by Paula Guran
Jan was on the street outside when Katie left Mr. Hakim’s grocery store. They glared at each other.
“Do you take back what you said?” asked Jan, sullen and pouting. “About that awful, smelly man.”
“No, I don’t,” said Katie. Her lips were tight.
“You lied!”
“I told the truth,” declared Katie. “But you’re just scared to believe it. And if you try to slap me again I’ll kick your shins!”
Jan stepped back. “You’re the meanest person I know!”
“Listen, you’d better stay home tonight,” warned Katie. “That is, if you don’t want the Halloween Man to pop out your soul and eat it.”
Jan blinked at this, frowning.
“I figure he’ll be out tonight,” nodded Katie. “He’s due.”
“You’re crazy! I’m going Trick or treating, like always.”
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Katie told her. “When he grabs you just remember what I said.”
“I hate you!” Jan cried, and turned away.
Katie started home.
It was later than she thought. Katie had spent so much time shopping she’d lost track of the day. It had just slipped past.
Now it was almost dark.
God!
Almost dark.
The brightness had drained from the sky, and the westering sun was buried in thick-massed clouds. A thin rain was beginning to dampen the streets.
Katie shifted the heavy bag of groceries and began to walk faster. Only two miles and she’d be home. Just twenty blocks.
A rising wind had joined the rain, driving wet leaves against her face, whipping her coat.
Not many kids will be going out tonight, Katie thought. Not in this kind of weather. Which meant lean pickings for the Halloween Man. If he shows up there won’t be many souls to bag. Meaning he’ll grab any kid he finds on the street. No pick and choose for him.
I’m all right, Katie told herself. I’ve still got time to make it home before it gets really dark . . .
But the clouds were thickening rapidly, drawing a heavy gray blanket across the sky.
It was getting dark.
Katie hurried. An orange fell from the top of the rain-damp sack, plopped to the walk. Katie stopped to pick it up.
And saw him.
Coming along the walk under the blowing trees, tall and skeleton-gaunt, with his rotted coat flapping in tatters around his stick-thin legs, and with his sack slung over one bony shoulder.
The red of his deep-sunk eyes burned under a big wide-brimmed slouch hat.
He saw Katie.
The Halloween Man smiled.
She whirled around with an insucked cry, the soggy paper sack ripping, slipping from her fingers, the groceries tumbling to the sidewalk, cans rolling, split milk cartons spitting white foam across the dark concrete.
Katie ran.
Not looking back, heart hammer-thumping her chest, she flung her body forward in strangled panic.
Where? Where to go? He was between her and home; she’d have to go back into the heart of town, run across the square and try to reach her house by another route.
But could she run that far? Jan was the runner; she could do it, she was faster and stronger. Already Katie felt a rising weakness in her legs. Terror was constricting her muscles, numbing her reflexes.
He could run like a lizard. That’s what Todd had said, and lizards are fast. She didn’t want to look back, didn’t want to turn to see him, but she had to know how much distance she’d put between them. Where was he?
With a low moan, Katie swung her head around. And suddenly stopped running.
He was gone.
The long wet street stretched empty behind her, char black at its far end—just the wind-lashed trees, the gusting leaves, the blowing curtain of rain silvering the dark pavement. There was no sign of the Halloween Man.
He’d outfoxed her. He’d guessed her intention about doubling back and had cut across the square ahead of her. And he’d done the final demon-clever thing to trap her. He’d climbed inside.
But inside who? And where?
Concentrate, she told herself. Remember what Todd Pepper said about trusting your instinct. Oh, I’ll know him when I see him!
Now Katie was in the middle of the town square. No matter which route she took home she had to pass several stores and shops—and he could be waiting in any doorway, ready to pounce.
She drew a long, shuddering breath, steeling herself for survival. Her head ached; she felt dizzy, but she was prepared to run.
Then, suddenly, horribly, a hand tugged at her shoulder!
Katie flinched like a dog under the whip, looked up in drymouthed terror—into the calm, smiling face of Dr. Peter Osgood.
“Your father tells me you’ve been ill, young lady,” he said in his smooth doctor’s voice. “Just step into my office and we’ll find out what’s wrong.”
Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly.
Katie backed away from him. “No . . . No. Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”
“Your face looks flushed. You may have a touch of fever, Katie. Now I really think we should—”
“Get away from me!” she screamed. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I know who you are—you’re him!”
And she broke into a pounding run.
Past Mr. Thurtle’s candy shop: Him, waving from the window at her, with his red eyes shining . . .
Past the drug store: Him, standing at the door inside Mr. Joergens, smiling with his shark’s teeth. “In a big rush today, Katie?”
Yes, away from you! A big rush.
Across the street on the red light. Him, in a dirty Ford pickup, jamming on the brakes, poking his head out the window: “Watch where you’re running, you stupid little bitch!”
Oh, she knew the Halloween Man.
When Katie reached her house, on Oakvale, she fell to her knees on the cold wooden porch, gasping, eyes full of tears, ears ringing. Her head felt like a balloon about to burst, and she was hot and woozy and sick to her stomach.
But she was safe. She’d made it; he hadn’t caught her.
Katie stood up shakily, got the door open and crossed the living room to the big rose sofa, dropped into it with a heavy, exhausted sigh.
Outside, a car pulled to the curb. She could see it through the window. A dark blue Chevy! Dr. Osgood’s car!
“No!” screamed Katie, running back to the front door and throwing the bolt.
Her father came downstairs, looking confused. “What’s wrong, sugar?”
Katie faced him, panting, her back tight against the bolted door. “We can’t let him in. He’s gonna steal my soul!”
“It’s just Dr. Osgood, Katie. I asked him to drop by and see you.”
“No, it isn’t, Daddy. He’s not Dr. Osgood. He’s him!”
“Him?”
“The Halloween Man. He can get into big people’s bodies. And he’s inside Dr. Osgood right now.”
Her father smiled gently, then moved to unlock the door. “I think you’ve been watching too many movies. You don’t have to be afraid of—”
But Katie didn’t wait for him to finish. She rushed up the stairs, ran to her room at the end of the hall, hurried inside, and slammed the door.
Panic. There was no lock on her door, no way to keep him out. She ran to the bed, jumping under the covers the way she used to do when she was little and things frightened her in the dark.
Below, muted sounds of greeting. Male voices. Daddy talking to him.
Then footsteps.
Coming up the stairs.
Katie leaped from the bed in a sudden frenzy, tipped over the tall wooden bookcase near her closet, dragged it against the door. It probably wouldn’t hold him, but . . .
A rapping at the door. Rap-rap-rap. Rap-rap-rap.
“Katie!”
“Go way!” she yelled.
“Katie, open the door.” It was Daddy’s voice.
“N
o. You’ve got him with you. I know he’s right there with you.”
“Go to the window,” her father told her. “See for yourself.”
She ran across the room, stumbling over spilled books, and looked out. Dr. Osgood was just driving away through the misting rain in his blue Chevy.
Which meant that her father could now be—
He pushed the door open. Katie swung around to face him. “Oh, no!” She was trembling.
“It’s true! Now you’re him!”
Katie’s father reached out, put a big hand on each side of her face. “Happy Halloween, sugar!” he said.
And gave her head a terrible shake.
THE YOUNG TAMLANE
Sir Walter Scott
According to Lisa Morton “Tamlane” is “one of the first works to make use of Halloween” rather than the earlier holiday of Samhain. The ballad form is known to have existed in the Scottish Borders for centuries. Sir Walter Scott included “The Young Tamlane” is his Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Volume II, published in 1802. The version here, however, comes from the second edition, published in 1803 after Scott made alterations. Many other versions exist and the story continues to be rewritten, renewed, and retold by modern authors.
There are many traditions connecting Celtic fairy lore to Halloween and the story of Tamlane (or Tam Lin or a number of other variants) involves one of them: mortals held captive by fairies can be rescued on this night. Here, the brave and defiant Janet (or Margaret) rescues her true love and the father of her unborn child from the Queen of the Fairies on Halloween. Not that “Tamlane” is a fairy tale suitable for children. It involves sex, the possibility of abortion or infanticide, the threat of human sacrifice, horrific transformations, and a truly vicious fairy queen.
(Interpolations are taken from Scott’s footnotes and other sources.)
O I forbid ye, maidens a’,
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh;
For young Tamlane is there.
There’s nane, that gaes by Carterhaugh,
But maun leave him a wad (something valuable);
Either goud rings or green mantles,
Or else their maidenheid.
Now, gowd rings ye may buy, maidens,
Green mantles ye may spin;
But, gin ye lose your maidenheid,
Ye’ll ne’er get that agen.
But up then spak her, fair Janet,
The fairest o’ a’ her kin;
“I’ll cum and gang to Carterhaugh,
“And ask nae leave o’ him.”
Janet has kilted her green kirtle,
A little abune her knee;
And she has braided her yellow hair,
A little abune her bree (brow).
And when she cam to Carterhaugh,
She gaed beside the well;
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsell.
She hadna pu’d a red red rose,
A rose but barely three;
Till up and starts a wee wee man,
At Lady Janet’s knee.
Says—“Why pu’ ye the rose, Janet?
“What gars ye break the tree?
“Or why come ye to Carterhaugh,
“Withoutten leave o’ me?”
Says—“Carterhaugh it is mine ain;
“My daddie gave it me;
“I’ll come and gang to Carterhaugh,
“And ask nae leave o’ thee.”
He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand,
Amang the leaves sae green;
And what they did I cannot tell—
The green leaves were between.
He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand,
Amang the roses red;
And what they did I cannot say—
She ne’er returned a maid.
When she cam to her father’s ha’,
She looked pale and wan;
They thought she’d dried some sair sickness,
Or been wi’ some leman. (lover)
She didna comb her yellow hair,
Nor make meikle (much) o’ her heid;
And ilka thing, that lady took,
Was like to be her deid.
Its four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the ba’ (ball);
Janet, the wightest of them anes,
Was faintest o’ them a’.
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the chess;
And out there came the fair Janet,
As green as any grass.
Out and spak an auld gray-headed knight,
Lay o’er the castle wa’—
“And ever alas! for thee, Janet,
“But we’ll be blamed a’!”
“Now haud your tongue, ye auld gray knight!
And an ill deid may ye die!
“Father my bairn on whom I will,
“I’ll father nane on thee.”
Out then spak her father dear,
And he spak meik and mild—
“And ever alas! my sweet Janet,
“I fear ye gae with child.”
“And, if I be with child, father,
“Mysell maun bear the blame;
“There’s ne’er a knight about your ha’
“Shall hae the bairnie’s name.
“And if I be with child, father,
“Twill prove a wondrous birth;
“For well I swear I’m not wi’ bairn
“To any man on earth.
“If my love were an earthly knight,
“As he’s an elfin grey,
“I wadna gie my ain true love
“For nae lord that ye hae.”
She princked hersell and prinn’d hersell,
By the ae light of the moon,
And she’s away to Carterhaugh,
To speak wi’ young Tamlane.
And when she cam to Carterhaugh,
She gaed beside the well;
And there she saw the steed standing,
But away was himsell.
She hadna pu’d a double rose,
A rose but only twae,
When up and started young Tamlane,
Says—“Lady, thou pu’s nae mae!
“Why pu’ ye the rose, Janet,
“Within this garden grene, “
And a’ to kill the bonny babe,
“That we got us between?”
“The truth ye’ll tell to me, Tamlane;
“A word ye mauna lie;
“Gin ye’re ye was in haly chapel,
“Or sained [hallowed] in Christentie.”
“The truth I’ll tell to thee, Janet,
“A word I winna lie;
“A knight me got, and a lady me bore,
“As well as they did thee.
“Randolph, Earl Murray, was my sire,
“Dunbar, Earl March, is thine;
“We loved when we were children small,
“Which yet you well may mind.
“When I was a boy just turned of nine,
“My uncle sent for me,
“To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him,
“And keep him cumpanie.
“There came a wind out of the north,
“A sharp wind and a snell;
“And a dead sleep came over me,
“And frae my horse I fell.
“The Queen of Fairies keppit me,
“In yon green hill to dwell;
“And I’m a Fairy, lyth and limb;
“Fair ladye, view me well.
“But we, that live in Fairy-land,
“No sickness know, nor pain;
“I quit my body when I will,
“And take to it again.
“I quit my body when I please,
“Or unto it repair;
“We can inhabit, at our ease,
“In either earth or air.
“Our shapes and size we can convert,
; “To either large or small;
“An old nut-shell’s the same to us,
“As is the lofty hall.
“We sleep in rose-buds, soft and sweet,
“We revel in the stream;
“We wanton lightly on the wind,
“Or glide on a sunbeam.
“And all our wants are well supplied,
“From every rich man’s store,