The Veil Lifted

[Dimturiel]

So it was upon them at last, the spookiest night of the year, the night around which so many legends circulated. She had loved that night since she was a small child. She liked dressing up, and walking from door to door, friendly people smiling at her, with eyes twinkling with delight. Time had passed too quickly, she was older now, she could no longer do the things she had done as a chlid.

Yet she still liked to walk the streets on that night, being careful to have at her a bag of sweets that she would present to the children she met disguised as ghosts, or elves, or hobbits. She smiled to herself, imaginining how delighted these children would be, and how they would run to their mothers to tell them of the kind young lady that had given them candy because she had liked their costume. She even fancied she could hear such a child, talking quickly somewhere near her:

"And, Mum, do you know what she said? She said I was the prettiest Elf-maiden she had ever seen!"

She shook her head. In but a few years they would forget her, and would laugh at the way they use to wander the streets disguised as fairy-tale characters. Or else, they would become like her. Constantly dreaming, longing for a past that was so distant that the people around her had ceised believing in it.

When she was a child, she would tell anyone she met while trick-or-treating that she was an elf princess and that her name was Darlariel. And now, each Halloween night she walked the streets again as Darlariel. She thought-and she sometimes felt ashamed to admit this- that on one such night she would encounter a sign from the world in which she still whole-heartedly believed. Maybe she would run into a real Hobbit, or a real elf or ...or even...But what was the use of expresing such desire? Her mind told her clearly that it would not come true. And yet, her heart made her walk the streets at night, ever waiting for something to happen.

[Firefoot]

At least the lady hadn't bothered to lock the door; Raven would have heard the distinctive click. She stood on her tiptoes to peer through the window, making sure the lady had heard Tucker's knocking and was walking away. She was.

Quickly and quietly as she could, she opened the front door, darted in, and seized the cat where it still sat next to the treat bowl. Raven felt a little bit guilty taking the lady's cat; the lady had been so nice to her and given her lots of candy - good chocolate candy, not the icky hard ones or, even worse, the toothbrush that the dentist had given her. But only a little bit guilty; she wasn't about to have bad luck for an entire year over this.

Raven heard footsteps coming back from the other room and fled. She really had a very poor grip on the cat, holding it around its middle, and it was squirming violently. She didn't bother to close the front door behind her, only ran as fast as she could away from the house.

"Raven, wait!" She heard her name called and almost shrieked in fright. The evil lady knew her name! But it was only Tucker in his Corsair costume. "Did you get the cat?" he asked.

She could only nod; she felt as if her heart were pounding in her throat.

"Now what?"

"Well... we have to..." She cast about for an answer, trying to think of something suitable from scary stories - skin it? burn it alive? - while trying to shift the cat in her arms so that she could hold it better. It had slipped down while she had been running so she was holding it right beneath its front legs and thought that at any moment it might slip free - which it did and within seconds was off running down the road in the direction of the town.

"We have to catch it!" she cried, chasing after it, barely able to see it in the setting darkness.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“Time to go, time to go! Candy! Candy, candy, candy!”

Ben hopped up and down, up and down, right in front of his older sister. She looked up from her book, and all Ben could only see her hazel eyes over the hard cover. Ben twirled around in his costume – this year, the six-year old was a flamboyant orange pumpkin, an outfit hand-made, like all his previous costumes, by his mother.

“Five more minutes, Ben?” His teenage sister, Ella, pleaded with him. Ben could not read the big words on the cover of her book, but he figured it must have been important for her to want to wait five more minutes to go trick-or-treating.

“Nooooo!” He wailed. “Mommy said we can go now! Now, now, now!” Ben tugged on Ella’s sleeve, and she groaned as she got off the couch she had been sitting on.

Ben squealed happily, bouncing his way toward the front door where his mother had set the bag of candy she would hand out when the doorbell rang. He grabbed Ella’s jacket for her, and while she slowly put it on, he took her scarf off of the coat rack.

Together, Ben and Ella left their home, and walked out into the dark, windy night.

“Ella, why don’t you have a costume?” Ben asked, holding Ella’s hand as they walked from one house to the next.

“I’m too old to wear costumes, Ben.” Ella replied. Ben let go of her hand to walk up the steps to the next house, and Ella waited patiently on the sidewalk.

Then, Ella heard a funny noise from the front yard of the house to her right. A soft crinkling sound erupted from the area right below the nearest tree. Whatever made the sound was moving, quickly – the crinkling of leaves got louder and closer.

Ella walked slowly towards the strip of grass in a sea of concrete, following the noise, and…

Mreeeeeeeeeowwwww!

Ella yelped and jumped back, surprised, as a black cat careened towards her. She reached down quickly and grasped the ebony animal tightly. Its eyes were wide, and Ella could feel the cat’s heart beating fast as a hummingbird beats its wings. It tried to wrestle with Ella, but she cradled it firmly in her arms.

“Oooh! A cat!” Ben came up behind Ella and peered up at the cat.

"Yeah...I wonder what was chasing him...or...uh...her...that made it so scared." Ella smiled at the cat as she spoke.

"Black cats are bad luck, Ella, everyone knows so." Ben informed her.

[Celuien]

"Rrreeeooooowwwww. Yeeeooooowww." The call of a frightened cat echoed just outside Becca's door.

Becca gasped. "Midnight!" She flung her door wide and stepped into the cold, hatless and coatless. Not too far away, the Elf child was running down the street with a small boy, and Becca caught a glimpse of inky fur on the girl's shoulder.

"No! Come back! Come back!" Becca set off at a frantic run. The children had stolen her Midnight, and no good could come of their cruelty. Tears started down her cheeks.

Run, faster, run.

[littlemanpoet]

Sid liked it when he came across kids got up as fellow Lord of the Ringers. Elves, Hobbits, Dwarves. He saw them here and there this night. It was cool even to see Goblins, Trolls, and Orcs. But people didn't do much of that. Bummer.

Rrreeeooooowwwww! Yeeeooooowww! A cat yowling in the distance. Sid's neck hairs prickled. Ah, it's nothing, he tried to reassure himself. That bad luck stuff isn't for real.

The front door of the rowhouse he was walking by opened in a hurry. A young woman ran out of the door. "No! Come back! Come back!" she called, running frantically.

That couldn't be good. She was headed in the direction of the cat noise. "Hey, why not?" Sid said to himself, and loosening his fake sword in his fake scabbard, started jogging after her.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Tish glared at the door, daring knocks to echo through it into her almost quiet house. She could hear shrieking from the street. On any other night, she'd be out with a broomstick or a cellphone, stopping the trouble with a quick thwack or a threat of police. Shrieking interrupted the candle light. But tonight she couldn't chase away the trouble-makers. They were children. Children of her neighbors, of her co-workers. She was reaching the age when her peers were settling down. Getting married. Creating little rugrats to dress up on national holidays.

She wore black. It wasn't special. She wasn't dressed for the occasion. She just always wore black. Tish had actually considered switching to pink for the night, just to dispell any notions that she had some sort of festive spirit. But if she did that, she was dressing up.

She glared at her wooden floor. She couldn't win. And somebody was going to knock on her door. Some small voice was going to yell 'trick or treat' and demand rotton teeth or threaten vengeance. Tish, usually nice, if widely known as That One, was, quite frankly, miserable on this depressingly spunky night.