by Lisa Morton
He told them of a bog about two miles distant where Rab liked to go, then he begged one of them to shoot him. Michael nearly had half a mind to let him dangle there until he died in agony, but – being as decent a Scotsman as ever lived – instead he stepped up and put a bullet through Fraser’s head, ending his suffering.
The McCafferty riders arrived at the bog, and sure enough spotted Rab’s wagon, although at first there was no sign of Rab. They found Mary in the back of the wagon, where she’d been tied and assaulted by Rab, who’d had his way with her and left her bruised and bloodied. Just then Rab called to them from out in the bog:
“Ah, so it’s the whole McCafferty clan, is it? Good! Because I’ve got a final gift for you this Samhain!”
The McCafferty patriarch pulled his gun, but couldn’t get a proper line on Rab from where he stood. “If you give yourself up now, Rab Fraser, I’ll promise you a quick death.”
“Like what I gave your brat, Jamie?”
That was too much for the father, who fired anyway, with a howl. The bullet flew wide, and Rab just laughed.
The younger McCafferty, Cameron, stepped forward. “Might as well give yourself up, Rab. There’s only more bog behind you, and you’ll never make it.”
Rab laughed again, a sound so demented that it must have raised the hairs on the back of every sane man’s neck. “You’re fools, all of you. I’ve no intention of running away, nor of giving myself up to the likes of you, either! Have you all forgotten that I was born on this day?”
Mr. McCafferty started trying to trudge through the fetid bog. “Then we’ll come and get you –” But he only made it a few feet before quicksand tugged at his legs, and three of the other men had to leap forward and pull him out.
Cameron whispered to his father, “He knows these bogs, father – I’ve heard tell before that he spends time here. We’ll have to wait for him to come to us.”
But the elder McCafferty would have none of waiting or reasoning. “I don’t care what day you were born, you syphilitic dog, I’ll see you dead for what you’ve done to my son tonight –”
“Ahhh,” Rab called back, “but that was nothing compared to what’s coming. You see, my being born on this day gifted me with certain abilities the rest of you couldn’t begin to comprehend. Including talking to demons.”
“Rubbish,” answered Cameron.
“In fact,” Rab said, ignoring the young man’s insult, “there happens to be a very powerful demon that resides in this very bog. Surely you’ve heard of…the Samhanach?”
A hush fell over the eight men, until Michael spoke up: “A tale to frighten children, nothing more.”
“Then you’re about to be revealed as eight small bairns, my lads. Witness my servant – The Samhanach.” With that, Rab gestured behind him, grandly.
As Michael and Cameron and the other men watched, the brackish water behind Rab began to glow with a hellish orange light, bubbling up with a sound like molten lava. A shape thrust its way up out of the muck, a dark figure that towered over Rab by at least two feet, and had the twisted face of a carved turnip lit by candle from within.
“What trickery is this?” cried out the senior McCafferty.
“No Halloween trick, this,” answered Rab, “but a demon shapeshifter come to do my bidding. At each Hallowmas, the Samhanach will find the McCaffertys. It may only jest, or it may kill. It might show its true form, or it might arrive disguised. It might take your firstborn back to the otherworld, or it might not. It won’t matter where in the wide world you try to hide, it’ll find you, at All Hallows, and you’ll never know what it’ll do until ‘tis done.”
With that, the demon raised a long clawed hand, and slit Rab’s throat.
The look of surprise on Rab’s face was near well worth the terror of seeing a murder; he’d obviously never expected that which he’d summoned to turn on him. But it did, and as Rab fell, clutching his gushing throat, so did the monster fall on him, ravishing his flesh, feeding itself from him before the bog claimed the remains.
Finished with Rab, the thing rose and started forward, each step taking it three yards, nearing the frozen watchers – but suddenly it paused, and its hideous features contorted, with something like frustration, or disappointment. It turned back the way it had come, and, as swiftly as it had risen, vanished down into the bog again until it was completely gone.
Young Cameron forced himself from his paralysis and pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat.
“Midnight exactly.”
With Hallow’s Eve over, the McCafferty group gathered up poor Mary, and returned home.
But Rab’s mayhem hadn’t ended. Two months later, Mary realized she was with child. Realizing the bairn could only be Rab Fraser’s – and conceived in a bog on Hallow’s Eve, to boot – she ended her own life with a noose strung from a barn rafter.
Come next October, the McCaffertys grew full of dread. Nearly a year had passed since that night, but none who had been present for the scene in the bog had forgotten Red Rab’s words. There would be no Hallowmas celebration this year, no lively party or joyous games. This would be a year of prayers and loaded guns, shuttered windows and shaking fingers.
Dusk came on the 31st, and the family hunkered down, starting at each creak of wood or bird call. Time seemed to slow to a snail’s pace as they waited, girding themselves.
Seven o’clock…eight o’clock…ten…
The last hour was the worst, especially the final few minutes. Would the Samhanach appear with a single minute left to Hallow’s Eve, wreak great havoc, and then vanish?
No.
The clock struck twelve, and they knew they were safe.
They still spent the remainder of the night edgy, doubtful, but morning revealed that they’d passed the evening without incidence. The animals in the barn were unharmed, the house and outbuildings sound, the entire family safe.
Over the next week, they discussed it endlessly. Had Rab’s death ended his own curse? Was he too weak after all to direct a demon to do his bidding? Or had Mary’s sacrifice resulted in a greater good that she couldn’t have foreseen?
They were still cautious at Hallowmas the following year, but again the night was uneventful. As it was the year after that, and after that.
By 1715, the McCaffertys knew they were safe.
They were wrong.
Merran
Merran paused as a knot of trick-or-treaters approached, and she was oddly grateful to see a bumblebee, a Snow White, a SpongeBob and a policeman; no monsters or jack-o’-lanterns.
I thought I was supposed to be doing the scaring here.
After she’d passed out candy, she set the journal down. There was more – much more – and she was curious now, but also frightened on a level that went beyond demonic creatures:
There was madness in her family.
At least that was the only way to read this journal. Right now she couldn’t tell if the madman was a figure from the 1710 story, or her great-great grandfather Connell McCafferty, calmly relaying a story that even the most gullible of believers wouldn’t swallow. Demons and curses and haunted bogs?
The only other possibility was that this was an elaborate Halloween joke, but Merran couldn’t think of anyone who would invest the amount of time and effort involved in something this detailed. Will certainly didn’t have the talent for it, even if he’d wanted to (and she doubted that he did, because that would have involved thinking of her in some way). And besides, the journal seemed too authentically old, the pages brittle, the binding antiquated and worn.
No, she thought it was real. Which brought her back to a McCafferty insanity gene.
She’d never heard anyone mention Connell, and she wondered if that meant he’d been stricken from family histories, like a black sheep who revealed an ugly truth…
Merran thought about other members of her family, and realized she’d never been told any other stories of mental illness. Oh sure, there’d been old great Aunt Lizzie, who’d nev
er married and had died at the age of ninety-four surrounded by over a hundred cats…but that was hardly the level of dementia that involved murder and a belief in demons.
Perhaps the entire family had been duped.
That explanation settled best with Merran, and she opted for it. Given how she’d fallen hard and fast for Will (who she’d since realized had lied to her from the beginning of their relationship), she could believe a strain of gullibility in the McCaffertys.
She also felt a brief, sinister moment of déjà vu as she realized that the events she’d just read about had occurred exactly three hundred years ago on this same night.
Merran saw a small mob of kids approaching, and was grateful for the distraction. She’d continue reading later, but right now she was happy to lose herself in the pleasant modern day rituals of American Halloween.
The Three Boys
Luke Ehrens, Jay Saunders and Manny Posada stood in the expansive Saunders’ backyard, passing a joint. Reflections from the swimming pool lights rippled across their faces as they glanced from time to time at the house.
The spliff reached Luke, who hesitated as he reached for it. “Hey, man, your parents…”
Jay, irritated, reached and grabbed the joint back. “…are busy with all the little kiddies, dude, I told you that.” Jay sucked down smoke, held it in, smiled.
Luke, though, still wasn’t satisfied. He hadn’t liked the way this whole evening was going. Halloween had once been his favorite day of the year, but ever since he’d outgrown trick-or-treat, he’d felt lost on October 31st. Jay and Manny had promised him a party, but sucking down so-so weed in Jay’s park-sized backyard wasn’t Luke’s idea of fun. He would have been happier at home with a pizza, a six-pack of Coke and a stack of horror movies.
“So what else, man?” asked Manny, almost mirroring Luke’s thoughts.
Jay exhaled. “What do you mean?”
“What else we gonna do tonight? I mean, it’s fuckin’ Halloween, man. We can stand back here and smoke any night. C’mon, let’s fuckin’ do something. Go fuck something up. I’ll drive. Maybe we can find one of those pussy haunted houses and really scare the shit out of somebody…”
Luke thought that sounded way better; at least it involved a simulation of action. “Sounds good to me.”
“Nah,” Jay said, blowing on the end of the joint, “I got somethin’ else in mind.”
“Like fuckin’ what?”
“Like…” Jay let a dramatic pause go by, then went on: “… like wait and see how drunk Mrs. Kazanian gets.”
Luke stifled a groan. Mrs. Kazanian and her eighty-two-year-old husband, a dry cleaning mogul, had moved in next door two years ago. When the old man had died six months ago, leaving behind a thirty-year-old widow with a trophy wife’s figure, Jay had become obsessed with Mrs. Robinson scenarios; but Luke couldn’t imagine anything she’d find attractive in a posing, inexperienced, spoiled rich brat.
Manny apparently agreed, as he stamped his feet in anger. “That is lame, motherfucker.”
Luke didn’t try to hide the contempt in his tone. “Motherfucker’s what he wants to be. I think it’s more like right-hand-fucker.”
Jay shot a hand out toward Luke and pushed him hard enough to make him stagger. “Hey, asswipe, you were supposed to bring the tequila, and you showed up empty-handed. At least I got the J like I said I would.”
“Fuck,” Luke exclaimed, regaining his balance, feeling his face burn, “I told you – my father locked the liquor cabinet. Not much I could do about that, now, was there?”
“Fine. Then go steal one from the corner liquor store.”
Luke held up his hands dismissively; he was done. “You know what? This whole night sucks. I think I’ll go watch the little kids – at least they’re having fun.”
He hiked up his jeans and turned to go. Manny had driven them here tonight, but at this point Luke was more than happy to walk the three miles back to his middle-class neighborhood. He hated to admit that his parents could be right about anything, but Jay and Manny really were losers.
His mind made up, Luke headed for the side gate – and stopped after two steps.
A girl was just coming through.
She was drop-dead gorgeous, and caused all three boys to freeze in astonishment. She looked to be a remarkably well-developed sixteen, was dressed like a prostitute, and carried something in a white plastic grocery bag. She took three steps into the yard, then looked around in surprise.
“Oh shit. I thought this was the party. Sorry.”
Before she could turn to go, Jay leapt forward, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Yeah, no, this is it. I mean, this is a party. Now that you’re here.”
The girl tossed Jay a knowing grin, and wavered indecisively. “Cute, but…I’m looking for my friends, and…”
Now it was Manny’s turn. “We’ll be your friends.”
Luke was closest to her, and he knew the other two boys were probably expecting him to chime in, but his voice caught in his throat.
Something was wrong here. And it wasn’t just the possible danger the girl was walking into.
It was the girl herself.
She was too perfect, too sexy, too knowing. The way she lowered her eyelashes as she looked at each of them in turn, the one hip that was cocked, the tiny twist to the lips…she simultaneously turned Luke on and made him feel like he’d just stepped in something long-dead.
“I don’t know,” she purred, and Luke already knew she’d be staying.
And as much as his internal warning signals were screaming at him to GO, GET AWAY, RUN…he knew he’d be staying, too.
“We’re not so bad,” he said to her, trying to summon up a smile.
“Well, maybe for a little while. Who’s got the joint?”
Grinning from ear to ear (why doesn’t he notice this is wrong?, Luke wondered), Jay handed her the spliff. She took it and sauntered over to set her bag down on a patio table, then she leaned against it, provocatively, holding out the stick.
“Light?”
Manny and Jay both jumped forward, lighters at the ready. Jay reached her first, and Manny grudgingly accepted defeat, then watched, envious, as the girl clamped her red-nailed fingers around Jay’s wrist while he lit the joint. The end flared to red, and she sucked on it, drawing the narcotic’s strength into her lungs, finally releasing it with a luxurious sigh.
“Not bad,” she murmured, and Luke knew she was lying.
She kept the joint, took a second hit, then passed it back to Jay. “What’s your name?” he asked her.
“After two hits of that, I don’t remember,” she said, with an overdone giggle.
Manny bounced on his feet. “Well, all fuckin’ right.”
“So what are you guys doing tonight?”
Jay gave her a leer. “Waiting for you.”
She rolled her eyes, but stepped closer to him, brushing her hip against his. “That’s a pretty dumb line.”
“Not if it worked.”
She eyed him for another moment, then reached back for the bag. “Weed always makes me hungry. I made this for the party, but…fuck it, let’s eat it now.” She reached into the bag and withdrew something dark, on a plate, covered in plastic wrap. Luke squinted at it in the dim light, and saw it was a cake.
“This is a traditional Halloween thing called a barm brack. I found a recipe for it on the internet and thought it sounded weird.”
Luke asked, “What’s in it?”
“I don’t even remember…y’know, flour, pieces of fruit, all that kind of shit. You’re supposed to bake a ring in it, and whoever gets the ring will…like…have good luck or something. But I baked something better than that into it.”
“Like what?” Jay asked.
“A condom.”
Manny and Jay almost split their faces with their grins. Luke still didn’t like something about the girl, but he had to admit – he was experiencing a constrained erection under the denim of his pants. “Oh, c’mon,
” he said, trying to retain some composure, “you baked a condom? It probably melted.”
She shrugged, a gesture that conveyed more than doubt, since her shoulders were left bare by the thin tube top she wore. “Maybe. It’s still in the foil. I guess whoever gets that slice will just have to tell us for sure.”
Luke saw Manny and Jay both shift their stances, and he knew they were as hard as he was. “So you gonna cut it for us?” Jay asked.
The girl unwrapped the cake, then produced a knife from the bag, and Luke experienced another jolt of alarm. The knife was huge, a butcher knife, too big for just slicing a cake, and the way she waved it around…he didn’t know if she was stoned or just careless, but only fast reflexes saved Jay from getting nicked on one cheek.
“Hey, watch it with that thing!”
She put on a fake pout that she knew was even more erotic, with lower lip thrust out and eyes strategically averted. “Sorry.”
With three quick strokes she efficiently sliced the cake into six large pieces, then selected one for herself. “Dig in.”
All three reached for their own wedges, biting into them with the gusto of multiple hungers. “This shit is weird,” muttered Manny, around mouthfuls.
“I like it,” Jay fired back, throwing a look at the girl.
Luke hesitated, holding the cake halfway to his mouth, but when he saw the girl swallow her first taste, he followed suit. It took him a few seconds to place the flavors: Spices, sugar, strong tea. Unusual, but not unpleasant.
The boys finished in seconds, nothing left but crumbs.
“Fuck,” muttered Jay. Then he glanced at the girl, saw she was still eating. “Hey, what happens if you get it?”
She arched her eyebrows, finished chewing, and said, “Then it’s my choice I guess, huh?”
A hooded look – the oldest expression of male aggression – passed among Jay, Manny and Luke. Luke was shocked to realize that for an instant he’d wanted to beat Manny and Jay to a pulp, all for a girl, and again he wanted to leave, but something else had him in its grip; whether that was lust or some sort of magic, he couldn’t say, and figured they might even be the same thing.