The chill of morning enticed my jacket a bit closer to me. Trees rustled their annoyance at this intruder stalking about in the wee hours as owls whistled the world into shivers with their singular hooting calls. Nevertheless, my impatient feet could not bear me to take any extra time on my way. October thirty-first had come and gone, and midnight slipped beyond my nose before I realized the significance of it.

I wondered at the rows of streetlights towering over my sidewalk. Some functioned, resplendent in pale, shimmering light, while others failed. At least the darkness concealed their shame. Still others walked the line between the two, flickering back and forth to fit into either culture of on or off as a bat cannot decide whether to be a bird or a beast.

My attention soon wavered, and departed from the matter of the street lights. In the near distance Twilight Park gave way to Danning Boulevard, the difference between the two as plain as the orders of street lights. Peculiar flashing lights turned aside as cars entered and exited, obeying colored symbols suspended high above the intersection. Aside from those, however, all seemed bathed in an unusually black morning. I envied the sun, who could rise whenever she pleased!

As I stepped off of the curb I felt a gentle pressure upon my shoulder. Regaining my balance I turned to see what sort of insect lay upon me, prepared to swat or back away as the situation demanded.

“Hello,” she said.

My heart leapt into my ears. “Jesus H. Christ!” Like most, I haven’t the foggiest for what that H stands. This of course would never prevent me from saying it, rather like igorance of music does not prevent the bulk of musicians from playing.

“No,” she shook her head, “my name is Fara. Would you lead me across the street, sir?”

My first thought was to lead myself across the street and make haste in such. Perhaps it was the grime riddling her hair and clothes that fixed my feet in place. Maybe it was her heart-wrenching expression, the pleading gaze of a hungry kitten, that held fast my desire to flee.

Or, perhaps, it was the sucking chest wound staring back at me when I chanced a glance at her figure. “Are… you okay?” For a heartbeat I feared that I might fail to form the question. Her head tilted, and I cringed to see spiders tumbling from within her ear.

“I think so. Is something wrong?”

“That,” I finally ventured, tearing my gaze from the coagulated stain running down her blouse,“is a fantastic costume.” Please, let it be a costume.

“Costume?”

Bloody hell.

Her eyes softened even more. “Did I offend you some way? I apologize if so.” Her voice soothed the frayed ends of my nerves. “I only need to cross the street. My daughter is waiting for me. See?” I followed her indicating finger with my eyes, gazing across the only seldom occupied intersection.

Darkness stared back at me. As if to punctuate the point a van growled through a green light, illuminating all for a brief moment with its high beam headlights. Not a single soul stood on the other side.

“If it’s all the same to you, ma’am,” I counted three to four quivers saying this, “I really wasn’t going to cross the street.”

“What then were you doing with your foot halfway from the curb?”

I thought back to my days as a schoolboy. With some great effort I recalled the singular skill I possessed with the manipulation of reality concerning words. These days I seldom found use for lying, but I could certainly give it a try.

“I was looking for change,” I murmured, looking this way and that in a sense that served mostly to remind me of the thick rust surrounding my truth manipulation sense.

“As was I.” Her tone abruptly altered, taking on a somewhat snappish quality. “I am a mother, you know. I can see through the best of lies.”

“So,” I countered, hoping to humor her, “when I tell you I am a rich rock star, it won’t help.”

Mercifully, Fara smiled. “Not in the least. Please, take me across the road. My daughter will be lonely without me, and I have not yet finished her Halloween costume. I must get home to sew.”

“Sew?” In an age of laziness displaying the greatest lack of creativity in the typical home since caveman times, scarce was the opportunity to meet someone who would actually take the time and effort to handcraft clothing at all. She held out her hand as I pondered, and I marveled at the pallor of it. I took it without thought.

Her chill became my own.

* * *

The world passed from my eyes and returned in half a blink. Night tore apart at the seams against day’s assault, autumn and summer returned to the womb of spring, and consciousness spun out of control. The scent of a dying October bowed to tulips and lavender.

“Don’t be afraid,” Fara insisted, the loose thread of her words drawing together into fine spun cloth that clothed her filth and age with youth. Her alabaster fingers tightened around mine, their tanning color spilling over with warmth. “It’s just a street.”

My mind reeled. Scents and sounds flooded against my senses with the pounding force of a Three Kingdoms cavalry charge. Daylight burned my eyes, but nothing could drag down my eyelids. I saw the waters rise.

“It is no street,” I wailed, reaching up to my eyes to shield them from the glow. “Who are you? Where did Twilight Park go?”

Her fingers loosened, and I tore myself away. I felt my bones jar against warm earth where sidewalk should have been.

“The water rises for you, Travis,” Fara reverently sighed. “Styx is waiting. I had hoped to trick you into crossing, but… you have to go.”

I sat up, incredulous. “Styx? But I’m not dead! That band is, but I’m not!”

Fara shook her head. “Jokes are not going to change anything. Cute, though. Please, go to the water, Travis.” The blood on her blouse lightened into emptiness, her hair and clothes shimmering in sudden magnificence. I caught my breath. The light streaming from her skin burned worse than the sun’s paltry offering.

“You’re trying to trick me,” I shook my head, struggling to rise and flee from her, but a sharp pain in my chest held me fast to the ground. My vision swore to my mind that only lies lay in front of it, but my skin and bones knew the blood pouring down to be real. “You aren’t really an angel, are you?”

“Of course I am,” Fara nodded. “You escaped me the first time, when I looked my part, so… I thought that you might like this one better. It let me get closer to you.”

I coughed. The pain was there, but life remained with me. “I don’t believe you.”

Fara’s eyes narrowed. “Believe this.” Her hands stretched out, magnificent in their sudden perfection. I could hear the wailing of damned souls rising from the floodwaters. The boatman beckoned.

The scythe found her grasp.

“All Hallow’s Eve is over, revenant,” Death smirked, “back to the underworld with you.” Defeated, I let my head hang between my shoulders.

“That such a terrible costume,” I muttered as the waters spilled over the edge to drag me under once again.