October 29

 

Evening

 

 

I spent the rest of the daylight hours going over Mongfind’s manuscript, paying attention to the charms, spells and rituals that I’d only glanced at before.

Most of them were little more than recipes or instructions: How to prepare a tea that would cure nausea, how to make a poultice for a leg wound, how to keep berries picked in October from spoiling by November.

But then there were the more serious magicks as well. These included:

 

·           Shapeshifting

·           Communicating with the dead

·           Enchanting a spear so it would never miss its target

·           Creating a cup that would never empty of mead

·           Traveling via an astral body

·           Invisibility

·           Invulnerability in battle

·           Passing into the Otherworld, or the realm of the sidh

 

A few of the incantations were missing key words; despite Mongfind’s precautions, parts of the manuscript had blurred with the passage time. A few sections were spattered with something dark that covered the writing—probably Mongfind’s own blood, coughed out as her lungs had failed her over that long final winter.

There were some instructions on creating protective wards, in case I failed in my attempt at performing the banishing ceremony.

I should perhaps make clear that none of these practices were presented as symbolic acts; this wasn’t some new age book in which transforming into a wolf meant you’d been granted a license to behave a little wildly in the sack. No, in Mongfind’s book transforming into a wolf meant you grew hair, got down on four paws, and grew teeth as sharp as knife tips. This wasn’t bogus spiritualism; this was the real deal.

As the sun dropped in the sky, I made sure the (now empty) jack-o’-lantern, its base stained red, was placed squarely in the center of my balcony. I moved everything—chairs, potted plants, etc.—well away, so I’d have room to swing the bat. I took down the wind chimes and the cute orange lights Ricky had strung around the eaves. Then I stepped in, closed the glass door, and waited.

Five PM…five-thirty…six, and the sun was gone. The sky overhead glowed like burnished steel, leaving the ficus and magnolia trees to stand in mute silhouette. I made sure my lights were all on, my front door locked, my bat in hand.

I hoped I wouldn’t need to worry about my own cat; she’d been fed an hour earlier, and was now probably curled up on a corner of my bed, sleeping off dinner.

Or so I thought, until I heard her screaming.

The shriek was piercing, and sent me rushing into the bedroom; it sounded as if she was still on the bed, and now the cry was punctuated with hissing. I reached the bedroom—

The lights went off in the apartment.

The terrible sound of the cat’s shriek redoubled.

By the light coming in through the bedroom blinds, I saw a flash of something moving around the edge of the bed.

Of course: they could come into a building. I’d been stupid to think that somehow doors and walls could keep out things that came from another dimension.

I felt my way to the apartment’s breaker panel in the hall, threw back the hinged cover, and started flipping switches. The power returned, the lights came back on—

Something rushed past me, leaving the skin of my leg chilled through my jeans. I heard a high-pitched tiny cackle from the living room, echoing as if it came from the far end of a cave.

Clutching and lifting the bat, I stepped cautiously into the living room. Behind me, the cat quieted and I heard her paws hit the floor as she leapt from the bed and scurried beneath it in alarm.

Good girl.

That left me just needing to get through the living room to the sliding door, and the balcony beyond. Meaning, of course, I just had to get past what waited for me somewhere in the living room.

One step…two…

I heard something skitter behind a bookcase to my right. I edged to the left, trying to move away from it—

And heard a snicker below the couch to my left. Followed by a tiny cry from behind the desk in front of me.

There was more than one of them. In fact, they were hidden throughout the entire apartment.

One brushed against my ankles. I jumped and swung the bat, which crushed a corner of the coffee table but nothing else.

I turned, seeking them, determined to take a swing at the next little fucker who touched me.

But…

Their voices came from all around me now. They whispered together, but because there must have been dozens of them circling me the whispers became a single loud pulsing hiss.

I felt a sharp sting in my right calf, and knew I’d been bitten. I kicked backwards, but only managed to nearly throw myself off balance and go down.

How long before they’d all be on me, with their claws and jack-o’-lantern grins…

Of course: The jack-o’-lantern. They’d almost made me forget my original purpose.

I ran to the glass door and slid it open. Behind me, talons raked both ankles while they cackled in feral glee.

But they were too late; I’d reached my goal. I raised the bat and turned to face them. The lights were out again in the apartment, and through the glass I saw their eyes, glimmering, savoring what they thought was their victory.

The command was simple: I ordered them to return to their own world, and then I brought the bat down. The pumpkin caved in, spraying orange pulp in a wide circle.

The sidh’s chortles turned to shrieks. The glow of their eyes faded. And behind them…

I saw their world, for an instant that has proven to be unforgettable: A black, starless sky looked down on a lifeless landscape. Gray, leafless trees sprouted from depthless bogs, stones sculpted into shapes like headstones with leering faces rose from mounds of soggy earth—and then the stone faces turned to leer at me. The sidh scuttled among it all like maggots on a rotting corpse, and before the gap between us closed, I saw from the way they glared at me that mere prank-playing wouldn’t be involved should we meet again.

It was over. The lights in the apartment flickered back on, the bat dropped from my fingers into the mess of the shattered pumpkin, and the pain ignited in my legs.

I moved into the light to examine the damage they’d inflicted on me: There were three striped claw marks on my left leg, and four pinprick puncture marks on my right. They were trickling blood, although none seemed deep enough to require stitches. But…

Were the sidh venomous? Did they carry disease, had they succeeded in killing me in a way that would just take longer…and be even more painful?

I swabbed the wounds out in the bathroom, but stopped before bandaging them, wondering if Mongfind’s writings could offer any aid. Upon checking, I found a recipe for a poultice that would cure “the bites of dangerous creatures of all kinds.” It required a few herbs I didn’t have, but that I thought I could find at a nearby health food market.

I put bandaids on and stepped out the door. A moment of apprehension caused me to wait halfway down the stairs, ears straining…but I was reassured by the normal night sounds: Cars, dogs barking, a neighbor’s inane television sitcom.

I’d successfully performed a banishment ritual.

As I headed to the market, I felt fresh confidence, and I knew I would survive the sidh’s wounds.

I could create and control magic, even better than Conor ó Cuinn.

I was a Druid.

I was living inside one of my own Halloween stories.

I’ve written two Halloween-themed novellas^[17]; both are about ordinary, middle-aged adults who find themselves surrounded by ancient, malevolent supernatural forces on Halloween. In both, the protagonists fight to hang onto something: (a child, a business). In both, the fight climaxes in another world.

What was I fighting for? I wasn’t fighting to protect my (dis)beliefs; they’d already been taken from me.

There was something bigger at stake. Much bigger.

But now I felt fever setting in, and I had to concentrate on making it to the market, buying what I needed, getting home and putting together Mongfind’s poultices. By the time I crawled into bed, the heavy packs of herbs taped against the burning wounds, I was shaking and sweating. If Mongfind’s cure didn’t work, whatever else was at stake wouldn’t matter, at least not to me.