“Father Ward. So good to see you.”
He glanced up to see the shopkeeper standing behind the sales counter. He had to blink a few times: it was ridiculous, but Father Ward experienced a curious folding of time. The shopkeeper, for a moment, was the same man who’d worked here when Father Ward was young, not aged a day.
The moment passed, and Father Ward could clearly see this man was taller and leaner than the man he’d known. Of course, few had ever met the store’s owner, Mr. Handy, who left the job of running the store to his shopkeepers.
Father Ward smiled. “You know me? Are you a parishioner of All Saints?”
The shopkeeper chuckled, waving. “Afraid not, Father. I’ve become a bit agnostic in my old age. Actually, word traveled fast when you returned from Afghanistan. The people here love and respect you, son.” The shopkeeper’s expression sobered a bit, his eyes bright and penetrating. “I hope you know this.”
Father Ward shrugged. The last thing he wanted to talk about was his military service. “I suppose,” he said lightly, in an attempt to brush off the shopkeeper’s oddly weighted comment.
“What can I do for you?”
And here it was. Father Ward breathed deep, pulled back the wall he’d erected at the Commons, and finally let his questions free. “This is going to sound…odd. Maybe even crazy. And I can’t tell you much, because it involves the Sacrament of Confession…”
The shopkeeper nodded. “Of course. Even an agnostic grump like myself understands the importance of the sacraments. Go on, and don’t worry about sounding crazy. You grew up here. You know Clifton Heights is a…unique town.”
“Yes. Anyway, out of curiosity…you do much business tonight? It’s Halloween, so…”
The shopkeeper nodded. “Some business, yes.” He gestured at a large glass bowl of Snickers candy bars on the counter. “Mostly for the little ones who’ve visited. Mr. Handy loves children and Halloween. So do I. We make a point of staying open late on Halloween. We’ve become a regular stop on the children’s rounds the past few years.”
Father Ward swallowed down the uneasy feelings in his gut. “Any others? Say…a regular who hasn’t visited in a while, maybe because they’re been out of town for about a year?”
Understanding dawned in the shopkeeper’s eyes. He folded his arms and regarded Father Ward closely. “Well. Clifton Heights has certainly welcomed you home with open arms, hasn’t it? I take it you were hearing confessions tonight at All Saints?”
Father Ward nodded.
“Father Thomas say anything in particular about hearing confessions on Halloween night?”
Father Ward shook his head. “He doesn’t hear confessions on Halloween.”
The shopkeeper nodded gravely. “Not anymore, anyway. And you can bet there’s a reason.” He regarded Father Ward closely. “Why were you?”
Father Ward shrugged. “I’m new. I volunteered. Don’t know why. Just…wanted to. Felt like I…I would be needed tonight.”
The shopkeeper sighed. “I know because of the sacrament you can’t say much, so I’ll put it simply: Yes, someone visited tonight. A former regular. Peter Tomas. He used to visit every Friday to buy a ceramic figurine for his son, Evan. Wonderful boy. He had many special needs but was still a bright light. A tragedy, what happened to him.”
Father Ward felt himself nod unconsciously, even though he wasn’t supposed to confirm any of this. “What happened?”
The shopkeeper continued. “Hit-and-run around the corner. A local man—Judd Kirsch—turned too quickly and hit Evan as he was crossing the street, coming back from the library. Apparently Evan dropped something, bent over to pick it up. Kirsch claimed he never saw the boy and kept driving, thinking he’d hit a pothole. Unfortunately, Kirsch had a bit of a drinking problem. He hit Evan and went home to his trailer in the Commons, unaware.”
Father Ward licked his lips. “I came from there, and…I’m not sure what I saw.”
The shopkeeper’s eyes widened. “So you tried to actually stop it? Fascinating.” He offered Father Ward an enigmatic grin. “You’ve come home for real.”
“I didn’t…I thought…” Father Ward swallowed, forcing himself to breathe slowly. “There wasn’t anything there. No trailer on Lot Thirty-four, but I thought…I saw muzzle flashes…but it was gone. There wasn’t anything there but weeds.”
“Of course not. Hasn’t been for eight years. Even after hauling off Kirsch’s old trailer and putting a new one there, Phil Seward couldn’t get anyone to rent it past Halloween, as I’m sure you know why.”
Father Ward rubbed the back of his neck. Puzzle pieces fit together in his head, but the picture they were forming…Could he believe it?
“At the risk of asking you to violate your vows…I assume you don’t need to hear the whole story. You’ve already heard it.”
Father Ward nodded. “And I’ll hear it again next year…won’t I? If I hear confessions on Halloween night.”
A slow nod. “I imagine, yes.”
“How long ago did this happen?”
“The accident, eleven years ago. Peter killing Kirsch and himself, ten.”
“So he keeps coming back,” Father Ward whispered. “Why? Because of his guilt, his pain, he can’t get over Evan’s death…”
My son needs me to do something.
Make it right.
The shopkeeper shook his head. “It’s worse, I think,” he said softly. “Evan’s not dead.”
Father Ward stared. “What? I thought…”
He took my son away.
“Evan survived the accident. He suffered severe cerebral hemorrhaging, but he didn’t die.”
“He’s alive?” Father Ward rasped. “He’s alive, and every year…”
He won’t stop.
He never stops.
When he gets angry.
He isn’t rational.
“He’s in a vegetative state, kept alive by machines, with no brain activity detected since the accident,” the shopkeeper said, his voice oddly flat. “His mother refuses to cease life support. She left Peter but still lives in town.”
He won’t stop.
He never stops.
“ ‘O sing, gods,’ ” Father Ward whispered, “ ‘the rage of Achilles.’ ”
“Indeed.”
Silence fell between them. There was nothing more to say, nothing more Father Ward could say, given his vows.
“Does Mrs. Tomas…allow visitors for Evan?”
The shopkeeper nodded slowly. “It is my understanding, yes. And, for the record: Far as I know, Father Thomas has never visited Evan. Nor have I spoken to him on Halloween night, as I am with you now.”
“He’s busy,” Father Ward said automatically, speaking by rote. “Running All Saints Academy and the church, and being the chairman of the board for the Boys’ Home.”
“Indeed he is. But if there’s anyone who can someday offer Peter Tomas…or Evan…absolution, I believe it’s the man who rushes off to prevent something awful from happening without regard to his own safety, the man who has an open mind about…certain things.”
Father Ward nodded, his head finally empty again, his heart heavy. As he turned to leave, the shopkeeper said, “Happy Halloween, Father Ward. Don’t be a stranger.”
Father Ward regarded the shopkeeper, again struck by the illusion he was the same man, ageless, who had run the store in his youth. “Thank you. I will.”
He turned and pushed through the door, out into the cool October night.
Demon Air
John R. Little
Halle Barry’s mother used to tell her all the time how she was named after the famous black actress. After all, Michelle Barry absolutely loved Monster’s Ball and the X-Men movies.
But Halle knew that was a crock. After all, when you looked at it, the math didn’t add up. Those movies were released a couple years after Halle was born. No, she wasn’t named after the actress.
Halle Michelle Barry was born on October 31, and
Mom was a die-hard Halloween fan. She’d decorate the house every year starting on whatever weekend immediately followed October 10, since that was close enough. Any earlier, and she might be considered a quack, so until that point, she only planned things out in her mind.
On the first Saturday after October 10, though, the plastic ghouls and giant pumpkins with macabre faces painted on them would be dragged to the front porch. Tombstones would pop up on the lawn, and so would arms that seemed to be reaching up from their graves.
It happened every year until Mom’s early death, nearly five years ago.
Halle’s mother loved everything about the holiday. She dressed up to answer the door with a new costume that she’d design each year, each more ghoulish than the year earlier.
Having a baby born on her favorite day must have been quite a thrill for her, even if Halle had her suspicions, since Mom once let slip that she had been three weeks premature.
Mom never admitted it, but Halle always knew she was named for Halloween.
The only other person she’d ever heard of who was named for a holiday was Chrissy Snow from the old sit-com Three’s Company. Halle was delighted to find out that Chrissy was in fact short for Christmas.
“Welcome to Diamond Air Flight 194, departing Los Angeles on route to Sydney.”
Halle barely listened to the loudspeaker. Her seat was cramped and uncomfortable. The flight was only half filled, mostly with fat, old white men, and she wondered how they were managing, stuffed into the tiny spaces.
That’s what you get for a bargain fare, she thought.
The flight attendant went through the normal talk about safety. Halle watched, just wanting the plane to take off so she could have a nap.
The plane had three seats by the left window, three by the right, and three in the middle. The two aisles were narrow enough that she wondered how they would be able to push a serving cart up and down.
A glass of red wine might be good. Help her sleep on the long trip.
Halle was on the leftmost seat of the middle section. She was afraid of heights and so didn’t want to be anywhere near a window.
“Supposed to be nice in Australia this week.”
She looked to her right. The boy who’d spoken was on the other side of the middle section, an empty seat between them. He was Asian but had no accent. Maybe seventeen.
Great, a talker.
She just wanted to be left alone, but she didn’t want to be rude. She smiled and nodded, and then turned her attention back to the flight attendant, suddenly riveted by the seatbelt demonstration.
It was October 30, late afternoon, and Halle Barry was flying to find out who she really was.
—
She snapped awake without even realizing she’d fallen asleep. The airplane cabin was quiet and dim. She heard the low hum of the engines carrying her across the Pacific Ocean.
Halle’s mouth was dry and she looked around for a flight attendant to ask for a bottle of water.
Never did get that wine.
She checked her watch. It was just after 8:00 p.m. She’d slept for several hours. Most of the window shades were pulled down so passengers could watch the in-flight movie, but a couple still peeked out to the water below. The sun had already set.
Halle yawned and stretched.
“Good sleep?” asked the teen sitting over to her right.
She nodded but only glanced briefly at him. She pulled a book out of her purse and opened it up, as if to read, but she really wanted to just think about how her mother had lied to her for her entire life.
And, honestly, why hadn’t she noticed?
Halle’s face looked nothing like the rich, curving coffee color of her mom’s. Mom had a wide smile that melted anybody she looked at. Halle’s face was full of sharp angles, and she was the skinniest girl she knew.
Her mother blamed the differences on Halle’s father, who was nowhere to be found.
“He was a skinny bastard, too. You take after him.”
She didn’t like that her face was blotchy and dark, her bone structure so odd, and her gait very gangly. She sometimes felt like an alien in her own home.
But she never imagined that she’d been adopted, until two months earlier. Her mother had died years ago, but it took a DNA Ancestry test to shock Halle out of her comfort zone.
68% Australian Aborigine
21% New Zealand
11% Scottish
She’d expected to see 95 percent African with a pinch of other heritage tossed in for good measure. After all, that’s what Mom was.
The last thing she expected to see was Scottish, but almost stranger was that the lion’s share of her ancestors were natives from Australia.
Certainly cleared up a lot of why she looked so different from her mother.
“Why did you lie, Mom…?”
It was the question she’d asked over and over again, but she’d never get any answers.
Instead, she decided she needed to celebrate her heritage by finding out more. That’s why she was flying to Sydney right now, connecting on a flight to Uluru via Virgin Airlines to then trek to Ayers Rock. She needed that connection with her roots.
After a week in the outback, she’d be heading to New Zealand and finally to Edinburgh, Scotland, to finish her ancestry tour.
Maybe she’d learn something about herself, maybe not. Either way, she was looking forward to a great vacation.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve just passed the International Date Line, so welcome to October thirty-first. Happy Halloween, everybody!”
The flight attendant waved at the passengers as if she were a cheerleader at a college football game. Nobody else seemed to notice her except Halle.
It felt odd to be thrust into a different day at the snap of her fingers.
It reminded her again of being thrust into a new life, a new way of looking at her family, her ancestors, her everything.
There were three flight attendants, two women and one man. They all huddled near the front of the plane and were shortly joined by the pilot and copilot. The five of them whispered together.
What’s wrong?
There were no passengers in the front row. Otherwise, they’d be infringing on their personal space. Halle was glad she was seated halfway to the back.
“What are they doing?” asked the teen to her right. She could hear an edge in his voice. “Shouldn’t somebody be in the cockpit?”
Just as he said that, the pilot and copilot stared at Halle. She wanted to say, “I didn’t say anything,” but she was shocked by their stares and felt afraid. She had no clue of what.
They continued to stare at her for a couple minutes before the pilot and copilot finally stomped loudly down the aisle. They each went into one of the bathrooms, which were at the back of the plane.
“That was just too weird,” said her seatmate.
She looked at him and couldn’t disagree. She nodded and could feel her heart pounding in her chest.
The three flight attendants all went into the cockpit and shut the door behind them.
That added a new level of weirdness to things.
Halle looked around. Nobody else seemed to have noticed anything. Most of the passengers were watching movies on tablets, reading, or sleeping. Only she and her mystery seatmate seemed to have seen anything.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Carter.”
“I’m Halle.”
He nodded. “Do you fly much? This is my first time, but it feels odd.”
“Odd to me, too.”
The male flight attendant was the first to emerge from the cockpit.
When he’d gone in, he’d reminded Halle of a beach bum. Long blond hair that would blow in the wind, a happy smile, handsome, rugged, looked to be in his early twenties. He’d be right at home at a Malibu beach party.
Now…
She stared at him; he was wearing a Halloween mask. The face was dark red, almost burgundy, and it looked rugged and a
brasive, like she’d scratch her finger if she caressed his cheek.
His blond hair was now blackened, shorter, and somehow animated. It reminded her of a million thin worms crawling up from his scalp.
He smiled at Halle, and the mask moved perfectly well. It was unnerving and made her sink lower into her seat.
The two women followed him out and stood behind him. They, too, had the same kind of mask on, as realistic as the other one.
“Is that real?” Carter asked.
“Of course not. It’s Halloween now.”
He didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure if that was because he realized it was obvious or because he didn’t believe her.
She wasn’t sure she believed herself.
One of the women crossed her arms and stared at Halle. She felt her gaze bore into her and had to turn away. The other passengers were finally noticing.
After a couple minutes, the pilots walked back from the bathrooms. They had also put on masks that were the same burnished deep red color.
The five crew members stood at the front of the plane, a united front, apparently ready for whatever might happen.
“Shouldn’t somebody fly the plane?”
Halle glanced over at Carter. Surely he knew about automatic pilots, but even so, she felt as unnerved as he was.
She whispered, “I don’t think this is a very funny joke.”
The pilot was an older man, about sixty. His hair had been white earlier, but now it was the same wavy black as all the others.
They were nothing if not well coordinated.
“Could I have everybody’s attention?”
The pilot was talking, and his voice carried over the intercom. He wasn’t using a microphone, but that didn’t seem to matter.
A few passengers were still asleep. A flight attendant walked to each in turn and slapped them hard on the face. Some cried out in pain and surprise. Everyone turned to stare and wonder.
When he had everyone’s attention, the pilot continued. “Welcome to Demon Air. We will be taking most of you the rest of the way to Sydney.”
Most?
Halloween Carnival Volume 1 Page 4