By the Law of October

The wick came alight in a warm glow and released a subtle, barely there, scent of fall. Just enough to make Dani feel like the outside had crept in. She inhaled. Ah, there we are. Then sat on the couch and wrapped her legs in a blanket. Her favorite fall sweater, clean again after being in seasonal storage for months, would keep her arms warm.

On the coffee table before her, she'd arranged buttered popcorn and mini pumpkin pie-flavored cupcakes decorated to be jack-o'-lanterns. To drink, she'd poured a glass of apple cider from the farm where she'd picked out pumpkins the weekend prior. Everything was ready for her spooky night in. Except, she'd lost the remote again.

Dangit! Where'd she last have it?

Dani scanned the room from within her cozy blanket cocoon. On the coffee table? No. The side table? No. The sliver of kitchen that was visible from the couch? Still no.

She started patting around the blanket and the pockets in her pants, hoping it was close at hand. Nothing. In patting her sweater's pocket, she only felt the outline of a cough drop. Likely leftover from last year.

"Hey, watch it!" a tiny muffled voice said.

She ceased all movement. Would have ceased breathing if it hadn't been absolutely necessary.

Did she really hear a voice? And if she did, did it really come from the pocket of her sweater? Best to have a look. Right? Yes, right. Just a quick confirmation of fact, a peek at a non-verbal lozenge, then her heart rate could slow down.

She lifted the pocket closer to her face—not too close of course. Then widened the opening to reveal . . . a dark bug. No white-wrapped cough drop in sight.

"Ahhhhhhh!" she screamed. Leapt off the couch, higher than she'd ever jumped, sending the blanket flying in the process. Somehow missing the snacks. She had the urge to run away. But how do you run from something you're wearing?

Dani clasped the pocket shut to keep the gross bug in there as she slipped the sweater over her head, exposing her tank top. Then marched toward the garbage can while gagging, sweater held as far from her body as possible. She was going to shake it out.

No, wait, she thought. Vacuuming would be better. More secure. Thankfully, her handheld vacuum was within reach. She clicked the button to test its efficacy.

"Is that any way to greet a guest?" the muffled voice said.

Why could she suddenly understand a bug? "Just go away and stop talking to me."

"I'm here by the law of October, you must let me through!"

"What does that mean? No, don't answer that. I said, stop talking! Bugs aren't supposed to talk."

"I'm not a bug. Well, not any kind you've encountered before. Do you really not know the law of October?"

She paused. Is it wrong to kill something that can argue with you? That hasn't attacked you, is just gross? "What's the law then? And how did you end up in my pocket?"

"The answer to both is the same. You've heard of time and space, right?"

"Yes, of course." She rolled her eyes.

"Just making sure. Well, time and space are the knitting needles of the universe. Always crossing and looping together. The results, ever-expanding outward."

"Weird metaphor, but OK."

"More metaphysical than metaphor. And for one month per year, those metaphysical yarns connect with physical yarns opening up a pathway for creatures like myself to crawl through."

"So the law of October is a scientific law that allows creatures to come out of any sweater in October?" She shivered involuntarily. She'd burn all of her sweaters tomorrow. Autumn aesthetic be damned.

"No, don't be silly. Only specific sweaters. Ones with natural materials like cotton and wool. Ones where the absence of yarn is almost as integral as its presence. Ones that, most importantly—have a knit pocket. The juncture where two pieces are joined together. So two worlds can come together. Helps that the purpose of a pocket is related to holding and releasing things. Transience."

"So, my pocket is like a train station to you?"

"Yes, basically. And I'd really like to finish getting off at this stop. Intact and alive, if you don't mind."

Dani carefully set the sweater on the ground, then backed away quickly, vacuum held aloft in case the talking bug gave her a reason to use it. Then she watched as the lozenge-shaped bulge inched toward the edge of the pocket.

A dark creature emerged. Then grew exponentially until its head towered over her own. It sure looked bug-like. Iridescent dark green "skin" with a bulbous back like a beetle, a curved and sectioned-off tail that ended in a point like a scorpion's, and multiple appendages. Two thick legs to hold it upright and two on each side of its chest, akin to arms. But its face reminded her of a wolf. Pointed, intelligent, with sharp teeth. Whatever it was, it was fearsome.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins but she was frozen in place as it said in a deep snarl, "I'm hungry."

Oh God, oh God, oh God. She shouldn't have trusted it. It was going to eat her and all she had to defend herself with was a way-too-small vacuum. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

Wait, neither. She should run, right? Move, legs, move.

The creature turned menacingly. Then sat on her couch with a casual plop. "Got any wermerthers?"

"What?" Her voice cracked.

"Wermerthers? The snacks? No, I guess you wouldn't. That's OK, I'll try these."

It reached forward and delicately picked up a cupcake without touching any around it. Sniffed the front, followed by the back, then ate it. Paper liner and all.

"That'll do." It looked back at her. "Did you want to watch a movie?"

Against her better judgment, Dani sat on the couch. Careful to put a little space between them. Then realized she still hadn't found the remote.

As they were looking for it—the creature, apparently named Bobarellius (Bob for short), was quite helpful when looking for things as it could easily lift her furniture—they heard a faint, "Knock knock, anyone home?" Her sweater was still lying on the floor.

She shouldn't have been so worried when the second creature began to emerge. She'd experienced it once already. Compared to most humans, as far as she knew, that made her a professional pocket watcher. But it was still a creature entering her home. Where she was vulnerable.

As it came into view, it looked almost human. Except, of course, for the large round ears. The long nose that ended in a red-tinted ball. Its big wide feet. And long, crinkled, wild-looking hair on both its head and its tail. Though humans could be dangerous and frightful in their own right, Dani found the creature's similarities comforting.

Until the creature refused to stop growing. It hit its head on her ceiling and kept. going. Panic flared in Dani's chest as she pictured her house caving in. Before she could scream, the monster craned its head, saving her life and her bank account.

Deep breath in-two-three-four. Then out-two-three-four-five-six-seven. A couple more of those and Dani almost felt normal.

"Hey, Solveig," Bob said. "How's my favorite troll?"

–

An hour later, someone physically knocked on her door.

"Looks like a killer Halloween party," the guy said as he handed her a stack of boxes. "That skeleton costume looks real."

You have no idea. She handed him a cash tip, then locked the door behind him.

There were vampires with sharp teeth, wrapped mummies, and a creature that resembled Frankenstein's monster in her home. A giant blob, a zombie—who assured her it didn't eat humans and hated the stereotype, plus a fluffy monster she wanted to pet but didn't dare.

When a ghost brought wermerthers with it, to Bob's delight, she'd asked it where it held things. It being both see-through and naked confounded her. Apparently, that was a rude personal question.

Hopefully, what she'd ordered would help assuage any offense she'd caused and address the most pressing problem. A hardship that affected each and every creature who'd emerged from her sweater. Weary after the arduous journey through the yarns of time and space.

As Dani walked through the crowd, all eyes turned to follow her path. She opened the first box and yelled, "Pizza!" The monsters were hungry. Spooky night in, indeed.