All Samhain’s Eve

“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.