Mist and Moonlight of Halloween

 Be careful who you mess with!

Leon Birch sat inside his rented room, listening to the Senate committee hearings. Eating his cold supper, wishing he could afford to get married. Since getting his degree, he’d only been able to pick up a few substitute teaching jobs.

Listening to the government root out subversives usually gave him hope for the future, but now it all seemed far away. The hearings were all taking place back east, and he was in San Francisco, which seemed to be ground zero for everything that was going wrong these days.

It really wasn’t fair that he was living alone, paycheck to paycheck. He had all the skills and all the credentials. He certainly had the necessary moral convictions, yet the good jobs all seemed to be taken by determined spinsters and others of questionable politics and even more questionable “lifestyles.” No wonder the public schools were turning out delinquents.

And worse, like that Carstairs boy in the fifth-grade class he’d taught today. To Leon’s great annoyance, the school he’d graced with his services was one of those careless places that allowed the students to wear costumes on Halloween. Leon wasn’t having that nonsense and required his class to remove their dime store covers and masks. All would have been well but for the Carstairs boy.

Instead of a cheap costume thrown over his school clothes, Patrick Carstairs was dressed in green and brown, with some sort of ivy twined around his tattered sweater. The same stuff was also tangled in his black hair, which Leon thought badly needed cutting. Instead of a mask, the boy wore makeup. Not only eyeliner but glitter, for heaven’s sake.

“What are you supposed to be, young man?”

“Robin Goodfellow, sir,” was the grinning imp’s answer.

Leon glanced down to scan the attendance chart. The class tittered, so he changed his gaze to the seating chart and found the impertinent brat’s name. “I don’t know how you got out of the house dressed like that, Carstairs, but it won’t do. Go to the restroom, wash that filth from your face, get rid of that shrubbery, and comb your hair.”

The whole class stared in dumbfounded silence. “What are you waiting for, Carstairs? Get on, and don’t be all day about it!”

As the boy slunk toward the door, something else caught Leon’s eye. “What on earth is this?” He yanked at the boy’s ear, and a pointed rubber tip came off in his hand. “Fairy ears?” Leon pulled the other ear tip off and threw them in the wastebasket. “Your parents shall hear of this. Now get going.”

The class kept their heads right down after that, working away on the assignment he gave them. Should have been a simple task to fill their day, writing a family history. But again, the Carstairs boy proved a problem.

“We come from an Elder Race. My grandfather, Jonathan Hamilton Carstairs, came to San Francisco in 1912. He established Carstairs House on top of Shipwreck Hill because the hill is full of faerie magic, just like the place he came from, the Hamilton estate in England, called Oakwood. Oakwood is named for its ancient oak groves. Some of the trees are harvested, but some are left untouched so our Faerie ancestors can continue their revels, and the Carstairs family retains the blessing of the Fair Folk. Carstairs House doesn’t have oak trees, but Uncle Nigel planted a holly hedge all around the property to contain the magic. So, our house has the blessing of our High King Oberon and our High Queen Titania, and the Fair Folk are free to hold their revels in our secret garden at the center of the holly maze.

“Halloween is a special night for the Fair Folk. They often reveal themselves to mortals during the hours when the veil between the faerie and mortal realms is thinnest. Especially the Huntsman. He is King Oberon’s enforcer. Unlike the courtly knights who are defenders of the faerie realm, the Huntsman is a monster. Darker than night, but for his eyes, which shine red with lust for the blood the Wild Hunt demands. He leads a pack of damned souls in pursuit of other damned souls, who will, in turn, join his Wild Hunt. Unless the High King has decreed they be hunted to death, in which case, the Wild Hunt shows no mercy. Even their horses will join the hounds in rending the prey till nothing remains.”

Leon smiled, recalling his enjoyment of the shock on the boy’s face when he handed back the paper at the end of the day with a large red F in the upper margin.

Continue reading the story in the anthology:

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A Spell to Restore Youth

 What is she willing to sacrifice?

The bright Arizona sunlight permeated through the plantation shutters, waking Gemma Lowry from a restless night, which was not unusual considering her marriage was going down the tubes fast. Russell, her husband, had already left for work, which was normal with having to take over the accounting agency he’d inherited from his late father years ago.

Throwing back the fine linen sheets, Gemma walked through her vast territorial-style home and headed to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee before her usual morning walk. October in Arizona still meant warm mornings. She sat at the kitchen table, glancing out over the open courtyard at an unused chiminea that graced the corner. I don’t know why we never use this thing. Maybe it’s because Russell has been so busy working late these days. Hopefully, with the cooler weather coming, we can make it a point to spend evenings out here enjoying the beautiful view of the mountains. Her thoughts quickly turned to Russell and his behavior over the past year. Their daughter, Hope, was off at college, and things had indeed been different, but he seemed to lack interest in their relationship, and sex had become less and less frequent, if not non-existent. Gemma wondered if he was having an affair with his attractive secretary, who was young, blonde, and thin. After all, he was an attractive, well-built man five years her junior. It’s no wonder, can I blame him? I mean, it’s not hard to notice the few pounds I’ve put on, not to mention my absence from the salon for some time. Did he also find me boring? Maybe I need to get back into teaching or doing some substitute work. That’d most likely get me back into my routine of dressing up and looking more professional. I guess this is what early retirement does to some people.

Taking an early retirement was something Russell had brought up a while back as the business was doing well, and he had suggested for Gemma to retire from the classroom and do some private tutoring. After teaching for twenty-five years at the local middle school, she’d jumped at the idea.

After her morning walk, she decided to call her longtime fellow teaching partner, Lorna, and meet for coffee later that morning. Lorna had retired a few years back. Gemma needed a friend to confide in regarding her home situation.

Following a cool shower, she headed into her closet to select a simple sundress. After trying on several, she became irritated as most were all too snug. Looking in the bedroom mirror, she shook her head. No more walks; I’ve got to cut back on those sweets I’m so addicted to or start running.

She ran her hands through her dull red hair and fastened her long locks into a ponytail. She remembered the days when her hair was a brighter red. The Arizona sun did have its effect on redheads. She suddenly remembered she had some other outfits hanging in Hope’s closet. Now that her daughter had gone away to school up north, she’d transferred some of her things into Hope’s closet.

Gemma had successfully found the perfect summer shift, but her eyes were soon diverted to the boxes that housed mementos that were stacked in the back of the closet. She knew they were mostly old toys that belonged to Hope when she was a child. Feeling a strong urge, she pulled the top one out, finding old yearbooks and some of Hope’s favorite children’s books. She opened the second box and lying on top was an old shoebox labeled Margie, written in fancy script-style writing.

She sat on the floor, eager to open the small, tattered box. There was layer upon layer of tissue paper on top. She tore away at the papers, scattering them about the floor to find Margie, the fashion doll perfectly wrapped in silk and tied with twine. At least my daughter wanted to keep this doll well preserved, she thought.

She gently picked up the doll that resembled so many of the famous fashion dolls at that time, but Margie was unique with her long platinum blonde hair and sparking green eyes. She looked as though she was ready for bed in her white silky gown. Gemma couldn’t help but notice the doll’s brilliant emerald eyes. I don’t think anyone has eyes this color except for a toy, she reasoned. I remember when Hope spent endless hours playing with her and changing her into the many outfits I’d bought. All the memories resurfaced from a different time, a happier time. She examined Margie, closely admiring all of the doll’s youthful features. “You are perfect, you know. You never age nor gain weight. You have it all and don’t even know it. What I wouldn’t give to be in your shoes.”

Gemma shook off this silly feeling and placed Margie back in the box, wrapped snuggly in her silk cloth minus the twine, feeling she didn’t need to be bound up again after being bound up for all these years. She closed the lid to the box and wished her a restful sleep.

Gemma was looking forward to seeing her longtime friend Lorna again. The Coyote Corner Coffee Shop was not overly crowded for 11 a.m. They scored a back table and ordered their usual lattes and cranberry scones. A month had gone by since they’d last met. Lorna looked stunning for fifty-seven with her new short pixie cut. They’d been teaching partners for fifteen years at Brighter Days Academy and had become great friends as well.

Talking about memories of past teaching days was usually the main conversation, but today’s topic would take a slight twist as Gemma was about to confide in Lorna about her rocky relationship with Russell.

Lorna listened with rapt attention and didn’t interrupt until Gemma was finished venting. She’d offered her some sage advice and hoped her friend would listen. Lorna had suggested picking up a few more students for tutoring, knowing Gemma only had a fifth grader at the time. Gemma had commented that she wasn’t motivated to get out there and advertise lately. Lorna had also mentioned that the two of them join the local gym. Gemma nodded, agreeing that both of these suggestions sounded promising. She reached out and took her friend’s hand, thanking her and reminding her of what a good friend she’s been after all these years and proceeded to ask her a heartfelt question. “Tell me truthfully, do I look older than 52? I mean, I want you to be honest.”

Continue reading the story in the anthology:

https://books2read.com/u/mq5qNO