"Dudurugin Natin Sila!"

Helga is still alive but looks as though her filthy soul had somehow transported itself to another plane of existence and is now being roasted in Hell forever and ever without end. White puffs of smoke float from her mouth and nostrils. Even from her ears. She looks like a smoldering teapot put upon a blazing coal-stove.

"Dudurugin natin sila!"

The girl with a long, high-lighted hair wearing a black garment touches her trembling lips. She cranes her neck and lifts her face to the red-headed guy beside her whose square-jawed face is as violet as a purple yam. A huge, silver nail is embedded in his right temple with its sharp tip jutting out from the other side of his head. His adam's apple bobs, his eyes as big as a soup plate.

"Helga, what's happening to you?" Sharon take a couple of steps forward and gingerly put her hands over Helga's shaking shoulder. "Helga, can you hear me? Talk to me."

"Is this for real?" The girl wearing a tattered white shirt covered with splatters of red substances does the sign-of-the-cross. A crater-like mound protrudes from the upper left side of her skull, with seemingly dried, orangey substances that oozed from it and coating most of her coarsey, white hair. She must have been shot by the head with an assault rifle, or perhaps a double-barreled shotgun."W-What's happening to TL Helga? Is-Is she going to die?"

"Janice!" The girl with a long, wavy hair lifts her hand and pokes Janice on her side, making the latter to almost jump to her feet. The girl is wearing a long white garment which slightly resembles the same outfit a choir member in the Iglesia ni Cristo uses on their worship service. "Watch your language."

"Should I call a doctor?" The guy wearing a red varsity jacket and black jeans throws an inquiring look at the girl in white garb. The strands of fake blue furs meticulously plastered on his cheeks and neck dance along with the gentle blow of the ceiling fan above us. If he's trying to imitate the Teenage Werewolf or the Beast of X-Men, I will never know. He turns around. The girl in white garb grabs his hand.

"No, Nelson. Stay where you are."

"But Annie!"

"Dudurugin natin sila!"

"Helga! What's happening to you? Talk to me! Please!"

Helga's eyes shift and bore into Sharon.

"Helga? What-"

Tendrils of white smoke, as thick and bloated as coagulated jelly, come rushing out from Helga's gaping mouth and hit Sharon square in the face. Her pallid lips curve into an impish grin, eyes vacant and glassy behind her eyeglasses.

"Jesus Christ! Let me out of here! Mama!" The scream of the boy wearing a skeleton attire is enough to send a chill down my spine. Something is really happening to Helga. Demonic possession? Losing her marbles? What? Skeleton Boy grasps his wireless headset from his sparkling head with his shaking fingers and throws it on the floor, lips twitching, and blue eyes welling up as if he is about to burst out crying. A dreadful realization hits me hard in the pit of my stomach. A gut feeling that something even more frightening and disturbing than the vision of a smoldering black witch, is about to come. I can't prove it. But I know what I know.

Skeleton Boy turns around and starts dashing away from our happy little congregation. The temptation to stand up, call this a night, and get out of here as quickly as I can, as soon as possible, is almost dire, but I force myself not to succumb to my survival instinct. Not a chance. I may be scared, sure, but I am not a coward.

"Jarvis! Where are you going?"

Skeleton Boy just brushes pass Precious without acknowledging her.

"Helga!" Sharon shakes Helga again, this time, more firmly and urgent. "Helga, talk to me!"

Helga's mouth snaps shut like a stringed trap door. She turns her head to Sharon, blinking.

Helga is a teapot. She no longer boils, that part is over, thank goodness, but the hot temper that is inside her still poses a great threat. She can still scald. This girl has an erratic mind and a volatile nature, after all. Helga is crazy. And crazy people are dangerous. They must be locked up.

"Sharon?" Helga pushes her eyeglasses up back her nose, still blinking.

"Helga? What-"

Helga snatches the cellphone away from Sharon's hand.

"Those humbags! The fools! They just sent me that stupid Lolita Outbreak message, Sharon. Stupid gullibles." Helga's voice sounds weak, defeated even. Her eyes widen a bit and nostrils flare as she looks at her phone. She is catching her breath. "I will sue them. I'll see them in court. This isn't fair. I want justice. Stupid!"

"Helga, what just happened to you?" Sharon lifts her hand and gently caresses Helga's right cheek.

Helga lifts her head and glowers at Sharon.

"What kind of a horrible depraved question is that? I just received an avalance of hate messages, remember? You think that calls for a celebration, Sharon? Seriously?"

"I'm always serious, Helga."

"Then what-"

"You said that you will crash them. Who's them? Those agents that you terminated?"

"Huh? I said those things?"

"Yes, you did. Aside from that..." Sharon's eyes are like spotlights, searching Helga's face, perhaps looking for any sign of lacerations or cuts caused by supernaturals, if something supernaturals really did happen, that is. "White smoke rose from your mouth and nose." Sharon lowers her voice. "And-And you looked like being possessed by a demon, Helga. It was horrible."

"Perhaps you were just hallucinating- "

"I saw it, Helga. We all saw it."

Helga looks stunned. Behind her eyeglasses, her eyes are blinking pretty much the same way a reckless doe standing in the middle of a road might blink at the blinding headlights of a speeding car heading her way. Helga looks over her shoulder.

The faces of my co-agents looking back at her. Jeez, they all look like a horde of zombified creatures staring at a black witch. Can't believe I'm working with all these creeps in this ancestral house. How did I end up here? What am I doing here?

"Are you all right, Helga?" Precious looks amused rather than disturbed. She arches an eyebrow. "What happened to- "

Helga starts to make a sound.

Is she crying? Why would she cry? Perhaps...wait! She's not crying. Helga's-

Helga's laughing!

The sound of Helga's laughter is as piercing as the shrill sound of a boiling teakettle.

That's it! Game over! Helga finally goes pyscho. Run, Fyodor! Run while there's still time!

"Boo! Got you, guys! Trick or treats!"

Trick or treats? Helga pulling a trick on us? Unbelievable!

Juliet, the Bride of Frankenstein and Romeo, the Frankenstein's Monster, glance at each other. Romeo shrugs.

"Prank!"

"Oh, my God, Helga." Precious touches her heaving chest. Her fake smile is so obvious. "Oh, my God! You really scared the living daylight out of us. That was a good one. Oh, my God!"

"Got you, Precious."

"We really thought you were being possessed by a bad spirit, TL Helga. How dare you!" Rose is seemingly shaken, but smiling, anyway. She is grasping her silver crucifix dangling upon her neck with her thumb and point finger, toying it. "Gosh, your acting was so believable I almost peed in my pants!"

"You should have seen your faces." Helga drops her cellphone inside the pocket of her dark gown without taking her eyes off them. "Such babies."

Nervous giggles. Jeez, my co-agents are being as fake as those blots of red substances messing their heads and faces. They're just getting along with Helga. Pretending to buy what she just said. Wanting to believe her. I can't prove it, but I know what I know.

Helga, with a mischievous grin plastering her face, turns to Sharon.

"We got them, Sharon."

Sharon stares at Helga, blinking.

"Enough, Sharon. We already got these poor creatures. See? Mission accomplished."

Sharon seems to stumble for words. Her mouth wavers, opens, and then shuts again. She gazes straight at me, her face dark and gloomy under the pale green light.

I gravely nod. Being a call center agent sucks. Nobody likes to work, after all. All we want is money. Without it, we'll perish on the sidewalk of the street, as good as dead, never to be seen again. But to get money, we must earn it. One way or another. And Sharon shares that very depressing philosophy of mine. She can't afford to lose this job, and neither do I, for all practical reasons. Philippines' economy has declined miserably for the past ten years; unemployment so prevailant across the country, poverty indestructible as the smallpox virus, and starvation almost a mathematical certainty.

Sharon shifts her gaze back at Helga, her lips curving into a wan smile. "Absolutely, Helga. We've got them. Mission accomplished!" She looks at Precious and winks. "Trick or treats, guys. Happy Halloween!"