Spooky Season

My favorite Halloween was the time I met my favorite author. A bit of backstory though...the best costume I ever wore was also that year, I was Masque of the Red Death. Being a major Poe fan, I could not resist dressing as my favorite horror idol...and I was glad to have designed it myself, against mother's wishes.
While trick-or-treating, my friends and I decided to explore a dark street we had never noticed before...rumor had it that this particular street only opened on Halloween night to those who approached at just the right time. Being the young ones we were, curiosity overtook us. We wandered down it, the world behind us seeming to close off, everything going dark. At first we panicked, but then a light appeared in front of us. Knowing better now, perhaps we wouldn't have approached, but such is the curse of being young and naive. A door materialized in front of us, a bag of candy in front of it and a sign that said "Take one." We all shrugged, deciding it couldn't be so bad. As I reached into the bag of candy, I thought I heard a voice saying, “Pick me, pick me!” I looked around, curious of where the voice could have come from. I noticed a Jack-o-Lantern which I swore blinked. As I looked at the Jack-o-Lantern, it seemed to be looking back at me. Then my friend screamed, the witch was after us! We ran and ran until a pale, dark haired man blocked our path. Gasping for air, the witch was no longer in sight. The man narrowed his eyes to look at us closer, and it was then that I realized who was standing in front of us. None other than Edgar Allen Poe himself! Mortified, he leapt back and cried out, demanding to know why I came to haunt him. Accusing me of breaking a promise to leave him alone if he told my story. Confused, I backed away and he continued to scream things we could not understand at me, THUNK. A book hit me and we fled once more, even more terrified. Each of us seeking the door to escape this madness. It was no where, and we began to cry. "Pick me, pick me" The candy in my satchel seemed to whisper, and so I did. I ate it right then and there.
~
"And then what happened mommy?" The 7 year old was thoroughly engrossed in the story at this point. The story teller smiled and pulled him up onto her lap.

"Well, sweetheart. We all escaped and promised never to go down unknown streets again, especially on Halloween night. Now, go get your costume on, your father is waiting." She kissed the top of her child's head and sent them on their way. A mask similar to the one described in Poe's story still hung on the wall, mocking the woman.

Revision #2

He hasn't left me, no he is still alive.
I keep him here in my heart and my mind.
I don't miss his hugs, I keep them nearby.
In the form of a pillow that he used by and by.
He was quiet, a brooding gentle storm.
Harmless, no matter how everyone did scorn.
If they had seen him as I did, how I still do.
Perhaps they would know as I know is true.
The pillow beside me holds the broken promises,
The promises of a boy who died before his time.

Dead, but his body still walks. The one I loved no longer exists, replaced by one who fell out of love as easily as the boy had fallen in love. Did he love me, once upon a time? He cannot recall, or so he says. He remembers not the years we had, the late night skype calls and early morning cheer. But how can he forget what I remember so clear? That is how I know he has died, that someone else uses his name.

If he holds no love, at least he isn't cruel. A young person who makes mistakes, no different from you or I. Someone I saw a life with, a life that faded before my eyes. It wasn't fair, but then life is never fair. It's cruel and Cupid performs the cruelest of hoaxes. Yet I can hope he is happy, as happy as I. If ever I should lose my memory, there is one moment I wish to retain. The homecoming night I spent in isolation at a dance, wishing he were there. The simple joy of returning home, of playing our song, of slow dancing with "his" pillow and pretending it was him. Of reuniting with him that night, if only for a while. If age should take my memory, I give the rest freely, but let me retain the memory of the dance I never had.

Reaching for him blindly, calling his name into the abyss. Silence for months, an inner dread I cannot cope with. What have I done? What did I do to turn you away from me, my dear? I reach as far as I dare without falling, scared of the unknown. Months will pass, and he will be silent. You must let go they say, but I refuse. I cling to his memory, the voice I'd come to cherish. Let go they tell me. Yet again I refuse, he will find his way back here, we've been separated many times before. You give us no choice they say as they push me, the memory of his pillow, of the call we had that night floating along side me as though a video I am watching. I reach out for him, cry his name. I awaken beside another, not my love, not the one to whom I am bound. The new one holds me, trying his best to reassure me though I can sense it breaks his heart to know I still cling to old memories. Say his name they say, but I dare not, knowing how it would break this one's heart. My love is gone away, and will he come again? And will he come again. Ophelia's lines from Hamlet come to mind as I drift back to sleep, back into the embrace I never had.

Revision #1

The girl's eyes were red, the proof that she was the only one with Mori blood to have escaped the destruction of the land she was born into. Proof of the spideresque  blood that coursed through her veins and the reason for her black widow hourglass symbol.  The blood dripped from an open wound. Old scars criss crossed her arms and legs as badges of honor, her proof that she had fought and survived. She was motionless, watching the sunset. Tomorrow would be another battle, another test for the strength of her heart.

Her hair was a dark blue, unnatural, but then who could call the feral child natural? Not born under a clear sky, the girl had been born under the third full moon of a four full moon cycle. In her veins was the history of many wars, different cultures, all somehow blended and meshed into a rather short and scrawny creature. She was like the water, many different parts all combined and flowing naturally, mixing and never the same pattern twice.

A white rose hung limply from her hand. She'd spent days scouring the land to procure the precious gift, the snow having been a hindrance but not enough for the flower to elude her. Pure, innocent love was what she had found, and a pure, innocent representation was her response, the dove flying overhead seemingly confirming that. Her albino skin was well suited to this wintery wasteland known as the North, her Northerner heritage coming in handy. Nightfall came early in this unforgiving land, and the girl could not help but admire the stars above, her beacons in the sky to guide her to where he would be in hiding, awaiting her arrival, the irony of two star crossed lovers, she thought silently.

The sky was midnight black, save for the stars which would guide her to him. His dark eyes sought her out in the snow, seeking the familiar hair and glowing eyes. The cawing of his crow heralded her approach, and his smile was visible beneath his beard. The boy had escaped the dark castle where he was in training to become a knight. She was his world, and he would sooner death take him than their love be put asunder, the war between their factions be darned. Finally, he could see a shadow, hear the crunch of boots on snow. He left his hiding place, the world going dark as a sword pierced his heart and the words "Death to traitors" fell on dying ears.

"No." Was all the girl could whisper, cradling the boy's body in her arms. His tabard was soaked with his blood, and his nearly lifeless eyes stared up at her, his hand reached for hers. She screamed, holding him tightly, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. He was quickly fading, and neither of them could find words. She laid her forehead against his, breathing in sync with him until his last shudder. He died in her arms, a reverse of her own nightmares, Enraged, she closed his eyes and whispered to him in their language before rising and unsheathing her sword. Blood would be spilled, she vowed to him. They will regret this, my love...she thought as her owl neared. The large Eurasian Eagle owl's blood red eyes gleamed in the night as she sent him back to gather help. Her love would be buried among her people, regardless of their hatred of his people and his death would not go unpunished. 

~
Clear, colorblind eyes stared at the knight as he told the story. Clarren remained silent, maintaining their mute facade as the knight scratched his chin thoughtfully and added "She was never the same after that. the Spider wasn't. She became crueler...more feral. Rumor has it she's trying to reconnect with her brother, the necromancer, tryin' to forge a bond between us and the undead to slaughter the boy's people. I don't buy it though, isn't any way she's become that crazy. Just mind yourself around her boy, she'll kill you faster than the other squires if you gi'er the chance to." 

With that, the knight strode away, leaving Clarren alone with her thoughts. So, Clarren thought, that's what happened to Spider...A door opened, and Spider appeared in front of Clarren. Spider twitched her head to the right slightly before straightening up and closing the distance between the two of them. Clarren stood still while Spider re-evaluated the young squire. 

"You'd make an excellent....information gatherer." Spider grinned evilly. "Silent and stoic. Good traits for a torturer. You'll do that at nights, don't tell the other squires." Spider nodded and walked away, well aware Clarren couldn't argue.

food post

Twas yet another Halloween. A terrifying time, really. Small children who shrieked with delight and fear, the doorbell a never ending background noise. It had been three years, yet Daisy was still fearful and mistrusting of the humans who came by. It wasn't her fault, after all, the first two years of her life had been spent with an abusive owner. Back then, a doorbell being rang was a reason to bark. After all, she had to alert the family to the newcomer's presence, right? Wrong. Her owner, a hatefully cruel person, would hit her every time she barked at the doorbell and sometimes would even kick her. Daisy couldn't understand, and finally the owner dumped her at the pound, claiming she was a worthless dog and they should put her down right there and then. The workers didn't listen however, and so Daisy was i her new home. They'd yet to yell at her, but then again she would cower when the doorbell rang. Halloween should be spooky, but for some dogs it's terrifying. Candy...masquerading as things to make small children happy...but at the same time, causing many dogs to panic. 

It took many years, but with patience and love Daisy finally came to love Halloween. She even dressed up the last year, going as a hot dog she walked the neighborhood with the kids her family had had before she met them. Tail wagging, no fear. As a dog should be. It took many years but...in the end she found that Halloween didn't have to be quite so scary.

Not quite /exactly a food story but close enough in my honest opinion.

"Cow cow meow." 

"Meow meow cow."

The kids nodded at each other, slowly descending from their hiding places. The town was half destroyed, half the same. The portal hadn't quite worked the way they wanted it to. The monsters had still gotten through, the portal only saving half of the town. The smoke still billowed up into the sky line, past the buildings they once thought so tall. The younger child, a girl about 7 years old, looked frightened. The older girl, around age 17, put an arm around the younger girl protectively. 

"It'll be okay, they're gone now. They aren't coming back."

The rest of the town slowly emerged, a few began sweeping away the ashes. The town was half, but would soon be whole again. The two girls disappeared into the crowd, readying themselves for whatever the future might bring. A woman cradled her newborn, a strange form of symbolism for the old and the new in the half destroyed town.

"It's over now, c'mon." A younger boy motioned to his peers who slowly slunk from where they had dwelled during the siege. They all began to clear away the rubble, clouds forming overhead as though vowing to put out what few fires remained by way of rain. 

The rain began, and a few villagers fled back to the safety of the still intact part of town, terrified that the rain would bring new elemental monsters. The rest braved the storm, thankful that the fiery reminders of the monsters were being washed away, that the rain dissipated soon after was a sadness that most suffered.