Halloween Story 2011

[Moderator]

This year marks the sixth Halloween story written by members of the Stephen King website message board. It has its origins in a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants effort that was actually a birthday story for Mr. King. It’s evolved since into a seasonal, more organized effort, timed in the northern hemisphere’s autumn to coincide (more or less) with Halloween, with apologies to folks who live south of the equator.

It had a bumpy start this year, due to family obligations that necessitated the absence of its original editor, Robert Gray. It’s important to recognize and thank him for his work and interest in organizing the story, as he was the one who set up the initial story social group and navigated brainstorming sessions. When it became apparent that life had “happened” in a manner that left him few options, I was approached to not just keep the ball rolling, but to kick it hard.

And boy, do we have a ball for you.

Most of you know that the story writers sequester themselves from the start. We meet and discuss in a private place, specifically because you, the readership of the Board, have expressed a desire to read the story serial novel-style. If we were public about it, it just wouldn’t be, well, a serial novel, published daily and embedded with nail-biting cliffhangers, would it? What you might not know is that there has, from the inception of the story in 2005, always been a tremendous amount of help from non-writers. They humbly act as advisors and sources of inspiration, by sitting in on discussions and weighing in as needed, and they’d like for folks to think they’re merely set decoration... but they are the ones who make the work involved in organizing and editing the story much less of a burden. This year, some writers also pitched in with considerable behind-the-scenes efforts as well. I send nothing but gratitude and heartfelt thanks to:

-Spideyman and Patricia A., the Public Relations & Publicity Duo. They got the word out that we were suddenly moving forward on the story, explained technicalities to rookies, and provided invaluable notes on the history of the story. These two moved all over the SKMB map like greased lightning when the word was “GO”.

-Staropeace, the story’s Authenticity and Continuity Consultant. You can thank her for your introduction to an entirely different setting and culture, with its regional expressions and accent, in this year’s production.

-Ms. Mod, as ever, for her patience and willingness to indulge us during an overwhelmingly busy time for her.

-Mr. King himself, for making this website, and thus the experience of collaborative writing, a possibility in the first place.

-and of course, all the story writers, who graciously tolerated the changes in the writing order, crafted their pieces under tight deadlines, and contributed to wickedly hilarious discussions. They are a remarkable force to be reckoned with, especially in the talent and creativity departments.

**********

This year’s story is priceless because someone special was persuaded to join the writers and put his quill to use. He started the story for us, a position in the writing queue I’ve felt should go to a long-standing member of the Board.

I later learned that this is the first time he has ever written a piece for the Halloween story…and, more significantly, also the first time he has worked on a collaborative effort since the death of his beloved Anne. We are gifted by his presence, humor, and wisdom on the Board, but the gift of his contribution to the story carries gravitas with it indeed.

I am certain the rest of the authors of the story join me in saying that it is an honor and a pleasure to thus dedicate the 2011 SKMB Halloween story to the SKMB’s own Sai John Dalglish, a man who always sees the stars. Thankee, sir…and long may your big jib draw.

-with best wishes to all for an entertaining read, a thrilling Halloween, a joyous Samhain celebration...and greetings from the West!

Lily

[Moderator]

#1 - JohnDalglish

‘Tell us a scary story for Hallowe'en’, said Big Bill Sauber to the assembled company of miscreants an' ne'er-do-wells, whores an' comic singers.

We were sitting around a blazing log fire in the comfortable bar of the Eye Inn, out of the way of the first real snow storm of a harsh Canadian winter. This Hallowe'en we clustered around the fireplace in the Inn by candlelight. We didn't care. All the power to Ireland's Eye had been cut off earlier, but we were warm and there was any amount of beer. It was a far better sight than real life’s insistent demands on us...just a bunch of old guys sittin’ round a fire, chewin' the fat an' tellin' tall tales.

Beat the hell out of being Willie Loman for a living every day, anyway!

Our burg was Ireland's Eye, a tiny one-hoss village in the far east of Newfoundland. There wasn't even an 'op-town', even though we were ‘downtown’, and this was when there was nothing between us an' Ireland, the Ould Country.

'Ceptin' the Atlantic Ocean, o' course; there's always The Pond. 'Long may it roll between England and me; it's a sure guarantee that someday we'll be free…thank God we're surrounded by water'.

Me?

It doesn't matter who I am. I'm just the teller, not the tale.

I'm just a fella who sells school text books that they don't want to buy anymore for a generation that don't want to read, if'n it's not written in Newspeak shorthand on a phone or a computer screen, that work for a publisher trying to make as much money as possible before Wikipedia (sounds like a perversion, don't it?) makes them redundant.

The world is moving on.

Ah, well.

I guess I was born too late, back when we lived in a land that had good manners, and respect had to be earned, and nobody lived anywhere else.

I can't make head nor tail of this interweb’s darn nonsense. I sometimes think that I'm just a refugee from the 20th century, a stranger adrift in a strange land where I don't hold no currency and have only a passing knowledge of a barbaric language. And this in a world run by Generation Why, where eejits are famous just for being famous, for fifteen desperate minutes.

'I'll start', said Big Bill. 'I think I seen a UFO last week. It was a red flashing light in the night sky, but it wasn't no aeroplane, I'll tell you that. I think it was maybe one of them UFO's.'

I sighed.

‘Bill,’ I said, ‘UFO means Unidentified Flying Object, don't it?’

‘I suppose,’ he admitted.

‘Well, it was flying, and it was an object, and you don't know what it was. Am I right or am I right?’

'Right,’ he said.

‘In that case it was certainly a UFO, you muppet, but it don't mean it was the alien mother ship or nuthin' like that - that's a quantum leap without the cat. It just means that you saw something in the sky you didn't recognise.

Shucks, it happens to me all the darn time, but it's usually just the Americans testing out the dogs of war that they can't afford anyway.

EVERYBODY'S seen an effin’ UFO!’

I used to be a profligately profane person, but now I just say 'effin' instead of 'f**k'. It means I can swear as much as I effin’ like without offendin' nobody.

Billy looked up at the moose head hung over the fireplace.

Reminded me of the time I had my boy with me one summer and tried to convince him that a neighbor had a moose ass in his living room, but he only looked at me with that exasperated look that kids reserve for their half-daft parents.

I’ve noticed they do that with increasing frequency nowadays.

[Moderator]

#1 - cont'd

I loved living in Newfie. Most of the folks were of Irish descent, like me; and like the Scots and the Irish they were mostly pretty fey and a wee bit strange anyway, me ducky. It was magnificent to watch the mighty whales jumping out of the water, playing during the summer months. Made you realise your own unimportance, your triviality in the grand scheme o' things, just a part o' life's rich tapestry, a cog in the wheel. Kinda like looking up at the Milky Way at night an' looking at stars that have been dead for maybe 25,000 years.

Two men looked out of prison bars; one saw mud, but one saw stars…

See the stars, always see the stars, they're always there!

I like the way sparkling earrings lay …..

Anyway, there I go, digressin' again!

I thought of a good tale for the company.

‘I've got a great tale for you, boys,’ I said, ‘and it happened right here in the Eye way back in the last century.

I don't know if you'd call it a ghost story or not, but it's certainly weird!

Must have been about 1999 or so. It was a local girl, Erin O'Brien, who'd fallen in love with this strange furriner when she was abroad, an' she brought him back here an' they were going to be married, actually on Hallowe'en…until it happened.

Oh, did I tell you that Erin was a witch? Well, she was. They celebrate something they call Samhain or somesuch, probably by dancing around naked an' having fun…not like us goodly godly Christian men, at all, at all!, who celebrate by setting witches on fire.

Well, this fella was from Romania or Transylvania or one of them countries around that neck of the woods, but she'd met him over in Maine somewhere.

A big streak o' cold pish he was. We called him Vlad the Lad behind his back, after Vlad the Impaler, but that weren't his right name. I cannae mind whit his real name was.

There was always somethin’ of the night about the fella. I don't think I ever saw him in the daytime, and he always seemed to smell slightly like damp, dank, dead earth.

Nobody ever took to Vlad, but Erin loved him, I suppose. It was like some kind of spell he had over her.’

Just at that, I noticed the hotel's black cat rubbing itself against my leg with its tail in the air. I reached down and petted it, and I swear it looked up and winked at me!

There was something familiar about it, anyway.

It meowed.

‘MeeeMeMeMe,’ it seemed to say.

I shook myself as someone walked over my grave.

Well, it's a long tale and tails grow in the telling, so they do; and stories change everything, and my glass was only half-full, so the drinks needed freshening. I indicated to the chap at the bar, and he brought over a tray of them.

I decided not to let truth get in the way of a good story. Hell, when it comes to the past, we all stack the deck.

‘Right,’ I said, ‘are you all sitting comfortably?’ There were mumbled affirmatives and jockeying for positions around the fire.

‘Then I'll begin.’ They all leant forward expectantly.

‘This is what happened.’

[Moderator]

#2: Bobledrew

Erin was a lovely girl. Skin like cream, green eyes that a man could get lost in. She was generous of figure, but not so much that it would prevent any of the young men of the town from making their pass with her at a dance or down to the bingo. Her hair was the t’ing that made her different than all the other girls in the Eye. Coal black it was, and long enough to be plaited all the way down to her bum. And a streak of white through it that stood her on her own in the town. Her hair, and her own belief that she was a witch, of the Blood, with her odd words at times and her habit of disappearing for a day or two around the holiday she called Samhain.

She never went to romance with any of the boys. Sure, she’d dance, and trade a joke or two, and perhaps a kiss. But she kept herself to herself, and her mother was proud of her for that, as her father would have been had he not gone overside of his longliner and been lost to Davy Jones’s locker, never to be found again.

And then that feller came to the Eye. I heard he was on one of the offshore oil rigs and got tired of the life, the weeks of loneliness on board and the travel from the middle of the ocean back to Gander and then back over the ocean again to whatever Godforsaken place he came from. Maybe he stole the Zodiac that he arrived in. Maybe it was his. In the Eye, you don’t always ask those questions out loud. Or at all.

But when he saw Erin, well, something happened between them. It was in the eyes, in the feeling in the air around them. They didn’t have to talk. You could hear the tiny tinklin’ sounds of young men’s hearts shatterin’ all over Ireland’s Eye.

They met in Gander. She was there, so it went, on a trip buying necessaries for university, although it was her mother Minnie’s desire that pushed her to Memorial University more than her own. At a bar? On the street? The stories never went that far. So they became a couple, and instead of waiting for the ferry to get her back to the Eye they arrived in a Zodiac, a dangerous form of transport on the ocean, but one he seemed to pilot as if the tiller was connected to his brain, not to his hand.

Not that Erin’s parents liked it. Or, I suppose, not that they liked him. Something about him grated on them. His silence, perhaps. His skin, that shade of grayish-white, like a mushroom by the outhouse, or a newspaper left out in the rain time and time again until the ink’s bled. His sleeping habits, or his waking habits.

But a couple they were. Erin stopped going to the dances, and to the bingos. She’d be alone all day. Then, if you were up late enough, you’d see the two of them walking the few streets of the Eye, hand in hand, fading in and out of the fog, as if they were hardly there at all.

And then they weren’t. There, that is. One morning Erin’s parents came downstairs assuming their wayward daughter was abed after yet another late night with Vlad the Lad. But when they grew tired of tiptoeing through the house and went to rouse her…she wasn’t there.

They walked the streets, which didn’t take long. They asked those they saw if they’d seen her. And then they went to the tumbledown little shack that William Boutilier, whom everyone called Boots, had rented to that pasty little bastard.

Emptiness. Emptiness in their hearts, because of the emptiness of the shack. A filthy pallet, a bookshelf with some magazines and a leather-bound book written in a language they’d never seen — something about Vermis. A propane tank with a burner for tea. No Vlad. No Erin.

They called the RNC then. The Constabulary sent a fella by boat from Carbonear, the nearest detachment. He spent a day or two. But what could he do? And where could they have gone? The Zodiac was pulled up next to the drying flakes. Her clothes were still in her closet, her suitcase in the crawlspace beneath the house. What was odder was that a locket hung from Minnie’s bedroom mirror was gone. She mentioned that to us, once, and then Allister shushed her.

“That had nothing to do with it, Min. Leave it, I say. Leave it. The locket is a trifle.” He looked around at us. “Minnie is some fond of the locket, but it’s been lost a half dozen times. It’s nothing, of no value.” She cast her eyes on the floor as he said this, and she said no more to us that day and gave us dark looks through her eyelashes.

A reporter came after a bit. She wrote a story, but that didn’t help. And to the rest of us in the Eye, Erin and the foreigner began to fade a bit from our daily consciousness. But not Minnie’s, and not Allister’s, or Allie, as we called him. The disappearance of their daughter became a deep and constant throb and ache. They talked of little else as the days and weeks and months passed, and those who walked by their small house could hear, from time to time, the wails of Erin’s mother, the anguish. It was a terrible sound.

[Moderator]

#3: Garriga

I paused to sip my beer, and when I looked into the fire, I felt troubled. The Eye seemed banished and forgotten as if everyone in town had disappeared, and we were left behind.

Something’s wrong…maybe a lapse in my memory, or even time.

The silence became awkward. The guys were anxiously waiting for me to continue my tale, but McKee spoke up.

‘I remember when they met in Maine,’ he said. ‘I was a senior at John Bapst high school in Bangor, but I spent the weekends visiting my brother at UMO, where I met Erin. She played cards with us a few times, and she never lost.’

He looked to me, and I nodded for him to continue.

‘One night, Erin was with us in the union. The lights flickered, and the red stone on her locket began to glow. Then doors flew opened and a man entered, and straightaway I sensed evil. I looked to my brother and he had turned into a statue, frozen in time. Jimmy had, too. For a moment I thought I was dreaming, because everything felt surreal.’

‘He stopped close to our table, and I saw love in Erin’s eyes, but it wasn’t real. She went to him as if following a command. When he touched her locket, his eyes became blue flames the color of sapphire.’

‘Suddenly I thought my head was going to explode, the pain was unbearable, and blood dripped from my nose. Then he opened her locket, and I blacked out.’

I didn’t have to ask him where he woke up. I already knew.

‘Where’d you come to?’ Bill Sauber asked. Of course, Bill had to ask.

‘Gander.’

The crowd roared with laughter.

‘Good one, McKee.’ Bill said. ‘You almost had us there for a minute.’

‘What happened next?’ Brian Patrick asked, throwing another log on the fire.

I motioned for another round, and I continued my tale.

***

One day during mid-September, I walked over to Minnie‘s house to check on her. Allie opened the front door.

“What do you want?”

“Good to see you too, Allie. I came to see Minnie. Is she ok?”

“She went over to Trinity for something or other. Kept mumblin’ about some book the church has,” he said.

“Well, I’m going to head over there and check on her. I think you should come with me.”

He shrugged. “Okay, let me get my jacket...you’re driving, I'm drinking.”

Driving to Saint Gregory cathedral, Allie sang his favorite drinking song as he drank his whiskey.

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner
round the flure yer trotters shake
Bend an ear to the truth they tell ye,
we had lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake!

“Allie.. Allie! Enough singin'. We’re here.”

We approached the abandoned church slowly. The windows had been boarded up and the white paint was tarnished. I looked around. To the left was a small parsonage in a grassy meadow, and I saw her sedan parked in front.

We entered through the front doors. Minnie was standing behind a podium next to the altar. She didn’t notice us.

She was flipping through a leather bound book. “Minnie, what are you doing?” I asked.

She looked up. “The locket, we have to get the locket!”

“Why do you care so much about that damn locket?” groused Allie. “It's worthless. It gets lost and found all the time!”

We heard footsteps coming from one of the side aisles. A kind-looking old man emerged from the darkness and looked at Allie. “You look weary, friend. I have a cottage just across the field. Care to join me for a drink?"

Of course, Allie didn’t argue. The two men left me and Minnie alone.

Distressed, Minnie flipped through the tarnished pages. “It’s got to be in here somewhere,” she said. And then her expression changed. "Thank God.”

I tilted my head down. We were looking at a drawing of the locket.

“What is this? Is...is this your locket?”

She turned to the book cover, but I could not read the title.

“This is the Heart of the Druids, and it is very sacred.”

Minnie is losing it, I thought to myself.

She jerked her head and stared into my eyes. I almost pissed myself.

“Yes! This is real.”

“Minnie, what is going on? Why are you in an abandoned church, looking through this book?”

“Because it’s safe here. If it got into the wrong hands, chaos would take over the earth," Minnie said as she flipped back to the drawing of her locket. “It’s a two piece locket that detaches instead of clasps. This is a pentacle, and you see on the inside of the front piece? It’s a cross. But not just any cross! This is a Celtic cross, and it represents a promise of love and eternity.”

She pointed to the drawing on the back piece. “This engraved spider has an emerald on its back…that means treachery and evil. And see on the inner part? This is the Evil eye."

“Minnie, that‘s enough. I don‘t want to hear anymore,” I said.

Minnie slammed her fist down on the book. "This is why Erin's father is dead!"

[Moderator]

#4: Sundrop

I stood there, dumbfounded. In all the years since his disappearance, I had never heard Minnie admit that her husband was dead.

His body had never been recovered, and his death certificate listed his status as 'assumed drowned'. The locals believe he fell into shallow water, bumped his noggin, and wandered away into the night, struck with amnesia. Others say he faked his death and went into hiding. Whatever the case, Minnie was left with a child and a home, and her little bookstore and shop of unusual (but needful) things didn't provide enough income to support them. Allie, bein’ Minnie's older brother, came to live with them and help out. He was a good father figure to Erin, and almost everyone thought of him as her father, but he was her uncle, sure enough.

I listened as Minnie explained.

"The locket was never mine," she said. "It has always belonged to Erin."

She said the locket had been in her family for centuries, that it was always passed from an elder on her deathbed to the mother of 'the next Keeper'. So it was passed from her great grandmother for Minnie to give to Erin upon her 21st birthday.

Now would be a good time to tell you that Erin was born on Samhain…and in this particular year, she would turn 21.

"There is unbelievable power in that locket," Minnie continued. "Allie wasn't exaggerating when he said it gets lost and found all the time. But it always finds its way to Erin. Almost as if it knows it belongs to her…and she to it."

"If Erin had disappeared alone, I wouldn't be so worried," she confided. "She's been using the locket's power to open portals to the past since she was 15. But that locket can also reveal other darker things. It can show its Keeper the darkest, nastiest secrets of everyone around her. Allie doesn't admit it, but he's afraid of the locket and the power it holds, and what it can show to Erin." Minnie started to cry. "It's no coincidence that horrid young man has come courting Erin....I know he wants the locket and its power. If he is what I’m thinkin’, and if he steals that locket, I fear for all our lives."

Dusk was coming on us, and we needed to find Allie, but he and the caretaker came back into the church before I could mention the dark, and needing to go. Allie said it for me.

We drove back to the house. As I said my goodbyes to Minnie and Allie, I heard her shriek.

I looked at Allie. His face had lost all color and he looked as if he might collapse. He pointed to the house. There were Erin and Vlad, sitting there on the front porch as if they had been there all along. Minnie rushed to them and hugged Erin, asking where they had been and why they had scared her so. But as I started to follow her up the steps, Allie grabbed my arm.

"Erin's eyes are all wrong,” he said. “She looks like she's in a trance, and her skin is too pale."

I tried to look at Erin without being obvious. Allie was right. She didn't look herself.

There was no breeze, but I still smelled an inexplicable near-rotten stench. Vlad watched us, smiling a horrible self-appreciative smirk.

"Come join us, gents,'' he called. "There's good news to share!"

As we approached the porch, Allie and I saw it at the same time. Erin was wearing a ring with a single large, blood red stone on her left hand.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Erin said as she kissed Allie on the cheek. "We're getting married! I want to have the wedding right here at midnight, on the eve of Samhain."

I couldn't tell you how much time had passed between the time they disappeared and when they returned. Time is soft and tends to muddle the mind. I can tell you that the boy looked fresh, had better color, but that repulsive smell still hung about him wherever he went. Erin was different, almost too animated, more talkative than usual, thinner, and very pale. Minnie worried after her, and tried to get her to eat more. Why do most people try to fix everything with food?

Allie noticed it first. He called me to come over while Erin and Minnie were meeting with a wedding planner one afternoon. The ladies were in the front room. As we sat outside, keeping an eye on them through the window, sipping our cold drinks, he whispered for me to look at Erin, and asked if I noticed anything odd. She was wearing her hair down instead of her usual single braid down her back. Then I saw the faintest pair of red scratches on her neck.

"What the hell?" I asked Allie.

He leaned over, almost as if he were afraid to reply, and said "what the hell is right. If that boy is an undead, and she is a witch....what's going to happen if he turns her?"

We finished our drinks in silence, glancing now and then to the ladies in the front room, as they unknowingly planned a wedding of doom and dread. The wedding planner had an odd look about her as well. She looked as if she were a troll in a poor glamour. I couldn't help but wonder if she were really a ghoul or shape shifter. It seemed certainly possible, but I didn't share my thought with Allie. Maybe I should have.

************************
'Jonathan Dough.' said Tess, the barmaid, as she refreshed our drinks and joined us 'round the fire. 'That was Vlad's real name.'

'So it were,' I said. 'Jonathan Dough, or Vlad the Lad.... a thing with any other name would still smell as bad.'

We all had a laugh. I took another drink, and continued my tale.

[Moderator]

#5: Sheemiee

Tess passed me my schooner of ale and softly patted my shoulder, sliding the tray of drinks onto the table along with my change. I slowly counted out the coins and winked at her as she slapped the back of my jacket, and threw Billy his cheese-and-onion crisps. He fumbled and caught them awkwardly.

'Aye lass, Jonathan Dough right enough...a sneaky little bugger that I hope I never have to cross again,' I said, lifting my change into my coat pocket and pulling out my ‘baccy pouch and pipe.

One thing I will say for Allie is that he was never afraid, and had I confided my fears with him that day, he might be sitting with us now, enjoying a wee drappie by the fire, recalling the day we celebrated Samhain instead of dreading the very word.

I took a slow, drink of my ale and was aware of the gathering around me as they watched. I knocked the pipe on the table’s edge, the rat a tat reminding me I had a tale to tell.

**
As we sat on the porch watching the sun disappear behind the trees, contemplating the wedding, we watched as Vlad made his way up the street, whistling along as he bobbed up and down behind the white picket fencing Allie had painted earlier that year. He took great pride in that fence. Every spring he would repaint and repair any picket that was loose. You wouldn’t think that looking at it now...poor Minnie.

Vlad stopped at the bolted gate, and actually knocked on the post, waiting patiently to be beckoned in by Allie. Rat a tat, Rat a tat.

Allie stood up and nervously glanced down at me before straightening his shirt and walking down to greet the young man. I had a brief glimpse of Erin and Minnie giggling away inside before they disappeared from the front room, into the kitchen, unaware of the visitor outside.

Allie opened the gate and welcomed Vlad into his garden, and he reached out his large hand to shake that of his guest. I watched as he stiffened at the touch of Vlad’s confident grasp, and saw the sneer of contempt for only a second before a charming smile lit up Vlad’s face.

As they walked up the gravel path to where I stood, I watched Vlad stare in my direction, oblivious to Allie’s small talk. He stared right through me; I felt the chill in my bones like I was back in the North Sea trawling again. I didn’t like it one bit. When he reached out to shake my hand, the hairs on the back of my neck fought back. His touch was cold and almost wet, like that of snake skin, and it slid into my palm and entwined itself around my fingers, contorting into a vice-like grip. I wanted to let his hand go - believe me, I tried. But he tightened it as he stroked my wrist with his finger and then burrowed his gaze deep into my eyes.

I stared into their darkness, and smelt the foul stench of musty death as he held me captive for what seemed like forever. I couldn’t breathe and my lungs cried out for attention, burning and gasping inside like a fish tipped from the nets on a boat deck. As he broke his gaze I almost gasped aloud, only just managing to steady myself. Before I could react though, Allie and Vlad were making their way inside. I followed.

'Now I tell you lads this: I have seen some things in my sixty-four years on this earth, but when I walked in behind Allie and that...that thing.........' I stopped. How could I explain what I felt that night? They’d lock me up and throw away the key. I put the pipe to my mouth and fingered the new tobacco down deep into the well, and lit it. The rub crackled and burned as I inhaled hard and the smoke drifted from my mouth to mingle with the peat log that filled the Inn with its boggy sweetness.

As I pondered how to go on, struggling with the explanation, the door to the hotel blew open, and in walked a figure cloaked in black, as dark as the black cat that had been entwining itself around my legs. The cat darted outside under the person’s legs, into the stormy evening.

The figure studied the room for a moment before unbuttoning her cloak and hobbling her way over to me, shaking her collection tin in my face.

'Money for the cause, sir!' It was more a demand than a question. She peered from out underneath a Salvation Army cap.

I puffed from my pipe again, letting it swirl around the lady, and slid it to the corner of my mouth, before leaning over and delving for the change Tess had just given me.

[Moderator]

#6: GNTLGNT

As I fumbled about in Her Majesty’s reunion of coins on the table before me, I managed a sideways glance at our wind-and-rain-swept visitor. She had a face on ‘er like a burnt and boiled boot. Her eyes, though, were some nice pieces o’ stuff! From a countenance that would shame a dried apple doll shone eyes as shiny gray as the Labrador Sea during a blow. The contrast struck me as passing strange, but before I could yaffle my scattered skein of thoughts together, she scooped the change from my hand, and her ebon-wrapped form rode the tail of the cat out the Eye’s door.

I resituated myself in what had become my tale-spinnin’ chair, at six decades plus the effin’ shanks don’t settle as comfortable as they once did. The byes were mumblin’ amongst themselves, trying to figger if our recent “collector” was a Newfie.

'That were Effie Toop’s gran,' declared young Malcolm Hodder.

'Ah, stuff yer gob, ‘bye ! Yer head’s as empty as a water haul trap!' -That from old Alphaeus Loder, who fancied himself the wisest of The Eye’s long beards.

Before it could get any more rancorous, I reminded them the tale had yet been told, and as they quieted, I motioned to Tess to bring us a twenty-sixer, ‘coz the story got no easier to tell as it went on. Gazing at the little flankers spitting from our log fire, I gathered up my nerve and went back at ‘er.

****************

After Allie invited that foul imitation of a man into Minnie’s parlor, Vlad grinned at me over Allie’s shoulder. “Lard dying jumpin!” I swear to ye his canine teeth looked fer a moment like knittin’ needles. His stench, which were worse than low tide on a hot day, nearly burned the hair in me nose.

Poor Allie seemed oblivious to what he had invited past the wooden pickets of his prideful fence; he were too busy chucklin’ at how Johnny Dough said he and Erin were shopping for “a nice piece o’ dirt” for after their nocturnal nuptials. All this whilst Minnie and Erin were fussin’ about in the front room, over the young maid’s gown, which I must admit made her look like a stick o’ gum, all wrapped up nice and shiny-like.

Erin had upset her Ma some fair. It appeared she was insistent she wear that damnable locket as the sole piece of finery on her wedding dress. I’m sorry to say that bit of domestic disagreein’ snapped me away from the tableau of Allie enthralled with Vlad. Mayhap if I hadn’t been distracted, things might have spun another way. Distracted I was, like a squirrel on an acorn. I was afeared that if Erin were to don that sin-infested trinket on Samhain Eve, there wouldn’t be enough of her left to pray over.

The bar was silent as I sipped fer a few. A few wraiths of tobacco smoke chased themselves ‘round the beams. Reluctantly, I picked up the reins of my tale, and plowed on.

'Byes, I’ve never told a soul what I saw, one day when Minnie opened that locket, before she gave it to Erin. I swear, fer just a moment, it seemed as if I were lyin’ in a car trunk, lookin’ out into the startled face of a Trooper from the States…then, the view changed…'

[Moderator]

#7: Angela

I paused and shook my head. 'But I’m digressin’ ag’in. Tendency to do that, don’t ya know? What happened when that locket was opened is a tale best left for later.'

I drew smoke from me pipe, blowing it into the rafters again as I looked at each of them. My eyes settled on Brian Patrick and something about seeing his face gave me a start, but my mind shied away from why. I took a long pull from me glass to ease me nerves, then continued.

'When Erin and Vlad the Lad came back to the Eye, strange things started happenin’. People went missin’ and the constabulary had no clues where they went. Emma Loder disappeared out of her own bed, her husband sleepin’ right aside her. Poor John was left to raise their five daughters alone. They found blood splattered one morning on the door at the post office, but so many people had gone missin’ by then, there weren’t no clue who the blood belonged to. We heard strange sounds at night and people took to barricadin’ their doors, to make certain they didn’t wake up with the sounds in bed wid ‘em. The town was on edge, not knowin’ who to trust, and violence simmered just beneath the fear.

'That locket hung ‘round Erin’s neck all the time, and she took to wanderin’ through town in the last two or three hours ‘fore dark. At first people thought she might be gettin’ back to herself, but ‘fore too long they discovered what she was really doin’. She was usin’ the locket to find out people’s dirtiest secrets. She learned Colleen Hodder had relations with Clyde Cooper shortly after she married Michael, and that her oldest son was no Hodder. Matthew O’Malley had murdered a man in the States for rapin’ a little girl and was hidin’ out on the Eye. Dora Cooper (Clyde's neglected wife) was in charge of the funds over to the church, some of which found its way into her pocket. And on and on it went.

'People were afraid of the maid and her bye. They didn’t want to risk gettin’ ‘em riled up. For a bit, there was talk o’ stealin’ the locket ‘cause it was rippin’ the town apart, but we feared what they would do. People weren’t blamin’ Erin for what she was doin’. Vlad had bewitched her and they blamed him. We started meetin’ durin’ the day to discuss it, always in the wee hours of daylight, mind you, when Erin was sleepin’ and not likely to happen upon us.'

I couldn’t stand it any longer. One morning, I spoke me mind. "You know, byes, we all have an idear what Vlad really is. I been thinkin’ it and ye been thinkin’ it. Not a one o’ ye’s had the nerve to put it in words. Well, I’m gonna do it for ye. That bye there’s an undead and ye all know it."

The room fell silent as I stood and looked at them, marking their faces one by one. Some took a sudden interest in the floor, or the ceiling. Others glared at me with defiant eyes. There was some shifting around, old man Connor’s hacking cough (a byproduct of a three-pack-a-day habit) rang out, but no one spoke for several minutes, so I continued.

"'ear me well, byes. Mind the time yer parents told ye the stories of the undead? The stories that spanned the generations? How they said those creatures could put a body into a trance-like state, and control a body’s mind? Some stories claimed the really old ones could feed without killin’. That lad’s of the undead! That’s why Erin’s so pale! Ye know it’s the truth.”

I could see the idea had been in their minds. It took me saying what they were thinking for it to become something they could no longer ignore. Allie looked up from his drink and spoke, already bleary-eyed even this early in the morn.

“Some while ago, we saw marks on Erin’s neck, and I’m willin’ to bet we all know where they came from.”

The room erupted. I held my hands up. “Quiet! Allie’s not finished.”

Allie looked up again, his face flushed as everyone stared at him. “Erin’s a witch, just like Minnie and every other woman in our family since time out o’ mind. Mind the time ye heard the ancient tale from the Ould Country about the witch who joined an undead? It said they rained destruction over that maid’s village. ‘Tweren’t nothin’ left. What ye reckon’s gonna happen when Erin marries that bye?”

“We have to get rid ‘o the bastard,” said Brian Patrick. “According to legend, I had family in that village when it was destroyed.”

I froze as Brian’s words struck me. When I spoke, my voice was unsteady. “We have to act fast. Allie, I need to see that book Minnie was looking at in the church either today or on the morrow. We don’t know where Vlad hides out during the day, so the weddin’ will be the best time to kill him. He must be old, or he would have killed Erin by now, so that means he’s going to be strong. With the ceremony happenin’ in a few days, we need to come up with a good plan or he’ll murder us all. That book will give us an idea of the powers of the locket, and I think the locket can help us kill him. Brian’s point is o’ import to us. According to legend, I think we all had family in that village.”

[Moderator]

#8: Timmy

I stared into the fire’s depth, the charred logs diminished to glowing embers beneath a sea of gray ash.

Three witches danced on a cloud of ash; one said three and one said nine, but the one who said six, she was on time…

We’d been on the tear for what seemed like donkey’s years. It was gettin’ late and I was either shattered or locked and langers. But it wasn’t the ringin’ in my ears that made me wonder if I got a bad dose. Nor was it my body, which felt numb. What bothered me was the sudden feelin’ someone was watchin’ me from inside the Eye.

All the fellas was sittin’ around, sure, but this was something else. I chalked it up to gettin’ old and raised my glass. The lad behind the bar took the hint with a nod. I turned back to the boyo wasters and black spots closed around my eyes.

I blinked. Hard. McKee reached for a log, but I waved him off. It was warm enough and I could do without all the effin’ smoke. I could barely see their dense faces through the haze. The room was spinnin’ something awful, closin’ in all around, yet those bogtrotters kept waiting for me to get on with it, smilin’ as they did.

Three, six, nine, time. Add three to the three and take three from nine…

I looked straight up, across the fire, past McKee and Big Bill, to the moose mounted on the wall. I’d seen this crocked trophy thousands of times before. It had always maintained a frozen gaze at no one in particular, but now the moose’s head tilted to one side, like a puppy, gawkin’ at me with acute precision.

And then the moose winked and said, “I’m going to cut off your head and nail it to the wall with a railway spike.”

McKee ducked and Brian Patrick screamed right out loud.

Somethin’ scurried across the floor.

Tess couldn’t help but laugh at that effin’ cat. It had snuck in, probably through the back when the bar keep took out the trash, and climbed the rafters. Nobody had noticed, but somethin’ spooked it, and that manky cat jumped down on Big Bill and scared him – hell, all of us – half to death.

Bill excused himself for the Jacks to change his drawers.

McKee added another log. I didn’t balk. As the flames illuminated the Inn, Tess passed along another round.

I snuck another peek at the moose – as much as I told myself not to, I couldn’t help but look – and it held that same blank stare as always. I considered askin’ those doggers if they heard a voice, that bit about “nailin’ the old noggin’ to the wall,” but reconsidered. They’d just have a laugh at my expense and say it was Arthur Guinness talkin’.

So, I went on with me tale.

* * *

All the townspeople congregated in the church, the last place one expected a witch to come a’knockin’.

Rat-a-tat-tat, Rat-a-tat-tat. Here comes a witch with a black cat…

“It’s best to keep the plan simple.” Allie’s voice wavered. He was nervous, as were the rest of us. It was the day before Samhain.

Clickity-clack, clickity-clack, here comes a witch in a black hat…

Colleen Hodder, Matthew O’Malley and Dora Cooper stood behind Allie. O’Malley rubbed the stubble on his face. Dora, a real cute hoor, was diggin’ in her purse while Colleen the floozie freshened her make-up.

Smickity-smack, smickity-smack, here comes the witch, ohh holy shat…

“Now, Colleen is the maid of honor,” Allie said, “and will be in a good position to distract Erin while Mr. O’Malley and Dora - “

The church doors blew open.

The ladies went lame while the lads wailed.

“Y’er a bunch a’ cowards!” Boots said as he stepped through the doorway.

* * *

'William Boutilier,' Tess interrupted. She had joined the party, since the rest of the Inn was dead. 'I'd forgotten that's your Christian name! You were the one who rented the shack to Vlad! You were the one who'd put two and two together about him....and it didn't add up to four.'

'Aye, lass,' I replied. 'I’m not a braggart, but aye.'

'Mind if I tell it?' Tess asked. 'It’s my favorite part.'

'It’d do me some good to give the windbags a rest,' I said with a nod.

'Well,' Tess said as she plopped down in Bill Sauber’s seat, 'Boots here is a man that nobody knew, yet everyone feared, for he could read any man like a book...'

* * *

“It’s the day before the weddin’, is it not?” Boots asked as he studied the rows of derelicts. Everyone nodded in unison. “Samhain holds the tradition that the bride not see the groom, yes?” Again, everyone nodded. “Then we grab Erin now and use the lass to draw that bowsie Jonathan out.”

"That's right!" yelled another fella from the crowd. "Out into the sunlight with the undead bastard!"

“Now wait a minute, Mr. Boots,” Allie protested. “Are we trying to save Erin or use her as bait?”

“Make no mistake about it, lads,” Boots belted, “I’ll chop her up and hang her bits on a hook if that’s what it takes to draw Vlad out.”

The crowd rumbled, but nobody challenged Boots as he laid out the rest of the plan. When it was done, they filed out of the church as if they were leavin' a funeral.

“Make haste!” Boots bellowed, and the villagers moved with renewed faith.

Into the wind, into the rain, into the day before Samhain…

As the town folk fled, Dora revealed her own plot to O’Malley to get that locket before someone pulled a bags job on Erin.

Colleen hunkered down behind the altar as they spoke in hushed tones and done enough earwiggin’ to feel the locket was hers for the takin’, for as Dora and O'Malley plotted, she was sneakin’ out the back.

Smickity-smack, smickity-smack, where goes the witch, there with the hack…