Page 3 of All Hallows' Eve


  "Swamp Flower", Sand Crane looked to her grand-daughter as she spoke, "I know you are growing faster than the vegetables in the garden, and faster than the swamp deer along the edges of our village, but I hope I need not remind you to stay away from Grandmother Cypress."

  Swamp Flower looked at Sand Crane directly in the eye and replied, "The large tree that sits with its roots deep within the earth over there?" She pointed to what was perhaps the largest cypress tree in the area, its roots so massive that they began to erupt out of the ground and back in, forming loops all along the ground.

  Sand Crane nodded without looking to where Swamp Flower pointed, for she knew better than most of its direction. "Child, only those who are ready to take the first steps towards womanhood are allowed to approach, and you still have several more seasons to go. Though you might think you are ready, trust me when I say that you are not. My sister...your great aunt, Water Weed, thought she was ready and approached well before her time, and vanished without a trace. We have no wish for that to happen to you as well.

  Now, "Sand Crane slowly attempted to rise, "help your dear, old grandmother up, would you?" Swamp Flower placed her hands beneath her grandmother's arms and slowly lifted her up to her feet. Turning to head back towards the center of the village, Sand Crane looked back at her granddaughter one last time. Removing a freshly picked flower from her pouch, she gently placed it within Swamp Flower's hair.

  Swamp Flower silently watched in amazement as her grandmother headed back towards the village. How did she always have the knack for reading her mind? Why, also, was it possible for her grandmother to say something that always made her frustrated? She slowly began to count off her fingers until all of them were stretched outward. That, plus a few fingers, were how many seasons she had already seen pass by. How was it, then, that she was not ready? She had heard rumors of women as young as two hand's worth of fingers, and almost one other complete set, had gone before Grandmother Cypress, and successfully completed their steps towards being a woman. Surely, one or two years shy of that was good enough...right?

  Swamp Flower looked at the grand tree, and slowly found her feet walking towards it, all the while thinking about her grandmother's sister, Water Weed. Maybe she was just not ready. Maybe she had performed the ceremony wrong. Yes! That had to be it! Smiling, her feet began moving faster towards the tree, her gait increased to match her steps. Within minutes, she stood directly beneath the branches of the massive tree... and stopped.

  Slowly getting down onto her knees, she looked up above into the hidden branches and tried to follow with her eyes all the patterns of the vines that wove into and out of them...that is, until one of them moved.

  Swamp Flower blinked several times and directly stared at the odd-shaped vine. It was no false sight, or trick of the eye; the vine really moved. Then, having unfurled itself a bit from the branches, a set of reptilian eyes opened and gazed at her. Beneath the pair of eyes, the vine gave way and appeared to crack in half, only to reveal a matching pair of glistening white teeth shaped in the way of a half-smile.

  Opening wider, the mouth yawned a few times before speaking. "I know your name, child...just as I knew your kin before you...Water Weed. Are you prepared for the ceremony, or will you succumb to the same fate that Water Weed did? Hmm?"

  Swallowing once before speaking, Swamp Flower whispered, "I am...ready."

  A chuckle erupted from the alligator's mouth before speaking, "We shall see...we shall see." The "vine" slithered down and appeared along side Swamp Flower. "Before going before the great spirit, Grandmother Cypress, you must give up something of great value...a sacrifice. What will your sacrifice be, child?"

  In that moment, Swamp Flower understood why her grandmother had given her that flower. Try as she might to persuade her granddaughter to not go before Grandmother Cypress too early, Sand Crane realized that Swamp Flower had already made her mind up. So, Sand Crane gave her the gift of a swamp flower, in hopes of ensuring her granddaughter's success.

  Picking the swamp flower gently from her hair, she set it down before the "vine". "I give you this token of my faith, as well as my belief, that I am ready."

  The "vine" looked to child's sacrifice and nodded before leveling its eyes back at Swamp Flower. "You offer a token of love and family. It is accepted, child. Let me lead the way."

  Turning back towards Grandmother Cypress, the alligator guided Swamp Flower towards a small opening within the tree and entered it...and vanished.

  *

  Resting now back at her hut, Sand Crane sat brewing some tea near the fire, when a lone, damp cypress leaf came fluttering in through the window, and gently stuck to the side of her face. Reaching up to grab it, Sand Crane gently smiled at it as a long tear rolled down her cheek.

  "Good luck Swamp Flower...good luck."

  *

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/matthew.c.nelson1

  ****

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  Chapter 07

  “This Old House”

  Paul Freeman

  Dublin, Republic of Ireland

  The old house looked the same, all crumbling mortar and rotten timbers, even the overgrown ivy appeared no different. He allowed himself a self-satisfied smile, who would have guessed, he thought to himself, that he would come back after all these years and buy the old heap. His eye was automatically drawn to an upstairs window, a dark gaping hole in the off-white wall.

  Somebody had boarded up the front door and downstairs windows, they needn’t have bothered, nobody from around here would set foot inside the place. He remembered growing up in the area, none of the kids would come near this place, even the bravest of them were petrified of the old house. It was still considered ‘the old house’ back then, he smiled as he remembered.

  The place was haunted, they said. ‘Don’t go down there or the White Lady will get ye.’ Some swore they had seen her, looking out from that top window, dressed in white. There were countless sightings and rumours, ‘walk three times around the house at midnight, on the night of a full moon and she’ll appear,’ they said. ‘Old Mick saw an English man do it back in the fifties. The man was never seen again.’

  All nonsense of course, superstitious rubbish. He believed it as a kid though. He even thought he had seen her himself. He had accepted a dare to go into the house, he didn’t want to but he was thirteen and there was a girl to impress, he could not turn down the challenge. He got as far as the front door when he heard a creak, he imagined a rope swinging from the rafters, when he looked up there she was. Her white gown floating in the breeze. She was staring at him, two black pits for eyes, that look turned his insides to ice. He ran and ran, to hell with impressing girls. He cried all the way home. He could laugh now.

  They even had a name for the ghost, Mary McGuire, maid, married and widowed all in one day. The story goes, it was during the Irish civil war, the Irish rebels had fought the British army to a standstill and a ceasefire was declared. The Irish sent a contingent to London to negotiate a peace treaty, that treaty resulted in the island being divided, twenty six counties were set free, six remained under the control of the British. This sparked a civil war between pro-treaty and anti-treaty factions. Setting brother against brother, father against son. Ironically the pro-treaty side who formed a government used British guns against their former comrades.

  The story doesn’t say which side Mary McGuire’s new husband fought for, only that on the evening of her wedding he was called away, there was an ambush and he was shot dead. So, a widow on her wedding night. They say she was distraught upon hearing the news and was found hanging from the ceiling of the bridal chamber the next morning. Every night since she comes down off the rope and comes to the window searching for her lost love.

  He shivered at the memory of the old ghost story. She’s going to have to find somewhere new to live, he thought to himself, his construction firm had big plans for this place and there was no room for ghosts in the new development
.

  He kicked in the door and stepped inside into the darkness. It smelled of decay and neglect, the staircase in the hallway was rotten away, even the ceilings had gaping holes, he could see right through them. It’s about time this place was demolished, he thought.

  He heard a creaking noise, a shiver ran down his spine. He felt a breeze on his face, he swung around his eyes opening wide in shock. He couldn’t breathe, his chest felt as if someone had stabbed him in the heart with an icicle.

  Falling…falling…blackness.

  *

  The old house looked the same. The estate agent felt an odd, unpleasant sensation every time he came out to the place.

  “So what happened to the previous owner?” A voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “It’s a strange story, he was a local lad, made it big up in Dublin with his own construction company. He came back here a few years ago with big plans to develop this site into a shopping centre. Then he just disappeared,” the estate agent answered the young couple.

  “How very odd,” the woman said.

  “Hasn’t been sight nor sound of him in years. The company just want to get rid of the place now,” the estate agent shrugged.

  “Well that’s to our gain so, we really like this village and plan to start our family right here,” the man said, smiling at his wife.

  “Well, she’s all yours, come by the office later and we’ll sort the paperwork.” They shook hands and the estate agent left the couple to wander around their new property.

  As he walked from the overgrown garden he glanced back. What was that in the window? He knew all the old stories about the house, every local did. He wondered should he have said something to the new owners… and have them laugh at him for spouting such superstitious nonsense? He shook his head at his own foolishness and with a wave left them to it.

  *

  My Blog “Tribesman Warrior King”: www.tribesmanseries.blogspot.ie/

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/paul.freeman.73

  ****

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  Chapter 08

  “Marker”

  Brian Bigelow

  Colorado Springs, Colorado, USA

  Bump!

  Bump!

  The noises woke him up from a dead sleep and that wonderful dream. What a nice one it was too with that brunette who was so damned hot! The sun, the water, sailing along and making love on the deck. Hmm hmm! He smiled a few moments as his thoughts revisited the dream.

  Even better, in the dream he didn't have any gray hair which was so nice. Wish I could have that in real life.

  Bump!

  Hearing the sound again caused him to sit up in the bed and look around the room. The French doors into the bedroom looked just like they did earlier in the day except for the hallway shadows.

  I've got to get some curtains for those doors soon.

  That was something the realtor had mentioned when he was looking at the house he remembered. After several weeks waiting for the closing it was one of the things he didn't focus on. Somehow they went from looking charming to something that was kind of disturbing especially with that applique spider web attached to them.

  Getting up Josh went to the window and looked out. Nothing was there! The October chill however was very noticeable, he had to get a bathrobe soon.

  First night in a new place, I'm sure I'll get used to it and what in the hell is making those noises I'm hearing?

  Making his way back to the bed he heard it again.

  Bump!

  Bump!

  The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end. This was definitely getting on his nerves. Rousing himself from the bed he made his way over to the window once again. An eerie feeling came over him, his stomach twisting within him. Just before he reached the window he heard the sound once again.

  Bump!

  Bump!

  Pulling the curtain back he peered out of the window. Noticing the branch blowing back and forth eased his concerns. Seeing it hit the window casement eliminated it almost completely for the moment. He let the curtain fall back in front of the window then he headed back to bed.

  Sitting down on the edge of the mattress he still felt on edge. His stomach hadn't quite completely calmed down yet. Willing it to stop churning just wasn't working.

  Bump!

  His ears pinpointed where the sound was coming from this time. Groaning, he rose to his feet and stepped over to the window to look out again. Man, this is getting tedious!

  Pulling back the curtain he was seeing some kind of glowing ball that was floating. It faintly lit the concrete of the driveway and the light fog. Attention riveted, he watched it float on by. He wanted to go out to touch it but yet was frozen in amazement. Slowly, it moved along to the garage door and then over the privacy fence.

  Josh stood there a few minutes to see if anything else would happen but it didn't. Mystery temporarily solved he went back to bed. Laying down he fell into a dreamless sleep for the rest of the night.

  Waking to a bright shining morning the events of the evening were still fresh in his mind. Dressing quickly he went out to the driveway past the plastic carved pumpkin by the door. He followed the path of the glowing ball to where it went over the fence. Peeking over it to the other side he now could see something that he didn't notice when he looked at the house.

  Why didn't I see those before?

  Row upon row of grave markers greeted his vision. The graveyard was accented by the fall colors of the trees surrounding it. He realized he might have quite a few more rather unwelcome visitors if he stayed.

  Why did I have to move in the day before Halloween? Is it too late now to get out of that contract?

  *

  My Blog “A Passionate, Eclectic…Life’s A Journey”: https://brian-bigelow.blogspot.com/

  Follow on Twitter! www.twitter.com/brianbigelow @brianbigelow

  Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Brian-Bigelow/e/B00667745A/

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/brianbigel?ref=ts&fref=ts

  ****

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  Chapter 09

  “The Captain’s Inheritance”

  Bruce Hesselbach

  Newfane, Vermont, USA

  Remembering how Emily had raved about her five brothers during her bouts of fever, Brian inquired of the elders of the town whether Emily had any living relatives at all. They took his inquiries as fear and reluctance to visit the witch’s cottage, and yet they honestly had to assure him that no, there were no relatives whatsoever.

  And so, late one day in fall, Captain Brian Aille rode up to Dedman’s Mountain. The land was spectacular with all the trees in yellows, reds, and browns, with the air so light and fresh, and the sky so brilliantly blue. The trails on the mountain seemed somewhat overgrown. Bindweed flourished as a groundcover under the stately trees, as if to grasp the mountain in its grip and pull it underground.

  The clearing, once full of flowering magical herbs and plants, was being choked by weeds, and looked rather blighted. The house, once so like a tower, had the door ajar and two windows broken. Inside, the art and calligraphy had all been removed, either stolen or burned.

  “This is terrible,” Brian thought. “It was once a beautiful place, and the old woman who lived here was a good person.”

  It being late in the day, Brian decided to spend the night. He built a fire in the chimney and found some blankets. He decided to sleep on a couch on the first floor, not wanting to go in the bedroom upstairs where he had strong memories of the plague that he had helped Emily survive. Yet she was burned in a witch hunt years later during the wars and now she was gone forever. Soon twilight came on, and Brian rested on the couch thinking about the lives of the herbalists. What fine people they were, devoting their lives to healing others.

  All the same, the octagonal house had an eerie feeling to it. One could hear the wind in the trees sighing like dead souls. The associat
ions of the house with a reputed witch were somewhat unsettling. Creaking of the house in the wind seemed to give it a life of its own.

  Looted, gutted, the poor house itself seemed to have suffered as much as its owner did in the grip of fanatical and evil persecutors. Was there still some spirit left in this remote and darkened place? The sparks of the fire shed a faint dancing light on the old wooden walls and beams.

  Suddenly he heard a kind of coughing sound, like someone clearing his throat. Instinctively, he grabbed his snaphaunce pistol and tensed for a fight. Instead, he heard a deep, rather apologetic sound.

  “Brian Aille, we mean you no harm. We are the five brothers of Emily Dwergma. We will show ourselves if you are prepared. We do not want to frighten you.”

  “Where are you? Come out into the open.”

  “Our appearance will resemble spirits, but we are not ghosts. Please understand that we are your friends.”

  “Just come out where I can see you,” said Brian, and he laid his pistol on the bed.

  Out from the wall across from him emerged a figure. It resembled the transparent outlines of a ghost of a handsome young man, except that nose looked like actual human flesh.

  Next came a ghost of another young man, except that the ears looked like actual human flesh.

  After that came a ghost of a young man whose eyes looked like normal, non-ghostly eyes.

  Next came a ghost of a young man with a normal human mouth.

  Last of all came the ghost of a young man with feet and hands that looked like regular, tangible flesh.

  “Are you Emily’s five brothers? Are you ghosts? Was she really a witch after all? Am I just dreaming this?” Brian said, his head spinning.

  “We are not ghosts or spirits but beings that have existed since the world began. We were created by the curators when this world was first formed. Our duty was to test the living things as they were first created. We reviewed their features by sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell and we discovered which ones were good and which were flawed. When our work was done we were buried under stones and a mountain stream was diverted to flow over us. We slept for centuries.

 
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