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It’s October and I’m going for the obvious: Halloween. Or All Saints’ Eve or Hallowmas Eve or whatever you prefer. It doesn’t have to be ghostly though if you can give us all the shivers that would be fun.
Max 400 words, connected to 31st October in some way.
Deadline midnight 31st October.
(Apologies – my weak attempt at humour!)
HALLOWEEN IN NEVERSAY VILLAGE
395 words including title.
Every 31st October the Neversay villagers put on a grand Halloween party complete with disco, buffet, games and treats for the children. It saved, they decided long ago, being bothered in their homes by naughty trick and treaters and the children loved being allowed to stay up until after midnight.
Every 31st October in Neversay at midnight the lights were dimmed in the village hall and the atmosphere grew eerie with only the candlelight from the pumpkin lanterns casting shadows everywhere. It was then that the villagers wondered aloud whether this was the year they would see the ghostly figure of The Lady in Grey who was rumoured to wander the village at the onset of All Saints Day. They never had.
She, so the story went, had been the Lady of the Manor and was a virtuous benefactress, sometimes taking orphans into the Manor House, much to her husband’s displeasure. One Halloween, he lost his temper completely and murdered her. The villagers in those far off days were appalled and gave her the best funeral they could with cash mustered up between them from their meagre incomes. Meanwhile, the Lord languished in a grim jail in the nearby town and would until his execution.
Now, at noon, the ladies were busy putting the final touches to the decorations. Work complete, the team left for lunch.
The party that evening went without mishaps and was enjoyed by all. The usual whispers went around at midnight in the shadows cast by the lanterns. Even the very tired children joined in the speculation. Finally, the party goers left to wend their way home through the still gas lit narrow streets. Most were disappointed that for yet another year The Lady in Grey proved elusive and, they had to admit, just a myth.
However, old Tom and his wife Mabel were trailing behind everyone and stopped to rest on a bench. They gasped, for before them, gliding as if on air, was the spectre of The Lady in Grey. The vision lasted for only a few moments before she disappeared in the direction of the Manor House.
Tom was a bit of a wag. He turned to Mabel. ‘Well, my dear, we must never say never in Neversay!’
Laughing heartily, they continued on their way nurturing an eerie tale to tell their great-grandchildren.
<u>Pocket Money</u>
Hidden in gloom-light, he shadow-shifts within the numinous cloak of darkness rippling and folding into a Samhain-shadowed mist, as it protects him within its unsettled veil.
Hood pushed back, revealing small horns twisting, like red fingers, on dark hair, falling away over his shoulders, he glides over the grass.
Drawn by the scent of souls, he is hunting, tracking the faint glimmer of echoes upon the breeze.
A thin ribbon of gold, sparking and trailing the air, reveals a soul in limbo.
Eager wisps of smoke curl from the corner of his mouth.
Catching the thread in one hand he follows its direction, running it gently through thin fingers as he bounds along.
Unexpectedly, the thread intertwines with another and another.
A gathering of souls.
He hesitates, knowing that, in groups, these souls are unpredictable, desperate, and may not heed the summoning song.
The chatter of their noise confirms exactly where they are. They have breached the All-Hallows mantle separating each moment and are firmly caught in the solid instant of now.
He dislikes this place because his cloak of shadow-dark is useless here and will not hide him.
Still, he must collect these souls, because his timeless pledge binds him to the task.
Crouched in the shadowy portal between moments, he sees them. They have found a human child and are crawling over it, calling, begging for recognition.
The veiled-light between moments mutes the melody of his summoning song.
The souls ignore it, coiling, like shifting smoke, around the human plucking at its life force, drawing the breath from its body in their attempt to gain its attention.
The child, weighed down where they cling, stumbles.
He leaps into the moment, impaling the nearest soul on sharp claws. Pulling it away, he stabs at the others who wilt against his hand like plucked flowers. The fire of his touch scorches away all form until they are small, pale, coins in his palm.
The child watches him but he does not meet her gaze. Instead he summersaults backward into the safety of the in-between and draws the Halloween enchantment with him.
Mindful of the coins, he pockets them safely, unaware of the hint of silver trailing away behind him as he leaves, nor does he hear the quiet voice of the child purring in the darkness. “How careless. So predictable. What is yours will soon be mine.”
(397)
As the Veil Grows Thin
Hey, Vee, I’m still at your side my dear. My old bones are aching in this hospital chair but, aye, I’m still watching over you.
They say you might hear me but – I don’t know. See, I can’t get used to how still you are. Never would’ve been afore, hey? Specially when we first met, when we danced like demons and made love like maniacs; ran barefoot through summer sands, chasing each other.
Never would’ve bin so quiet either. I still hark back to the times we laughed together. Sang together. When you shouted my name in the throes of your passion, writhing and moaning …
… and nagging, and blaming, and belittling. Yelling as soon as I opened the door of an evening. Years of it – shouting ‘til you were red in’t face. Yelling ‘til you burst a ruddy blood vessel.
Even then you didn’t have the decency to leave me in peace, did you? Lingering on. Squeezing every ounce o’pride outer me as I turned into an object o’ pity. I could at least stand proud in fronter folk away from home. Now all I get is pouting. Folks telling me how they think I must be feeling. Fetching me meals, like I’m charity.
Hey, but there might be an end to it soon. D’you know what today is, Vee? In that bed in your winceyette nightie, your mouth shut for once? It’s Halloween. At midnight, they say, the veil between life and death is at its thinnest. Thin as that web o’ lies you spun at me all them years ago, to love and to cherish.
It’s comin’ up late now. I’d normally be gone, only they said I could stay, given your frailness. Come on, dear, don’t keep me waiting. The veil must be fine enough now, to pass through it to that mother of yours. Don’t worry, I’ll give you a proper send-off. Be seen with a tear in my eye. Tears for’t poor worms, between you an’ me; give ‘em indigestion, you will.
Hey, Vee, best get a move on, it’s about to strike midnight. Go on, old lass. It’ll be as quick as flicking a switch … like this one here … on your machine. Everyone’s expecting you to go after all.
Tell you what, since I don’t bear gruggles, allow me to give you a hand …
395 words excluding title
Some great stories have already come in. We’re half way through the month – plenty of time for more entries.
A reminder of the details:
It’s October and I’m going for the obvious: Halloween. Or All Saints’ Eve or Hallowmas Eve or whatever you prefer. It doesn’t have to be ghostly, though if you can give us all the shivers that would be fun.
Max 400 words, connected to 31st October in some way.
Deadline midnight 31st October.
This the result of spending 5 days writing with a gathering of Self-Edit participants.
Games people play
Monday morning’s plumping of the pillows of our marital bed effortful, thanks to both sleep and sex absent as snow in August throughout the weekend. Similarly, energy enough to dissipate the sourness of my reaction when I noticed the words on the blood-red cover of the book on my husband’s bedside chest: “These Darkening Days”. His views on the current state of our marriage? Bit much considering what he’d been up to. Things’d be a lot less dark if only he told the truth.
Then it occurred to me, tonight was Hallowe’en, and we were going to a party. With good friends. The sort we laugh with and get happily drunk with – Dan renowned for his spicy punch. One Christmas, I recalled Delia, Dan’s wife, got us playing ’ Truth or Dare’ which had been brilliant at the time but we confessed none of us had told the truth, nor – and what was worse, remembered who admitted what.
She said she’d got the questions online. I found a whole range, from ‘saucy, through’ deep and dirty’, The dares suggested were even more eye-opening and I wasn’t including them, but there were several ‘Truth’ questions asking what I wanted to make him admit to. Knew I had neither the vocabulary nor the balls to do so. I gave my list to Delia soon as we arrived. She said Dan had promised an even stronger punch. Maybe it was risky, but surely there was no better night for folk to get away with walking round the streets weeping and wailing?
Well. Insofar as he went white as a sheet and said I’d misunderstood, he certainly wailed. Wailed even more – and shouted – when Dan claimed he’d been sleeping with me. I suppose the bloody trickles from Dan’s nose added veracity to the the wailing, white-wrapped ghosties we impersonated, but I’m not sure it was in the full spirit. And I have to admit the days thereafter certainly darkened, but things between us were brighter by the Ides of March. [340 words]
The Estate Agent’s Appointment
I arrived at the house in pouring rain. The light was fading on a day that was already dark with cloud. I didn’t want to go in. I wanted to get in my car, drive home, shower, and settle down with a Scotch and whatever delicious microwave meal was next in the fridge. I had no choice. This old house wasn’t going to make the grieving relatives rich without my help. So, I patted my pockets for camera, notebook, and tape measure, turned up my collar and headed up the path.
To my surprise the door opened, and a young woman stepped out. There wasn’t supposed to be anybody here. Showy black dress; it must be one of the family.
‘Hello,’ I said, and tripped over a tile on the path, only just managing not to sprawl face first.
Embarrassed, I blurted out, ‘Sorry—’ but my voice died. There was nobody and the door was shut. She must have gone back in. Hah! Guilty conscience. Probably had the old girl’s jewellery in her handbag.
No bell, so I knocked. No reply. I tried again. Nothing. I had the key, and the house was supposed to be empty. In I went.
Yeah, the smell. You get used to the subtle, and not-so-subtle nuances. There’s the didn’t-quite-make-it background, and the tea and biscuits. If it was an old lady of a certain era, there’s a perfume too that nobody makes now. Not quite roses, not violets or lavender, although it’s pitched somewhere in there.
The darkness was a shock. Although I left the door open, what light there was seemed to resist venturing over the threshold, and the beam from my phone was somehow swallowed. Reaching about I shivered as my hand tore through a dense cobweb, but the light switch was there and a dingy hall appeared. It didn’t look as though it had been lived in for years.
A moment of terror. The woman was crouching at one end of the hall, but her eyes were on the front door. She ran, like a wild animal, past me and out. The door slammed.
I have lost track of time. Maybe it’s hours, but it could be weeks or months. I go out onto the step, but then, somehow, I’m back inside. In darkness. My phone is dead. Will some unlucky soul ever come to find me? To swap.
399 words without title
A reminder for anyone who, like me, forget this month’s competition deadline is tonight: the October monthly comp deadline is midnight tonight! You might have a suitable WIP hiding away somewhere…
What fabulous entries, all of them fantastical, brilliant and captivating. Halloween has prompted very good stories.
@jillsted – here was an enticing mystery with a comic touch. Told with great pacing and a strong atmosphere of folk tale, it hooked me from start to finish.
@purplewitch (Terrie) – what wonderful creepiness. I loved the rich language and imagery, as well as the story itself. A real sense of other-worldliness and a different set of rules.
@janette – an excellent tale of revenge, a picture so well woven in of an abusive marriage and the hint of mother-in-law as an malignant influence. I loved the narrator’s voice too.
@sandradavies – what fun there is in this story of manipulative game playing, a wronged wife taking advantage of the mischief available on Halloween.
@athelstone – a haunted house inhabited by an unquiet, vengeful ghost. A delightfully tingly and enjoyable take on a classic form. An innocent person about their business and then oof!For sheer creepiness and shiveriness levels within such evocative language, I’ve picked Terrie’s story as the winner. Over to you, @purplewitch
Thank you for choosing my entry Libby.
All the other entries were of such high calibre I had been thinking ‘I’m glad I’m not the one having to chose one above the others’ and now that’s going to be my dilemma at the end of Novembers competition challenge .
I enjoyed all of my co writers’ Halloween offerings and congratulate you all. Special congratulations to Terrie for her spine chilling story – a worthy winner. And thank you, Terrie for the new November challenge which is apt for the season and I think will be enjoyable to try to rise to!
Thanks, also, to Libby for your considered and comprehensive judgement. Jill x
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