'On All Hallows Eve'

But of course I would write a short story in two days just in time to share with you on Halloween!

Sit back, relax, light a few candles, maybe pour yourself a glass of wine as you wait for your trick or treaters to come, unwind. You'll certainly need to after this tale of a family, their orchard, and the strange happenings that occur on All Hallows Eve.

'On All Hallows Eve'

By S. Faxon

Poison ivy grew up the sides of the twisted apple trees. The shriveled, rugose branches looked to be the visual silent screams of the vine tortured trees.

The little girl riding beside her grandfather on the cart stared out into the orchard of her family. The way the vines posed threats to her and how cruelly they appear to be slowly strangling those apple trees puzzled her. "Grandpa?" She tugged on his jacket sleeve, never turning away from the trees. "Why is the ivy so mean?"

Seamus had been so deeply concentrating on driving the horse home quickly with a wagon full of pumpkins that her light voice spooked him. On every other night he was a lionhearted man. Tonight however, things were very different. He looked down to his seven-year-old granddaughter and saw that she was transfixed upon the orchard. "What's that, Sophie?"

The child repeated, "the Ivy. Why is it so mean?"

Sophie's delightful curiosity was always such a pleasant relief to this hard-working farmer. Even tonight her interest made his heart lighten. The grandfather looked to his apple trees and asked, "what do you mean?"

Now that her desire to satisfy her curiosity had arisen, Sophie turned forward to speak. "Well, mom is always yelling at Jacob and me to stay away from them or we’ll get itchy and the trees, grandpa, don't they look hurt? Is the ivy trying to steal their apples?"

The grandfather chuckled and answered, "no Sophie, ivy doesn't eat apples. The vines go to the trees after the water we give them. We've had a dry spring so I wasn't surprised to see all the ivy on the trees throughout the summer and fall. Apple trees such as these just go that way. That's how God made them. Now, your mother is right to warn you and Jacob not to go anywhere near the Ivy. It'll be the longest most painful itch if you do!"

"But why, grandpa?" Sophie persisted. "Why does the ivy do that to us? Do the trees get itchy?"

Seamus waited to answer as he turned their burly horse up the path that would take them home. The sun was turning down for the night and Seamus would only be too glad to be safe within the confines of his home. The cart began its assent up the hill when Seamus answered, "the itch that ivy gives is its way of protecting itself. It wants to be left alone, so it makes us itchy if we touch it that's its way of saying ‘look in my shiny leaves but don't touch. I'll mind my own if you mind yours’."

The answer left the blonde little girl in silence for a spell. As the cart neared the top of the hill she asked, "do people do that? Protects themselves so that others stay away?"

Almost instinctively the farmer's heart skipped a beat and his eyes quickly flashed to a hillside very close to his home. He gulped hard as the wicked Baron spot came into sight. No tree, shrub, or flower grew on that place. It was good riddance as far as the farmer was concerned. Nothing decent could come from that soil.

Though frost was etched across the windows of the house and it's very close barn the anxiety that Seamus felt made sweat form on his brow.

There were eyes of wicked intent upon him. Their power was growing. His eyes shot to the sun. It was still far too early for anything to begin, but with Sophie at his side, Seamus would leave nothing to chance. Experience had taught him that cruelly well. Protectively he put his arm around Sophie. With a flick of his wrist he commanded the horse to increase his gait.

"Yes, Sophie," Seamus said as though stricken with fear. "Man has defenses to protect himself to keep others away." Where she but a few years older, he would have enumerated a few examples with fear thing at the top of his list.

~*~*~

The children of the house were made busy with pumpkins cleaning. There was much to be done and the adults thought it best that the children be kept in the kitchen. Todd, the elder cousin of Sophie and her older brother Jacob, cut into the pumpkins with a bitter look upon his face. He thought it stupid to still be considered one of the children. His cousins scraping feeds out from the gourds were seven and ten – babies in his eyes, though he was but 16. This was the worst night of the year. Every one else in the neighboring town was getting ready for the feast of fall, but not their family. They would participate in tomorrow's festivities as joyfully, even if not more so, than everyone else. But tonight they would go to bed early as if buckling down for a horrible storm. Todd rolled his eyes and threw down his knife.

"What's your problem?" Jacob asked his cousin.

Todd crossed his arms and slouched in his chair. It upset him deeply that his friends were having fun while he was forbidden from leaving the house.

Sophie looked to the boys. She was too young yet to realize that the family's ceremony that upset Todd was one that he had endured for years. It had no depth for her yet and she accepted it as a normal part of life. Todd however, knew that their tradition was anything but normal.

"I can't wait to get out of this place," Todd mumbled to himself.

"Why, because cutting a pumpkin is too hard for you?" Jacob smartly asked.

Todd kicked him under the table and said, "shut it. Nothing about tonight is normal. You don't know anything."

"Hey!" Todd's mother entered the kitchen to collect the pot full of pumpkin seeds. "Please don't you start talking like the city friends of yours." She helped her niece and nephew to get the remains of the pumpkins into the pot. The night had begun and traditions had to be honored. "Alright you lot, the room is all made up for you tonight. Soph, Jacob, your mother is up there waiting for you."

Todd leaned over his pumpkin as though to reluctantly get up, but before his legs extended he asked his mother, "mom please, can I please go into town tonight?"

"Absolutely not," Seamus entered the room. His expression was hard, there was no question that the plea was denied. Seamus's presence although usually warm and loving was terrifying. It was as though his words made the difference between life and death. "We do not leave this house on this night. Do you understand me?"

While Todd wanted to scream back, 'no I don't understand,' he knew better than to argue with his white haired grandfather. "Yes, sir." Rowdy and rebellious as his mind could be, Todd overall was a good boy.

"That goes for all of you," Seamus pointed at his son’s children to impress their equal understanding. After a moment more of his crisp blue eyes stressing his point by staring down the grandchildren, Seamus believe the point sufficiently delivered. "Now come, Todd, I need your help moving my chair." Seamus kissed his youngest grandchildren with all his love poring over them before he left the room. The lanky teen followed closely behind.

The other two children went upstairs to the room. The pair prepared for bed like normal with the guidance of their mother who just finished making their once a year beds. The mother tenderly and lovingly kissed her son and daughter tonight. She told them that she loved them that they were safe and sound. Their father followed with the same messages of love and protection. One candle remained lit for Todd, but otherwise the room was enveloped in total darkness.

The agitation of his older cousin did not sit well with Jacob. Why was he so angry? They only did this once a year. Jacob looked to the blank walls of this tight room. There were no windows, but of course they wouldn't be. This was the storage room in the house on the second floor. Every year the women spent this day clearing and cleaning this room to make space for three thin mattresses. There was no room between the beds. They were more than less piled on top of the other. And what did Todd 'mean by 'this isn't normal'? The ceremony of them sleeping like this certainly stood out compared to the rest of the year when Todd slept in his own room while Jacob and Sophie slept in there's. Jacob could not recall ever being told why this happened. He'd always just accepted it. But that was about to change. "Sophie," he asked quietly, the door was open and he did not want the adults downstairs to hear. "Did mom, dad, auntie or grandpa ever tell you why we sleep in here?"

Sophie was already almost asleep. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "I don't know." She tried to think hard, but before she could answer Todd came into the small space. The teen looked as annoyed as he had prior to their grandfather’s appearance earlier. "I hate this room," he declared, and yet he obeyed his mother's orders and shut the door behind him. The candle on the shelf flickered almost to extinction, barely blinking itself up once more. "It's so stuffy, it's so small, and this is so stupid!" He fell heavily into the center bed, burying his tanned face deep into the pillow.

"Do you know?" Sophie asked of Todd.

"Know what?" he sharply responded, his words were muffled by the pillow.

"Why we sleep in here," Jacob explained. "I don't think I've ever been told."

"That's because you haven't," Todd snapped. Truth be told, neither had he. However, after fourteen years of the ceremony, he had his fair share of ideas. One of which he decided to share. Flipping over onto his back, the teen brushed his long brown hair from his eyes and said, "Look, you know how grandpa lost his sister when he was young? I think that what the adults do at night here has something to do with honoring her or something. Like, it makes sense what with it being All Hallows Eve and all."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Jacob asked, Sophie wondered the same.

Todd rubbed his forehead as he answered carefully, hoping to not frighten or to upset them, "All Hallows is allegedly the night in which the spirits of the dead get to walk the earth, but it's just an old ghost story, it's not real so don't pay any mind to it."

Sophie was sitting board straight with the covers up to her chin. "They walk the earth?" The girl had lived on a farm all her life – she had seen more than her fair share of animals that had passed away and very much understood the concept of death. Yet even so, the prospect of seeing her lost pets again was frightening.

Todd shrugged, attempting to calm his cousins by showing his own casualness toward the legend. "Sophie, really, it's not real. It was invented to give people comfort so they could honor loved ones lost, that's all." Jacob looked curious and Sophie less than comforted. A horrible guilty feeling rose in Todd’s stomach. "Look, we've never been told not to leave the room – I bet you anything they’re down there right now talking about it. But, I swear, if you two go down there and they get angry, I'm not going to cover for you. And I'm not saying that you guys should go down there, I'm just saying that what they're doing really is not that big a deal. They just don't want us involved because they don't want us to get upset." Todd briefly thought on the loss of his own father when he was a child and for a moment he dropped his anger toward being cooped up, understanding instead why his story of precaution made sense.

~*~*~

Hours passed. Darkness and silence prevailed. Sophie’s nervous curiosity had been mostly satiated, but the desire to sleep overcame the need to ask questions. The work from the day had exhausted Todd and he had fallen fast asleep. Jacob had not slept a wink. The idea of the lost reappearing and of some secret ceremony to honor them was too much weighing on his mind. It pressed on him like a weight upon his chest. He could not let it go.

Jacob threw his blankets to the wall. Not wanting to disturb Todd, Jacob gently arched his leg over the end of the mattress, furtively placing his bare feet upon the floor. The boy began to slowly open the door, letting in a soft hue of light, but something stopped him. A strange sensation, a streak of deranged desire told the boy not to go alone. Asking Todd to accompany him was out of the question, but Sophie was fair game. He crept onto her bed and gently tapped her on the shoulder. The girl was deep asleep, but Jacob was determined. Eventually he managed to wake her with a gentle shaking. The girl made a soft noise from being startled, which stirred their cousin. Jacob held his breath. He did not want to get caught sneaking off by Todd who would either drag them back into their beds or rat on him in the morning. Luckily, their cousin remained asleep. Sophie wanted to ask what was happening, but her brother shushed her and directed her to follow. The pair stepped out into the hall. The room was directly in front of the stairs leading from the first floor. The only light came from the lanterns downstairs.

"What are we doing?" Sophie quietly asked her brother. Sneaking around after bed time was not tolerated and Sophie had a sneaky suspicion that it was especially not permitted tonight.

Jacob again motioned her to be quite. He leaned in very close and whispered, "I just want to see what they're doing. Don't you? We're not leaving the house so how much trouble can we get into?"

There was a bit of logic to it, but it was too late for any true sense of practicality to shine. Sophie agreed. The pair of them slowly descended the steps. Having both practice at walking this house while trying to be sneaky, they masterfully crept upon the far edges of the board's so to lessen the chance of the steps creaking. The light grew as they neared the bottom of the stairs, but the adults were not in the family room or in the living room. The children soon figured that their parents were in the kitchen adjoining the hall. The door was closed with the intent if not disturbing the children. As Jacob and Sophie slowly stepped forward with light and cautious footfalls the sound of the adult voices became clear. Jacob peeked through the small crack between the door and blue painted frame.

“It's almost midnight," Jacob's father, Arthur, said to his wife and his sister. He tucked his modest pocket watch away. The adults looked to be doing anything but celebrating or paying homage to a lost loved one. They were all seated around the round wooden table with cups of steaming coffee in their hands. 'Maybe it's already over?' Jacob thought to himself as Sophie pushed away under him so to also look through the crack. She noticed immediately the worried looks on their faces and she thought it odd that her grandfather was not there.

"God, I wish this horrible night was over," their mother Diana ran her fingers nervously through her bangs. It had been torture enduring this madness since her son was two, but what choice did she have? This was her husband's father's home and now it was hers.

"I wish this curse would end," Arthur added. He bit at his nails and stared off into the darkness of the window nearby. This view looked out in the direction of town for now, but soon the second to last of the open windows would be shut tight until morning.

Arthur's sister tried to lighten the moment by jokingly saying, "think of all the salt we could save." She pointed at the window. A fine line of salt lined this and every opening into the house. It was a strategy that the family used for years and it seemed to be an effective talisman, one of many.

"Salt and sanity," Arthur leaned far back in his chair to stretch. "Ours and his. An old of man sitting up in the front room all night, watching, waiting…" A chill ran over him. The man shook his head. "I can remember him doing this since before you were born, Carol." It went on for years," he continued distantly, like his words had long been repressed even though this conversation had unofficially become a part of the annual tradition. "We slept in my room until I was seventeen and then," he held out his hands, "nothing. It stopped. Then all was well until Todd and you moved in, Carol, when he was six or seven."

Carol nodded. "I've wondered for years if my husband's death had anything to do with it."

"Surely not," Diana placed a comforting hand on her sister-in-law's shoulder. "It couldn't have, dear. It's the presence of the children – that's what does it." Diana leaned back and said, "we've talked about moving a-thousand times, but…"

Arthur chuckled, "look what good it did for us the first time. We moved to town once we got married, all was well, then our business failed, and we had no choice but to move in with her father to avoid coming back here, then Jacob was born, two years later her father died and look where we have ended up. We've thought about sending our children away to school, but were so rooted to this tradition. What if we break it? Would they change their routine? We know that they will start at the barn, terrorize the animals, then sweep around this house like a twister. And then come morning it'll be like nothing happened. "

"It's like they did it," Carol said coldly, "all the bad things that have ever happened to us. They want to keep us here."

The thought was terribly unnerving, but it was nothing that the three of them had not thought of prior.

Arthur turned to reach behind him to shut and lock the indoor shutters. He briefly thought on the summer when he was four when he helped his father install these. He thought it odd then to install shutters inside, but now, now he understood. The husband and older brother looked forward and reached his hands to his wife and sister. "Well, we might as well get started." They put their hands in his and in each other's, making a tight circle. In a soft but firm voice, Arthur started the ceremony that would last the night. "In His name we ask that you protect this house and all who inhabit it."

They sat in silence a moment and then in unison began, "Our Father who art in heaven…"

At that same moment in the front of the house Seamus stood from his chair. The man's right leg tingled and was stiff from fear and pressure. He dragged his leg forward so to stare out the last open window. This view looked over the front of the house toward the orchard and that only too close, lonely hill. It was upon the barren place where Seamus’ eyes locked.

The night was dark. No moon showed its face tonight and yet upon that naked Hill a soft, silver light began to grow. From nothing a shadow within the light etched its way out from the soiled past. It grew as though from the roots forming the silhouette of the dead sycamore, just as it had done every year before. From the long, gnarled branche’s shadows came three taught lines, the bulge of three nooses and then, there they were.

The unglorious dead.

The shadow image of the three hanged men made Seamus whence. His hair stood on end. So many wicked memories and scarring dreams assail him.

The shadows stayed but for a minute before being swallowed up by the darkness of the night.

It was time.

Seamus slowly shut the shutters and fastened the lock. "So," he said to the candle he extinguished. "Here they come."

~*~*~

"I don't like this, Jacob," Sophie said to her brother. Their parents had entered a sort of trance repeating the same prayer over and over. Their eyes were closed tight and their brows were wet from the strain of concentration. It looked as though nothing could break their task from being seen through. They did not see the candles extinguished as if taken by one powerful blow. But the children did. Smoke rose from the dead wicks of the lanterns and candles making the darkness thicker.

Jacob turned to his sister. They stood close, but could not see one another. The house was enveloped in silence. It pressed upon the ear drums of the brother and sister. The sound of their increasing heartbeat filled their heads.

Swallowing hard Jacob whispered, “It might’ve been from the twister that dad said would come."

The sound of animal claws tapping on the wooden veranda split the silence.

The children jumped.

They stood in the relative center of the house, only the family room stood between them and the outer perimeter of the house. The noise came from there. Jacob and Sophie stared into the dark room expecting one of their dogs’ wet noses to comfortingly touch their hands, but it did not come.

"Where are the dogs?" Sophie asked. They were not aware that the animals were locked in the barn for their safety.

"I don't –"

Jacob's response was cut short by a painful chorus of dogs howling, pig squealing, and of the horses desperate whinnying. The cries continued for ages as if something was heckling them without mercy.

"What's happening, Jacob?" Sophie clutched onto her brother's arm. "I want to go to mom and dad!" She started to reach for the kitchen door, but Jacob stopped her.

"We can't!" he said sharply, but quietly. "We’re dead if we do. I don't think we’re supposed to be out of the room." Aside from the fear of his parents’ anger he wanted to see what was happening to his family's animals without interruption. The dogs were never left outside and certainly never in the barn. Why would the adults lock them in there if they were going to be tormented by this twister that was coming? Jacob started to walk toward the family room.

"What are you doing!" Sophie dug her fingers into her brother’s arm. Her legs were paralyzed. "Don't go in there!"

"I want to see what's happening!" Jacob shook his arm from Sophie's grasp. "Don't be such a baby. It's probably just coyotes or the storm." He began to walk into the family room, but paused to say to her, "if you're so scared, go back to bed."

The fear had saturated her muscular responses. She wanted to run into her mother's arms, but she couldn’t move.

Fear drove Jacob forward. He had seen his father and grandfather face fear with the luster of lions. He was determined to do the same.

The young boy knew that above the sofa one of the shutters did not fit together snugly. The odds of him being able to look out through the crack were fairly good. With every step Jacob took toward his intended destination the temperature made dramatic drops. It felt like he was exposed to the elements of February though he had just a minute ago been comfortable. His hands and jaw quivered from a cold and his exposed skin stung. He rationalized this cold to the twister that must be brewing. In his short life he had yet to experience a twister, but these things made sense in his mind. The howling and cries of the animals continued. 'Maybe they're afraid of the storm.'

Without light Jacob knew he had reached the sofa. Extending his arm he felt his way to kneel upon the cushioned bench.

It was too dark outside to see out through the crack. The animals’ noises from the barn broke his heart as he sat there. He had to know what was happening to them. Jacob's fingers slid their way-up the painted faces of the wooden shutters, searching for the lock. His fingers found the rounded latch. Gripping hold of the lever Jacob gave it a determined twist.

Click.

Instantly the shrieks of the animals ceased.

Jacob stared at the latch he could barely see. The young boy's heart was racing as his mind tried to rationalize the sudden silence. However, there was no time to rationalize.

A screaming wind lashed upon the face of the house. Every window and door rattled and shook as though a hoard of men were desperately trying to get in.

Jacob ripped his hand from the latch and helplessly watched the shutters shake violently as if the windows were not there at all. The calamity was unlike anything he'd ever witnessed. The glass rattled like bones in a box but they did not break. What Jacob thought to be the cries of the wind sounded like the screams of tortured souls.

‘It's just the twister,' he frantically repeated to himself. He knew that he should run for cover, but fear kept him on the sofa. The boy took in a deep breath and quickly prayed for this to end.

To his astonishment everything went still.

Silence.

The windows may have stopped their horrid rattling, but Jacob was anything but relieved. Sweet dripped from his brown hair to his pale face. The boy could not shake the feeling that crept upon him like a wolf his prey. Jacob's heavy breathing was the only noise. The sinking feeling told him that he was not alone. Someone was watching him. Jacob spun this way and that, but he couldn't see any moving shadows or detect any denseness in the darkness. Try as he could to rationalize this there was no room in his mind beyond fear. Jacob tried to draw thought, but suddenly his senses directed him where to turn. Like a cursed beacon the boy had no choice but to satisfy the macabre decision to look. His eyes dragged up from the top of the sofa though every ounce of him said to run. Up, up his eyes went until his curiosity met its killer. Jacob thought his her heart had been ripped from his chest.

Through the slit staring back at him was one red veined eye.

"Jaaaaay-cob," his name was whispered as though hissed from every crack in the house.

They were here for him.

The whisper and the glare of the eye blinded Jacob with terror. The boy fell hard on the floor, taking from him his ability to scream. It felt as though the walls of his home for crushing him, pulling him towards them.

A horrible silver light shone from the outside in through the shutters and the closed door. Again the edifice of the house began to rattle and shake. A thousand piercing screams accompanied the wretched scene.

The boy began to crawl backwards to escape, but two strong arms plucked him from the floor.

A bloodcurdling scream tore from Jacob as he fought with all his might to break free.

"JACOB!" one voice shouted in his ear.

The voice was familiar, but Jacob feared it was the madness of the assailants trying to fool him.

"JACOB, STOP!" A second familiar voice billowed right after Jacob hurled a punch to someone’s nose.

"Get back to the room!" Seamus shouted to Todd, pushing the boys back toward and up the stairs. "Slam that door tight and pray for the dawn!"

Jacob slowly came to see that he was in the arms of his cousin, but there was little comfort from this. The terror of the outside was still waging war upon the house, calling his name.

The last thing the children in their safe room heard before Todd slammed the door shut was their grandfather billowing, "You will never take them! "

The door was shut and all was muted and still.

~*~*~

"What happened last night?" Todd growled at the adults for his cousins. Neither Jacob nor Sophie were yet speaking and they clung to the mother's side like a vice. The family had gathered in the front room early the next morning. All the shutters were open. Sunlight poured into the house. Sunlight shone upon the normally peaceful orchard. The silence of the adults made Todd continue sharply, "It sounded like the house was being torn to bits by men coming for Jacob and yet there is not a single board out of place. Tell us! What happened?"

Arthur rubbed his head. They were all exhausted from the night and from the news of what nearly happened to Jacob. There was hardly a worse feeling for a parent to learn that the child was exposed to hell while they were unknowingly but a few feet away. "Pop," Arthur turned to his father sitting in the faded green chair. "They deserve to know."

Diana I cringe to think that her babies would hear the stories of young, but leaving them wondering would be the greater abuse.

"Tell them, father," Carol further pushed. "If you don't, we will."

Seamus shook his head. "There'll be no need for that." He looked down defeated. It had been his hope to keep his grandchildren as protected and as innocent as long as possible, but this was one more thing that they took from him. "Very well," Seamus gripped the edge of his chair and began the story that he tried to forget every day of his life. "It started when I was eleven. It was September and my sister was coming home late from a friend’s house. We thought the roads were safe back then, so as long as you knew the roads, walking home at night was easily dismissed. At least, that's what we all thought until that night.

"There was a beautiful full moon out. The whole orchard was lit with silver. It was late – my folks were already asleep and I should have been too, but I just couldn't sleep, so I was looking out my window. The house was dark. All was well until…" Seamus’ lower jaw shook. "I saw – I saw a small crowd of people coming up the road with my sister. There were three of them, they were carrying her. I thought something had happened so I ran straight downstairs to see if I could help, but when I reached the first floor and looked out the window and I saw a scene that has been burned into my eyes. They had brought her home alright, but she was already gone. God knows what they did to her before they killed her, before they brought her home, but what they did to her in death was alone more than can ever be forgiven.

"They tried to make it look like coyotes had done it. They ripped her up right there on that damn hill beneath the dead sycamore that my father tore down the year after. There is not a day that goes by that I don't regret not going to my parents, calling for them, so that I was not the only witness, but the horror of what I witnessed..." Seamus broke into tears, but he knew he had to continue. The man collected himself and continued, "it was the worst thing that ever happened in our town. I went into shock. I couldn't talk, couldn't think. Unannounced to me, witnesses came forward; the trial was arranged over the next month. On the last day of the trial my father thought it best that I go to see the murderer of my sister to help me understand what happened.

"The courtroom was packed. Every man and woman in the county was there. I was led to the front of the court to my family's bench behind the prosecutor. I saw immediately that the person accused of the crime was the town's halfwit. He was being accused of what happened to my sister. He was going to be sentenced to hang for a crime he did not commit. And I knew this. I was the only one who knew this.

"The fear that overtook me rivaled that of that dreadful night, but I knew that if my tongue stayed quiet that these men would kill again and again. I gathered all my courage. I knew better than to tell my mother or my father. At the recess I tugged on the prosecutor's robes and whispered in his ear that I had witnessed the crime and wanted to contribute. The jury was still undecided – the halfwit had never done anything that before and the ferocity of the scene… It didn't add up.

"So before the court and after swearing to tell the truth, the lawyer asked me to describe what I saw. I described every gruesome detail leaving out only the identities of the men and that there were three of them. I could see their concern, but I tried not to look at them. Then the question came: 'Seamus, can you identify the murderer of your sister?' And so I told the truth. I raised my hand and pointed to Michael, the halfwit’s neighbor. George, the halfwit’s brother, and then to the worst of them all; Mr. Jonus Terry, the lawyer of the defendant. They tried to dismiss my claims as the distraught ramblings of the mourning brother, but then I told the court to check them and their houses; they had all taken souvenirs from my sister…Her bones.

"Sure enough, instead of trying to put evidence against the halfwit they kept the fingers and the rib they stole from her, something that the coroner had earlier dismissed as being taken by the coyotes.

"’Justice,’ they called it, for what those men did to my sister," Seamus shook his head. "They strung them up under the dead sycamore. Michael and George died instantly, but not Jonus Terry. As if held up by the arms of the devil, with rope strung tight around his neck, he swore to strike fear into my heart and into that of my children's children's children. He would never grant us peace. They were hanged and died on All Hallows Eve.

"A year passed with no occasion, until the anniversary and then, what you all witnessed last night began. But it was worse. Far worse. It took us years to figure out how to keep them out of the house. The prayer your parents repeat cannot be broken. The protective barrier of salt cannot be crossed, which is why we keep the dogs in the barn just in case they should unknowingly destroy the salt wall. The wicked can't come in, we can't go out, and they won't let us move out. I've tried, believe me I've tried." Seamus again began to cry. All the lost years of life, the lost family and friends, all gone because of them.

The family looked around to one another, terrified from last night and for what would continue to come.

"Can nothing be done?" Todd asked his family. It killed him to see his family so upset.

Arthur answered, "It seems to stop once the boys are out of childhood. For your mother and me it stopped when I was seventeen, even though Carol was 15. It didn't start again until you moved in, Todd. It comes back every year. Your aunt and I tried to escape it, as did your mother and father, but they will not let us go."

"There's got to be a way!" Todd pleaded, but the adults shook their heads and exchanged looks of deep sorrow.

Jacob and Sophie listened intently as the adults continue to explain the traditions and practices meant to protect them. They were quiet. Both were hoping that the conversation would soon end so that they could go to the festival to try to forget. But they would forever be plagued by the memory of their first All Hallows Eve.

Happy Halloween!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

The Conclusion of "Her Very Own Demons"

Hello Dear Readers!

Welcome to the exciting conclusion of "Her Very Own Demons!" Throughout the past three weeks you have been following the tale of the accursed Gwendolyn Queen and today the final segment in her short story has come. Enjoy!

"Her Very Own Demons"

Part 4

By S. Faxon

At the end of the work day, Malacoda continued his crusade to taunt and tease Miss Queen every step of the way home. He poked at her back and spat between her footfalls, but she simply did not notice. Her feet ached and her body was tired from working two people’s shifts, but that did not matter. She had spoken with her love once more and that was all that mattered. His presence left with her a strong bulwark protecting her from all physical or emotional abuses. During the conversation between the professor and the washerwoman, those sweet and brief hints that maybe something could splendidly take shape between them sprouted up numerous times. Miss Queen ran through every one of them over and over again in her head as she, nearly alone, walked back to her small flat off to the side of the campus. Night overtook the lands where the Northern was settled hours before Miss Queen was able to return to her drafty home. The day had been long and strenuous and even though Luci was there to meet her when she arrived Gwendolyn never felt so alive or free. 

Miss Queen practically bounced about the room with a lightness that neither of the demons had ever seen her wear before.

“And why, may I ask, does she look so happy?” Luci inquired of Malacoda with a great fury that only she and God could possess echoed in her voice.

Scratching the back of his dry, flaky neck, Malacoda answered timidly and out of the side of his crooked mouth, “She er, she spoke to him today.”

In between humming a delightful tune she once overheard emanating by a concerto of strings from one of the many classrooms in the Northern and preparing for bed, Gwendolyn answered sprightly, “Yes, yes, Malacoda I did. And I owe it all to you, dear.”

“What is she talking about?” Luci demanded from Malacoda, slamming her hand threateningly in a fist to her own lean thigh. “What does she mean by that?”

Seeing a trace of fear seething from Malacoda’s red eyes, Gwendolyn decided to take the opportunity to gain a step for herself forward in this game; “Oh yes,” she answered before Malacoda could, “If he had not attacked me while I was talking to Professor Leannán, he never would ‘ave taken me to his office to very kindly tend to my wound, and we never would have talked for hours before his class started. So, thank you, Malacoda, thank you very much for providing me with such a lovely morning.”

A dark, heavy, cold shadow fell over the room once more as Luci narrowed her gaze on Malacoda. The red demon’s wings shrunk behind him as he felt the terrifying trepidation of anger ebbing from his master. Luci did not even bother to play indifferent toward Malacoda’s infractions as she usually did, no. She was furious. “You dared to attack her before a man who may be able to see us?” she growled. “What did you do?”

“He took a chunk out of m’ neck,” Miss Queen quickly answered again before Malacoda could. “Right before the professor; I was bloody talking to the man when it happened.”

Malacoda seemed to be shrinking before Gwendolyn’s very eyes.

Luci looked furious. Miss Queen was not sure if she had actually ever seen the leader of all things wicked quite so upset before. “You did what?” Luci growled. (Miss Queen noticed that the room was growing very cold as Luci grew angrier.) “You know that the rules that bind us forbid us from touching her when other mortals are around, you fool!”

“‘Rules that bind you’?” Miss Queen asked, strongly asserting herself into this conversation now. “So you are not the only players in this game. Who set these rules? Obviously, it is someone stronger than even you, Luci, if you are so intimidated to not break those rules.” Luci’s fury and Malacoda’s fear did not at all faze our mortal as she found firm ground to stand upon. “Ha, then that must mean…God is real. And He is monitoring you all here. Is this some sort of test for my faith?”

“This does not concern you,” Luci said in a desperate attempt to turn the tables back towards Malacoda, a being that she could indeed destroy without worry for any sort of consequence.

“‘Doesn’t concern me?’” Gwendolyn exclaimed in disgust. “I would certainly think that a game between two powers over my soul as the prize is a great concern for me. Don’t think for a moment more, Luci and you too, Malacoda, that you will win this game. My heart is set on following God, even if the only purpose of my life is one epic trial to prove my love and loyalty to Him. You’re bloody wasting your time ‘ere.”

The demons stared blankly at this mere mortal, a being that only occupied a blink of time and produced not even so much as a ripple in the cosmos compared to either of them, that could muster from her being the courage to stand up to powers far greater than man. It was indeed quite plain that this game, for the time being was won by God, but neither demons could fully understand why or how.

As the demons continued to stare quietly in their fit of being flabbergasted, Gwendolyn smiled triumphantly as she crawled into her lumpy bed. She knew how she could stand up to these beasts of evil; ‘tis the little things that kept her head erect. Today she saw and interacted with the man she genuinely loved, and even though she did not yet know if he loved her, this contact with him was all that she needed. That man, that angel’s presence may not be a permanent barricade against the demons and their wicked ways, but for now, his love would do.

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

See you next week!

(Unless I do a special Halloween Edition, in which case, see you later this week!) 

"Her Very Own Demons" Part 3

As we draw closer and closer to Halloween, my excitement only continues to build! This is my favorite holiday by far. I've Harry Potter: Prisoner of Azkaban music playing in the background, trying to find a good Halloween soundtrack. I've dawned the Salem, MA shirt that I purchased a few years back when my friend Julia, her friend Laura, and I embarked upon a day trip to that fateful town. It was wonderful to see all of the decorations, the beautiful red buildings, and the history of such a sage seaside town. It truly was a wicked good time. I wonder if the residents get tired of the Halloween spirit or if they enjoy it to its fullest? If there are any Salem readers tuning into this blog, please feel free to leave your two bits below!

On that note, in preparation for All Hallow's, what music do you plan on playing for your trick-or-treaters? Is there any particular soundtrack that your neighborhood ghouls enjoy most or are you planning on Pandora-ing it? If you have any special tracks or any recommendations for the readers and me, let us know in the comments below!

Now, to the main attraction, the reason why you are here: "Her Very Own Demons, Part 3". For Parts 1 and 2, please refer back two posts staring with "Taming the Dragon." Enjoy!

"Her Very Own Demons"

Part 3

By S. Faxon

The wide, stone stairway on which Gwendolyn labored to clean had never felt more cold. Not a moment ago, sweat had been dripping from her forehead from the intense stuffiness of the grey confine. But now the temperature had dropped so that her breath formed misty clouds.

A deep fear settled upon her.

Before distress could completely deter her from concentrating on her scrubbing, Gwendolyn touched her hand to her heart, pressing her crucifix close to her chest.

The cold continued as did her cleaning. The rough, echoing scraping sounds of her sudsy brush to the hard stones did little to muffle the unmistakable dread that was approaching. The beast had not yet materialized, but she knew it was there. She could feel it. She could feel his eyes upon her again.

A terrible growl, unlike anything man or beast crept up the stairs as though preparing to attack.

With a deep breath, Miss Queen cleared her thoughts and prepared for the onslaught.

“What could a stupid little wench like you find so appealing about that bloke anyway?” Malacoda’s hissing voice sounded through the stairwell as if it were coming from every direction. “He’s not attractive; actually I think he’s kinda bloated around the middle. He’s gluttonous and greedy and he certainly has no interest in you, you are way too plain and small for his tastes. You know all this, Gwenny, why even bother wasting your time on the second floor here? Why not give it to that other ugly woman. She’s really bossy and she uses you anyway. She’s not really your friend you know. I heard her just last night calling you nothing more than a wretched, useless country-slut.” The demon did not materialize. As he whispered these things to her, she actually found a sense of relief. There had been times when similar whispers would come with her voice, though she generated not a sound. It was all their devilish ploy to make her feel mad.

Her resolution to not be perturbed proved to frustrate Malacoda. A loud gnarled sucking came just before her, ending with a splat on the stair she had just finished cleaning.

Gwendolyn looked up to see the disgusting green spot on the step that glared and bubbled at her. “Do you mind?” she asked, knowing that it would have been better if she had merely cleaned it without saying anything. .

“No, I don’t mind. I could do this all day.”

This was routine - she cleaned up the extra messes Malacoda made for her regularly. In a way, she almost preferred it when Luci exclusively stalked her steps. Luci would never do something so childishly wicked as dirtying or soiling something she cleaned. No, Luci played on an entirely different form of this game that was far more effective against Gwendolyn’s defenses, but at least it left her with less clean-up work to do. “Where is Luci, by the way?” Gwendolyn asked the nothing.

A shadow formed at the top of the stairs. It slowly descended toward her and Miss Queen knew that it was simply Malacoda. Without taking shape, the shadow hissed, “Not that it’s any of your business, Queenie, but she’s off in the south dealing with some other enterprise today. She’s a busy bee you know.” After a moment of thought Malacoda added, “And she’s not actually a she, I don’t know why I keep referring to my master that way.”

“I realize that Luci is not really a she,” Miss Queen more said to herself and the marble stair that she was polishing rather than to Malacoda. “I figure that she’d be different, look different to everyone she approaches.”

“My, my, the little rat does have a brain,” Malacoda said insultingly. The demon watched the washerwoman continue with her work unabashed by his tormenting for a moment before finding another button of hers to push. “What if he doesn’t come early today? What if he doesn’t show up until after you leave? Imagine the pain your poor pathetic heart will burden tonight.”

Pushing aside that worry, Gwendolyn sighed and said, “If he doesn’t come, I s’pose it’s just you then for company.”

Malacoda did not like it when Miss Queen was not affected by his attempts to bring her down, it frustrated him so. The demon began to conjure the next insult or threat that he could throw at Gwendolyn, but they certainly were becoming more and more difficult to find after so much abuse over the years. His creativity seemed to be dying.

Gwendolyn continued her job of scrubbing the stone steps as the demon continued his deep thought in silence. This was the sort of work she was used to doing; she had been a hard working woman for nearly all of her life. She was originally employed by the university at the age of fifteen when she left her home in the south in search of peace. It took a while for her to find it, but peace indeed she did find. She lived rather well actually for one full year – her eighteenth. However, right before she turned nineteen, the demons came out from the shadows and now as she was approaching her twenty-first birthday, well, the then established status quo has remained the same.

In the past year and a half of her life, the only solace Miss Queen has been able to find came from the greetings she would receive from the man she loved. He would come early every morning, nearly, save for the days on which he did not have to come to school, to work in his office before class started. The stairs on which she now muddled over cleaning led to the office and classroom where he spent most of his days. He taught history, and Gwendolyn could listen to him for hours. She had listened to him for hours. She would post herself on the steps during his lectures and listen to the words he had to say for as long as she could. His voice was such a comfort. Even the demons could not speak over him.

“What are the odds, you think, that a professor, a man of his stature, would have any room in his life or in his heart to tolerate a dirty, peasant, cleaning woman like yourself?” Malacoda said after finally finding something to throw at Gwendolyn. “He wouldn’t even take you as a lover. What chance could you possibly have? You can’t even write!”

Gwendolyn was not listening to the demon. She was busy thinking about the love in her life that soon would be near. She prayed that he would come soon, that soon he would come up those stairs and that his presence would spare her a breath of time from the shadow. Whenever she spoke to the professor the world seemed new and brimming with hope again. A simple look from him could chase the monsters away. With him she was safe. A look from his beautiful blue eyes chased away all of the fears within her. He was her everything, though, as the demons persistently told her, she could not help to think that maybe indeed to him she was nothing.

The excitement of seeing him, interacting with him truly was what made her so strong.

Gwendolyn’s heart was beating faster, the demon could hear the increase in its pace. This he could not leave alone. “Do you keep yourself from stopping your heart’s beat because you hope that he will come for you someday?”

No, that was not why she chose not to end the suffering; she was simply far too strong for that. Suicide had never crossed her mind, for it was far too easy a course to take. Though, as she kept scrubbing a particularly nasty stain on the stairs, Gwendolyn had to admit to herself that of late the professor’s face indeed was gilded on her heart, and that the hope of simply seeing him again kept her going. She did not irrationally believe that someday she would be his wife, she only hoped that he would someday see her as something more than a peasant washerwoman who could not write. There was so much she had seen and done and survived through her short life, things she wished, longed even that she could tell him about and share with him, but for now, she would gladly accept the short conversations they had here and there. She would rehearse what she would say to him the night before as she slowly fell asleep under the watchful eyes of her demons. Gwendolyn would imagine talking with the professor for hours, and the man she held in her thoughts was as true an image to his actuality as any being could have conceived. Gwendolyn did not altogether mind the fact that these imagined conversations were not real, for they were a great relief from the evil around her. The demons could not take the comfort she took from her imaginings; her dreams were sacred, her thoughts and her sleep were the only places that the demons could not penetrate.

After watching Miss Queen continue to scrub the stairs without so much as a nod to acknowledge his wicked words, Malacoda asked, clearly agitated, “Why don’t you ever answer me?” He wanted very badly to kick the girl down the stairs to teach her a lesson in respect, but that act certainly would not be appreciated by his master Luci. She would yell at him and send him back to the pit where kicking and gnawing on people were acts that were more than acceptable. It was expected of his breed. It was his job to torture, to demean, and to maim those who were wicked, for being in the pit even as a demon was literally hell. Though running down a mortal on earth was loads of fun and a holiday to him at first, he really was not enjoying it as much as he presumed he would when Luci approached him with the prospects of taking this position three years ago. Leaving the circles sounded like a blessing, for lack of a better term, but disarraying a soul that actually was entirely clean felt rather odd and unwarranted. He wondered, occasionally and very rarely, if the game that he and Luci were actively engaged to was worth all their trouble for only one soul. The time he was wasting out of the pit on a soul that was really quite strong gravely upset Malacoda. “Answer me!” he yelled when his frustration got the best of him. Instead of kicking Gwendolyn, he knocked over the bucket with her materials in it, sending her brush and the bucket rolling all the way down the stairs to the marble hall of the first landing.

Gwendolyn did not so much as curse under her breath in reaction to this deed. She simply stood from the spot where she had been fervently scrubbing and descended the stairs to chase after the tools she needed for her work.

By the time she reached the last step where her brush and bucket had landed, someone else had already picked them up for her. When Gwendolyn’s brown eyes fell upon the great smiling face of the man she loved holding the objects she lost, she nearly collapsed. He looked so handsome, like always, and he was smiling at her, for her, and he had bent down and picked up the things she a lowly peasant dropped.  

“Hello,” he greeted warmly with his adorable smile just as he always had done before.

“Hello,” she answered back, starry eyed and riding the euphoric wave that fell all around her. She felt so wonderful standing so close to him, so strong and so safe.

The tall and broadly shaped professor placed the brush into the thick wooden bucket and held them for Gwendolyn as he accompanied her up the stairs.

 “How’s it going?” the professor asked the washerwoman as they both slowly ascended.

“Not too shabby,” Gwendolyn answered with a smile so sweet that any passerby would have immediately assumed her to have been speaking with an angel. In truth, to her, that assumption would not have been far off. “How are you, sir?”

There was a shuffling noise, like the sound of panicked wings that quickly echoed in the stairs as the professor and the young washerwoman rounded toward the second landing. The demon was gone. He would not dare hang around Miss Queen while her heart was so full of love; he and Luci both knew that when she was with the professor, there was nothing that either of them could do without breaking the unbreakable rules that would undoubtedly rip her heart apart.

The thirty year old Professor Eóin Leannán, a relatively young gentleman for such stature, noticed the sound before he answered his company, “I’m doing pretty good. Did you hear that, by the way? Thought I heard wings?”  

Gwendolyn of course heard what the professor inquired, but she was not going to even make an attempt to tell him that yes, she did hear it, but not to worry because it was only just her demon buggering off for the time being; she did not want to sound mad. “I didn’t hear anything,” she quickly muttered as she bent down to pick up the moist cloth that she had been using to clean the stains from the stair from which it had been abandoned. This was where the downfall of their conversations typically started; when she had to blatantly acknowledge that she was a servant for the university and only a couple of copper pieces away from being a slave. With a heavy heart she held out her hand to the professor so that she could have her bucket. By releasing him of her burden she could return to her work on the floor while he would rise to his office full of books that she could not even hope to read.

Professor Leannán gave Miss Queen the bucket, their hands touched in the exchange and our dear girl could not help to feel rejuvenated from even so small a touch. “Thank you,” she whispered shamefully as she put the cloth into the bucket as well. “I’m a bit clumsy, I drop or trip over everything.”(None of this was directly her fault; most always Malacoda had something to do with her stumbles and accidents.)

“Well, just don’t you go tumbling down the steps, alright?” Professor Leannán said with a sweet gentility.

Gwendolyn chuckled ironically as she bet to herself that such a fate was one her demon friends surely had before imagined that would send her tumbling into their eternal embrace. “Yeah, a roll down the stairs is not amongst m’ top goals in life, because that would be bad,” Gwen said with a smile, hoping that she could laugh off the thought.

Fiddling with the keys in his pocket, Eóin looked at the stairs ahead of his step and distantly said, “That would be bad.”

Gwendolyn did not know if she had heard the professor correctly, for to her ears it sounded as though Eóin may actually care for her and that he really was not simply a nice bloke who said hello to everyone, but his care-filled tone may just have been an imagining by her quickly beating, biased heart. Then again, there were so many little occurrences that made her heart hope probably more than it should; like when the professor would initiate the moment first to talk to her in the mornings when he did not have to or again in the evenings before he left for home. Could it be possible that he thought of her at the end of the day the way she thought of him? Maybe he did already see past her work clothes and straight to the beauty of her heart.

“Ouch!” Gwendolyn squeaked as a sharp, stinging pain shot across the nape of her neck. She immediately grabbed at the spot of the pain that landed behind her head. She was looking far too happy as far as the demon was concerned.

“Are you alright?” Eóin quickly asked, his light blue eyes struck with concern.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she answered as she pulled her hand back around to the front. “I’m just bleeding,” she dryly elaborated after seeing a streak of sanguine on her fingers and palm. In her head she briefly cursed Malacoda for cheating by scratching her in his invisible state, something even she knew would be strongly opposed by Luci, but out loud she said, “Is it bad?” she turned around so that Eóin could look at it for her. Gwendolyn pulled the back of her cap so that he could see properly.

“It’s not too bad, but the light’s really bad in here, c’mon to my office so I can see it better,” Eóin said as he instinctually moved to address the wound, pulling out his clean white handkerchief and pressing it firmly to the back of her neck. “How did that even happen? You were just standing there!”

The professor did not wait for an answer, he had already started to guide Miss Queen up the stairs toward his office with the bucket and the tools of her trade abandoned on the steps where the well hidden demon lingered above.

Eóin lit several candles that flickered to life on his desk so that he could evaluate the damage done to Miss Queen. “Wow,” he whispered to himself as he looked upon the scratch that looked quite brutal, but still not permanently damaging. “How did this happen?” he asked again.

Looking out the window that glowed a light pale blue as the sun rose on the horizon, in the office packed with books, Gwendolyn had a very difficult time conjuring an answer. It all seemed so romantic to her. She was stumped from conjuring a convincing argument to cover the demon’s plight, but simply for the fact that the man she loved was softly running his fingers across her skin. Though she was severely afflicted with demons, she was presently in heaven. “Who knows,” she said as though soaring from the rare allowance of something amazingly good in her life even though her neck stung wickedly. “My cap is rough on the underside; it’s scratched me before, maybe it just got me right this time.”

“Well then take it off,” Eóin directed as he reapplied a clean side of his handkerchief to the young woman’s neck. “If it’s beating you up, Gwen, don’t wear it.”

Gwendolyn slid her left hand up to her neck, slipping it under the professor’s so that she could hold her own poultice, though she did not mind at all the touch, she wanted to look at him when they spoke. The professor’s hand lingered atop of hers for a notably residual moment before he gently pulled his hand away. He sat on the other side of the desk from Gwendolyn.

With her other hand the young woman pulled off her cap, her thick, light brown hair fell perfectly around her shoulders and face. “I must admit,” she continued in order to make her lie more convincing, “It does feel much better without that.”

 “Well that’s good,” Eóin said with a haphazard smile. “Is that something you have to wear? I mean, do they make you wear that as part of the uniform?”

Now Gwendolyn felt small again. She wished she did not have to talk to him about her terrible job, but how could she not tell him? “Sort of. We women have an option of wearing either the cap or a scarf to keep our hair back out of viewing. They try to make us as inhuman as possible.”

“Why would they do that?” Eóin asked incredulously.

Gwendolyn waited a moment before answering, “To keep us from being noticed by the students, I s’pose, and also because we do not pay to go here; they pay us.”

“I’m paid,” Eóin said succinctly. “And I think it’d be a safe bet to say that you’re job’s a hell of a lot harder than mine.”

“Oh, no, I don’t do anything for this university; you teach that’s sommat real special,” Gwendolyn softly argued. For a second, in the flickers of the candles, Gwendolyn thought she saw a shade of pink flare up in Eóin’s face as though he were blushing from her mild compliment, but she could not be sure.

“You clean up the crap from the halls before the sun is even up; that’s a pretty good deed,” he said with all genuine sentiment. 

“Well, ha, I don’t have a choice exactly as to when I clean up the halls, but thank you for trying,” she smiled at him and he returned the expression. Speaking to this man came so easily. “You’re an interesting soul, sir,” she dared herself to say.

“How so?” Eóin said with a humored and humbled scoff.

Shifting in her seat and repositioning the cloth on her neck a little bit, Gwendolyn answered, “Well, you’re not at all like the other professors. You don’t even talk like them.”

“How do the others talk to you?” Professor Leannán asked, his tone turning to a more serious twist.

While looking down at her lap Gwendolyn shamefully answered, “They don’t. They won’t even look at me. I’m just another shadow on the wall to them.”

Leaning forward over his desk, Professor Leannán said, “I’m sorry to hear that. They shouldn’t treat you like that.”

“They have a right to,” Gwendolyn muttered. “I’m just a stupid washwoman who lurks in the halls in the morning and evening. I’m nothing to them.”

The professor was very disheartened by this conversation. He had never stopped to think of how his colleagues thought of Gwen, for he always found her smile and her company to be so refreshing and welcoming in the mornings no matter how cold they were before. Pushing his short, black bangs to the side, Eóin shrugged his thick shoulder as he said, “Could you try to enroll in any of the classes here? Are there any programs offered for the behind the scenes people like you?”

Choosing to ignore the demon that was now standing as a large and threatening shadow in the doorway behind the professor, Gwendolyn answered as nicely as she could, “No. There are not. Besides, I would be so behind in those classes. I’m not at all at the level needed for this place.”

“There are courses here that could match any level of education, you’d be alright. If you’re a student, I guess, the professors are really helpful,” Professor Leannán continued, hoping that he could find some sort of kindness from the university to this washerwoman who clearly worked beyond expectation.

Gwendolyn closed her eyes for a moment for the demon at the doorway was staring cruelly at her. She and Malacoda both knew that she would probably end up sharing with this seemingly brilliant yet entirely humble man what she believed to be her greatest insufficiency (minus the demons of course). “I would be laughed out of the class,” she admitted. “I don’t have a ‘level of education.’” Gwendolyn sighed then released one of the secrets that she had been keeping in her heart from this man: “I can’t even write.”

“Oh,” the professor quietly exclaimed, for he had not been expecting that sort of confession. He tapped one of his fingers to the desk for a minute before figuring out what next to say. “I’m sorry,” was all he could procure.

“Don’t be,” Miss Queen excused. “It’s not your fault that I come from a village that lacked educated people. We weren’t expected to learn. We were expected to work, and work we did without complaint. I did not even know what it was to complain until I was fourteen and really had it bad. I was engaged to this right nasty brute; he was only nineteen but he was bound to be a demon like none other. He was just like m’ father actually; arrogant and no good. That’s why I left that place, well, that’s why I ran away. I wanted a better life because I knew I deserved better. So what other place to go to for a better life than to the greatest university in the world for a job in hopes that I could listen in on lectures and learn all that I needed to know.” She finished her little, yet significant confession with a smile in hopes that the professor would automatically assume that it was his lectures that she listened in on the most. 

Even though he did not actually pick up on her hint, Eóin still returned the smile and said to make Gwendolyn feel better, “We all have to start somewhere. Do you think that I was just born a professor?”

“Yes,” Gwen answered with a playful yet hard tone of sarcasm which brought even larger smiles to both their faces. “But I doubt that you had to linger outside of history and political science classrooms to gather your smarts.”

Eóin smiled wide once more and the two of them continued to talk in this way until the sun rose fully, warming every inch of the Northern, chasing her demons away.

~*~*~

Be sure to tune in next week for the exciting conclusion of "Her Very Own Demons"!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon