A Circle of Celebrations: The Complete Edition (12 page)

O O O

Vinory’s sleep was troubled by Samon’s entreaties. “I will hold you in honor,” his spirit said in her dreams. He dropped to his knees before her, the dark eyes pleading. “I will give you pride of place, and let you lead in all things, if I may live. Oh, lady, let me through!”

Honor. Samon could see all her thoughts. He knew the turmoil in her mind. How could Vinory hide anything from him? But did he mean it?

“I … I don’t know if I can trust you, Master Samon,” she said at last, conscious even though her body was asleep. “I’m afraid of what admitting you back into life will mean to me. I dare not undo what the gods have done. You should go on to the Summerlands beyond the Veil.”

“Not yet! Oh, I will be kind, lady. On pain of eternal condemnation, I swear it. I will give you all honor.”

“How can I believe it?” Vinory asked. “You’ll say anything so that I will open the Door on Lammas Night and let you through instead of banishing you forever.”

“See for yourself,” he said, taking bother hands between his as he continued to kneel before her. The impishness touched his eyes, and she felt like melting. He was so very handsome. “If I lie, you can take other revenge upon me. To be mortal again has its own discomforts. It will at least be as interesting to stand with you, for fair or foul.”

She took chances; why else would she be a witch and a mage if she was not ready to face the unseen and call the unknown by its name? A challenge like that appealed to her more than any of the blandishments, but she was still uncertain.

“I will think about it,” she promised.

O O O

The candles burned as she swung open the cottage door to allow the night breeze to enter. The villagers of Twin Streams had gone off to enjoy the rest of their harvest night. Now she was left with only one task to do. The spirit of Samon waited at the perimeter of the room, full of fear and anticipation as to his coming fate, for it was tonight or never.

All the materials Vinory needed were laid out. She lit each one of the candles in turn, praying to the gods that what she was about to do was right. The warm breeze caressed her bare skin as she chalked the circle on the floor and stood inside it. She took up the book and read aloud from it by the light of the candle in her hand. Her voice trembled through the first syllables, then grew stronger, though she felt the pull of unseen forces at the very stuff of her existence.

The golden light broke from the candles at the points of the compass and joined together to form a ring of fire which grew and grew until she was surrounded by it. And then it died away, leaving an arch at the north side of the circle. Through it she could see a shadow. It was a mature man with dark hair and eyes, and milk-pale skin. He smiled at her tentatively. She knew at once that this was Samon. She must send him away or answer his plea
now
. There was no more time to decide.

“I will give you all my honor, no matter what you decide,” Samon said. He looked hopeful like a puppy who did not dare to wag its tail. “May I come, or must I go?”

He held out a daffodil to her, as a token of the beginning of new things for both of them.
At least, it would be an interesting life from now on,
she thought. A considerate lover, so the girl had said. He would have to be, to make up for the part of her life the restoration of his life would take. Vinory smiled. For fair or foul.

“Come,” she said, and held out her hand to him.

***

Halloween

Trick

Creak’s bright-yellow eyes slewed desperately around the twilit lawn. His shroud was gone. He should never have turned his back on it for a second, but that brackish puddle full of icy cold water and decaying autumn leaves had been just too tempting. Without hesitation, he’d slipped off the shining white cloak and slid into its depths. Once he’d finished reveling in its delightful chill sliminess, he had discovered the shroud was missing.

What could he do? Without it he was a pair of disembodied eyeballs in a blob of invisible ectoplasm floating about three feet off the ground, unable to groan, shriek, fly, or cause mischief. Not properly terrifying for Halloween. Which this was.

Creak rolled his eyes about again, scanning trees, bushes, houses, and cars, in case his shroud had only fluttered to the ground. Wait, there it was! On the other side of the hard path mortals called a “street.” The wind must have picked it up. He glided across, passing through automobiles, giving minor hallucinations to the humans within, and swooped gladly on his cloak. But it was not his! The one he had doffed was moonlight spun into fine silk by silver spiders and woven by witches adding spells to the weft as they went.
This
was coarse, wrinkled
cloth
, only called white out of courtesy. And the eye holes! Crudely hacked into the cloth, two gaping wounds, not the round wells of loss, fear, and despair through which Creak gazed at the world. Some being, he was now sure, had seen his beautiful shroud and stolen it, dropping this in its place.

Creak felt outraged. He must find the thief and punish him!

But where to begin? Now that Creak concentrated, he perceived that both sides of the street were filled with mortals. As was proper for the sacred day, the short ones were clad in outfits to mimic the beings who crossed freely between the worlds of the seen and unseen: goblins, witches, vampires, even a blue and red outfit meant to represent a spider … but mortals had an odd perception of reality, after all. And many ghosts. Creak flitted after the first one. Its cloak was not his, but rather like the one he had found on the ground. Grumbling, he scooted back to the discarded shroud, looking for clues.

A child dressed as a pink fairy spotted his glowing eyes and screamed. Creak was gratified. Even without his mystic cloak he could still inspire awe and fear. Her father, clad in a warm jacket and the ubiquitous leg coverings mortals called “blue jeans,” shot over to see what had frightened his offspring. Creak stood his ground, but suddenly noticed a religious emblem about the man’s neck. In the possession of a true believer, amulets had the power to banish his kind to the unseen world for a hundred years. Without his shroud Creak was vulnerable. Quickly he snatched up the crude cotton robe and put it on. The man saw him embodied and stopped short.

“Oh, honey,” he said to the girl, “it’s just another kid dressed as a ghost. Come on.”

He hauled her away by the hand, but she kept looking back over her shoulder at Creak. She knew what she’d seen.

Now, to find the thief.

O O O

“You shouldn’a taken that other kid’s ghost costume,” eight-year-old Brianna Cole scolded her one-year-older brother Jay. Her Little Mermaid costume slid down her shoulders inside her fleece coat, and she stopped to put her plastic pumpkin of treats on the ground to hike it up. “Jay!”

The formless white shape halted impatiently on the sidewalk. The sides of the sheet bulged out as though the boy underneath it had put his hands on his hips. “What?”

“It was mean. Besides, it’s stealing.”

“I didn’t steal nothing,” Jay said, his voice sounding sepulchral and far away. “I traded.”

“But you didn’t ask first. That makes it stealing. What do you think Mom’s going to say when you come home with that costume instead of yours?”

“Hah!” Jay snorted. “She’ll never notice the difference.” Brianna considered. That was true. Mom never did notice stuff, which is why Jay always got away with things. “It’s way cooler than mine. The eyes are round and the cloth’s so light it’s like it’s not really there. Come on, let’s haunt Mrs. Springer.”

Brianna hoisted her pumpkin and hurried up the front steps of the old frame house after him. Mrs. Springer always gave full-size candy bars. The Cole children never missed visiting her.

Jay reached up and pushed the button. Deep inside, they heard the clang of the bell.

The door swung open. Mrs. Springer, a nice older lady with pale gray-blond hair who always wore tweed skirts, peered out at them. In one arm she held a big crockery bowl. “Well, well, two scary visitors! What can I do for you?”

“Trick or treat,” Brianna chorused obediently. But Jay decided to ham it up. He raised his arms and wailed.

“Whoaa-aaaa-oooo!”

Mrs. Springer let out a strangled scream. Her eyes went as round as her glasses, and she retreated into the house, slamming the door.

“What did you do?” Brianna demanded. “She had Snickers!”

“Me?” Jay asked, hurt. “I didn’t do anything. Hey!” he shouted, raising a cloth-covered fist to pound on the door. “Trick or treat! We want our candy!”

But to both children’s surprise, his hand passed straight through the polished wooden panel. Brianna gasped.

“Hey, cool!” Jay said. He withdrew his hand and tried it again. He thrust his foot through. “Wow. This costume must be magic.” His happy voice scared Brianna more than his newfound ability to pass through walls.

“Jay, we’re gonna get in trouble!”

“No, we’re not,” he said, turning his blank eye holes toward her. “Look. I’ll go get our candy, and we’ll go to the next house.”

He turned his back on her protests, and walked straight at the door.

His eyes knew the wood was solid, but he slid through it with no more resistance than if he was walking through water. The shock was the change in temperature. It was bright and warm in Mrs. Springer’s hallway. Everything in it was decorated in cheery red checks, and it matched, unlike the decoration in their house.

On a gingham-covered table by the door was the huge bowl. It was filled with candy bars: Snickers, Mounds, Crunch, Laffy Taffy, Chuckles, and York Mints. Jay chose a Crunch bar and put it in the pumpkin bag under his costume. He heard Mrs. Springer’s panicky voice in another room. He eyed the bowl, and decided to bring it outside so Brianna could take her choice. That courtesy ought to sweeten her disposition and make her stop nagging him about taking the other costume. It was only a trick, right? This was Halloween. Trick or treat.

His leg went through the door all right, but the bowl in his arms would not pass. The shock of it striking the door surprised Jay. The bowl tilted off his hands and fell backward
through
his body, crashing to the tiled floor and dumping treats all over.

“Oh,
hurry
!” Mrs. Springer’s voice cried. “I think it got into the house. It’s horrible!”

Jay didn’t hesitate. He dove through the door.

“Where’s my candy?” Brianna asked, as he rushed past and down to the sidewalk.

“She’s calling the cops,” Jay said. “Come on, we’ve got to get away.” Alarmed, Brianna fell in behind him.

“What did you do?”

“I broke the bowl. It was an accident!”

“You better go back and tell,” Brianna insisted. “And pay for it.”

“Tomorrow,” Jay panted. “I swear. I don’t want to get thrown in jail. Let’s just keep trick or treating.”

Brianna groaned, but it was no use pushing him. He’d keep his word to own up; he always did.

The next house was past a big hedge. Jay stopped being nervous the moment they were behind it. Mrs. Springer couldn’t see them any more.

“Hey, guess what?” Jay asked, as Brianna concentrated on lifting her skirts to climb the stoop. “I can fly in this thing! Look at me!”

Brianna refused to turn around. She rang the bell. “Trick or treat,” the children chorused together.

Mrs. Park, a Korean woman who did crossing guard duty, slowly put down her bowl of treats and opened the door, holding out her hand to Brianna.

“Come in here, honey. This is a Neighborhood Watch house. You be safe until you mama come fo’ you.”

“Why?”

“There a bad thing behind you.” She screamed something in Korean over Brianna’s shoulder. “Now hurry come in call you mama.” She grabbed for Brianna’s wrist.

“Run, Brianna, she’s a pervert!” Jay cried. Brianna scooted out of reach of the little woman’s hand, and stumbled down the stairs after her brother. Mrs. Park squawked out another diatribe behind them.

O O O

Creak floated up and down street after street. The mortal who had taken his shroud could not know all of its powers, therefore it could not have gone far. Its principal talent was the spreading of fear and awe, so he must look for the center of the greatest disturbance in this area. With the borrowed robe dragging along the ground, he wove as quickly as he could in between the groups of mortals on the sidewalks, sensing ahead of him for strife and turmoil.

O O O

“What did we do?” Jay asked, desperately, as they cut through the backyard hedges to the next street. The man who had answered the next door didn’t say a thing, but reached for a shotgun—a shotgun!—from next to his armchair, and sprang up to chase them. “Is he still following us?”

Brianna looked back. “I don’t see him, but I hear noises. Everyone’s coming.”

“We’ve seen a monster!” voices behind them shouted. “It went that way! Hurry, help us! Call the police!” Footsteps crackled through the brush as they emerged on the far sidewalk.

“I’ve
gotta
get rid of this thing,” Jay panted. “Something about it’s
wrong
.”

“It’s stolen magic, that’s what,” Brianna said.

O O O

The disturbance was heaviest here. Coming around the block from the opposite direction, Creak spotted his beloved shroud at once. A boy running toward him was wearing it! Creak could see the uncouth movement of breath puffing out the hood. The mortal was afraid. Good. Perhaps he was ready to return the stolen shroud now.

Creak shed the heavy, crude cloak on a bush in plain sight.

O O O

A crowd of adults burst through after the two children. “Look, another ghost suit!” Brianna yelled, pointing.

Jay threw off the borrowed costume. It was whisked away before it hit the ground, and he caught a mysterious glimpse of yellow light. Not caring what became of it, he dove for the sheet on the bush. “It’s my old one!” He managed to shrug into it just before a policeman sprinted ahead of the group of pursuing adults. He grabbed Jay by the shoulder and turned him around to show Mrs. Springer and the others.

“Is this your specter?” he asked. “It’s just a little boy, folks.”

“Well, I thought it was a monster,” Mrs. Springer declared, as the officer pulled the costume off. “Oh, it’s Jay Cole. I’m sorry, honey. I don’t know what I was thinking. Probably been watching too many horror movies.”

Jay put on his best pathetic face, the one that kept him out of trouble at home. “I’m sorry I broke your bowl, Mrs. Springer!”

“How’d you get through the door?” she asked. “It was locked.”

“Uh, it was a trick. You know, trick or treat?”

The older woman put her arm around him. “It’s all right, honey. I never liked the darned thing. Come on back to my house and I’ll give you both a bunch of candy bars.”

“Crunch is my favorite,” Jay said. Brianna followed him, rolling her eyes.

O O O

Creak followed them, too, floating along easily and invisibly at their heels in his silken robe. The boy needed a lesson in respect. He’d wait until Jay was tucked up in bed, maybe wait until just before midnight, and then he’d teach him what haunting was all about.

Smiling Jack

Rebecca Jenner jumped off the hay wagon onto the uneven ruts of earth behind her boyfriend Don Giatelli. The dry, gray soil caught at her Nikes, making her stumble. A gust of chill October wind lifted her light brown curls. She wished she’d worn a hat.

“Look at the size of that pumpkin!” Don exclaimed, ignoring the knee-high gourds all around his big, sneaker-clad feet. He headed straight for an orange-red fruit as big as a La-Z Boy recliner ridged with furrows as deep as Rebecca’s hand was long.

“Don’t touch it, kid,” Mr. Barrow warned him. The weathered-faced farmer sat on the tractor seat and leaned an elbow on the controls. “You gotta look out for the ones who’re rocked back on their haunches like that. The mouth at the bottom’s smilin’ at ya. It’ll getcha. That’s why they cut ’em into Jack o’ lanterns, takes all the power outta ’em. You wait until tomorrow, when I cut it open to get the seeds out. Then you can touch it all you want.”

The pumpkin did seem to be smiling at them, the blossom end that would normally be resting on the soil puckered into a mean grin. Rebecca recoiled, but Don patted it anyway. Barrow gave him a sour look. Clearly, he thought he was wasting his time driving all the way out with just two teenagers. “All right, choose the ones you want, and let’s go.”

“He’s cranky,” Don whispered, as they climbed back into the hay wagon with their chosen pumpkins. “Let’s come back tonight and make him sorry he was mean.”

O O O

A full moon shone over the big open field as Rebecca climbed out of Don’s crowded car. Four of their friends had listened to Don’s plan to get even with the bad-tempered farmer, and decided they had to get in on it.

“Come on!” Don whispered, as Rebecca hesitated. The others ran out ahead of them and started kicking in the unharvested pumpkins.

“It’s creepy,” she said.

“It’s just a pumpkin patch. Hurry. Raree and the others are already having fun!”

“Don, this is vandalism,” Rebecca protested. “We’re destroying private property.”

He gave her a withering look. “It’s an old tradition, and it’s just fun,” he said. He ran off to join the others.

Pieces of shell and wads of pulp, ghostly gray in the moonlight, flew all over the field. Rebecca followed reluctantly, her arms folded over the little purse on the long strap across her body. Raree Tondal, the high school’s prized 7'2" basketball forward, drew back one incredibly big foot, and kicked a huge pumpkin halfway down a row. It bounced and split into three big pieces. The others cheered. Raree held his hands up in a victory clasp over his head.