Who is to say if it was the cold wind that pricked those hairs on my neck? The wind was certainly frigid as it rattled the brittle bones of forsaken leaves beneath my feet like the clickety-clacks of creeping crawlies. It certainly could have been that.

It might also have been the moon that stood those hairs on end. A moon full and bright, shimmering orange through cartoon clouds. A witch’s moon, or a devil’s. A filtered bulb washing the black with pearly light as it soul-searched through the darkness.

Or it might have been the stones that were hunkered here, lying in their contorted rows, hiding their etched names away from that light, their shadows stretched away from the moon’s peeking eyes even as they trapped those bony, skittering leaves to add to their mouldering collections.

Perhaps it was the lonely owl‘s sad, “hoot-a-hoo”. Why call for his love here, of all places?

The one place where she would never reply? Instead, a far away train whistle answers his call, low and soft. It is not her voice, but it is a voice. Shadow wings flutter him away.

Or maybe it is her there, prickling my hair and skin. That unearthly apparition wandering among the stones in her comfortable, ethereal glow, gliding gracefully through the shadows, and ’or the leaves? Enchanted eyes cannot leave her. “Does such beauty really exist, and how might I know it?“

She sees me, and glides forward. What has she to fear? Melancholy eyes seek mine. My prickling hairs are charged now with current atop their frozen skin. I would see those eyes smile, I would bask in her glow!

We look into, and through each other, our eyes from different worlds. I see her soul, she mine, both souls lost in their own ghastly existence. Through the veil of death we cannot touch, but that can change. That must change...

Halloween has always been my daughter’s favorite holiday. In fact, her due date was in late November and it’s a running joke that she was born four weeks early because she didn’t want to miss Halloween. She has always enjoyed planning her costumes, evolving from the grocery store standard fare in grade school to going online, doing extensive research and making her own months in advance. This year, Halloween conflicts with one of her other favorite activities. The opening night of the school play is October 31st. She auditioned and landed her first speaking role in her high school career. An opportunity too good to pass up. Even if it means for the first time in 16 years she won‘t be creating a costume and going door-to-door trick or treating. She did request two things, that I stay home opening night to pass out treats and that in lieu of flowers, she gets a basket of candy. She’s still a Halloween girl at heart.

its that time of year again. people are preparing their costumes and carving their pumkins, while i do non of those things. every halloween my stomach turns to knots and my head gets full of pressure. i know exactly why it does it and theres nothing i can do to stop it. its a bad feeling and it happens because of all the people that take advantage of this holiday. all the people who mess with the candy they hand out, but this year its diffrent. this feeling feels more personal, like this bad event will happen to me. ive decided not to leave my house all day, but i doubt that will stop it. these feelings are a promise i cant change anything. ive tried and something bad happens to someone else. theres someone knocking at my door. i quickly check to make sure my porch light is off so i shouldnt be trick-or-treaters and it is. as i unlock my door the bad feeling intensifies. its to late for me to relock the door and pretend im not home so i open it. its a man ive never seen before.

"i belive you are a feelier and im here to protect you," the tall, slender man dressed up as an army man says as if that should clear it all up.

"i have no idea what your talking about. please leave or i will call the police," i respond with my voice only shaking a little.

"i know your lieing. i passed the people that are coming to kill you i need you tru-," BANG! a gun went off shooting the man who really was trying to protect me. thats the last thing i remember before something hit my head and everything went blank.

“Mum, I'm going out to take a walk!” I lied, tying up my hair and starting to walk out the door of our small roundhouse.

“A’right, my adventurous Aisling”, she replied in her thick Celtic accent, focusing on checking our lacking food stocks and (hopefully) not paying me much attention, “ye better not bring back any bad spirits!”

Hoping she was joking about literal spirits, I slipped a cloak on, grabbed a twine basket, and breathed in the cool autumn air outside. She would probably freak once it occurred to her that I was going for a walk so close to nighttime, but I had something to do.

It was almost dark out, and not too many folks were out and about. All around me, rows of homes made of mud and lumber were surrounded with candle-lit turnips that had been carved to resemble faces. On each doorstep, some food and drink lay on leftover cloth.

Tonight was Samhain (sow-in), our equinox holiday for harvesting crops and worshipping genii locorum. But during the night, when daemons and fae would awaken from their hiding places, they would take the food we put out as offerings. The carved turnips, along with the food, were meant to ward off these monsters from going inside the homes.

Under my heavier-than-normal cloak, I produced the skull of an old deer with antlers; an unfortunate creature that had been our dinner a few days back. I had cleaned and polished the skull from the water of a nearby river, and tied some twine around the upper and lower jaws. The perfect mask.

In addition to that, I had some necklaces of chicken bones and shiny stones, along with my ragged cloak, which was a patched-up nightmare in and of itself. All together, the accessories turned me into one of the nefarious monsters.

My family didn't have much food. In fact, we could barely put out anything during Samhain. My plan was to pretend to be a daemon, and take the neighbors’ food for ourselves.

It may sound crazy, but I have a feeling that it's been done before...

Knowing that it was now as dark as the Underworld around me, I put on my costume, got out my woven basket, and began to head to the homes. Most of the candles had been blown out and children tucked into beds, so I hoped that no one would hear me.

But after stealing bread and goblets of mediocre mead from the first three homes, I found myself face-to-face with another monster on the walk to the fourth.

Between pitch-black tendrils trailing behind it and having completely grey eyes, I immediately thought of one of Crom Cruach’s cronies. Did I mention that Crom, the god of death, could also be out tonight?

It held up its clawed hand to silence me before I could shriek or whack him with my basket while stuttering a spell or something.

Suddenly, it spoke, a bit surprised. “Aisling, i-is that y-you?”

A nervous chuckle rose in me when I realized that it was just Brennus of the merchant O'Briains. The silver eyes were just tetradrachm coins, and the shadowy cloth just his own wool cape.

Was he also stealing food? His family wasn't too poor, but they had their shortages once and awhile.

“I was, er, being a spirit.” He admitted.

“I was too.” We laughed and complimented each other's costumes.

Our chatting was brought down to a hush when other figures emerged from the shadows. It seemed like everyone had thought of our idea.

Most of the dressed-up folk were kids my age. I recognized Valter and Octavia wearing wolf furs and feather crowns. There was also Alice with paint on her freckled face and wings made of leaves. Even Augustus showed up with a brightly-colored crown of branches. All of their costumes were made from simple materials, based on creatures of the night.

We all promised to keep it a secret, then traded some of our loot. Alice showed me the berries she used for her facepaint, and Valter bragged about how he got the feathers on his crown from a Red Kite. In the end, I had gotten enough treats to support my family for weeks.

Who knew Samhain would be so fun?

I made sure to take off my costume and hide the food in our cellar before going back into the house. When I walked in, my Mum and Dad asked why I seemed so cheerful to be out in the daunting night. I didn't have too much of a choice, so I lied again, and told them that I went to my friend Alice’s house. It wasn’t that far from the truth, but would they believe the truth?

In the chilly months of Alban Arthuan (the winter harvest) that followed, word eventually got out (probably from Augustus) of what we had done, and the whole town knew about who was really taking the food. But they weren't mad. In fact, very few thought that it was “disrespectful to the spirits”.

Next year, almost everyone, even the adults, dressed up and traded treats with others (who now stood fearlessly on their doorsteps). Some villagers brought instruments to play and more turnips to carve, and started a dance.

In the coming years, the tradition turned from that of a superstitious ritual to a care-free festivity, and the rest is history.