This Hallowed Night

She made not a sound; still I immediately became acutely aware of her presence. The moonlight reflected in the chartreuse of her eyes, cast an illumination worthy of the candle lit Jack O’Lanterns adorning the front porch steps. All Hallows Eve; the veil continues to thin, having me believe she sauntered straight through without incident to be by my side. She tilts her head and sharply swishes her tail signaling for my undivided attention as she beckons me to the window, still silent, but with obvious intention. 

My instinct is to hold her close, nuzzling her velvety pellicle against my cheek, whispering my innermost secrets to the one who will never betray them. I find myself wanting nothing more than to be lulled back into a deep slumber by the melodic purr emanating from deep within her tiny body, so comforting, so familiar. 

With a singular fluid motion, she leaps from the floor to the sill, gently butting her pretty little head against the frosted panes. She wants to be free and who am I to deny her wishes. Reluctantly, I rise from the confines of the warm and inviting blankets swaddling me and move to the window. She stares into my eyes, into my soul and I know exactly what she will have me do, on this most hallowed of eves. I carefully lift the sash and allow the night air to rush in, expecting a chill, yet experiencing something entirely different. The night itself beckons, and she willingly complies, urging me to follow. Beyond the boundaries of wood and glass, we are free; she confidently takes the lead as we venture forward. 

 I could see my breath, but not feel the cold beneath my bare feet or through the threadbare material of my bedclothes. Down the walk which parallels the road, no other soul to be seen. No one to ogle my insanity, allowing myself to be led through the darkness by determination itself as if she and I were about to join the processional in the black parade. If only I hadn’t forgotten my parasol. 

She looks back over her shoulder, ensuring my compliance, and I am keeping pace. I would admit to a growing sense of curiosity if it weren’t for the undeniable notion; a powerful premonition, insisting on my attendance. I found myself far from afraid, as we ventured further down the poorly lit walk and around the corner, passing the old church. There it stood, empty, unutilized, forgotten, yet the feeling of worship exuded from the dilapidated walls and spire. Some believed it to be haunted, while I chose to take great spiritual comfort in its history, fortitude and majesty. She stopped, sat and waited for my intentional steps to quicken and meet with her graceful and swift saunter. 

The churchyard, surrounded by wrought iron and dried vines, offered no light, only marble and concrete, cold and somehow personal. She perched atop a crumbling memorial, eager for me to recognize her choosing. Barehanded, I brushed aside years of sand, silt and debris revealing a name I could not recall. I asked aloud for clarity, but I was denied such advantage. “Say something, you cheeky little feline.” I whispered, but my words refused to carry, and she did not respond. She gave me another moment before gracefully lowering herself to the ground and once again moving through the graveyard with purpose and direction; I followed.

My mind searched tirelessly for some clue, some fragmented memory, some semblance of significance pertaining to the name engraved on the headstone, only to come up short. I knew enough about my own lineage to contemplate the very possibility of the name once belonging to my beguiling guide, yes, I was being educated. Again, I dared to communicate, softly calling for the tenant under the tombstone. “Cassandra Montgomery?” By the sound of the name, my furry friend circled back, frantically pacing between my ankles, nuzzling and rubbing against my shins and calves. I stood still, careful not to disturb this ritualistic dance; one in which obviously conveyed her satisfaction in my deduction. “You’re my familiar?” I whispered into the darkness. No audible response came, no mew, just the brief disappearance of one golden green orb as she winked in agreement. 

The autumn wind howled mournfully. Softly at first, but as we approached our destination, the intonation fluctuated as the air moved through the dead branches of the hibernating oaks lining the burial grounds. Rotting leaves, slick and deceiving caused me to slide, stumble and brace myself against the crumbling Angel atop a century old grave marker. I wanted to apologize for the intrusion, but my familiar was melding into the night, and I feared even a second of pause would be enough to lose sight entirely. As I regained my footing, I noticed the faintest of light ahead, enough to cast the slightest of shadows. I knew the light was revealing itself to my guide, assisting in getting me to my destination. 

Overwhelmed by emotion, I dropped to my knees, unable to right myself this time. I called to the shadows, I called for Cassandra Montgomery, but as if I were suddenly rendered deaf and mute, I could not comprehend sound. My limbs refused to function, and my thoughts would not obey; I was catatonic. She knew, as most familiars do, I needed her. She cautiously and lovingly pawed her way to my shoulder, resting on my chest. Her rhythmic purring syncing with my own beating heart, comforting, reassuring. Her intention was not to inundate my body and soul with debilitating grief, but to bring love and peace back to me after a great loss. I understood, and as I recognized the marshy plot of dirt my knees had sunk into, I was once again with her, or at least the last place I left her. I was given no choice.  

The little feline lay across my body, perfectly poised like a grand statue carved from the most perfect slab of onyx. I could sense her unwavering loyalty and love, not only for me but for the spirit who employed her. “My aunt is here, isn’t she?” I asked when my words finally chose to break free from my throat and lips. The familiar once known as Cassandra nuzzled my cheek and slowly slid down from my shoulder and into my lap. 

I wanted to see her, but I was not afforded that advantage either. I wanted to touch her, hug her, tell her I miss her, but there was nothing more than a feeling to connect with; it had to be enough; it had to be her. What a glorious gift to be given, one last shared memory, fortifying our familial bond for eternity. I will leave here eventually, but I will take her with me, in my heart, and in this moment, still I grieved.

 I spoke with emotionally ladened intention as I proclaimed my sorrow. I was cheated. She was not supposed to have left me, not now, not after all the plans we had to grow into old witchy women together. We were to plant magical gardens and dance in the moonlight, rescue stray cats and wear too much jewelry. Read tarot cards, cast spells, bake cookies and laugh until we cried. Tears welled causing the faint glow in front of me to appear as if I were peeking through a kaleidoscope with my recessive eye. I wanted to see, oh, please let me see. 

For a moment, a fleeting moment, my eyes captured an image of a bird perched upon a book, and I knew she was there. No one could know, but I knew, and Cassandra Montgomery knew. I wanted to thank my guide, my familiar, the earth angel sent to ease my pain and deliver peace. Gratitude seemed too generic a term for what I wanted to express, but words were unnecessary; my soul felt everything all at once and my heart spoke for itself. 

My heart raced, and I could feel the warmth of the glow across my face, but again, the moment passed all too quickly as my sense of pure peace was replaced with the howling wind through the trees and the cold wet leaves under my feet. I could almost hear the music rejuvenate, the jazz trumpet signaling the black parade was about to resume. I looked down; she brushed her body against my ankles then stared up into my eyes; it was time to follow her back home. She trotted slowly through the maze of memorials as daylight began to infiltrate the hallowed night and once again thicken the veil.