned. This was the depopulated village of centuries ago. This was where the suicide lay; and this was the place where I was, alone — unmanned, shivering with cold in a shroud of snow with a wild storm gathering again upon me! It took all my philosophy, all the religion I had been taught, all my courage, not to collapse in a paroxysm of fright.” ― Bram Stoker
Few places in this realm breed desperation like the infamous Hollywoodland. Desperation lurks behind a carousel of masks — ambition, insecurity, self-loathing. But above all else, it is the lure of immortality that calls new souls to this town…and traps the old ones.
On Walpurgis Night 2025, one such soul found herself ensnared in its grip: Misty Blue, a screenwriter once touched by fleeting glory, had ridden the wave of a Sundance triumph in 2012. But that wave had long since receded, leaving only the ache of what once was.
Anyone who has tasted success knows the intoxicating rush of being touched by the gods— the validation that burrows deep and refuses to let go. Misty Blue was no different. The struggle to recapture that fleeting moment, to ride the wave once more, never quieted.
It was that hunger that led her to say yes to Enneth Kanger’s invitation. How could she refuse? He was a legend.
Enneth’s text blared like a siren call:
Enneth: You're invited to our Walpurgis gathering. Santa Monica Beach. Come if you still believe in Hollywood magic.
Misty: OMG!!! YES!! THANK YOU!
Enneth: Very good. It starts at 11:00pm. I'll find you.
Misty's mind began to race. She hadn't felt this feeling surging through her in years. What should she wear? Who else was invited? And how would Enneth find her? He didn't tell her where to park.
Misty: Where should I park?
Misty got a notification that Enneth was driving and unavailable to talk or text. She walked to her kitchen and opened a new bottle of Tintero Bianco, a far cry from her favorite 2009 Château d’Yquem she drank throughout 2012. Her hard wiring for opulence remained, regardless of how she paid her bills. She got the wiring from her father, who was a successful architect. He never supported her cinematic aspirations until his co-worker Maria brought in a copy of IndieWire featuring Misty to work. He framed the article and placed it on his mustard office wall, directly behind his prized goggle desk and above his balding head. That day, he became Misty's number one fan.
Misty downed her glass of sparkling white as she sank into her velvet blue couch, already topping her Laurel Canyon Cafe mug off with another round. Everything felt right.
What should I wear?
She typed “attire for Walpurgis party on the beach” into her phone. Nothing. Frowning, she erased the second half and tried again: “attire for Walpurgis party.” This time, an avalanche of links appeared — witch dresses, pointed hats, spectral capes — all drenched in gothic excess. Not quite right.
She refined the search once more: “attire for evening beach party.” The results were even worse — faded remnants of 2016 Nordstrom Rack wedding sales, all chiffon and regret.
With a sigh, she drained the last of the Tintero bottle and pushed herself up to raid her closet. But before she reached the bedroom door — a sharp knock shattered the silence.
Misty looked out of the peephole to see who was there. She assumed it was her routine Amazon delivery, but there was no one to be seen.
“Hello?” she said, as she continued to gaze out of the peephole.
Three more knocks banged on her door. Misty froze. She instinctively held her breath as she tried to look towards the right and then left through the peephole. No one was there. Terror began to stir inside of her as she fought off a panic attack. "I am safe. I am protected. I am in control.” She whispered her affirmations as she gripped her mug in her hands, trying her best to center herself. Misty screamed as her phone buzzed in her pocket.
“Fuck."
She sat on the ground by her front door, placing her mug beside her. It was a text from Enneth.
Enneth: Did you get the package I sent you for tonight?
Misty: Not yet, but someone just knocked on my door.
Enneth: Well, open the door.
Misty’s hands trembled as she knelt and twisted the front door open. There, resting on the threshold, sat an exquisite lavender box, its royal purple bow tied with eerie precision. She hesitated, reaching for it with only the tips of her fingers, her body still safely inside.
The moment it was in her grasp, she slammed the door shut, locking the handle with a sharp click before bolting the chain in one swift motion. Only then did she exhale.
Clutching the box and her half-forgotten mug, she drifted to the couch, her pulse still unsteady. An ivory card was taped to the lid, beckoning.
With great fortune comes great sacrifice. Wear this tonight and shine like the star that you are. - E.K.
Misty smiled as she ran her fingers across his crimson embossed initials. She untied the bow and flung the lid on the floor. Inside was a dried red rose and a bottle of Guerlain Shalimar, Marilyn Monroe's signature scent.
What is my life right now?
Misty sprayed her wrist and inhaled. It was pure bliss.
She emptied the remainders from the box and gasped: There was a pristine vintage Chanel cocktail dress in black, a silver body chain with a stunning clear quartz attached, a velvet burgundy hooded cape, and a pair of vintage winged suede heels in black. The night would be perfect; it had to be.
Misty: Thank you. I don't know what to say.
Enneth: The pleasure is mine. Everyone is excited to meet you tonight. Your car will arrive at 10:30pm. Sharp.
Misty: Ok. Is it possible to bring a close friend with me? My neighbor Marlene is an aspiring actress. She's beautiful, and formidable too.
Enneth: I'm sure she is lovely. But this invitation is for you, and you alone. You were the one summoned by name: The talented Misty Blue. I will introduce you to new friends.
Misty: I understand. Looking forward to new friends. See you tonight! Thanks again Enneth!
Enneth: See you in an hour.
Misty drained the last of her drink and scooped up her evening attire, anticipation thrumming beneath her skin. She drifted to her room, then collapsed onto the bed, tossing the clothes aside as her thoughts raced.
She had to tell someone. The moment was too electric, too surreal to let it slip away like so many other things in her life.
Marlene!
How could she share this without it sounding like gloating? She hesitated, then reached for her phone.
Misty: Hey! I am going to this beach party tonight. I don't really know anyone there so I'm going to ping you my location when I get there, ok?
Marlene: Please tell me this isn't with some guy you swiped right on again?
Misty: LOL, promise! It's kind of a work thing.
Marlene: Oh, that's cool! Yeah, let me know where you're at. Can't wait to hear about it! Brunch tomorrow?
Misty: Yes!!!
Misty sat up and peeled off her Saturday morning uniform—her one-size-too-small lightning bolt yoga pants and the vintage Purple Rain shirt her mom had gifted her (Prince in his full glory, of course). Her feet were a ghastly sight, but thankfully, tonight’s shoes were closed toe.
She slipped into her fishnet stockings, then adorned herself with each piece from Enneth’s box, layering on the mystery like armor.
Finally, she turned to the mirror. Starting at her feet, she traced every detail of her reflection, slowly working her way upward, until she met her own gaze.
She didn’t cringe. That was good.
But she wasn’t dazzled either.
Makeup — time for makeup. And hair.
She sat at her vanity and pressed play. “Falling” by Julee Cruise; her favorite. She let it loop, the dreamlike melody washing over her like a spell.
With practiced ease, she began her transformation — strong brows, razor-sharp winged liner, and her signature red lip, painted on like a seal of intent. She reached for the bottle of Guerlain Shalimar, misting it over her neck, wrists, and the hollow of her ankles. The scent bloomed around her, a ghost of old Hollywood.
Finally, she tucked the dried red rose behind her right ear.
She met her own gaze in the mirror. “I don’t chase. I attract,” she whispered.
She wasn’t entirely convinced. But it was the best she could do.
And it was time to go.
Enneth was waiting by the black limousine, a shadow in the mist. His impeccably tailored suit was the color of midnight, his slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair styled with the effortless precision of an old Hollywood icon. He flicked his cigarette to the ground, embers dying in the damp air, then extended his arm, his invitation silent but absolute.
“Good evening, Misty,” he murmured, his touch light but deliberate as he guided her into the sublime Rolls-Royce limousine. It couldn’t have been younger than a 1935 model — sleek, ghostly, timeless.
She felt his gaze on her as she slid inside, a quiet intensity tracking the curve of her silhouette. Even without looking, she knew he was watching her.
Misty settled by the window, placing her handbag beside her — a small, silent barrier.
Enneth followed, shutting the door with an unnervingly soft click. He was tall, his frame too long for the space, making his movements feel almost unnatural. With an easy, unbothered grace, he reached over, moved her handbag to the other side, and — despite the open seats — sat directly beside her.
"Want a smoke?” he asked as he put his arm behind her neck. He smelled sensational.
"Um, sure,” said Misty, despite being a non-smoker.
"Misty, let me give you some advice, if I may,” he said as he lit his cigarette and took a drag. "Don't say yes to anything in this life, no matter who is asking you, unless it's a resounding yes in your heart and soul.” He took another drag. “Unless, of course, you are deciding to make a conscious bargain — and if so, it better be worth it.”
Misty could feel her face turning red.
"So, would you like a smoke?” he asked her once more.
Misty looked boldly into his hypnotic black eyes.
"I said yes, didn’t I?” she said, as she took the cigarette from his well-manicured hand and took a drag. She turned forward as she handed the cigarette back to Enneth. She could see the ocean out her window — but no driver.
Misty felt Enneth’s gaze settle on her, a slow, deliberate weight. She shivered. She was prey, and he was the predator, patient and poised.
“Enneth,” she said.
“Yes?" he replied, touching the dried rose in her hair.
"Who is driving?”
Enneth didn't respond; instead, he took another drag from his cigarette and sat back into the car seat, legs spread open and arms taking up the entire back headrest.
"We've arrived, Misty Blue,” he announced. "Let's have some fun.”