by Mark Parker
“Well, Lilly, this ritual has been in our family for generations. I learned it from my mother and grandmother, and they passed it down from theirs. I guess I really don’t know if it works, but your Nana always did it, and we ain’t never had any problems. So if it isn’t real, there’s no harm done. And if it is, we’re safe.”
“Did Nana do lots of magic?” I asked.
“Yes she did. Way more than I do, I s’ppose.”
“And I still do baby girl,” Nana said. “Cause I have seen and heard things you ain’t never known could have lived in this world. Your mama grew up too comfortable around this town, but I came from Louisiana. And, child, the things that go on when no one is looking would scare the pants off you.”
Nana sat at the kitchen table and looked at my drawing.
“I like what you’ve done there with the pumpkins and the lights. Really pretty, baby girl.”
“Can you tell me something from the olden days, something that scared you real bad?” I asked with a sly grin. I knew my mother was a New Age witch, where everything was circles of bright light and rainbows. But Nana was a real witch. The kind that did things in the woods late at night that no one talked about.
Mama’s face blanched and she wrapped her arms around her skinny torso. I could see the hairs standing on end. “I don’t think that is a good idea, Lilly. You’re not ready for that kind of talk. When you are older you can decide which path to follow.” She glared over at my nana. “But while you are young, I need you to follow my path, understand?”
“Yes ma’am.” The blood ran across my cheeks and I bowed my head. I knew I was pushing it, but I had to try. I was tired of all the Law of Three. I wanted to see what magic could really do, not just all the blah about helping the planet and praising the Goddess. That was so boring. I think Nana knew. She looked at me and winked when Mama turned her back.
“Lilly, please go wash up for supper.” The look on her face told me I had better not question her command.
“Yes, ma’am.” I gathered my papers and pencils and went to my bedroom.
I could hear Mama and Nana whispering loudly. Mama was giving Nana a hard time. And it was all my fault.
I sat on my bed picking at the blankets, wishing I hadn’t asked the question. Or at least, had just asked Nana. Too late now, Lilly, you big dummy, I thought.
I hoped Nana wouldn’t be mad at me. But I needed to know more than what Mama taught me.
I sighed and walked to the bathroom. But, as I did, I saw that stinky mugwort sitting on my sill. I looked quickly over my shoulder to make sure no one was there, grabbed that mess of green, and flushed it down the toilet. If Mama asked, I could say the cat must’ve snatched it. He was always on my window sill.
“Supper smells great, Mama.” I smiled at her. She smiled back. And I knew then that everything was fine.
We all sat around the table passing food, laughing and talking. It was a great evening.
I went to bed that night and had the best sleep ever, Timber sleeping and purring softly beside me.
***
“We'll, Miss Lilly, I see you are ready for school. Get home straight away, so we can get ready for Halloween Night. There is a lot more we need to do tonight before the dark hits.”
Mama looked a little twitchy to me. I saw the muscle in her right cheek hammer away like it was keeping time with her heartbeat. Halloween spooked Mama. Weird for a witch to be spooked by Halloween, but Mama was spooked by a lot of things that I didn’t understand—darkness, mirrors, windows, and a whole lot more.
I know it was bad, but I kind of giggled a little thinking of being afraid of windows. Heck, even Timber sat on the sill in my room every night.
***
The house smelled of cookies and cakes and warmth when I returned home from school. I loved Mama for that. She always baked up a storm on Halloween. Each Holy-Day was wrapped in warmth, fire, magic, and sweet things.
Mama was singing a song in the kitchen, and Nana was helping by arranging treats on platters. They both giggled like kids when I walked in.
Nana wrapped her arms around me. “Hey, baby girl! Come here and give me a big old hug.” She smelled like cinnamon and sugar.
“Okay…now go upstairs, and change out of your school clothes. We need to get the fires lit in all the fireplaces. And that will be your job this evening.” She glanced at Mama, whose back was turned. “I’m gonna chop up some more mugwort,” she said. “And then I think we’re about done.
I grinned and ran upstairs as fast as I could. Nana was up to something. How exciting! My first real Halloween as a witch, instead of a little kid.
***
I hiked up my jeans and pulled on a grey school sweatshirt. Fire smell always soaked into the fabric and it lingered now, but not as bad as mugwort. I gathered the logs for the fires, cleaned out each grate, and swept all the old year’s ashes away. I even hand-washed each fireplace before placing the new logs inside. In the living room, I placed a few drops of essential oil of black pepper on the top log, and in the family room I used birch essential oil. And in the basement, wintermint. The house was going to smell amazing when all the fires were lit. Best of all, it would be protected.
I raced back upstairs to look for Nana. I needed to know what was going to happen tonight. My entire body felt like it was filled with an electric current, humming and vibrating with excitement. This was way better than Winter Solstice. This was a night for magic.
Nana was in the backyard clearing a circle and placing salt all around the edges.
“Hey, Nana. So, you going to let me in on the secret”?
“What secret, love?”
“Oh, come on. I saw the way you glanced at Mama when you said you were chopping mugwort. Don't make me wait. I don’t think my heart can take it.”
“You’re here. You’re twelve. Your heart’s shinier than a newborn’s butt. Jeez girl.” Nana smiled. “I just thought you should know that tonight on all the most sacred of nights, that I have a gift for you. Now,” she looked at me sternly, “your Mama does not know, because if she did she would fly off the handle faster than white off rice. So keep your lip zipped and pay attention.”
I stepped back but made sure to stay within the circle. Nana sprinkled the mugwort into the salt. She raised her arms and whispered a prayer to the Goddess, but I could not hear a word. I bowed my head and ended the prayer with ‘So mote it be’ in time with Nana.
“Come, child. You’ve done been blessed. Now we can start on the festivities.”
We walked into the house and Mama was still in the kitchen acting all jittery. “Something’s not right here. I can feel it. Something’s off. Mother,” she looked at Nana, “did you do something?”
“Sweetheart, of course not. I was just helping Lilly with the fireplaces. I think we should light them now. And, Janey, you should see what your girl has done. Those grates are gleaming!”
Mama looked at me and tried to smile, but she knew. Maybe she had the knowing gift, too. She looked at the clock and a frown creased her forehead, and the corners of her mouth. It was 11:00 p.m.
Nana and I went downstairs and lit the basement fire. The room exploded with the fragrance of wintermint. The clean, medicinal scent filled the entire space. “Oh, child, you do have a gift, don’t you?”
We walked up together and lit the other two. Within minutes none of the nasty mugwort was in the air. All we could smell was a savory odor of black pepper mixed with birch and wintermint. Mama looked so proud, like I passed a test. I guess in a way I did.
“Come, love. Sit with me. I want to tell you a story.”
“No!” Mama said.
“Oh, what could it hurt?” Nana asked. “We have the mugwort.” And she knew which were the most powerful oils to use to keep evil away. “We did a blessing, so I think we’re safe.”
Mama did not say a word. She just dropped onto the couch and folded her arms. The set of her face would scare off a preacher, but Nana ignored her.
&
nbsp; “Okay,” Nana started. “I was about your age when I learned my first spell. It was about this time of night and my mother—your great grandmother—Martha, was puttering in the kitchen, getting ready to set out the harvest. Earlier that day, I was rummaging through the attic and came across this thick, smelly book. It said Revelare Viventium. I didn’t know what it was, but I was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. The cover was thick, lined and wrinkled, and was brown with age. I was flipping through the pages, looking at all the neat hand-drawn pictures of different things—like objects, people, clouds, spices, and such—and knew right away it was a book of spells. But, it was written in this weird language. I stumbled over a few words here and there, but this one phrase jumped out at me over and over again. ‘Sit vivorum ingredi.’ I said it a few times and thought nothing of it.”
A rumbling sound came from upstairs.
“Mother!” yelled Mama. “I thought you said we were safe. “What in the name of all that is holy have you done.”
There was the sound of glass braking and then heavy footsteps pounding across the upstairs floor.
“Oh, sweet Goddess,” Mama said, running to the bottom of the stairs. “Lilly, you stay back, ya hear!” Mama raced upstairs, yelling and screeching at the top of her lungs. I could hear her yell, “NO…you do not belong on this side of the veil. You are alive, ya hear. Alive! DO NOT ENTER HERE. You are not welcome! In the name of the Goddess, I cast you back to Earth!”
A ghastly scream filled the house, and then with a roar, whatever it was, was snuffed out like a light.
Mama walked down the stairs rubbing her hands. “Mother, you may think I’m a flighty witch, who deals more with the calming of the Worlds, but that is what I do best. Please, from now on, no more stories…”
Nana apologized. And I asked, “So what was the name of the book and what did you say?”
Without hesitation, Nana continued on. “I realized later, much, much later, that the book was called Revel the Living, and so I muttered a spell to allow the living to enter. That’s how we ended up with Timber. He’s around 80 years old now, but will be here forever. A cat heard my spell that time.”
“What was up there tonight, Mama?” I asked.
“A human. And we don’t need none of their kind here.”
THE JACK-O’-LANTERN MAN
Brian Moreland
At ten o’clock on Halloween night, Corey Wilkes and his little sister, Paige, sat on the den floor, sorting their piles of candy after an evening of trick-or-treating. Corey, age ten, still wore his Darth Vader costume, all but the mask, which sat on the floor. Paige, age six, was dressed as a pink fairy with silver wings.
Thunder roared above, making both kids flinch. Heavy rain clapped against the roof. Wind howled like a ghoulish voice, and cracks of lightning brightened the dark windows.
Corey and Paige sat wide-eyed as Dad topped off their night with a story that sent chills creeping up their spines. "Then out of the foggy night came the Jack-O’-Lantern Man, with a tall, dark body, hands made of twisted roots, and a head shaped like…what?”
“A pumpkin!” the kids said in unison, having heard the story many times before.
Their dad smiled. “That’s right, with a monstrous face carved into it."
Corey thought of all the glowing jack-o’-lanterns he’d seen around the neighborhood tonight. Some had silly faces, but others, like the one he and Dad had carved, contained evil expressions with wicked eyes and jagged teeth. Corey pictured the Jack-O’-Lantern Man with the face of the pumpkin on their front porch. The boy imagined its glowing eyes staring down as a dark hand reached for the victim’s throat.
As the story got to the good part, Paige squeezed her brother's arm.
Dad leaned close to them. "To this day, they've never caught the Jack-O’-Lantern Man. Every Halloween someone reports seeing him creeping around their barn or in the cemetery or even in neighborhoods like ours. And every few years, on stormy nights like this, children and their families mysteriously disappear. Because whenever he finds small children sleeping in their beds, he sneaks into their rooms, lifts back their covers, and gobbles them up."
Dad lurched at Corey and Paige. The kids screamed and giggled as he tickled them.
Their Uncle Malcolm, who lived with them, sat on the sofa and stared with drool dripping off his bottom lip. Their Dad’s older brother was what their parents called “special.” He never talked and rarely looked you in the eye. He just stared. Tonight, Uncle Malcolm wore the same goofy costume he wore every year, a clown suit, because clowns were the only thing that made Malcolm smile, or show any emotion at all for that matter. Dad said their uncle was always aware, though, always listening. Malcolm just didn’t know how to express himself like normal people. Corey thought it was a little weird that a grown man still dressed up for trick-or-treating, but Dad said their uncle would always be a kid inside.
Dad continued to laugh and tickle Corey and Paige. Their mother entered the living room. "Okay, little monsters, time for bed. You still have school tomorrow."
Paige stood. "Aw, Mom. We were having fun."
"Yeah," Corey said. "Dad was telling us a really scary story about this bogeyman who eats children."
She shot their father a look. "Well, I'm so glad your father could give you two the willies so you have nightmares all night." Their mother checked all the locks on the windows and sliding-glass door like she did every night.
"Mommy, I'm too scared to sleep alone tonight," Paige said. "Can I sleep with you and Daddy?"
Mom said, "Sweetie, you know that once you got into first grade it was time you slept in your own bed. You’re a big girl now. If you want, you can sleep with the closet light on. Do you want yours on, too, Corey?"
"Would Darth Vader be afraid of the dark?" he said, posing like a dark knight who feared nothing. He swung his lightsaber and made swishing sounds.
"I guess not," Mom said, walking his sister into the hallway. "I'm going to tuck Paige in. I'll be back for you in a minute."
Dad wiped a tissue across Malcolm’s chin and then sat on the couch next to Corey. Father, son, and uncle watched the storm through the sliding-glass door. Another flash brightened their backyard. Beyond their two-acre lot stretched the old pumpkin patch that bordered their rural neighborhood.
The pumpkin patch had belonged to Corey’s grandfather and was passed down to his parents, who harvested pumpkins for the local stores that sold them. His mother made scented candles and baked the best pumpkin pies. Corey and his father worked these fields until their hands were raw. Uncle Malcolm helped out too. Even though he couldn’t talk, he was still able to do simple chores around the farm.
After watching the thunderstorm a minute, Dad said, "It was on a night just like this that we saw him once."
Corey's eyes widened. "The Jack-O’-Lantern Man?"
"In the orange flesh."
"I thought that was just a story Grandpa told you when you were a kid."
"It's been a legend that the people of Millcreek have passed down from generation to generation, usually told as a story on Halloween, but it’s based on something that really happened.” Corey’s father looked at him with serious eyes. “Back in the 1950s, our town’s founding fathers were at war with a coven of witches who lived in a wooded area just beyond the edge of town. They were battling over the very land our neighborhood was later built upon. The coven refused to move.
“One night some townsmen with white hooded masks and guns came into the commune to scare the witches off, but they wouldn’t leave without a fight. The night turned violent and three women ended up shot in cold blood. Then the masked men took the coven’s leader, a man named Hector Ravencroft, and hung him from an oak tree. The hooded townsmen warned that if the men, women, and children of the coven didn’t vacate the land immediately, soon every branch of that tree was going to be hanging bodies. The witches were gone by dawn. As a reminder of the threat, Hector’s corpse remained hanging for weeks, rotting away in the s
un, pecked by crows, and ravaged by insects.”
Dad stood and walked to the sliding-glass door that faced the backyard. “Then a few weeks later, on the night of Samhain—what we call Halloween—the witches gathered in the pumpkin patch, the very one behind our house. According to the legend, they buried Hector Ravencroft in that patch and performed a ritual to put a curse on Millcreek.” Dad turned around and looked back at Corey and Uncle Malcolm. “Hector’s corpse rose from the dead to become the Jack-O’-Lantern Man. And he still lives in the patch today, somewhere underground. Every few years he rises on Halloween to seek revenge, sometimes snatching a child, sometimes butchering an entire family."
"You mean he's real?" Corey felt the hairs lift on his neck and arms, thinking that such a creature could actually be out there prowling the night.
Dad nodded. "I’ve seen him with my own eyes. I was about your age and couldn't sleep because of a bad thunderstorm. I noticed that Malcolm had gotten out of bed and was at the window in our room. Back then, he was normal, like you and me.”
Corey looked at his catatonic uncle. “He wasn’t always like this?”
“No, he wasn’t born this way. That Halloween night changed him forever.”
“What happened?” Corey asked.
“I got out of bed and joined Malcolm at our bedroom window, watching the lightning streak the sky. I was afraid of storms and panicked every time the thunder shook the roof. He told me to be quiet—that he thought he saw someone moving outside. Our window faced the houses across the street, like yours does, and it was then that I saw him or it—just like I described, with a huge pumpkin head and a face that looked like it had a hunger for vengeance. His skeletal body was covered in roots and vines. He still wore the clothes that Hector had been buried in and a pair of workman’s boots. He was prowling on the dark porch of the neighbors across the street. I remember my heart racing when I saw him enter their house.”