…a cursory exploration of Halloween from Jack's point of view:

 A/N: Written for October 2009 issue of the school magazine, the "Piggybank", before the magazine failed spectacularly.

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I swim in black and muffled sensation…

Bump. Dull soreness. Dull, but being manhandled is never pleasant.

A grinding, likewise muffled, tugs around my crown. Releases. Biting air floods into me from the aperture.

Scrape. Dig. Sharp gnawing, tugging. Pulling out my jewels.

A fiery flare bursts on my front. Then more grinding, more green tugging.

Wiggle-

-Light…

I can see the weedy creature withdrawing, and a hint of dark orange being chucked aside.



He comes again. Angular gray looms. –Stab.

Against the backdrop of the gentle flames in the paned electric fireplace alongside the reds, oranges and golds in fading light through the waist-to-ceiling window, another piece of me is taken.

Depth has been granted; the unopened bottle rests near me, focused, ahead of the plastic bat that hangs from the ceiling feet away.

More rough grating, hard cutting.

A waft of soft colcannon. It’s a rich one. I reach for the dish, but my fancied arms pass through.

Pop. The weedy man opens the bottle. As the sweetness of freshly opened cider pours out to tickle my new sense, the angular gray descends again.

From the left to the right; down, up, a sequence. Back again.

A hint of fluid leaks out. I yearn for the treacle toffee; it’s next to the colcannon; next to my new still mouth!

A warmth draws near, though I cannot see it, I feel it filling the cold cavity of once-and-never-to-be children. The cap claps into place again, and harsh cosiness spreads within me.

BURNINGflickering light; the world is illuminated in fresh definition, the treacle toffee, the colcannon, the candied apple, the window scene, thrown into relief. The howling of everything grows, the tang of the air thickens even as it sharpens, and everything is a cool breeze, burning in intensity.

A ringing. Cheerful and laughter seep in. The weedy man smiles and departs from my vision. The working of smooth metal parts; door knob turning…

Trick or treat!

Behind the crinkling of plastic wrappers, behind the friendly conversation, I look still straight ahead. I look still straight ahead and I see the -mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?

Crinkled orange round, pea hair. Wicked gaping eyes, empty nose, grinning  razor teeth-

-flickering, sinister tender candle-flame that lights my thoughts with blazing spark, and a struggling happiness smoulders beneath the angry demon…