"I thought I might take Stephie trick or treating..."

"Oh," Anne replied hesitantly. "You mean she didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"She's spending the evening with the McGuffins. They've got this whole thing they do at the church. You know games, prizes, stuff for kids. Most of Stephie's friends are going..."

"Ah."

There wasn't much else I could say. Anne of course would be enjoying the festival like the rest of the town, and I didn't need to ask with who. I already knew.

"How about you? You do have other plans?"

"Oh, sure, sure. Actually I've got this one thing, now that I think about it, so really it works out better this way. It's fine."

I make it sound fine and we say our goodbyes. The rest of the morning goes by blandly. There's no work to be done. It's a half-day for the festival, leaving the students plenty of time to go home and get their costumes. They're all antsy with excitement and when the final bell rings the building empties in a blink. Even the staff are quick to pack their things and hurry home. On his way out, Clark stops by to ask me to wish him luck with his date and so I do.

For my part, there is no hurry. I have no 'thing', of course, unless you want to count a hotplate dinner and rental movie at the Motel. So I linger at the school, putting grades into the computer and running copies for assignments later this week. Mrs. Ravick and some of the other teachers hung orange and black crepe paper in the halls, giving the place a genuinely spooky ambiance. The janitors are busy pulling it down as I lock up and head out to the desolate parking lot.

When I place my key in the ignition, the engine growls but doesn't start. I yank it a few more times. Nothing.

For a brief second, a rage descends over me, as though I'd like to scream at the top my lungs and smash the windows in. Just smash them. How close I come to actually doing it I honestly don't know. The rage passes almost instantly as I spy someone else exiting the building.

Ms. Terry. The woman from the class next door. I sigh inwardly.

I'm going to have to ask her for a ride.

The morning starts out well. I get up, clean, dress, and eat breakfast like any normal person. Toast and a fried egg, with nothing stronger to drink than coffee.

After that, I force myself to do something I've been hoping to avoid. It can't be put off any longer though. Wiping my finger over just about any surface in the house reveals a layer of dust an inch thick. This place is simply too big for me to take care of alone. Any place would be too much for you, Rick would have relished telling me. Whatever the case, I call the Gazette and have them run an ad in the classifieds:

Domestic help needed. Weekday afternoons only. Good pay.

After that, I rush to the store. Soap, cranberry juice, fresh produce, scotch--I'm out of everything. It's lucky I get there when I do as the cripple man who rings me up says they close early Festival night. A town Festival? How yokel can you get, huh?

On the way out of the store, something weird happens. An old woman thrusts a rose into one of my bags and says: "The dead we do not bury, come back for us." I scurry away from her but the experience does its number on me. Just like that my day starts to turn sour.

On heels of the spooky crackpot, I get back to my place to find that it's been vandalized. Toilet paper has been strewn across the trees and bushes, and even around the bars of the cast iron gate in the front yard. With everyone in town, and the cops busy directing traffic, I guess it's the perfect time for neighborhood pranks but I can't help feeling angry. Why me? Of every house on the block, why target mine?

And so for the first time all day, I find myself needing a drink after all.

I’m SO excited! It’s just great to get the chance to dress up and become someone else for a while and leave the real world behind…

I’ve got the most gorgeous Venetian sorceress outfit for today’s festivities; a feline black diamante masque with a cobweb pattern to highlight my witchy eyes. There are some black ostrich feathers entwined around my hat and my black pointy lace-up boots are just the thing and would look great astride a broomstick - shame they’ll have to settle for a silver Kawasaki 650cc instead, it’ll make a change to be a biker-witch I think!

I really need to meet some more of the townspeople as I’m still such an outsider here. I wasn’t sure if there’d be enough business for the shop in this town but Hallowe’en has certainly generated some interest, thankfully. Aspen Keeley popped in the other day for some decorations for The Cheshire, she is really sweet and seems quite mature for her age - she doesn’t really need any adornment as I sure you’ve gathered but she’s really unaffected by her looks - sweet kid. Her friend Mei Ling has also been in for costume for tonight. Why do the loveliest looking people insist on disguising themselves? Beats me.

Gravity has got a worrying lump under his neck - I’ve only just noticed. What if he’s swallowed a bauble or something? I shook him gently as I was cuddling him but he didn’t rattle or tinkle so it isn’t a bell at least! He glared balefully at me with the indignity of it all - poor chap. I must seek out that scary Faye creature and get him checked out at the surgery as soon as it’s open again. Aspen’s a dog-lover but I won’t hold that against her!

There seems to be some kind of energy in the air hereabouts - almost like static electricity. If I was a superstitious type, I would be convinced that ‘something wicked this way comes’. Probably just some junior spooks - huh?

Wonder if tonight’s the night that I meet a friendly fiend? There do seem to be a couple of cute characters in town. Pity the good looking ones are only ever in my shop to buy something special for the woman in their life - or to buy a guilt-alleviating gift…Macavity snuggles up to Gravity in their petbed under the counter. All the cats are staying in tonight with all the trickery about - some people are not to be trusted near animals - got to watch out for that Stu fellow I’ve heard.

I go out and clamber onto the bike, the cape draping around me like Bat-Girl. Hope I don’t get stopped by the sheriff for leaving the crash helmet behind tonight! I’m sure he’ll be too busy enjoying himself to notice.

I'm sittin in this Jade Garden place, waitin on an order of General Tso's Chicken. I ain't a Chinese food fan, but this here was the only place open. And I ain't no cook.

So I'm readin Atlas Shrugged when this old woman comes up to me. Looks homeless - got the sixteen layers of nasty ass shapeless clothing and fingerless gloves on and shit. I wonder why they'd let some panhandler in, but then she lays this white rose on my table and looks at me. Like she's whacked out of her mind on acid or something. Y'know, that Charlie Manson type stare that goes right through you and reads your soul or some shit.

"Unlikely hero," she says.

I give her my best 'What the fuck you talkin about?' stare. Useful for well-meaning dumbasses. But she comes back with that Charlie Manson stare, so I look away. Then she turns around and leaves.

I ain't no hero. I rub my left arm, under the sleeve of the shirt I'm wearing under my Daytona Beach Bike Week T-shirt. Tattooed on that arm is an American flag and two names under the words 'In Memoriam' . Specialist Demetrius White and Lance Corporal Justin Brunner.

Demetrius was a friend of me and Marcus. Got shot by some wannabe gangbanger with a nine the day after he got home from driving a five-ton all over Iraq. Go figure. My brother Justin was blown in half by an IED while on patrol in some fucked up Iraqi city. My sister - his twin - Jeannie told me about it. Couldn't go to his funeral. I was in the Supermax here. Jeannie sent me a video.

So I ain't no hero. They are.

The food arrives after she leaves. I eat, but not much. Toss a couple of bills on the table, grab my jacket along with Atlas Shrugged and leave. I don't take the rose.

Maybe they'll have beer at this festival. I hope so. I need it.

I was at the school late yesterday, helping one of the girls finish her costume. I barely made it to that new store, Rococo, before she closed. In class, while the girls are cutting out fabric, they talk about that store a lot. And it's worth the talk. Rococo is the right name for it, too. Everything about the store is decorative. There's absolutely nothing anyone really needs. I could live there. I find a plain black velvet domino mask, with a red lining. It's like it was made for my costume. The girl who owns the store is really nice, and so are her cats. I found a pair of black nylons with red spiderwebs that work with my costume, too. I had to leave before I bought more stuff. I have to remember that starting next month, I have a higher rent payment, but I'll also have someplace to decorate!

So, my costume. Black stretch velvet, lined in blood red. Décolleté neckline. Cap sleeves with fringe hanging halfway down the arms. Form-fitting to the hips, then a flowing skirt, above the knee in front, down to a short train in back, showing the red lining. The new nylons, and a pair of killer black heels with a Mary Jane strap with a red buckle. Pile my hair on top of my head, with some curlycues hanging down, and I think I'd stop traffic if there were any downtown! I just hope it doesn't get too cold. I hope I don't ruin the train walking around town.

I'm trying to take Gabe's advice to heart, and just have a good time tonight with Anthony. I told Mr. Jenkinson that I mentioned we were going to O'Malley's this weekend and Gabe suggested maybe he and Justine could tag along, we could all get to know each other. I'm not sure what he thought of that. He said he had to hurry and get to class.

I wonder what Mrs. LaVie's party will be like. I wonder if I should have invited Anthony. I wonder what the festival will be like. I guess I should just go downstairs and I'll find out all these things when they happen.

The festival is a week long ordeal on the Ridge. School usually lets out early the Monday before Halloween and Halloween night. Both nights are big dress-up ordeals, Monday a giant "costume ball" (which is a great place to avoid if you don't like seeing clothed sex) and Wednesday is when everything else happens.

This year, I'm really not in the mood. Dad's forcing me to go to the dance though, and I'm sure I'll end up at the festival. I pull out a black t-shirt and old cammo pants. A little green make-up in splotches on my face, I'm in going commando... er... I mean, like a soldier commando.

I notice Derek Caldwin eying me as soon as I walked into the dance, but it's the old lady with roses that catches my eye. She hi-tails it for me the moment she sees me, holding out three roses.

"Unexpected strength will save us all." She rushes past me after handing me the roses, but when I turn to thank her she's long gone.

Early Monday morning I put up the signs for the fall play auditions:

AUDITIONS FOR ROMEO AND JULIET
Thursday and Friday afternoon
Meet in the auditorium
Come prepared to read
Men and Women can read for any part!

Hopefully I'll get enough kids to do the show. Its my favorite Shakespeare and I hope the students like it too. I've had a few express some interest so I'm looking forward to auditions.

Tim skipped my class on Friday. I sent a note through the office that he needs to stop by and find out what he missed. He's never missed a class - hope nothing is wrong.

I stayed late, avoiding all the pre-festival excitement. I have no costume so maybe I shouldn't go to the festival. It might be interesting to see what everyone is wearing, but I definitely don't want to have that conversation about why I'm not dressed up.

Its getting late in the afternoon. I'll just finish my grading at home with a small dinner and cup of tea.

I get to the parking lot and see Mr. Moore getting out of his car. He looks upset or something.

"Hi." I give a weak smile and start to head to my car.

"Uh, Ms. Terry? I kinda need to ask a favor..." He trails off a bit.

I nod for him to continue.

"It seems my car won't start. Would you mind giving me a ride home?"

My stomach drops. Looks like I'm not having a solitary dinner at home after all.

The outsider,
Always the outsider,
Watching the people who aren't.
I stroll into town,
Axe in hand, axe in hand,
A new E string on my axe in hand,
Watching the excitement.

The people here in town
Look forward to their festival,
While we outsiders, we outsiders...

Everybody polka!
"Ah-ah-ah! Ah-ah-ah!
We come from the land of the ice and snow
From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow..."

It's the first night of the festival, and I don't have a damn clue what to wear. A zombie outfit would be easy, but it would just remind me way too much of... past events.

It sounds like I have an unofficial date to the whole thing. Aspen invited me to "escort" her. I don't know what her family will think of that, but I'm actually pretty excited for the prospect.

It's not criminal just to go on a date with a teenager, right?

"Tim, how much longer are you planning on staying?" Hal, Jack's manager while Nero himself was away, asks.

"Err... how long do you need me?" I ask, rinsing one of our coffee pots. Was he sending me home early?

"Well, not too long. We're always slow the morning of the festival. We get pounded the couple hours before though. Too bad the Chesh scheduled you." I grinned sheepishly. I'd told Hal I needed to be at the Chesh tonight. He assumed it was to work, not to meet my... oh hell... I'm going on a date with a minor tonight.

"Yeah, it's too bad." I wiped the inside of the pot dry, and set it down. I look up at that moment, and see David walk through the door. I startle and blink several times. It wasn't David. Sheriff Barty for a morning coffee.

Oh hell... what was up with David?

It's almost hard to whistle, I feel like my mouth is watering so much at the smell of the roast perpetrating the house! So I hum, instead.

The dining room is set. I've ironed the good tablecloth and put out the good china, crystal, and silver. My jolly crew of skeletons sit against the wall. There are two more places set than I have given out invitations. That serves two purposes - I'm not at loose ends if someone brings an unexpected guest, and if someone chooses not to appear, theirs is not the only empty place.

I go down to the basement, locking the door behind me when I go down as well as when I come up, and bring up my "costume." I'll iron my red habit and wimple, but I'll wear the dress closed and without my rings and medals.

I put glittery black candles on the table, then start on the baked apples and make sure the wine is chilling - a bottle for each end of the table and a couple of spares - and two big pitchers, of fresh iced tea and lemonade, for those who don't indulge.

So much to do!

My aunt seems to think I should get a costume. "Everyone will be dressed up," she told me. "You don't want to be the odd one out, do you?"

I'm nineteen, far too old for that kind of thing, and besides, I'll look silly wandering around in a costume by myself. If I had someone to dress up with then it would be different, but...

I just smiled and nodded and told Aunt Caroline that I'd consider it.

It's rather creepy outside at night now, and while I'm not exactly a superstitious type, or a believer in the paranormal, I've started returning to the house earlier simply because I don't like walking down the streets when it's so dark. In the centre of the town it's all right, because it's busy and there are loads of people out and about, and everything's lit up. But walking down Elm Avenue when it's cold and pitch black...I'd rather not.

And I've started to notice that there are definitely a couple of eccentrics in the neighbourhood. Like the decrepit old woman who shoved a red rose in my face when I was walking past Masterson's Department Store.

"It's coming." She said. At least, I think that's what she said. I asked her what was coming, and she didn't reply, so I smiled nervously and walked on with the rose sticking out of the back pocket of my jeans. When I got home it wasn't there any more. I suppose it must have fallen out somewhere along the way.

"I've heard good things about your stock, Starre, and I'm glad to see it's all true." She set her purchases, black candles and bundles of dried sage, on the counter. "Do you know how hard it is to find black candles that burn properly?" I smiled, assured her I did my best to supply my customers with what they need. Told her to come back soon. It's nice word gets around quickly. She wanted to be in Denver before sundown. Or she wanted out of the Ridge by then. Not sure.

I think I'll close the shop, go to the festival, at least for a while. There might be more customers later, people forgetting something, I don't know. I put on a gypsy patchwork skirt, longsleeved linen shirt with Estonian embroidery, warm stockings under hardsoled moccasins, and a colorful ruana. I dress as myself, ten years ago. Nice they still fit, but it is a costume. This is not the woman I am now. I put a few small braids in my hair, remove my makeup. The disguise is complete. I almost recognize the wistful, young dreamer in the mirror, but not quite. "I do believe in faeries! I do! I do!"

Tom the busker is playing "The Immigrants Song" like a polka. I laugh out loud, which earns him a fiver in his hat. He seems familiar, but maybe buskers all start to look the same when you've seen so many.

Right now, I just want some hard cider. There's sure to be some around, in a flask if nothing else.

The flu bug took me out for a couple of days, and in the meantime, some junior high kid took a couple of the yards I was scheduled for, the creep. I had to come up with a new schtick and fast or else I was gonna be out of the business.

By the way, my dad's running for mayor. Can I rake your lawn?

Okay, so that's kinda cheesy. My mom suggested I go buy some of those orange bags with the jack o'lantern faces on them that some adults find cute. They bag their leaves in those and then just leave them in their yards for decorations. It's perfect, because it means I don't have to haul them off when I'm done.

The school has a no-soliciting rule, but I figure I can put a sign up to let the teachers know I can rake their lawns for cheap. I stick in a pushpin when I see the sign for auditions.

Romeo and Juliet, huh? I've always been partial to Mercutio. "A curse on both your houses!" or something like that, right? I mean, you gotta admit, the guy dies with style. I may go for it, I dunno. I won't have much else to do once the trees are bare.

I walk around the corner and nearly shit my pants.

Jerkoffson's coming straight at me, and I just realized it's Monday. As in three days after Friday.

And I still don't have my Samhain ghost story done.

(I think he's going to kill me.)

I've been chopping wood all morning and stacking it behind the shop. The 'phone has rung twice, but I've ignored it. That's not good for business, but right now I just don't care. I'm still pissed off at myself for how I acted the other day, and I don't feel like being civil.

Playing along with this Halloween festival would be civil, so I'm not going to do it. I consider leaving town altogether for a couple of days. My small game, deer, and elk licenses are up to date, but we're in a slump of a few days when the only legal big game are plains deer in the eastern part of the state. Besides, it's not cold enough yet to use the back porch (with its extra-heavy screens like on mental hospital windows, to keep small bears out) as a meat locker.

Too often, I realize, I'm making kindling instead of stove wood. I put the axe away, take a quick cold bath, and make a quick run into town before things get to obnoxiously cheerful. I'll go see what Jackson's Bookstore has, then grab some takeout from Jade Garden.

There's been so much excitement over the festival this year, I'm not even sure what day today is! Dr. Tom told me to go home early, but to keep my beeper on. I'll have to change the batteries when I get home, I'm sure. I don't know when the last time I actually used it was. There's a good chance I'll need it tonight. If nothing else, someone will drink to much and punch someone or get punched, and Dr. Tom and I will have to put in stitches.

Dr. Tom must hear gossip, too, because he told me to be careful of that McIntyre woman. I'm sure Ronald hasn't said anything, so I don't know where the doctor would hear about our altercation, but I won't worry about that. I told him I can take care of myself, and he shouldn't worry. Travis gave me a gun when I told him I was going to move out here after the divorce. He worried about me running into a bear in the woods, but I don't think this little .22 would stop a bear. I'm sure it would stop someone as undernourished as Ms. McIntyre, though. I doubt I'll need it, but when I get home, I'll stick it in my purse, just in case. I won't tell Dr. Tom that part.

I asked if he'd be taking Starre Jacoby to the festival. I saw her mother in the market over the weekend, and she was wondering, so I thought I'd ask. He gave me such a look! If he's not ready yet, he's not ready, and I won't pry into his personal life. He has enough problems, what with Mitchell and all. I hope tonight they're both able to relax and enjoy the festivities tonight.

I'd better get home and get into my "costume." I'm too old to go all out like the younger people do, but I put on a witch's hat and a pointy nose every year. It makes me feel like I'm getting in the spirit of things.

i love halloween. it's the one time of the year i feel like everyone else, because so long as everyone's in disguise, no one knows who anyone is. i don't go out trick or treating, or anything like that. i tried a few years ago, and forgot why i was walking around dressed like the statue of liberty, so i just walked home again. another year i dressed as a devil and forgot which house i was trick or treating in front of. mrs. christmas almost had a heart attack when she saw me. i heard she had a heart attack for real during the whole shannon mackenzie ordeal.

but mom and i always make a trip to the festival ball. i love to look at everyone else's costumes. this year, i have decided to go as a gypsy. i have some old peasant skirts that i can layer, and a low cut blouse. tie a scarf up in my hair, put on some bangles... done.

i hope that i see aspen at the festival. she'll at least talk to me, unlike many of the other townsfolk. to many, i'm just a freak to be mocked, pointed at, and talked about. i'm just something they pray they will never become. but i don't care. i love the festival, and i love the ball, because i feel like i can be normal, if just for one night.

The picture I took in the South Woods is indecipherable. The camera was out of focus, moving, facing the sun, and a dozen other things that any good photograph has none of. The only way it could have been worse would be if I had left the lens cap on. But the image, even though you can't tell in the slightest what it was (I mean, what was it, anyway? A patch of fog, a sun beam, a cobweb, anything but a ghost, right?), has a certain beauty to it. An etherial quality that doesn't quite capture the essence of what it might have been, but amorphous and fluid nonetheless.

Many of the photos I have tried to sell to the papers and magazines have been dismissed as too artsy, not commercial enough. The ones I took while photography was naught but a hobby were nothing but commercial. But now that this is how I was trying to make a living, the artist was overpowering the photographer. Wonderful, but not exactly great for the wallet. And there were already enough professional photographers in town.

And then, like a stroke of lightning arcing across the chill autumn sky, it hits me.

And that's how I found myself standing in the empty building next to La Piazza Pizza, talking to the lease agent about opening the gallery.

"This space is constructed for simple retail, Mr. Harrison," Herb Drechler is droning on, "but I suppose a gallery will do well enough. It's close to the business end of town, you should get pretty good pedestrian action, and Cheyenne Forest Road does some fair traffic of people coming down from Denver."

"It's perfect," I say, looking around at the old place. "I'll take it."

All I need is a name. Hopefully the inspiration will strike me as quickly as the last one did.

I arrive about five minutes earlier than the invitation time and park my car along the curb. I'm still not sure what to think of it all but it's too late to second guess now--I'm already here. Lighting up a cigarette, I sit in the front seat and finish it to avoid hearing any complaints once inside.

Ah but Cougar Ridge is moving tonight! Such a sleepy town most of the time, but it seems like everyone's awake for the festival. Clusters of friends and family are walking the sidewalks, heading towards the center of town where all the festivities are being held. Everyone's smiling and in good spirits. I admit it's rather infectious and determine that, whatever else, I'll do my best not to be a dour old grump tonight.

Climbing out of my Impala, I put out my cigarette and stretch my stiff legs. Lavie's boarding house is certainly among the nicest homes on the block. There's a charming old country feel to it, the kind I thought I'd see more of when I moved out here. Not all these ugly prefabs and mini-malls. The hostess greets me at the door, telling me how glad she is I showed up. I smile and compliment the smells coming from her kitchen.

Introductions follow. Of course nearly everyone inside is dressed up so at the first chance I get I tell them I've come as an old slob. No easy task getting the costume. You think they sell clothes this rumpled off the rack? That seems to go over well and maybe breaks the ice a bit.

"...and this is Ms. Adriana Banka."

"Hello," I say. "Your dress looks wonderful."

Helena is there as well. I tell she looks very nice too, although I'm surprised she'd want to spend the evening with a lot of fuddy-duddies like us. Certainly she must have all sorts of men beating down the doors. I think I embarrass her. What do I know about young women?

"Look at these settings," I say as I pour myself a glass of ice tea. "I bet they cost a penny. Very classy. I think you're spoiling us, Ms. Lydia."

So I’m totally showing up to Lydia Lavie’s party, right? Cause see, my grandfather and her used to date, or they were old friends, or they went to school, or were business partners or something like that, ya know? So my family has a standing invitation to go to all of her parties, and I take full advantage of it. But she did tell me that I am not allowed to talk business there, and she gets ever so mad if I try, so I don’t.

I have to say, even though Cole Jackson ripped into me about who I am, and totally teaching me a vital lesson about being me, he did give me a good advice about being a solider. Luckily, my cousin was in the army, so I managed to just bum his uniform and it was all awesome. And I cut quite the dashing figure when I am dressed like this. And it wasn’t just my opinion, I mean I thought I looked good, but it was totally my cousin that said that. Which kinda freaks me out a bit, I mean I’ve heard of kissing cousins and all that, but I totally don’t wanna go down that path, that’s just weird. Unless we’re talking about Mary Ann. I mean, we’re like 5th or 6th cousins, and that totally falls into the safe category, right? I mean, this ain’t Utah, but I may be looking forward to the next family reunion more than I thought I would.

Okay, that aside, I totally end up Ms. Lavie’s party, and she greets me and is all nice and what not, she’s asking me questions, and dear God, I hope they are just about how I am feeling, and whether I was still crazy, cause I am totally not paying the first bit of attention to her. I mean, I really wanna be cool and talk to her about stuff like that, but I was distracted by the fact that Helena was sitting at the table, and the girl was amazing, right? I mean, she is totally amazing anyway, but she looked amazing in that dress. To die for, right? And not like the sexy, I want her now way, but like in a classic way, in the way that beauty used to mean something, ya know? Ms. Lavie introduced me to everyone and then when she got to Helena, I sorta stutter something about how nice she looks, and I sit down next to her, apparently where I am supposed to, so that’s a win, right? “I didn’t know that you were staying here,” I tell her, while praying to God that I actually looked as good as my cousin told me I did.

Mrs. Lavie has gone to great lengths to make the house as festive as possible. The smells of cinnamon and spice fill the air. It smells like autumn.

My dress is perfect. I can’t believe I found it. I decide to say that I’m Juliet. Fitting for the play coming up and all.

Mr. Hochschild is there. He’s not wearing a costume but manages to pull it off. Only someone with a real personality can pull off being the only one without a costume or a festive sweater effortlessly. He’s friendly if not a little quiet. I’m sure that as the night progresses he’ll have some stories to tell.

I’m digging in the dish on the table with the candy corn in it (a weakness) when I see Barry walk in. He looks very dashing. So much different than from the day
I met him. Almost like Cary Grant in a war picture from the 40’s.

I smile at him from across the room. I didn’t know you’d be here.

He smiles back.

I didn’t know that I could feel that faint flutter anymore. Not since him… But I feel it a little bit. There it is that anticipate of the time to come, of conversations to be had, of the uncertain but exciting times to come.

I can feel it as he sits down next to me for dinner.

“I didn’t know you were staying here”

“Yes. Who could resist the atmosphere!” (stupid)

“I suppose so.”

I smile, because it’s the only thing to do without sounding stupid. I smile and I mean it.

"It's just up Cheyenne, near the highway. I really am sorry about this..."

She seems uncomfortable and I don't blame her. Despite being her room neighbor, I've hardly spoken a word to her over the last couple months. Now, out of nowhere, I'm asking for a ride--to a seedy motel outside of town no less. What were my other options? Anne simply wasn't a choice and Anthony's probably getting ready for his date by now. Plus, with half the main roads in town blocked off for the occasion and most businesses closing early, there was about zero chance of me getting a tow this late. I even try calling Ollie's to make sure, but no one answers.

"I must really be taking you out of your way. With the festival and all too. I feel terrible pulling this on you."

Ms. Terry tells me it's alright. She wasn't planning on attending the festival anyhow.

"You're not? This is your first one though, isn't it? You can't miss your first. There really is something unique about Halloween in Cougar Ridge." This was true. The Christmas doings were nice and the spring weather pleasant, but October just seemed to fit this town somehow.

She evades responding directly, saying something about a backlog of papers to grade. In fact, nothing I've said seems to get much response. Of course I know why. I'm making her nervous, babbling and being overly familiar.

"Anne always loves the festival. My wife, I mean." I don't say ex--I can't remember if I ever have said that to anyone. "You should go, really. In fact, we could stop now. Just for an hour or so. Some people really go all out on their costumes."

She smiles wanly. "I don't have anything to wear. I'd stick out like a sore thumb."

"Not everyone wears costumes," I tell her. "Besides, I'm not wearing one either. One person without a costume might draw attention but two? Perfectly normal. If push comes to shove, we can say we're going as overworked teachers. What's scarier than that? So what do you say?"

I’m not stupid. I mean, my grades could be better than they are, but that’s just because I get a bit distracted and tired from working too many shifts at the diner. But no, I’m not stupid.

Out in the woods, I’d swear that Noah Harrison is just trying to scare me as payback for following him when he starts thrashing around at thin air and taking photographs of nothing. The trouble is, Lea then turns up and starts making out that she can see things too. Which should be crazy because, honest to God, swear to die, there’s nothing there. No ghosts, no Blair Witches, not even any spooky smoke or disembodied moaning. Noah is waving his arms at nothing.

But Kendrick’s acting crazy too, barking and hackles up, making a capital-F fuckarow if you’ll excuse my language. And he’s never done that before, you know? So, here’s why I say I’m not stupid: I’m happy to believe there’s something there even if I can’t see it, because enough people have crazy stories about this town and this is just another example of it. I can’t just pretend that’s not the case.

I think I understand though. I think the people who see ghosts have some kind of sadness or anxiety in them - I think they’ve all lost someone, either recently or long ago. And I think the ghosts stay attached to them, like they’re all tangled up in some kind of spider’s web, and wherever the persons go the ghosts can’t help but follow them.

I’ve been lucky in my life, I’ve never lost anyone. Because of that I’m not haunted. I can’t see the ghosts. I feel sorry for Lea and Noah, but I can’t help them, these ghosts belong to them. I hope they can deal with it.

My ankle hurts most of the day but it’s just a sprain and when I get to The Cheshire and tell them what happened I’m allowed to sit in the back office most of the afternoon helping out with the cash and paperwork, and the phones and stuff. Tim’s not working the weekend, which is a downer, but I’ll definitely see him during the festival. I wonder, has he ever lost anyone and does he think he’s ever seen a ghost?

Anyway. Time to get ready for the festival!

I wasn’t intending to acknowledge Hallowe’en in any way other than placing a jack o’lantern on the corner of the bar, but at Barry’s insistence - and, trust me, that man can be very insistent - I’ve consented to trailing some fake cobweb about the rafters and hanging some skeletons around the pool table.

I said I was drawing the line at dressing up, though. Barry obviously didn’t hear me, because on Wednesday morning I find a box on my porch. Inside there’s a pirate costume - leather britches, waistcoat and boots, velvet jacket, black hat, red bandana, replica cutlass, eye-patch, the works. And a stuffed parrot. And, of course, a lemon. Just a lemon, not the lemon - Barry would never let his special lemon, the one that once saved his life, out of his sight - but it’s still a sign of affection.

Grumbling, I open the bar that afternoon dressed as Blackbeard, parrot on my shoulder. The parrot is moth-eaten and keeps drooping to the left like it’s drunk, but the look at my face means no-one mentions it. Then, early evening, after a parade of ghouls and witches and Venetian revellers, a truly horrific apparition appears in my doorway.

“I knew you’d make a great pirate!” comes Barry Dawson’s muffled voice. “But tell me, Sol - am I gorgeous or am I gorgeous?”

Barry is dressed in dashing soldier regalia with actually really suits him. In contrast, his voice is muffled because of the gigantic papier-mâché fruit he’s wearing on his head. I’ll let you guess the fruit. Clue: it’s fluorescent yellow.

“If I were you,” I say, slowly, “I’d lose the lemon.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Barry removes the headpiece then smoothes down his hair, smiling hopefully.

“Much better,” I say. “Now go enjoy yourself.”

“Did you know your parrot was drooping?

“Go now, Barry.”

Barry departs, quickly, leaving the gigantic lemon behind. It’s carved like a psychedelic jack and I swear it watches me as I pour myself a shot of bourbon. I rarely drink when I’m tending bar. Those occasions I do tend to coincide with the times when Barry’s paid a visit. There’s probably a connection there…

My mother died seven years ago, and with my father off the scene since I was four years old and with no siblings I was the sole beneficiary of her inheritance. I invested much of the money in the lake cottage, so the property belongs to me. To Scott’s credit he never broached the idea of changing the deeds to our joint names even after we’d married; therefore he has no say in what I’m planning. The cottage-- and, if wanted, my summer boating business-- has been listed for sale with a realtor in Mystique. The proposed price is reasonable, so I imagine I’ll attract a buyer sooner rather than later. Then, when everything is finalised, I’ll be leaving the Ridge, regardless of what stage the divorce settlement has reached by then.

I’m excited, yet sad at the same time. My second period of residency in Cougar Ridge has brought me little happiness, especially in recent times, and that means I’m a failure. Tonight I sit at home, alone, imagining the joy and laughter of those attending the festival in town. I’ve never been a superstitious sort but as darkness falls I find myself lingering at unlit windows, staring out into the darkness of the surrounding forest, pondering the existence of ghosts. Will I be able to abandon mine when I depart this place, severing ties and leaving them to haunt these woodlands with all the other dislocated spirits?

It’s as I’m dwelling upon such bleak notions that I’m startled by a sudden rapping on my front door. Once, then twice. Tentatively I investigate. It wouldn’t be trick-or-treaters out here, not even the ranger and his daughter, who must surely be in town with everyone else. I lean against the door, breathless, and squint through the spyhole. Thankfully it is a familiar face that looms before me. Half-smiling, I open the door.

Faye McIntyre regards me haughtily, eyes narrowed behind her spectacles and a cigarette dangling from her lower lip. She’s carrying two big bags full of colourful fabric, and a bottle of scotch under one arm.

“Okay, Cinderella,” she snaps. “Here’s the cliché: you shall go to the ball. Just don’t call me your Fairy Godmother else I’ll have to punch you.”

“No. No, I can’t. Faye, I-- ”

“Shut up and take off your clothes. And, believe me, contrary to the rumours, that is the first time I’ve ever said that to another woman.”

She hands me the scotch and one of the bags. I glance at the hall clock and see that the evening’s barely begun-- in more ways than one. I can’t help but grin.

“You’re a bad influence on me,” I say. Faye glares at me.

“Yeah,” she growls. “Funnily enough, I was just thinking the same about you…”

Principal Clark is more cunning than I’d given him credit for. To foil my plans for this evening he’s officially truncated the school day, meaning that after-class detention this Wednesday takes place in the afternoon rather than the evening. As such, it loses its value. The two students who failed to hand in their assignments on Friday, Tim Calvino and Derek Caldwin-- whom I finally collared at the beginning of the week-- show up to take their punishment with miserable faces but with relief beneath the surface as they now know they won’t miss the festival. My interest quashed, I dismiss them after half an hour.

I sit in my room marking papers until long after all the other teachers have departed and the skies darken outside my windows. No one calls upon me-- not Adriana, whom I foolishly attempted to befriend but who has ignored me since, not Justine who lives close to me but who has never made overtures of companionship, not even Gabriel, with his distress regarding his pitiful marital status. How can a man allow his wife to drift from him in such a way? I would never make that mistake.

I eventually pack up at around six o’clock and return home to my dark, cold rented accommodation on north Cedar. The revellers are already out in force. But the woman waiting for me at my door isn’t in costume. When I approach she drops the cigarette she’s smoking and grinds it beneath a pointed toe.

“I was going to leave you a message,” Faye McIntyre says, “But now you’re here I may as well give it in person.”

I ask her inside but she says-- with a curious smile-- that she already has plans. I experience conflicting swells of desire and revulsion. This woman affects me strangely, always has. She reaches out and cups my chin with a black-gloved hand.

“I met your charming wife the other day,” she says, sweetly. “She tells me you still haven’t granted her the divorce. Silly, silly Scott. You’ve already lost her, don’t you understand. Accept it. Sign the papers.”

“That’s your message? What the fuck’s it got to do with you?”

But she just keeps on smiling. Then she leans forwards and whispers in my ear, “Just do what I say, my darling. Don’t make me have to ask twice. You know how much I hate that--”

And then she’s gone, getting into her jeep and driving away. Leaving me angry. Leaving me so very, very angry.

I go inside my house and sit in the dark. I sit there for a very long time. But not all night.

No, at some point I realise there’s something I must do that really won’t wait until morning.