The Saints of October – Part One By Nick Manzolillo
III.
Jack’s awakenedin the middle of the night by an aching heart. Literally, his chest is pounding, sending tingling shivers throughout his veins. Something’s pushing into his head, some kind of animal with coarse black fur. A snarling dog, sticking its snout toward him, its white teeth made fearsome by the crushing capabilities of its jaw. He pushes deeper, into the dirt, into the hole quickly being dug out. The dog isn’t right. The dog has been sent by the masked children. Jack screams himself out of bed, running through his house until he emerges onto his porch, gasping in the glow of a dozen pumpkins.
An October friend is in need. He can hear it, close enough. The distant cry of a cat, and the snarls of a beast not in its right mind. A dog should be barking, but this thing doesn’t want any nosy humans rescuing its prey. There’s no time to think or worry about how the masked children of mischief could be behind this. Jack follows the cries like the guidance of a lighthouse beam.
The poor possessed dog is young, maybe two or three years old. With the little Jack knows about how mental manipulation goes, the younger you are the easier it is to have hooks sunk into your thought process. The dog’s got his October friend trapped in a cluster of thorn bushes. Juliette’s not your average cat. She’s smarter than Jack for one thing, and surely wiser than Ernest even though his hundred-plus years never make him the mental show-off you’d think him to be.
If he kicks the poor confused pup, it’ll turn on him. Thing’s savage enough, what if it hurts his hands? Without his hands he’s useless, but she’s in trouble. Tough as she is, her frail old cat’s body wouldn’t survive even the lightest mauling. “Hey! Hey!” Jack yells because, of course, kicking a dog that’s not in its right mind is beyond him. Juliette wouldn’t show the dog mercy, if she could wrangle her wicked claws around its throat while it was sleeping.
At the sound of Jack’s voice, the dog pulls away from the thorn bushes and Jack’s heart sinks. Its face is a mess of blood, thorns spiked along its skin. The dog whines, looks Jack in the eyes, looks back to the cornered cat, and then sprints off, hopefully to find a more worthwhile master. Juliette emerges immediately, unharmed, purring up a charm.
She looks the same as she always has to Jack, missing an eye and clumps of her black fur that have been replaced with long white scars. One of her paws is absent a claw and her tail is shorter than it should be, but she’s a survivor. She’s been wandering the country for decades, maybe centuries, and every October, since he was a younger, prouder man, she has visited Jack.
She talks so rarely that if it weren’t for Ernest acknowledging her occasional word, Jack would think the whispery voice that somehow trickles from her closed mouth was imagination’s doing. Maybe in a way, it still is. Before the ever-gabbing Ernest came around, Juliette would often spend entire Octobers without speaking to Jack. Instead, she merely lounges around Jack’s house, vacationing as a house cat for one month out of the year. She prowls the garden and, of course, massages herself on the pumpkins before snoozing in their glow. She is an ancient cat and Jack has his theories about who she used to be and what she is. A witch is the first thing to come to mind, but either way she’s not one for being a human anymore, if she ever was to begin with.
She’s only intruded upon Jack’s dreams a few times in the past when there was an emergency. There’s always at least a little drama, come October. This time was different, though. Usually nobody’s life is at stake.
“I think they were trying to stop me. Tell me, what about this October is not like the last?” She cuts to the chase and Jack tells her about the Halloween kingdom’s request. He then offers to carry her the rest of the way to his house, but she refuses, trotting into the street up ahead of him.
“They’re up to something. They don’t realize I can’t harm them, let alone any beast larger than myself. We’ve got to be careful this year; the danger dances with the joy.” She grows silent, and Jack knows not ask her any more questions. The children of mischief who were on his porch not too long ago are staples of Halloween.
He’s seen them smash pumpkins across the street, has heard the people of Blossom talk of certain, unidentifiable mystery kids vandalizing their decorations. Sometimes you never know where the slips in reality begin. Jack’s pumpkins have never been smashed, however. Something about Jack’s pumpkins makes the masked not-children cautious, almost respectful. The thing that’s always filled Jack with dread about the mischief children is those masks of theirs. Somebody made them. Somewhere there is a master mask maker and Jack dreads their eventual encounter. He’s always chalked up these and all the other presences to the nature of Halloween. Now an October friend nearly lost her life and something is terribly amiss.
For all of Jack’s ignorance, the forces he can’t comprehend are using his lack of knowledge against him. His October friends have his back and his gallery of pumpkins will transcend the intentions of the wicked. He has to keep telling himself that, because if the hidden evils of October rear their heads and he loses this month…there won’t be a reason to see the end of winter.
Juliette’s arrival heralds all manner of omens, beginning with the very next morning. A crow delivers to Jack’s doorstep a letter written in fresh, black ink. An address, four blocks away, and a Sincerely yours, The Halloween Kingdom. Jack doesn’t trust it, but Juliette doesn’t speak against it. She hasn’t spoken since he brought her into his secure, gourd-guarded domain. Ernest, of course, has plenty to say.
“This is a ticket to a whole new level here. I know we enjoy being the reclusive snug-as-a-bug sort, but through the kingdom, you can get your work out to a whole new level of an admirer.”
“Or some vampire king in a dark room. I know the house they’re talking of here, empty place.” Jack’s heard a few whispers that the house at the end of Willmore Lane is haunted. He’s walked by it and there’s no tingle, no shiver at the thought of what lives inside. It’s almost disappointing to find out that, well, maybe it is haunted. There is magic in the world, but you’d think it would be a little less predictable.
“Either way, we do it at midnight. I’m coming with you. Juliette my dear, if I could be so honored, I’ll carry you.” Ernest is either offering or demanding, Jack can’t tell. Juliette’s not one for hissing so she glares up at Ernest in an entirely un-catlike manner. The temperature in the kitchen drops ten degrees, coinciding with the lights briefly flickering, and Jack considers it ironic that it affects him and not Ernest.
“The little mischief kids had it out for her. Knew what she was. There’s no coincidence, with the kingdom’s request, their letter today. Stickin’ together’s not a bad idea, long as you don’t go talking to joggers scaring kids,” Jack says.
“Coincidence?” Ernest’s widening grin shows through his mask as his pumpkin face contorts like a person’s. “That just means it’s October, is all.” He raises a finger to pet Juliette and she swipes it away.
Juliette doesn’t have much of a role when it comes to the pumpkin carving process, though Jack does a portrait of her every year, scars, missing eye, and all. She even scratches the back of the pumpkin, as a sort of signature. She keeps things secure, with her way of influencing the wind and heightening emotion. Just by being in her presence Jack finds that he needs to sleep and eat less, plus his hands don’t cramp up, which means more pumpkins for the carving.
The mischief children that aren’t really children are one thing, up to no good and scowling around town, and presumably the country, but there are real people to contend with, too. Normal children full of rebellious intentions have tried to target Jack’s gallery in the past, and Juliette was always nearby to play tricks across their minds. From shadows moving out of the corner of their eye to a steady drumming of panic in their chest, she’s scared off plenty of would-be vandals without giving them any sort of concrete idea why they should feel fear in the first place. Far as a dark talents go, she’s mostly harmless. Oddly enough, Ernest seems to have something of a crush on her, unless he just happens to miss flirting with somebody.
The cat has no comment on Jack’s gift for the kingdom and he has to tell himself that she’d surely speak up if she thought it’d offend them and lead to trouble. Before leaving for their nighttime walk to the house at the end of Wilmore lane, she notices Jack’s wolf pumpkin. “You honor the putrid ones over me? Do you have any idea how much they reek to all noses but man’s? I can smell them right through the gourd, and that’s no compliment to your talents.” Juliette’s not always so harsh when she speaks, but given that this time last night a canine itself was trying to chew her up, Jack can forgive her.
“Soon as we get the daylight back, I’ll bring you to life better than last year,” Jack promises. Every year, he does a portrait of Juliette like she’s a royal princess. Already there’s only a narrow path from his front door to the very last porch step, as the flicker of his pumpkins dance in harmony. Soon, he will fill the entire walkway leading to the road, before placing pumpkins in front of the bushes on either side of the house. When he has enough pumpkins, and this year he will, he ventures onto the roof through his bedroom window and displays what he feels are his best carvings, high up for all to see.
Ernest is the last to leave the house, Jack’s heavy overcoat dragging to the ground. The hat Ernest wears tilted over his cloth face is actually a part of an old Halloween costume Jack’s mother had bought him, a real, genuine “cowboy” hat, a Stetson. “Shoulda done this a long while ago. I should go tricking and treating while you lot entertain your spectators.” Ernest raises his vine hands in the air as he picks his way through the pumpkin filled porch, turning his head left and right in frantic excitement as he taps into the strange, thrilling energy in the air. They are off on an adventure, for sure, with Jack’s arms full of a pumpkin that threatens to throw off the alignment of his spine. This will be the closest any of them will have ever been to the Halloween kingdom.
Juliette leads the way, prancing a dozen yards ahead of Jack and Ernest as they walk side by side. The moon is almost full; it’ll have reached its peak and be waning by the time the thirty-first rolls around. You can’t have every omen line up perfectly, after all. From past experience, there truly is something special about a full moon on Halloween, and not just because it looks pretty. Nothing makes the spirits more lively, and reckless, than that full silver dollar overhead.
As they eventually cross onto Wilmore lane itself, the tingling in Jack’s chest begins to pick up. As talented as Juliette can be with influencing emotion, she seems to have no part of it. She’s slowed down, is nearly walking parallel to Jack and Ernest. Could be he’s feeling what she’s feeling. They can see the empty house, a genuine classic now with the fire of the stars glowing around it. The house has a faint colonial vibe to it, and it’s set further back than the other homes in the neighborhood. Tall grass threatens to swallow the place up and remove the eyesore for good.
Jack can almost convince himself he can see shapes, looming behind the shattered windows. The pumpkin filling his arms begins to grow colder, as if it’s becoming a massive clump of snow. He begins to wish he’d lit the candle nestled in the pumpkin’s heart, but he’ll save that part of the ritual for when he hands it off to whatever awaits within those wretched walls.
The tingling of dread intermixed with curiosity sends Jack to the past. He was once a boy, walking alone in the woods with a flashlight that kept flickering, threatening to switch completely off and abandon him. He had already been abandoned once that night, on All Hallow’s Eve after a group of older kids took his friend’s candy and chased them with a pair of switchblades and baseball bats. They got separated, and Jack ended up taking a shortcut back home. Only, the Kansas forests had a different route for him in mind.
Bats flew above. The wind cried like witches roasting on pyres of wood and something was thrashing around through the leaves in the distance, snorting in a way that reminded Jack of laughter. His flashlight only survived as long as it took for Jack to become lost. The night itself was growing fangs to swallow him up as an almighty All Hallow’s sacrifice to the spirits of Samhain, when Jack discovered the pumpkin. Beneath the moonlight, it may as well have been glowing.
Trembling with fear and knowing his end could be lurking through the moon’s shadows beside him, Jack fell to his knees and placed a hand on the orange shell. It’s scraggily vine was still rooted into the earth and only later did he find it strange that a pumpkin was growing all by its lonesome in the middle of a forest full of harvest-choking roots and weeds. Jack pulled apart the frayed stem and lifted the gourd, surprised to find it light, hollow. As he spun it around he saw that there was already a face carved into its flesh. A classic Jack O’ Lantern, yet it was still rooted to the ground with no cap cut around its stem. Even stranger was the candle, sliding around within. The jaw full of fangs was wide, but narrow; he couldn’t figure out how the carver had got the candle inside.
Setting the pumpkin down, he flicked through his always-handy pockets for a nearly spent lighter and a pocketknife better suited for cleaning one’s fingernails. He set to work, sawing off the pumpkin’s lid. The candle within was long, formed with black wax. If Jack knew better, he’d say it was carved as well. It took ten tries before his lighter produced a meager, insignificant flame that managed to catch. The true light of the candle melted the darkness around him, and as he set it back within his lantern the nightmares stalking him through the forest seemed to fall back, and vanish. With his lantern cradled across his chest, Jack found his way home.
“So what is the worst that can happen?” Ernest mutters as the trio approaches the house, paint peeling off the walls and planks of wood caved in, or outright missing, along the porch.
“Our souls are siphoned off into a bottomless belly.” Juliette grumbles, her tail lightly fluttering against Jack’s leg as they ascend the porch. Jack’s footsteps creak and groan and somewhere within the house a door slams. Ernest is the only who jumps.
“You know, considering I’m all soul, it sounds like I’ve got the most to lose.” Ernest, he can’t really be afraid, can he? Is Jack really afraid? He’s seen more ghosts than he count and just last night he stared down a mad dog.
“Wait.” Jack groans as he places the pumpkin down. The living in this neighborhood won’t be curious about a man wielding a potentially dangerous, lit Jack O’ Lantern. He removes the cap and he can feel more than just Ernest and Juliette’s eyes on him as he lights the candle within.
“Ah, Jack and his lantern. Dark won’t know what hit it.” Ernest marvels as Jack hauls the pumpkin back up and leads the way.
Spiderwebs spread over the holes in the walls remind Jack of just how fake his neighbor’s decorations are. Graffiti lines the house’s interior, a few pentagrams, illegible names and crude stick figures. Local satanic hotspot or a haven for destructive teenagers?
Ernest lingers by the back door, which is probably a good idea. Leading from the front hallway is a staircase with a table and empty vase propped against an opposite wall. Juliette doesn’t leave Jack’s side and whatever could come for them with the intent to do harm may just be susceptible to her abilities. Then again, she was powerless against a dog.
A child’s giggle sounds off from a shadowy room to Jack’s left. Something scurries near the staircase and there’s a moan that might be the wind from the upper floors.
“There, on the ground.” Juliette’s voice echoes in Jack’s head. Written in white chalk are the words “Place Our Gift Here” with arrows pointing to a circle. A circle that matches the unusual width of Jack’s pumpkin gift exactly. He’s happy to oblige.
“No ‘thank you’?” Ernest calls from the back door. “No grand feast or, hell, how about a meet and greet? No?” His voice echoes but the house is still. The candlelight from the pumpkin reflects in Juliette’s eyes and she looks up at Jack from the ground. She doesn’t have to say it. They should go. From somewhere in the house echoes a steady and methodical tapping, from fingers, surely. Jack pats his pumpkin, nods a farewell, and then departs, as the trio walks backwards from the dark domain. He lets his October friends take the lead on the way home, while the not-so-empty house stares a hole into the back of his head.
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