My wife and I were throwing our first Halloween party on the Saturday of the weekend before Halloween. My wife had gotten excited about the idea a month and a half before Halloween, excited about the different foods that could be made, the decorating, the invitations, her costume...
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Annie Daniels sighed softly and paused at the large steel-and-stone gate, then accelerated to glide up the hill. Tall statues of cement cast spooky shadows on the ground, and she shivered as she killed the engine and stepped out into the slightly chilly air of early evening.
She made her way hesitantly to the fat gravestone a few yards away, a sunflower clutched in her hands, which she lovingly placed at the base of the marker. "I miss you, Matthew."
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The soft patter of rain that began to pelt against the roof grabbed my attention, and I paused, setting my fiery-red lipstick back on the wooden vanity below me.
"Shit." I muttered to myself, disgruntled. The weather forecast hadn't called for rain earlier in the morning, so I'd decided on a costume with more involved makeup. I'd planned on arriving at the annual Crowley Halloween ball dressed as a sexy version of Harley Quinn, my favorite character.
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I didn't know if it was the unseasonal heat or the heavy work we'd done that day or Jake's scary stories or Miguel's empty bed that kept me awake in the dormitory that night, but I had nervous energy to spare. I would doze, but I'd wake up with a start and look over at Miguel's bed, the emptiness of it now explained, and then I'd check all of the other beds to see in guys were there. And sometimes they weren't, and then I'd speculate.
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Naked forms, barely visible, played in the shadows around Darkling Prince. He strode through the town, and laughed at the mortals cowering inside. Halloween, Samhain, whatever they called it in this time, in this place, was when evil spirits roamed the worlds.
Darkling roamed, as evil as he needed to be. Far off in the fields, a bonfire raged. Hm, time for some fun, then.
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"Hey Lindsay, how's it going?" I asked.
The brunette student sat on the floor outside my office. She was studying a page of class scribblings that had been transcribed into a dog-eared, spiral-ringed notebook. Even in the dim half-light of the hallway I could make out her lush and curvy form. Whoa! This girl knocked the wind out of my lungs. I had spent several sweaty nights recreating her image in myriad naughty ways.
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Before I start I should really tell you a bit about our village. If you are used to planned gridiron building then our village will be a shock to you. People have lived here and hereabouts for at least a couple of thousand years. There was a Roman camp nearby, and there are carvings in rocks that are much older than that.
What I am saying is that the village was not organised, it had just happened. Most people only see it from the main road, lined as it is with shops, houses and a couple of pubs.
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Within a few minutes, Anna wished she had followed her first impulse and grabbed her coat instead of her jacket. The night was more raw than cold, but the brisk walk was doing little to compensate for the chilled humidity. She glanced over her shoulder at the sidewalk that looked even darker now than when they had turned down this street a few blocks earlier. Taking a deep breath, she looked ahead and jogged a few steps to catch up with the other freshmen.
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I am writing this because I need to get it down before I forget it. My name is Jasmine King. I know that sounds a little like a stripper name, but I am really not. My mom was sort of a hippie and said I was named after her favorite incense. Guess it could be worse, I could be Patchouli King or Musk or something. I have always been a bit off.
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Rebecca watched the last of the trick-or-treaters head down the street and checked the clock. With the official hours over, she turned out the porch light and put down the bowl, resisting the urge to indulge with one of the few remaining pieces of candy.
She took off her witch hat and shook out a wealth of dark hair, trying not to think about the few strands of gray that she refused to dye — yet.
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