Dandy Darkly

The Halloween Bride

Prepackaged hamburgers, vacuum sealed and ready for the radiated waves of a beeping glass carousel, and sugar sweetened water, carbonized and bottled in the plastic cancer that grows deep within Mother Earth's metastatic land fills. And to the dark sorcerer who conjured Man's first Funyun, my pointed hat s'off to you. For better or for worst. In sickness and in health (mostly sickness), these are the delicacies which sustain the masses in this modern world. Our first farms and fields, so lovingly and carefully maintained by early man, have been replaced by automated harvesters and growth hormones and genetically mutated grains. And almost gone are the ancient rituals associated with the end of the harvest and the blessing of the fields in preparation for next spring's planting.

Except for one such ritual -- the Halloween bride.

In the Night's Time, when the country sides and meadows were rife with creatures of The Void, the crones taught protective blessings to the farmers who tended Man's flocks and fields. They risked their safety living outside the growing cities, a risk casually dismissed by those walled away from the hidden things lurking between the rows of corn. 

One such blessing (the greatest such charm given) was the invocation of the straw man or the scarecrow, a delightful sort of golem who hung in the fields to shoo away unwanted gremlins and ensure a bountiful harvest throughout the planting season. Few ever saw this folksy effigy take from his pumpkin patch post to battle trespassers into his territory, but all written accounts agree in the deadliness of his dispatch, followed by a most charming display of local dance before settling himself back on his wooden stand.  

As it was in Night's Time, and still is today, nothing came without a price. The scarecrow, henceforth known as Sam Hain in honor of the harvest season's ancient name, required gifts to guarantee his protection for the next planting season. Once the fields were reaped and the livestock slaughtered, the rural townsfolk gathered in colorful costumes to celebrate the harvest and tempt that ragged scarecrow, Sam Hain, down from his peg to dance a jig.

And what a fabulous party! The spirits (evoked) of family passed mingled with the spirits (distilled) of fermented grain. Emboldened by their disguises (and the alcohol), the hardworking men and women of these rural areas threw caution to the wind, taking up chanting and dancing in circles with the cursed crones who were typically shunned, the wyld women who lived even outside of country society. There they celebrated another passing of the year, and paid tribute to the master who kept their plates filled, and families safe.

And once the festive frenzy hit a crescendo, that stitched sack of hay and twigs would suddenly jump down to the delight of the assembled guests. Kicking, shimmying, swaying and grooving, there Sam Hain danced while villagers and farmers laid at his prancing feet offerings both beautiful and profane, both a trick and a treat. 

You see, Sam Hain, like all conjured entities, exists in the world between Man and The Void. And the gifts for his services had to be equally exquisite yet grotesque. A lovely carved knife stained with demon's blood, for example; or a detailed painting of a crying child, one enchanted to actually sob out loud; or thirteen white doves, all skewered on a silver arrow; are all documented examples of a few gifts offered in harvest rites gone by.

And as the years passed, old Sam Hain had time to think about his situation hanging up on that stick, roasting in the summer sun or swaying in an autumn breeze. The scarecrow realized how lonely his life had become. He came to anticipate his tribute with increased emotion. And he found himself envious of Mankind for their loving relationships. The crooked crones relayed Sam Hain's wishes. He now wanted a bride, one every year to continue his blessings on the harvest, or else he'd let the monsters of The Void ransack their farms.

The farmers had no choice in the matter. And now a young, virgin bride (or groom -- being a scarecrow, Sam Hain naturally swung both ways) was selected from their midst to keep him company for the long, cold winter. She'd travel with him into The Void and bid goodbye to Man for eternity.  

There are rumors that in some of Man's cities (those with a strong connection still to nature such as Atlanta, Bergen and Portland) elaborate, costumed weddings to Sam Hain still exist. Halloween brides are said to be chosen at birth, and raised with the knowledge their destiny lay within The Void, and at the side of the Master of Halloween. And the lucky guests who give gifts to that dancing scarecrow are entitled to all manner of blessings for the year that follows. But only if your gift exceeds old Sam Hain's expectations.

And only if you're on the wedding guest list...

Daily Commute

In the Night's Time, when The Void was young and glutted with delicious fear, the simple contentment of feeling safe was often enough to stave away malfortune and mischief.

As humanity's tribes became towns, it was our cooking hearths and blacksmith's fires which pushed The Void away from the fortified ramparts of our prosperous hamlets. Life within those guarded walls, while savage and dirty by contemporary standards, was a collective experience in which townspeople looked out for one another and strangers helped their countrymen. Those who trafficked with The Void were found out and hanged at crossroads - so their dark souls would remain lost, unable to find the way home.

But The Void learned to adapt.

Eventually Mankind's avarice tore down the city walls. A desolate urban sprawl resulted -- a seemingly benign cancer devouring the wild, becoming the wild. As modern day cities began to bloat, a fractured web of airport concourses, concrete highways and subway stations followed. These were the avenues by which The Void infiltrated the cities of Man. These are our modern day crossroads. Today's lost souls who exist in perpetual commute are truly pathetic creatures.

I felt the woman's presence nearly immediately after passing through the subway's gate. She was standing on the platform, looking anxiously in the direction of the oncoming track. Jumper was my first thought.

Jumpers populate subway platforms, bridges, cliffs, ledges of tall buildings. They pace back and forth until, for example, a train pulls up and they repeat their suicide for eternity. More than a few sleepy conductors have been startled awake at the sight of such a figure falling beneath their train, only to find no carnage -- just an empty track. Jumpers tend to look pretty nasty. All severed limbs and blood splatter ...or just flat.

There wasn't any gore. Also suicides tend to have a different flavor, for lack of a better word. This ghost wasn't a jumper.

I decided to go speak with her. She was a pretty fabulous presence to say the least. She wore a fierce lady's power suit, totally 80s, a sensible haircut and shoulder pads which said she knew how to sit with the boys at the board table. But a chain of anxiety kept her bound to that platform. I named her Miranda. Yes after that Miranda.

So how can jumpers see a train coming and jump into it, but Miranda had been standing there for twenty years? Well -- it's all about purpose. Entities interact with our world to fit the needs of The Void. The more ghosts waiting for the G train, the more freaked out we feel -- which feeds the fear. Ever been in a subway station late at night? The footsteps you hear? The feeling you're being watched? Depending on how juiced by The Void they are, spirits learn any number of tricks to give us clean living types the heebie-jeebies. The rules are pretty simple actually.

As we waited for the train, I learned Miranda was running late for a crucially important meeting. Late, indeed. I'd say girlfriend lost the promotion. She had also forgotten an important document which she needed for the meeting. And there we have it.

The majority of spirits are searching -- its like that dream where you know there's something you've got to find, but you can't put your finger on where it is, or even what it is. Discovering the object, recovering the object or sometimes destroying it usually helps to release a bound or lost soul. Even in death we are so fixated on material belongings. Particularly malevolent encounters take some heavier firepower before you can kick their teeth in. For a passive entity like Miranda, all it typically takes is a little affirmation and distraction. Souls (and people) are fairly easy to manipulate.

Down the tunnel I saw train lights approaching. I grabbed a discarded newspaper from a nearby bench, opened it to the business section, returned to Miranda and told her I found her papers. Affirmation. As she began to look it over, I reminded her the train was here. Distraction.

And it was. Her smile was genuine. The train doors opened. We stepped in. She was able to say "Thank..." And then I was alone.

Miranda had made it to her meeting.