Brigid Kildare added a tiny glass pane to the lamp she was working on. When finished, it would be a two-level glass lantern shaped roughly like a flat-sided hour glass, but less than an inch in length. Her larger one, almost a foot high, sat on the bench. The design was one of her best sellers, but this one was special with tiny panes of crackled glass surrounded by a silver cage attached to a silver chain. Her blowtorch flared as she touched the flame to the solder, and she backed off to check the setting. It was the same as always, but the flame flared again.

She pursed her lips and glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows of her studio to the back yard. Sure enough, her next door neighbor, Cassie, was pushing through the bare hedge. Though the temperature was mild for the first day of February, it was still barely above freezing and Cassie was wearing little more than a light jacket. Knowing she’d get no more work done with the child here, Brigid turned off the torch and made sure it was out of reach of the six-year-old. Most days, she didn’t mind having the little girl visit her, but she was under a deadline. Still, Cassie was so sweet and so lovable – and very much in need of her protection.

“Hi, Miss Brigid!” Cassie’s lilting voice tinkled through the room.

“Hello, Cassie. You’re home from school early today. And where’s your coat? It’s cold outside.”

“We only had a half-day today. What’cha workin’ on?” Cassie climbed up on the high stool next to Brigid’s workbench. Though Brigid loved the little girl, she also knew the curiosity of children could often get them into trouble so she had rules Cassie had to follow and sitting on the stool without touching anything was one of them.

“I’m working on a very special project. Does your mom know you’re here?”

“She’s on the phone.” Which Brigid took to mean no, Em didn’t know, but she’d figure it out soon enough. Cassie’s legs swung back and forth on the stool.

“Would you like to work on your project for your mom?”

Cassie’s pixie-face lit up. “Yes!” She jumped down from the stool and went to the child-size workbench Brigid had set in one corner. Cassie pulled out the pieces of silverwork Brigid had fashioned just for her. There were two sets, each was a kind of puzzle for Cassie to piece together. When done, Brigid hoped one would look something like a small church with open sides and a place in the center for a candle and the other a shepherd’s crook. She gave Cassie the church one first.

“Now, remember what I said: It’s just like a puzzle. The pieces fit together, but only in one way. If it doesn’t fit right, you can’t push at it to make it fit. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay. I’m going to work on my special project while you work on yours.”

“Can we have music?”

Brigid laughed. “Yes, we can have music. What kind would you like?”

“I like the drum one.”

“I do, too.” Brigid pulled up the Native American drum music on her player and the sound filled the space. Before she could fire up her torch, she saw Em crossing the backyard. Brigid flipped the switch on her hotpot and set out a second mug for tea. “Cassie, here comes your mom. You keep working, and I’ll take her into the kitchen for a cup of tea, okay?”

“Okay.”

Em pushed through the glass door. Her eyes went immediately to Cassie. “Cassie!”

Cassie lay over her bench. “Mommy! You can’t look. It’s a secret.”

Brigid stepped between them. “Cassie, it’s all right. Your mommy didn’t see anything. Mommy and I are going to go have some tea.”

“Can I have some too?”

“No, but you can have a glass of milk and a lemon cookie.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Brigid nodded her head toward the doorway that led into her kitchen. Em followed her in. Brigid poured the milk and put two cookies on a plate and took them out to Cassie while Em got out the tea.

“Bridge, I am so sorry. I’ve talked to her about just coming over here,” Em said when Brigid returned.

“It’s not a problem. You know that. Especially now. Has Lamia done anything else?”

“No. Just that one time of following her, and even then, we can’t be sure it was Cassie she was following. The school is being careful and the police have been keeping an eye out, but until Lamia actually does something, they can’t do anything. I don’t understand why she seems to be focusing on Cassie.”

“For the same reason the monster under her bed did. Cassie is a very special girl. She is light and love and all things good. Lamia and her kind can’t stand all that happiness and seek to destroy it.” Brigid noted how Em clutched her mug. Her friend was close to breaking. She had to get the necklace done and the sooner the better. “Hey, are you and Cassie still coming tomorrow night?”

“We wouldn’t miss it. But I wish you’d let me do something. It’s your birthday. You shouldn’t be doing all the work.”

Brigid glanced down at her mug as she took another sip. “I enjoy it.”

“Fine. We’ll see you after lunch. We’ll sweep out your place first, then mine.”

Cassie came bouncing into the room. “Brigid! I’m done! Can I show Mommy now?”

“Sure.” Cassie ran out and a minute later dashed back in holding the two pieces of sculpture puzzles. “Mommy! Look what I made! They’re for you.”

Em took the church and shepherd’s crook from Cassie. “They’re beautiful. Thank you!”

“Look at the church one, Mommy. You can put one of your candles in it.”

“I see that. Tell you what, why don’t we go home right now and find a candle to put in it?”

Brigid reached out to touch Em’s arm. “Em? Make it a white candle and put it in the front hallway by the staircase.”

Em eyed her narrowly, then nodded. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

As soon as they left, Brigid got back to work. It took her until late into the night to finish the piece, but she finally did. It was deceptively delicate, just right for a boisterous six-year-old, and identical to her own lantern. She filled the base of the tiny lantern with special oil she kept and added a thread of wicking. She nodded in satisfaction and headed off to bed for a couple of hours of sleep.

—

The sun had barely risen but Brigid was already up and in the sunroom attached to her workshop. Her silver and white lantern sat on a small table in the center of the room, the necklace draped over the top of it. As the first rays of sun touched the room, Brigid knelt in front of the table, her white gown spreading out around her. She spoke the words of blessing over the necklace, infusing it with the power of protection, finishing as the sunbeam reached the lantern’s wick, which flared to life.

As the sun moved away from the lantern, Brigid blew out the flame and rose. She checked the wick and oil but both looked like they hadn’t been touched.

“You really think that will keep me away? That silly little thing? Seriously, Brigid, you’re losing your touch.”

Brigid turned, looking at the figure standing in the shadows of the doorway. “I think you’ll try anyway, but you’ll fail this time. I will not let you have this one.”

“What makes this one so different? She is bothersome and noisy and intrusive.”

“She is, but she is also love and light and laughter.”

Lamia hobbled into the room. “Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean I’ll let you have your way. She is mine.”

“You can try.”

“You can’t stop me, Brigid. I’ve grown stronger than you can even fathom.”

As Lamia hobbled away, Brigid touched the miniscule lamp and it flared to life once more. “You might be strong, Lamia, but I’ve depths you’ve yet to test.”

—

Later that night, after a long day of cleaning, sweeping and blessing farm animals, Brigid joined Em and several other women from Gloaming Gap around a bonfire in her backyard. The women sang and chanted until well into the night, adding more wood to the fire as needed. Cassie had long since been sent to bed, her new pendant twinkling around her neck. As the festivities ended and the fire burned down, Brigid spied a brilliant white light flaring from Cassie’s window and heard a scream of anger and frustration. It was not a child’s voice and nobody else seemed to notice, but Brigid and Em did.

“Brigid?”

“She’s safe, Em. And will be from now on. She is a child of the light now.”

Em hugged her, then hurried off to her house.

Brigid smiled, then swept the coals from the fire into a smooth circle, then looked up into the clear sky. She waved one hand as though wiping the sky. Moments later, clouds covered the bright moon and the first flakes of snow drifted down. By morning, the ground would be covered. Though she preferred sunlight, on this one occasion, clouds would obscure the sun. After all, it was time for spring to come. Six more weeks of winter just wasn’t what the town needed.

“You may have won this night, but you can’t save them all.”

Brigid didn’t even bother to turn at the gravelly voice. “I don’t have to. Just the ones you want.” She tapped her shepherds crook on the ground and light burst from her house, chasing away all the shadows but one. “Go back to your burrow, Lamia. The children here are under my protection.”

“Only for now. My day is coming. And there is nothing you can do about it.” The shadow disappeared.

Brigid returned to her house and her studio. Dozens of bracelets, necklaces and small lanterns lined her shelves. “Maybe not, but I can try.”

“Tell me why you’re here.”

Stephanie’s fingers traced the arm of the chair slowly as she thought about how to answer that. Why was she here? She sure as hell didn’t want to be. Everyone seemed to think there was something wrong with her. She liked herself just fine.

“Stephanie?”

“Yeah… I’m here. Trying to think.”

“Take your time.”

She had all the time in the world, one of the perks of near-immortality, of course. She had nowhere to be. The boys were at school, and her husband had stopped caring where she was a long time ago. She eyed the doctor. It wasn’t her time she was concerned about.

Technically, she wasn’t really concerned at all.

“I suppose I haven’t been given a choice, have I?” It was like a switch and Stephanie snapped. “I mean, they’ll hunt me down like a dog if I don’t see you, right?”

“Down, Stephanie,” Dr. Woyzeck cautioned and leaned toward the intercom button on his phone. She saw the twinge of fear that crossed his eyes, and she couldn’t help but smile.

Fear.

One of her favorite smells.

“Yeah, yeah… just… relax.” Stephanie chuckled with a low growl. She realized it wasn’t exactly convincing, but the doctor settled back in his chair.

They locked eyes for a moment.

“So… yeah. We both know why I’m here. Let’s just stop pretending. I. Am. A. Murderer.” Stephanie watched him wince at the last four punctuated words.

“A… serial… killer, yes, and your attorney is hoping I can help with your defense.” The doctor hesitated, but grew in confidence and professionalism as he spoke.

“Because I’d never kill anyone if I wasn’t insane?”

“Something like that, yes.” The doctor scribbled a few notes on his pad, covering them with his free hand when Stephanie leaned in to see. “That is the point of today’s visit, for me to determine your ‘sanity’ and build a case for a plea that you were not in your right mind at the time of the deaths.”

“I see… Does a… ‘lack of conscience’… prove anything?” Stephanie’s mocking tone caused the doctor to look up at her.

“Who are you mimicking?”

“My husband. On his way out the door.” Stephanie winced. That was probably her only regret, the loss of Michael and the three youngest boys. “He told me the only one he couldn’t save was Owen, so he left him with me and a ‘God help us all.’”

“Where are they now?”

“I’m not really sure. I haven’t seen hide nor hair for three days. It’s probably a good thing for him that I can’t find him.” Her voice and her thoughts held a long growl and her eyes glinted with a lust for revenge.

The doctor raised an eyebrow without looking up, making notes with even-more-than-necessary focus.

“Heh…” Stephanie chuckled wryly, retreating slightly. “I suppose that’s not helping my case, eh?”

“Not so much, no. Can you clarify if that is a threat to his – or the boys’ – safety?”

Stephanie lunged to her feet with a growl, towering over a now unflinching doctor. Even when she leaned in so that he would feel her hot, salivating breath, he didn’t blink. They just stared at one another for a full three minutes.

Finally, Stephanie could no longer stand it, she winced and turned away. Her pride was hurt and she shrank back to crouch in her seat.

“They’ve got nothing to worry about,” she muttered without meeting his eyes. She’d never hurt her pups and Michael just wasn’t worth the time or the effort. She’d have indigestion for weeks. The thought alone caused her stomach to rebel.

“Good girl.” The doctor stood and patted her gently on the head.

Stephanie whimpered. How had the tables turned?

“Do you know why your attorney chose me to evaluate you?”

Stephanie couldn’t answer. He was clearly the Alpha, even though he’d shown fear until she staged an attack. Why?

“Because…” Dr. Woyzeck continued. “Your attorney knows as well as you and I do that there isn’t a pill in the world that can give a person their conscience back.”

Stephanie eyed him warily as he paced in circles around her, like she normally did with her prey.

“You have no conscience. Period. We can plead insanity, and there might be a judge out there who would buy it, but not without a second opinion. I am the only one who can help you, Stephanie. Will you let me?”

Wide-eyed, she nodded.

“Good… so here is the plan then…” He twirled the pen around his finger, as if trying to determine the next course of action. Stephanie waited.

“I have been recording this session.”

She growled and tensed, trying to prepare herself for the perceived inevitable attack. The doctor just gave her “the look” and she whimpered and backed down.

“Good girl,” he patronized again. “I do have some ethics, Stephanie. I cannot and will not use any portions of the recording without your consent, which is why I confessed to having recorded us. I will delete the file if you prefer, but there is evidence now that will help you…”

She nodded slightly to indicate he should continue.

“Now,” the doctor cleared his throat. “We can claim the change in mood as a sign of a bipolar disorder – not quite insanity, but I’m sure we can find proof of a dissociative disorder as well. The comments about your husband… we can have you show grief at having even considered a retaliation…”

The doctor paced around her, clearly having forgotten she was even there. This was now his show, and she didn’t like being a pawn in someone else’s game.

Stephanie called the shots; that’s how it was supposed to work. Even Chief Dell knew that. Oh, he could threaten and warn her to behave, to fall in line, but he was ultimately afraid of her – he knew his place in the pack.

This new dog was clearly overstepping his bounds and needed a leash.

She tracked the doctor’s movements, stalking him with her eyes. The time for attack was soon. It didn’t matter whether he had a good plan or not. It wasn’t hers. And therefore, she wouldn’t play. This was self-defense.

She sprung.

———

Stephanie popped a breath mint from the doctor’s desk as she emerged into the waiting room.

“You waiting for Woyzeck?” She smiled at one of the other patients who nodded.

“You might wanna schedule something else.” She turned to the receptionist. “He’s… out to lunch.”

As she stepped into the parking lot, Stephanie growled. The balance had been reestablished and the old Alpha’s place had been restored.

I didn’t even learn to shift until I was thirteen. It was painful, and Grandmother said it would likely always be difficult for me because my mother was foolish enough to get involved with a non-shifter.

When I was sixteen, I found my shape: a small house cat. In general cats had always been my favorite animal, and now I understood why.  Against typical shifter logic, however, it was easier for me to take a small cat form than a large cat form.

My last shift, I was met by a terrifying pain. It felt as if my insides were exploding until I was left in a ball on the floor, clutching my stomach in pain. Even my first shift had not been as painful as that. Something was wrong.

My mother had disappeared when I was a baby, and Grandmother had died two years ago, so I had no one to turn to. I wracked my brain for some bit of wisdom that might tell me what was wrong with me. I was afraid to try to shift, and I certainly couldn’t go to a doctor.

Then I remembered Grandmother’s stories. When my mother was pregnant with me she had trouble shifting. I couldn’t shift with her, so the smaller the form she took the less room there was for me and the more painful it was for her to shift.

It couldn’t be… But I had no other possible explanation.

I tried to shift into a tiger. It was still more difficult than usual, but not as painful as shifting to house cat form.

I didn’t even know I’d called the midwife until I heard the voice on her machine. I rambled into her voicemail.

“Hi, Ms. Bujeau. I’m sorry to bother you – it’s not like I can get pregnant anyway, so I don’t know why I’m calling, but it’s the only thing that even remotely makes sense – not that any of this makes sense… I’m sure I won’t really need your services, but I could at least use somebody to talk to about this and I don’t know who else to call…”

Life as a shifter had taught me, like so many in this town, not to trust doctors or the medical field, but I’d heard that this woman was different. She was more artist than scientist, and didn’t care half so much about what piece of paper she could pin on her wall as she did about taking care of the women who came to her. At least she could be trusted, even if she couldn’t help me.

I paced from living room to kitchen and back, and stalked to my bedroom to examine myself again in the full-length mirror as I waited for the midwife to return my call. This couldn’t be happening.

I jumped and then laughed at the sound of my phone ringing. Before it could ring a second time I answered it. “Hello?”

“Hello. This is Eula Bujeau. I got a voice mail message from this number about an hour ago and am returning the call.”

I laughed tensely. I was such a mess I hadn’t even told Eula my name or phone number when I left her a message.

“Let’s try some introductions. Nice and easy. I’m Eula. Can I ask your name, hon?”

Despite, or perhaps because of the calmness in Eula’s voice, I burst into tears.

“It’s going to be all right, let it all out… We’ll get you taken care of, mama…” Eula crooned softly.

“‘Mama’?” I nearly howled and began sobbing harder. If only she knew. “I’m… not… a… mama…” I barely managed to get the words out between sobs. I heard her saying something about me mishearing – did I imagine it? Sucking in a deep breath I tried to stop myself from crying.

When I calmed down enough to tell Ms.– Eula my name and where I lived, she arranged to meet me in half an hour at my home.

Normally, I wouldn’t meet people in my home unless I knew them well, but as emotional as I was, I would be lucky to find the concentration or desire to dress before Eula arrived, never mind even entertaining the thought of leaving my house.

I pulled on a camisole and lounge pants just before I heard a knock at the door. “Come in.” I called as I grabbed a sweatshirt from the bed. I didn’t really want it; clothes were such a hassle, but I figured I would seem lunatic enough without being seen nude.

By the time I’d walked down the hallway from my bedroom Eula had found my kitchen and was putting a tea kettle on the stove. She looked up when she heard me. “Sit down, dear. We’ll talk when this is finished brewing.”

I should have been the one kindly offering invitations to her, but I had no energy to argue. I plopped into the kitchen chair and waited for her to join me with two steaming mugs of a strange smelling tea.

“Now…” Eula sat down across from me, “tell me your story.”

Eula listened patiently as I let the whole story come spilling out – what I knew of my parents, the things Grandmother had taught me, what I heard about my mother’s pregnancy, what I experienced the last time I tried to shift, and how I couldn’t possibly really be pregnant because half-breeds can never have children.

Eula smiled and patted my hand. “Midwives rarely say ‘can’t’ and I don’t see any reason to start now.”

I looked up. Everybody who had ever mattered in my life had told me I couldn’t have kids, and here I was sitting across from a midwife, with out-of-state credentials, who inexplicably ended up in this town, and she was telling me I could be pregnant.

The home pregnancy test Eula offered me confirmed that what I’d always believed to be impossible was obviously very possible.

During the coming months Eula kept tabs on how my pregnancy was progressing. Due to the pain it caused me, and the stress it most likely put on the baby, we determined it would be best if I avoided shifting while pregnant. It felt unnatural for me to keep my human form for such a long stretch of time. Occasionally shifting to a tiger or other large cat seemed tolerable for both of us, but, not wanting to put my baby at risk, I even tried to avoid that.

At my six month check up Eula assured me my baby was healthy and the pregnancy was going well, but a month and a half later things got more complicated. I wasn’t even thinking about shifting when I felt an exploding pain inside me. I wanted to shift to try to escape, but I was certain that would make it worse. I was sure something was wrong with my baby and called Eula in a panic.

Within twenty minutes Eula was sitting across from me in my kitchen again. This time I had tea ready when she arrived but my stomach rebelled when I tried to drink it. I resisted the urge to strip naked as I explained what was going on.

Much like the first time I tried to shift while pregnant, it felt as though my insides were on fire. I could still feel my baby moving inside me, but something felt very wrong, and the way she was moving felt strange and foreign to my body. My only thought was to protect my baby.

“May I?” Eula held a hand out towards my belly, questioning if she could touch me.

I nodded, taking her hand and drawing it towards where I felt the most movement inside me.

As she examined my belly, Eula spoke calmly “When is the last time you tried to shift?”

“Not for weeks. I haven’t even thought about it for days.”

Eula nodded. “But now you have a strong urge to shift?”

I nodded, watching Eula’s hands move gently but firmly over my stomach.

“Is there a particular animal you feel the need to shift to?”

“A… tiger.” The urge was strong and unusually distinct.

“I think you should try shifting to a tiger then.” Eula’s suggestion came as a surprise.

“Will my baby be okay?”

“I can’t promise how things will turn out, especially when dealing with unfamiliar biology, but it seems this discomfort occurs when you take one form and your baby takes another. It appears your baby may have shifted without you.”

Eula had barely finished her sentence before I was stripping out of my clothes, exhaling my human form, and with a single deep breath taking on the form of the giant cat my baby had apparently chosen for the two of us. I let out a sigh of relief as our bodies fell into sync with each other.

Now what? I wondered, as I looked at Eula, no longer knowing how to communicate with her, but feeling much better.

“You seem calmer and less agitated now. Are you more comfortable?” Eula was apparently good at reading body signals, even those of the cat variety.

I moved my head up and down in a clumsy feline impression of a human nod.

“I think I better call Agda. She’s the very best, and the most trust-worthy veterinarian Gap could ask for. Looks like I’m gonna need her expertise on this one after all.” Eula winked at me and scratched my ears as she took her phone out of her bag.

Flora fluttered down to the Linder house with a sigh. The once-brown paint was peeling off the windowsill where Flora landed. She peered through the grimy window of the small house, taking only a momentary pause to look at herself in the blurred reflection caused by the half-moon’s light. Her fairy wings glowed dully as she smiled at herself.

The four boys — if you could call them that — all slept in the same room. It was hard to imagine that these four sleeping boys, with their ruffled hair and torn pajamas, hid darker natures. Under the pale white skin lay the fur of killers. Power was hidden in those small bodies – the power to take life. While slipping between the cracks in the window, Flora wondered for a moment if werewolf children thought of counting or rather chasing sheep to help them fall asleep.

She knew she had screwed up with the giant Fairy explosion in the middle of town, but this was seriously punishment overkill in her opinion, and hers was the only opinion that mattered to her. Tooth Fairy duty? Worse yet: Tooth Fairy duty to the werewolf clans!

Flora glided to the floor and quickly hid under one of the boy’s beds. She stood next to a dust-bunny bigger then her 3-inch stature. She coughed and sneered at the dust-bunny’s answering smirk. She picked up a Lego brick one of the boys had lost under the bed, and pointed it like a sword at the dusty creature. She danced around the dust-bunny and, with a swift twirl, lopped off it’s head, causing it to explode, dying a quick and dusty death.

Flora heard the creaking of someone walking just outside the boys’ room. The door opened slightly, and Flora fluttered further back under the bed. Stephanie Linder stuck her head in, looking around as if expecting to see someone, but then quickly smiled at her four boys and ducked back out. The door latched shut with a click, and Flora sighed.

Under the frame of the door, Flora could see two soft shadows moving. Mrs. Linder was not alone tonight. She heard the soft mumbling of Mrs. Linder but could not make out the voice of the second person. So as any true busy-body fairy would, she sneaked closer to the doorway, still hiding under the bed frame out of sight.

“Yes, they are nearly ready. The more they hunt, the more they are able to control the change.” Mrs Linder’s voice resonated with pride for her boys.

“The flesh helps, they’ve tracked humans and taken their flesh, yes? But what of our ‘magical’ friends? We should see what changes that might create. We don’t have much time. I need them to be ready by mid-summer’s night.” Flora knew this voice but could not put a face to it. Something about it sounded older than it should.

Control the change? Flora thought to herself. She looked back to the moon outside and realized she had been here only two weeks ago! These boys could control their transformation? Why hadn’t she caught onto this sooner? Her wings beat with the desire to fly out the window, but she wanted to hear more.

“They’ll be ready… I think, in fact, tonight may be their first chance for a little magical snack.”

Flora shook her head in confusion as the floor boards creaked behind her.

Startled, she turned to see four pairs of yellow eyes glaring back at her. She jumped and shrieked as the now-headless dust-bunny had the last laugh.

———

The Linder’s front door opened creaking like a dying cat. A rather tall man stepped out of the shadow of the door frame. Back inside the house, there came a similar sound, but this wasn’t from a door. The sounds of the Linder boys digging their claws into the wood floor and pouncing made it obvious that the magical creature in the room with them stood no chance against the four werewolf cubs.

“Goodnight, Stephanie.” The voice of the man Flora hadn’t been able to place seemed to hang in the air saying more – and nothing at all at the same time. He looked back at the proud mother, tipped his fedora, and walked down her front walkway.

He was barely out of the reach of her front porch light when the air seemed to grasp hold of him. He continued just a bit further down the winding, wooded street across from the county park, when tendrils of fog seemed to wrap around his throat, pulled at his legs, and held him down, though he didn’t struggle. With a sudden wisp of wind, the man’s body fell to pieces, slivers, really, and slipped back into the fog it was constructed from. In his place stood Sandra Knox, her shimmering, silvery dress shifting colors in the light breeze, like the soft fog creeping through the woods around her.

She knew her actions tonight would begin a chaotic set of events. She wasn’t worried about the Linders being a real threat to Lilith, but she needed a distraction: something to draw Lilith’s attention until she could be sure… until she could secure her daughters’ safety. As her thoughts turned towards the fear of losing her daughters, and her anger at those who would destroy them, Sandra’s dress shifted to a dark red. She looked down, startled, and quickly drew a deep breath, attempting to regain her poise. The dress reverted to its natural silver.

If there was even a chance that what this Kadamb hinted at was true about her daughters…

She didn’t even want to think about the possibilities. Gloaming Gap’s balance of power was a vital part of the town’s ability to exist. Kadamb’s observations put Lilith’s power at risk and her daughters’ existence in danger. Sandra knew well enough that Lilith would quickly, and without hesitation, rid herself of anything that threatened her hold on this town — even if that thing that threatened her power was her oldest friend’s daughters.

Sandra wandered through the park to the lake, bare feet not leaving any trace of her presence on the ground. She pulled the air around her as she walked down the dock, her dress now a gray cloak. Its train flowed behind her like a snake-skin molting. Settling on the edge of the dock, she dipped her toes in the water and tried to calm herself as she watched the ripples slowly drift from her feet.

“Are you ready?” I yelled back at Elizabeth who was behind the counter starting up the second coffee maker.

I could hear her sigh. “I think,” she replied weakly. I rolled my eyes. The girl’s lack of confidence had been driving me bonkers ever since she showed up several months earlier. She had worked hard though, and I couldn’t deny that her help was wanted – particularly after that bloody massacre.

I unlocked the doors and plastered a smile on my face. “Hello, everyone! Come on in! It’s time for a party!” I said as I handed everyone special New Year’s Eve blowhorns with “Bren’s Diner” stamped on the side.

We had been voted as the host location for this year’s town-wide New Year’s Eve bash. The diner had taken a big hit in business after the vampire incident and we needed this party to boost us back on the map. I greeted locals one by one as they poured into the diner. The booths quickly filled up and the smell of coffee began radiating throughout as Elizabeth soared around filling every one’s cups.

Social I was not. Everyone was entertaining one another so I snuck back to the kitchen area to begin slicing pies: grapefruit as usual, but in addition, a new blueberry pie in honor of my Aunt Bren. More people had taken a liking to the blueberry’s sweetness and frankly, it was much safer to eat than the grapefruit.

I slapped each slice onto a white plate and pushed them onto the shelf. Elizabeth begin handing them out to everyone along with the coffee. I was getting into a groove: slice, scoop, slap, slice, scoop, slap, slice, but then the groove stopped with a splat. A grapefruit pie was suddenly face down on the red tile floor. “What the hell,” I said with a sigh.

Just as I squatted down to wipe up the messy pie, she was in front of me. “I know what you’re up to Gwen.” I couldn’t breathe. Her once warm green eyes were now hollow and gray. Her sun-streaked hair looked brittle and so did the rest of her. I stoop up slowly and closed my eyes. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t here. I opened my eyes and her gaze was just inches from mine. “That pie. It was to die with me. It’s not yours to serve. Don’t think for a minute that I haven’t been watching. I saw the blood Gwen. Innocents they were. You are not.”

I bit my lip just as I had done as a child when Aunt Bren scolded me. The real Aunt Bren. “You’re not real,” I repeated over and over. Vampires, I knew they existed. Ghosts of my dead aunt? No, not possible.

“Oh, I’m real alright. I’ve just been waiting until the right time to let you know I’ve been watching. The tourist massacre was the last straw. How could you keep serving it after I died? What kind of person are you? I taught you how to make it just right so that vampires would be tempted but they wouldn’t go insane. Now I know. You tweaked it. Your first batch on your own and you tweaked it. Now, I’m dead and so are those innocents. And half the town is out there,” she said pointing to the dining room, “about to bite in and you’re going to let it happen again, aren’t you? Sick, you are.”

I couldn’t deny what she was saying, and I knew anything was possible in the town. It was possible she knew exactly what had killed her. It had been my first attempt at making my own batch of grapefruit pie. I followed her instructions exactly but the pie was too boring for me. It needed some spice. I added extra citrus to sour it up. I thought I was being creative, but in the back of my mind I knew that the extra citrus would tempt the Vampires. I knew it might take them over edge. For me, it was worth the risk. I needed to distinguish myself as Gwen instead of Aunt Bren’s bastard niece. I was sick of living under her thumb. I wanted my own voice, my own opinions, my own diner.

Aunt Bren had cut herself a slice as I was washing tables on the other side of the diner. Within 2 minutes a couple of “young” vamps had broken through the glass doors and dove in for her…and the pie. She screamed, and I just stared. Before they stopped their feast, I had tucked myself under the table in hopes that my citrus-stained hands wouldn’t lure them over. I was fortunate. Aunt Bren was not.

I stared into her deep eyes, now barely visible as her ghost vapor began to fade. “Sorry, Bren. It’s my diner now.”

I took a deep breath as I sat back on the floor to clean up the pie. The lives out there in my diner weren’t mine to care for. I had myself to look after now. They would eat the pie and be happy. Then the others would come and dine. It might be another bloody mess but it was worth the risk. The diner was just full enough that plenty of vamps would come to feast. Just full enough that maybe they would come to eat. Maybe I could see them again. I barely remembered them anymore. I missed them.

“Gwen, the newlyweds Rachel and Frank want a whole grapefruit pie to themselves. They want to feed each other since they didn’t get to do that with their wedding cake,” Elizabeth said from over the counter, trying not to roll her eyes.

I smiled. “One grapefruit pie for the newlyweds, extra zesty, coming up.”

Caitlin felt the soft crunch of the newly fallen snow under her boots. The purple laces dragged in a trail behind her, leaving blurred edges to her finely chiseled foot prints in the pristine snow beside her. It had just started snowing when she had entered the Eden Theatre for the “Christmas Miracle Movie Marathon,” but now — just seven hours later — the entire town of Gloaming Gap was covered in at least five or six inches of snow.

The theater stood out on the street with its glowing pink and blue neon lights and an old marquee with red letters that occasionally, under the right wind, would fall to the ground below. They played all the modern movies, but the owner loved to show special late night showings of classic B-movies and seasonal movie marathons. It was one of Caitlin’s favorite haunts, and she may have been the only reason the theater remained open. It was one of the few places in ‘Gap where she could go and truly be alone, no matter how many people were in attendance. It seemed not many ghosts ever wanted to visit.

Caitlin turned and waved to Steven, the projector operator, and watched as he locked the door behind her. He was a nice enough guy, and they had become rather friendly. Nearly every night, she would wander around the empty theater and help him clean up trash after the movie. She would prattle on at him, and he would nod and grunt once in a while, enough to encourage her to continue her soliloquy.

“‘Night, Steven!” she said cheerily and handed him a red “S” that had been half-buried in the snow. “Have a great holiday!”

It was Christmas Eve, and even the spirits in this town had places to be tonight. Grandma Josephine was visiting family that didn’t know she was in the room, and Uncle Raymond was laughing at his nephews as they danced around the house, with their mother shaking her head and declaring a moratorium on cookies for them.

Caitlin might have enjoyed the quiet walk home if Main Street didn’t seem so eerily quiet. It was as if she was walking through a town that never existed… or one that time had long forgotten. The crunch of her boots in the snow echoed against the empty buildings and down street. She could almost forget it was ‘Gap; it could be any small town. As the neon lights behind her flickered off, Caitlin’s shadow vanished into the darkness of the closed shops, and she was suddenly alone.

The sudden and loud crash of glass startled her; she looked up from the tiny flakes sticking to her purple laces and toward the end of the street. What appeared to be a person came running out of Thomas Toys. As it ran towards the middle of the street, its body started to stretch out; Caitlin realized this was no normal person or even a ghost. The shadow of a man stretched the entire city block long and was gone as quickly as it came, leaving not a single track in the snow as he passed by Caitlin. She felt only a rush of wind and an overwhelming feeling of sorrow.

Frantically, she ran to the toy store. She could remember looking through the storefront window as a child, staring at all the wooden handmade toys. Ducks lined up in a row. Dragons with sticks out of their backs that you could use to walk them around and watch as their mouths snapped open and shut. And always behind the counter on his stool sat Thomas. Even when Caitlin had gone there as a child he had seemed old, but his presence brought smiles to every child he saw walk through his door.

The snow in front of the doorway was littered with glass, and the shop was dark. Caitlin ducked under the hand bar on the door and edged into the shop. She looked around in the dim light from the outside street lights until she found the switch to her right. The lights flickered on.

“Hello…?” She called out.

The toys on the wall seemed impatient to answer back, though with only silence. The store didn’t bring the same feeling of joy now – on this silent night – as they had when she was a little child. She felt as if she was an intruder with all these eyes on her. Sliding her hand into her pocket, she found her phone and began to pull it out to call the police when she glanced past the corner of the counter. There on the floor, in a slowly creeping pool of blood, she saw a hand. Taking a breath, she peeked further around the corner and there, next to a toppled stool, lay Thomas.

“Toot Toot!”

Caitlin spun around as the little town train started steaming around its track along the top of the room. She put her hands to her chest, closed her eyes and breathed out a sigh, before putting the phone to her ear.

“911 – What’s your emergency?” Caitlin didn’t hear the rest. She nearly dropped her phone at the sight of Thomas, standing at the counter trying to gain his balance. He hadn’t seemed to notice her yet, but she knew just what to do; she had been in several of these situations.

Thomas finally turned to focus on her standing in the middle of the room, staring at him.

“What are you doing here, Caitlin? It’s after hours and why is my door…” Thomas sounded almost condescending, overcompensating for something, like he was trying not to worry her.

“It’s okay, Thomas. I know this has to be strange for you. But I assure you that everything will be OK.” Caitlin tried to calm him.

Thomas seemed uncertain about how to respond, almost confused by her reaction. This was, of course, a typical reaction, but this situation seemed… atypical.

“Strange for me? Of course this is strange for me!” he scolded Caitlin. “It’s not every night I wake from lying on the floor to find my door shattered and some weird girl standing in the middle of my store staring at me like I’m some lost puppy she needs to help home!”

“Thomas, you didn’t just wake up… look behind me, and you’ll see your body on the floor. Take a moment to think of the last thing you remember. You’ve passed on. But don’t worry, I can talk to you; I can talk to all ghosts. Really, you’re lucky I was heading home from the movies.”

“You mean… I’m not really here? You can talk to me and others like me?”

She eyed him carefully as he nodded, a flicker of relief and then attempted sadness in his eyes.

“Do you know who did this to me? Did you see them?” He sounded almost eager. Did he want to be dead? Caitlin bit her lip.

“That’s a little more complex to answer. I only saw a shadow go running down the street. There really didn’t seem to be anything connected to the shadow it was… empty.” Caitlin looked into Thomas’ eyes for some sign of recognition but found none.

Thomas looked past Caitlin, as the sound of tires in the snow outside indicated the police had arrived. “My silent alarm was tripped. I would rather not be here when they come stomping through and making my store into a crime scene.”

Caitlin smiled back at him. “Find peace, Thomas.” She turned to the door to see the chief of police, Dell, carefully step through, gun at the ready.

Dell’s eyes instantly landed on her, then continued to survey the room as he spoke, “Caitlin, what are you doing here?”

“I was walking home from the movies when I heard the glass break. I walked in and found this.” She pointed to the pool of blood and Thomas’ body. Or at least where it had been a moment ago. She looked twice. There was no body, no blood, nothing left. She spun back toward the policeman.

“Thomas’ body was there, lying in his own blood – I swear it!” Dell looked at her, raising one eyebrow.

“Caitlin… I’m sorry, hon. I’m going to have to ask you to come to the station with me until we can sort this out.” He continued to peer around the shop, his eyes stopping on every dark corner. Something had him on edge; Caitlin heard what sounded like a low growl from him.

He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m sure you had nothing to do with this, Caitlin, but we need to get you out of here – somewhere safe, until we can figure out what happened.”

After escorting Caitlin to his car, Dell turned to instruct the other two officers to start taping off the crime scene. She could overhear his hushed explanation to them.

“She’s not lying. I can tell. Still, something happened here, and we need to know what it was. Lilith will want to see us immediately, and I don’t like going to her without answers.”

What a way to spend Christmas. As Caitlin looked back towards the shop, she could swear she felt something staring back at them. Something lay in wait in the shadows of the tiny toy shop, something unnatural… but that was natural around these parts.

I shuffle through the square, unnoticed, unneeded, irrelevant. I’ve bumped elbows tonight with the elite of the town: the council of elders who run this place – the ones who’ve been here from the beginning, and who think they know everything that happens here. They don’t. They don’t know me… even when I run into them headlong.

Mayor Eby stares crazily into space as usual, nodding blankly as his secretary goes over the evening’s agenda. No one knows her name, but I do. Rumor has it in his younger years, they were an item. I happen to know for a fact that’s how she made him her puppet. His mind has long-since been drained, like…like a sink– No, a toilet. That drains. Anyway, all he’s good for is a signature and the occasional public appearance.

There is something else only I notice: Lilith. Behind the gazebo, gesturing from the secretary to Sandra, who will report everything as she wants it to appear in the paper – not as it really happened. Everybody will believe the paper as always, because nobody will remember details on their own. It’s part of the curse of this place that no one else really knows about. They can’t affect me; they don’t even know I’m here. I’ll blog the truth later. ‘Course, nobody’s gonna read it.

There are children chasing each other through the streets; they all seem to know each other from school, and they have no idea about the undercurrents of suspicion that their parents are all freaking out about. They’re probably safe tonight, since the whole town is here. But still their parents watch all nervous-like. There are just too many disappearances in this town for anyone to ever really feel safe.

Tamara entertains the little ones: Cassie, the Linder boys, Kylie’s brood, and the others; they all love her and she’s always first choice for babysitter in town. She’s grown into quite the little “mother” since her best friends, Paul and Timmy… well, y’know.

Caitlin hurries past me, yelling for Tam to wait up for her. As she bumps my arm she slows, bewildered, and looks at me. “Excuse me… Sir?” She looks around as if she’s seen something, and it’s no longer there before she shrugs and continues on. Wait… if she can see me, then am I actually… dead? Even the ghosts and the spirits don’t normally notice me. I call after her, but the moment has passed, and I’m no longer there.

I watch her like a moron, before I’m distracted again by more people. There’s a whole bunch of the usual holiday excitement as my former boss and colleague untangles miles of tiny lights to put all over the tree. That used to be my job, before I… disappeared. I wander over to lend a hand. He’ll wonder later how they untangled themselves.

As I step toward the tree, I trip over Bella who is, as usual, not paying attention. She doesn’t even flinch as her fingers fly over the face of her phone, no doubt stuck in about a half a dozen conversations at once. I have to laugh. The man no one sees and the girl who sees nothing ‘cept her phone. Wonder what would happen if I tried to text her?

“Hey, Bella!”

Shaking my head, I look up just in time to see Bella staring up at Chance from under the sprig of mistletoe hanging off the pool cue he carries with him. Chance smirks and points up at it. Way to be obvious, douchebag. Everyone shakes their heads and Bella looks at him like he’s a worm.

They stare at each other for a moment, and then… as if she suddenly remembers something, Bella’s face changes. She’s plotting something, I can tell. She slides up to him and stretches on her tiptoes. With a look of determination, she puts her hand behind his neck and plants a kiss firmly on his lips. They stare at one another for a moment before she giggles abruptly and runs back to her fake friends on her phone.

“Pick your chin up, Chance,” Father Joe laughs and straightens the crooked mistletoe for him with a twinkle in his eye.

The spinster from the edge of town who also saw the whole thing chimes in with a wink, “Don’t let that one get away; she’s special.”

Chance gulps and hurries off after Bella, waving at Ash and his band setting up in the gazebo. I watch her run through the crowd, seeing her face change as she reads the different messages. When she gets to the streetlamp, I watch her stumble a bit and shivers, then runs off without really noticing.

“WHERE DID SHE GO?!?” Oh, joy. Rachel’s voice works on my very last nerve every time I hear it. “Honestly, I don’t know how we expect anything else of Bella!” Her whole attitude of I’m-better-than-you would kill me if I didn’t know she had every reason to feel superior. No one knows how much power she holds – not even she does.

“You’re still sore that she missed the evil wedding?” Lisa snorts, stuffing another cookie into her mouth as the two girls brush past me. How that girl stays looking as sexy as she does with the way she constantly eats, I will never understand. Maybe some things in Gap will always be a mystery.

Rachel, of course, has a response. Nice eloquent one: “SHUT UP, LISE! This has nothing to do with Frank! This is about Bella! She’s such a…”

Lisa’s eyeroll is classic. I’d have pointed the direction their little sister had gone, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, so I just let them go.

Chaos builds and the square is filling. The air fills up with the smells of spiced cider, hot chocolate, popcorn, and gingerbread. Well, and massive amounts of B.O. Take a shower, people. Everyone is here tonight, and Charly’s Snack Shack is serving up the traditional holiday treats. Gwen and Elizabeth meet up with Crystal and Lucy before joining the gossip of the town medical staff. They share news of how business is changing, who’s here, and who’s not since last year. Looks like the lighting ceremony is about to begin.

The band plays. They’re not bad for a bunch of high school drop-outs, and holiday cheer – and alcohol, I’m sure – leads everyone to applaud. It’s in that last second, as Lilith and the secretary drone on and on from the platform, that I make my decision. I step up to the tree – in full view of everyone, if they’d just notice – and loosen just one of the tediously-tested lights. If no one will notice me, at least this will be one effect of my existence that nobody will miss. I’m not trying to spoil their fun, y’know… just trying to feel like I’m part of this, somehow.

The crowd’s getting really excited now, and the mayor steps up for his only purpose: to switch on the lights. He can’t even do that right tonight; he throws the switch… and everyone groans as nothing happens.

“Hi, Keith.” The voice stops me in my tracks and I look around bewildered. “Up here.”

Sitting on the street lamp that Bella tripped under earlier, Timmy dangles his legs and aimlessly swings them in and out of the light. Few have noticed him either, and those who have seen him have said nothing. Even among this group he is now considered an outcast — something no longer quite human, not entirely dead, yet not officially undead either.

“You… can see me?”

“Yep. I see everything, including that.” He chuckles and then points seriously toward the shadows on the other side of the park where Stephanie Linder and the chief of police argue with one another.

“I think, perhaps, it’s time for us to compare notes, yes? Looks like we both could use an ally.”

I swat at a lightning bug zipping across my face before realizing it is winter, and that my “lightning bug” is one of what appears to be hundreds of fairies, flying into the tree to replace the missing lights. Will anyone remember tomorrow that the bulbs even went out? Not if Sandra doesn’t report it.

The ceremony continues to the Luminary part. As the candles are passed around and lit, I watch as each face of family and friends that live in the Gap glows. As the center of town is filled with light, the darkness is pushed back just enough to see the ghosts on the edge of the crowd.

Tonight we are unified, as this moment flows through all of us and illuminates the town square – just for tonight.

Kadamb reached down for a chunk of earth. Dry and brittle, it gave way easily to his practiced fingers, and the re-pulverized bits sifted back down to where he had disturbed it.

This was the place. Here.

It had been a long time coming to this spot. Like his father – and his father’s fathers long back – Kadamb had been alive for far longer than most men had leave. And while British Columbia had been good, and the Assam Valley rewarding, this place had more potential than any he’d seen in quite some time. And it helped that the locals already had an affection for Kadamb’s customary starter.

He stretched his lean form in the pre-dawn chill. It had hit the freezing point overnight, and a faint patina of frost was showing on the scrubby grass at his feet. The deep, deep blue-black of the night sky was already tinging towards indigo in the east, so he reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a single hickory nut. It was nearly ready to split – his arrival at this spot, at this time, was fortuitous.

As always, his knuckles popped and groaned at the labor of scooping out the small well of earth. It wasn’t strictly necessary to do this, but he loved to take his time with the things that he could afford to. He placed the nut gently in the well, aligned it to the ley line that stretched its way directly through this field, and then, almost as a sort of rude benediction, spat on it. He stared for a moment, ensuring all was as it should be, then pushed the dirt back over top the nut.

He heard a bell tolling, and nodded, appreciatively, at the dramatic underscore. He could just make out the gray stone walls of the Conclave at the top of the hill, and Kadamb knew that, despite the views of the occupants there, the place – this place would be holy. Perhaps in spite of them, perhaps because of them, he didn’t know. But regardless of that, he knew that this moment was a resonant moment. Ripples flowed outward.

* * *

As the bell rung for Lauds, Jude raked the last of the leaves from the exercise yard, and went to return the rake to the maintenance shed. He glanced at the rings, swaying slowly from a brief gust of wind, and shook his head sadly. He hadn’t thought about Tristan in a while; he’d been a bright young man, with a full life ahead of him. Such a waste. But then, the life of a potential Antichrist was bound to be … abbreviated, in some fashion.

Just as he got to the shed, a flash of royal purple on the ground caught his eye. He stooped to see an aster blooming right at the corner of the shed. The sight of the star-like flower held his attention strongly enough that he nearly didn’t hear the Deacon calling his name from the doorway to the courtyard. The Deacon, not used to having to repeat himself, harrumphed a bit and tried again.

“Jude? I have news.”

* * *

Carlos tried turning the bolt once more, but it still wouldn’t tighten. Probably stripped, he thought, and gave it a kick for good measure. The vibration caused the flower petals on the float to shudder ever so slightly. The Mayor’s parade float had to be just so, or else the Mayor’s Secretary would have his hide. Eh, a little epoxy on the back of that bolt, and it will be just fine. He scribbled a quick note for Arvid to take care of it. It’d been a long night, and with the rising of the sun, it was finally time for bed.

* * *

With a curse, the Mayor’s Secretary slammed down the phone. Every single person she’d called that morning was either dragging their heels, asking for too many concessions, or just, plain obstinately saying, “No.” The kickoff for Hickory Days was just hours away, but the rumblings of unrest among the dogfolk were getting the vendors skittish. Hell, Sandra, of all people, had expressed some doubts about the week-long celebration, particularly “in this economy.”

Of course, “this economy” was nothing like how bad things had been in the ‘30s; the Secretary had made absolutely sure Hickory Days kept its rightful place then, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let some whiny, over-privileged moderns take it away now. Not with so much at stake.

An idea popped into her head. She rolled it around a bit, got a sense for the flavor, then nodded, reflectively. Her left hand picked up the jade princess phone from her desk, while her right hand deftly flipped through her Rolodex. She dialed a number, and after a short time, it was picked up.

“Never mind who this is or how I got this number. I’ve got a job for you; name your price.”

* * *

She didn’t care what the price was. Still, $5.99 for a large bag of pretzels just seemed expensive. It’s not like she could even really eat them. She’d decided that her status was “pretty-much-dead”, and apparently, the pretty-much-dead don’t digest things well. Or, like, at all. So, she’d take a handful of pretzels, chew them up, suck up as much sodium from them as she could (wanted to stay as well-preserved as possible), then her pretty-much-dead self would just spit them into a trashcan or passing ladies’ handbag or something like that. She’d learned not to just upchuck on the ground or something, because Dog had a habit of going after it, then, and too much salt just isn’t good for pooches; particularly ones who are only a step up or two from pretty-much-dead.

Still, she handed the cash over to the guy behind the counter at the convenience store. She wanted her pretzels, dammit. Guy took the money, but fumbled with the change. Rather than the usual, “Have a nice day, ma’am” crap, he was staring at the doors to the store, slack-jawed and mouth-breathing like he’d forgotten his nose had a purpose.

She cleared her throat to get his attention. He blinked and said, “Woah, sorry. A girl who looks exactly like you just walked in here. Was all deja voodoo here for a moment.”

She asked him where the other girl went; he pointed at the snack food section. “Hey, don’t do anything stupid, ‘kay? I don’t want trouble in my dad’s store,” he weasled out.

Yeah, keep that hope alive, mouthbreather, she thought, as she cracked her knuckles in anticipation.

* * *

Elizabeth flexed her fingers carefully. With the heat in the building still unreliable, she’d been forced to wear heavier clothing, but was unable to effectively bead necklaces without her fingers. She could already hear Max’s gentle admonitions, encouraging her to confront the building super, but she was fine. Nothing some good, fingerless gloves couldn’t handle.

Come to think of it, she was surprised Max wasn’t saying anything. He’d been quiet the day before, and perhaps he wasn’t up yet. Can ghosts get sick? she mused. Do they even sleep in?

As she pondered the implications of a ghost with the sniffles, she was startled by a shattering noise behind her. On the floor was the remains of Max’s favorite bone china coffee cup; his beloved wife had hand-painted on the cup a tree growing in a garden, and Elizabeth could just see the bottom of the tree on the largest shard.

She cleared her throat and looked around. No sign of Max to be seen. Slowly, deliberately, she called out, “…Max?”

She heard a clatter by the knife rack behind her.

* * *

The first rays of morning sun hit the spot where the nut had been planted, and Kadamb nodded appreciatively at the sprout that instantly poked through the dirt. In the span of two deep breaths, the sprout had grown to a seedling, now a sapling. In just a few more minutes, this great hickory would be the cornerstone and crown jewel of a new Garden, just as it had in all the many, many Gardens before. While its tremendous growth was not a surprise to the man, he did find the twisting of the tree to be unusual. It wrapped around itself, as if it were being unwound from underground – or perhaps rewound. He didn’t recall ever seeing The Tree twisting quite like this, and he wondered if it was an omen.

Kadamb took a deep breath, and sat down beneath the staggeringly beauty of The Tree continuing to grow. It wouldn’t be long, now. Perhaps another hour or so, and The Tree would offer its first fruits. He was ready; he needed knowledge. And this was the best – and first – way to get it.

I watch them as I watch everything here in town.

They skip, scamper, and shout at one another — little “boos” in training. They’re nothing like their parents, who were nothing like their parents, who were nothing like their parents, who were… Well, you get the idea.

There’s nothing real behind their masks. At best, I could find a few half-breeds I’m sure, but most of them don’t even have the tiniest drop of bloodless in them. Too many “immigrants” to town in recent generations.

Watching their silly attempts at creepy and supernatural makes me laugh though. Their pretense of bloodlessness is always betrayed by the super rosy cheeks of their excitement. (That’s the easiest way for beginners to tell, by the way. Just look at the cheeks; it’s a dead giveaway.)

Ringing doorbells fill the night and “cute” is the word I hear a lot to describe them — exactly what we all aspire to, no? They eagerly hold their bags and buckets out for candy and crinkle their noses at the treats offered by those of us who’ve been here for generations. Poor dears wouldn’t know what to do with those treats if they bit them in the nose. Some of them do.

It hasn’t always been this way here in the Gap. Halloween used to mean something. This town was always one of the last remaining places in this new world where we could truly celebrate the reason for the season.

And there are only a small handful of us left who remember that. Who remember the need to put aside our differences and conflicts and learn to stand together united. Who remember the holiday of giving and sharing.

But I suppose our town is blending in as well as we, its residents, are. So at least the purpose was achieved. We share our blending rituals and tricks to fit into society with one another. We treat ourselves for yet another year of successful “passing” as the living and remember fondly (or not-so-fondly) those who have passed beyond this world.

Some of us don’t have to disguise as much as others to blend, but Halloween has always been a night where we could party in our truest forms, the night we’re expected to look like the freaks and monsters we are. It’s the one day of the year that the rest of this world embraces and even idolizes who we are, instead of just running scared. They still have no idea.

And we respect them for that, and let them live in their ignorance. No one stirs the waters on this night. We party with them, giving them the thrills they crave, even if this young generation doesn’t understand why. All the while, the unspoken rule that everyone understands is, “no death on this night.” The penalty is too great for anyone who dares break that pact. Ostracism from this town for the bloodless means nearly certain obliteration.

I watch as the little girl trips up my sidewalk. Her fake talon nails colored in the same black as her floor-length gown and lipsticked mouth. She clicks her little fangs in and out of her mouth with her tongue, her cheeks turning bright red under the faux-whitened skin. These are my favorite, the stereotypes. If she only knew the reality of what un-lives behind this door.

As my doorbell rings, I choke back my first responses and put on a fake smile to play my part in this facade. Coalescing into solid form (I have to hide this from even my own family – it’s not yet time for them to know who they really are), I get ready to offer her my famous midnight “punch” with its secret ingredient. The years have taught me to disguise my treats, but the children will sleep well – even with the added sugar of the treats from the living.

After all, this innocent child doesn’t deserve my frustration; she’s only acting her part the same as everyone else tonight.

“Good evening, Miss Sandra.” Her bashful, dark eyes look up at me. “Trick or treats?”

We continue and conclude Zombie-Month-Tober with a change of pace: A poem from Daniel Meyer.

You’re stumble, mumble fumbling,
so messed up that you’re tumbling
down heights and hills and high ways -
but please steer clear of my ways.
Your noxious scent’s quite petulant,
your manners aren’t quite heaven-sent,
and your broken bones are jonesin’
with gangrene fermentosin’.
Your slack-jawed face that lacks awe
has seen the wrong side of a hacksaw
and you lost your ear right over ‘ere
and I think I can see your derriere…
Well…I’ll do God’s work and put you down
with a bullet right upon your crown.