#100daysofhalloweenhappy 2023

The Window

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For Experience Writing: If These Bones Could Talk

The Odiham pest house, which dates from the early 1620’s is unusual in that it was built in the south west corner of the churchyard of All Saints Odiham- Photogrpaher Unknown

It’s not the poor Souls who were left in the Plague Houses to die without the comfort of their family- their beloved dogs or cats or even something as simple as having the comfort of facing the dark unknown from their own beds that haunt me.

The idea that haunts me is that there is a Plague House ( or pest house ) that was built in the corner of a churchyard near a cemetery.

Instead of the dying drawing solace from knowing that just outside their windows, on the other side of their bedroom wall was their world and it was close enough to touch- and that maybe, just maybe they might be able to go back it.

In that world they had gardens, maybe their best friend lived next door, maybe their first love lived a few houses down, instead of those comforting thoughts, all the residents of the Cemetery Pest House knew for certain was that on the other side of that wall was a cemetery and that in time, that was where they were going to be moved.

The only thing on the other side of their walls now were boxes of bones covered in dirt and dead flowers.

I’m not sure whose idea it was to build the Pest House near a cemetery, but I  wonder why- of all things- did it have a window over looking  a graveyard.

The Odiham pest house, which dates from the early 1620’s is unusual in that it was built in the south west corner of the churchyard of All Saints Odiham

The Spider At The End of The World

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This story is a little over 3 years old and I’ve done some edits on it so that I can post it for Experience Writing’s Prompt: Pulling Back The Veil.

In this story I tried to blend passages with The Egyptian Book of The Dead  ( the world ends every night ) with the idea that the on Halloween the veil between the world of the dead and the living is thin- or pushed aside and what would you get if you could see that both stories have collided?

So from the Eyes of A Spider- here we go:

THE SPIDER AT THE END OF THE WORLD

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The Spider left her web to cross the ceiling, as she does when nightfalls.

With six of her eyes scanning her path and her two side eyes ever watchful for anything that might try to sneak up on her, she carefully made her way silently, carefully across the ceiling.

There was a lot for her to be concerned about, her home after all was in the Ancient Civilizations wing- and unlike her many children who stilled remained in the museum and had nice safe homes in the  or the Natural History wing ( where they blended right in and their Mother felt they were the safest) The Spider had to keep all of her eyes peeled.

Because at night, as it did every night,  the world ended.

Below her, as they did every night, the mummies in their glass coffins turned and rose up and their shades disappeared into the shadows cast by the high museum ceiling.

The waking mummies small clay servants fell from their shelves like pebbles rolling down from the top of crumbling pyramid and as they struck the floor their small forms shivered . They stood , lifted their chins up and hearing familiar voices from beyond the museum walls they walked single fall towards the doors- not the fake ones,  but the doors that the  guests use  and one by one the little stone servants  disappear as they crossed the threshold.

The Spider turned her eyes to the floor and she watched  as men with the heads of dogs stepped down from their stone pedestals and women with the heads of lions followed them. They moved slowly as if they had all the time in the world to go to where it was they were headed ,  and the Spider supposed they did.

 

Tonight was different- they all felt it, even the Spider.

Someone whispered, ” they’re coming back.  And tonight they will be more powerful then ever.”

” Tonight? All of them? ” a woman’s voice did not ask as much as she expected and demanded an answer.

Each voice answered yes.

The Spider would have said yes too, if she had a tongue.

” Then we have to hurry. Now. Hurry!”

The Caravan of the Dead took their places in line and they moved towards the doorway as relentlessly as a cold autumn wind blowing across a treeless field.

As they did every night,  as the world was ending, they fought to bring the daylight back to the world and every night they won.

Which is good for the Spider, her children and us.

But on Halloween when the  veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead is not just thin-  is completely gone and  the Caravan of the Dead find themselves at war with Death itself and on this night  Death and all of her family  are more determined then ever to return to the place that used to be their home.

On this night  you might see a member of the Caravan stalking a Grandmother in her best Sunday dress caked with mold through the museum parking lot,  a man in a suit with a long stitch running up the back of his jacket is headed toward the apartment building across the street, a young woman with a face  carved out of wax walking down the middle of the street- all them with one thought –

They were all trying to outpace the Ancient Dead whose job it is to save the world from eternal darkness.

But  the ghastly and ghostly figures dressed in black, or wrapped in shrouds  get caught every single time,  and for those of us who breathe and sweat and lie and cheat and love and get mad when our phones loose their signals, for those of us who do not have wax heads or smell like embalming fluid,  we better hope it stays that way-

Like Spider  hopes from her web on the ceiling and as she will always hope with all of her heart, especially on Halloween.

 

 

Mischief Night

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Experience Writng October 10th prompt is: Behind The Mask– this prompt asks what is behind the mask that people wear? Sometimes a mask isn’t always made out of plastic or paint and sometimes you don’t need to hide your face to give yourself the courage to hide your true intentions and cause a little mischief.

 

Every Halloween my Mom and  my Grandma Ginger and Grandpa Bert would take me and my brother to Woolworth’s to choose our Halloween costumes.

My Mom didn’t like shopping for Halloween costumes- well. She didn’t like shopping with me for costumes because unlike my brother, I looked at the rows and rows of plastic masks and I would freeze up.

Acutally I wasn’t frozen up. I just wasn’t crazy about the choices.

But one Halloween that all changed.

On this trip  to the store  my Mom was ready with my selections. ” What do you want to be, a Princess?  Look. Here’s a nice mask”

” Princess. ” my Grandpa Bert would snorted.

I looked over to him and he nodded at me and grinned.

” Princesses are dumb. Plus. They have to kiss boys- and frogs. I hate frogs. How come they can’t kiss  puppies instead? I like dogs.”

” That’s my girl. ” Grandpa Bert said.

My Grandma Ginger pulled a Gypsy Mask down. ” Look a Gypsy. They can curse people and tell the future. ”

” It’s very pretty. ” I said. ” Taking the box from her hand.

My Mom and Grandma Ginger smiled. They  were ready  to celebrate a job well done with a cigarette.

My Grandpa patted me on the head and  I held it up  over my head for him to see.

He snickered.

” My Granddaughter doesn’t need a mask to curse, do you Anita Marie? She does stuff like that at least twice a day by lunchtime. That’s not Halloween to her. ”

I handed the box back to My Grandma  and smiled- it was a sideways smile. It was my Grandpa Bert’s trademark smile.

My Mom and my Grandma didn’t always get along in those days, but they were on the same team on this day and they had had it with my Grandpa Bert’s shenanigans.

” What do you want to be? ” My  Mom demanded to know- her eyes were going all squinty so I knew things were ready to take a grim turn, ” A cat? ? What? You choose. Go on, You pick one out.”

” Okay. ” I put my arms out to my sides. I closed my eyes.

My Grandpa Bert spun me around a few times and  when he stopped me I pointed.

What do you know, I was pointing at a Devil Mask.

My Mom pulled the box down and she shoved it into my Grandpa Bert’s chest.

” The both of you – ” she was at a loss for words but my Grandma Ginger was not.

” The two of you should have been left in the woods to be raised by wolves. ” My Grandma Ginger spat at us. I mean, for real. She was mad.

We watched them stomp down the aisle and my Grandpa handed me the costume that  there was NO WAY my Mom and Grandma would have let me choose because it wasn’t pretty.

Walking behind them, because there was such a thing as overkill in shenanigans, me and my Grandpa Bert strolled to the check out stand with my Devil mask and a set of sideways smiles between us.