Time To Call It A Night

It was Halloween again and the family was gathering at Darkwood Hall as usual. Everyone had come dressed for the occasion - as someone in the family who had met a not-so-nice demise in the dim, but not necessarily, too distant past.

The Chingleys had lived at the Hall for generations, having celebrated Halloween for decades in the old way, long before the Americans commercialised it and passed the idea back to Britain in the early 1900s!

“I think we should stop this Halloween lark,” Lucien scowled at the others assembled in the drawing room. “I’m really fed up with carrying on the same old tradition.  This family has been doing it for years and I just don’t think we’re scary enough now for today’s children.  In fact they almost scare me with their fancy costumes and masks - if they catch me unawares that is!” His laugh had an embarrassed ring to it.

Lucien had come as the 20 year old British soldier who had met his end in the Crimean War. His bloodied uniform was tattered, his face ashen, his head bandaged, and he used the musket as a walking stick!

“Well what would you rather do?” asked his mother the Duchess of Chingley, who wore a long dress and cloak as the dowager, whose husband had been killed in a riding accident. She had outlived him by many years but, as with so many members of the family, came to a sticky end. In her 80^th year she was found at the bottom of the cellar steps, apparently having fallen. Because nobody expected her to have even gone down to the cellar they didn’t think to look, so there she’d lain for several hours. The question always hung in the air as to whether or not she was pushed (inheritance - say no more!), but nothing was proven so accidental death was recorded.

Her clothes didn’t smell too good – an homage to cellar dampness perhaps, and her white, powdery, wrinkled face wasn’t testament to the privileged life the lady had led. Difficult to know whether she wore too much or too little makeup. Not a particularly appealing sight but she had a good heart!

 At that point the ‘Duke’ came in looking resplendent in his smart, but filthy, riding habit – good job he wasn’t the headless horseman as it would have been very difficult trying to converse with a head at waist level! Alas he had been thrown from his horse that had, in turn, trampled him underfoot – hence the filthy clothes. Hearing the discussion he added, “I agree with Lucien – I’ve had enough of this. Every year it gets more and more difficult.”

Lucian looked taken aback, “Well that’s a surprise Dad, you and I on the same side for once. What would I do Mother? Oh, I don’t know – just something else. Perhaps we could go away until it’s all over – or to go away for good would be even better!”

“Don’t be such a silly ass” his cousin Alfred, of the USA Chingleys, chipped in with his tuppence worth.  Dressed as a soldier in the 7^th cavalry regiment, who didn’t survive Custer’s Last Stand, his blue uniform battered, but complete with an arrow sticking out of his hat – most realistic! “It’s our family’s tradition to keep the spooky spirit alive and kicking on the night of all nights. I know we’re not too scary, but a bit of spookiness is ok. After all that’s what the villagers want. They’re quite able to scare themselves anyway – something they’ve been doing since the Ancient Celts.”

He carried on assuming everyone was interested – oblivious to the sighs of resignation as he had been over this so many times before!

 “Their year ended on October 31^st and, for that night, they believed that the line blurred between the living and the dead, allowing the demons, and souls of the dead, to come back and walk the earth. They even dressed up as evil spirits to try and confuse the demons. They wore masks so the demons would think they were one of them and wouldn’t try to possess their bodies – all horror stories made up by humans! I used to listen to great grandfather telling me scary tales……”

“Ooooo what did he tell you?” interrupted young cousin Martha with a cough. She was bored with the history lesson so stopped Alfred before he explained how the Romans and the Christians usurped the Celtic festival! She looked like the poor child who had died of consumption. She was painfully thin with a pallid complexion and an apparent breathing difficulty – a pitiful sight.

Alfred answered “Well he did tell me that if I were ever to meet the Devil on a darkened road, not to try and trick him into climbing a tree. Otherwise, I might end up like Jack O'Lantern,” continuing “One night, a scheming drunkard named Jack trapped the Prince of Darkness in a tree by hacking a sign of the cross into the bark. In exchange for letting Satan climb down, Jack had him vow never to claim his soul.  Well, as Jack acted like a jerk for the rest of his life, he wasn’t allowed into Heaven when he died.  He asked the Devil to help him, but Satan upheld his end of the deal and threw a piece of coal from hell at the dead man for good measure. Left with nowhere to go, Jack placed the blazing coal in a turnip to use as a lantern and was doomed to wander until he could find an eternal resting place. And he’s still wandering!”

At that point ‘aunt Lily’ entered the room and, hearing the last bit of the conversation laughingly added, “Yes your great grandfather was very good at scaring young children!” 

She smiled at the pair of young twins with her, a boy and a girl. They appeared to be the children who had perished in the fire in the east wing of the House a century earlier. Their clothes were excellent as they had the glow of dying embers about them, very authentic! They said nothing but stood as one, looking ghostly pale, holding hands and waiting.

Aunt Lily, the buxom sister of the Duke, had never married which was unfortunate as she loved children. However, she managed to fill the void with food and that was her downfall. At only four feet eleven inches tall she got to a size where she was nearly as wide as she was high – well a slight exaggeration but you get the picture! 

She had taken one of her preferred solitary walks as it took her longer than most as breathing didn’t come easily, when she slipped and rolled down the one and only hill on the estate. Unfortunately, landing at the bottom she resembled a cross between a beached whale and an upended tortoise. Her luck had really deserted her that day as she hit her head on the only small rock in the vicinity, so gradually her flailing limbs subsided and eventually stopped.

Now she was ready for the evening with her round frame looking quite healthy underneath her torn and grass stained clothes. Her dishevelled hair was matted on one side with something resembling blood.

“Actually, although I always have a laugh on this night I’m beginning to get a bit fed up with it and wouldn’t mind a rest,” she added, nodding towards Lucien who grinned at her in appreciation.

The company continued to discuss the matter in small groups as a striking young woman came in hand in hand with a much younger girl. They were beautifully dressed in long skating outfits, long coats edged with white fur, bonnets also edged with white fur and white fur muffs. Very picture bookish! Their costumes looked soaking wet and their long curls showing under the bonnets were wet and bedraggled as they framed their snow-white faces. They even managed to drip water on to the floor where they stood.

“Ah ‘Clara’ and ‘Hermione’, how lovely to see you,” gushed the Duke. He wished Clara hadn’t been a relative as she really was most attractive…... then brought himself back to the present with a start as he caught his wife looking daggers at him – she was obviously a mind reader!

 It was so tragic that the skating accident took two such promising young lives. Hermione had been told not to skate on the lake as the ice was starting to thin in places. Unfortunately, she was extremely headstrong and had every intention of skating. So, after telling her elder sister precisely that, she set off towards the lake.  Clara knew she had to look after her younger sibling and, as she couldn’t stop her, followed some way behind. As she got to the lake she saw Hermione already skating out towards the middle.  Of course, the inevitable happened, the ice suddenly cracked and with a scream and a splash the poor girl disappeared into the icy water from which there would be no return.

Clara thought nothing of her own safety and instinctively ran forward in the hope of grabbing her sister. Unfortunately, it was impossible and, as the white sheet of ice gave way under her feet, she too followed her sister into the dark icy water. The result was that both lives were sadly lost that day.

Before Lucien had a chance to tell them what was being discussed the last of the ‘main party’ made a noisy entrance. It was ‘Charles’, the black sheep of the family! He was a very clever man who had risen to become a lawyer and merchant. Sad to say he became greedy and, having been sentenced for forgery, was transported to New South Wales. Being a bit of a rebel, he and another convict tried to escape but, wearing shackles, they really didn’t stand much of a chance and died together out in the desert. 

Charles rattled in looking like a skeleton complete with clinking shackles – more the sort of scary apparition children associate with Halloween! “Hello everyone, last but not least as usual!” he chortled, being a friendly sort of person despite his appearance. What have I missed?”

Lucian answered, “I was just about to bring Clara and Hermione up to date with our discussion. Basically some of us have had enough and want to call it a day, or rather a night! I think we ought to take a vote as to whether we finish this annual event and have some time to ourselves, or not.”

The last three to enter the room got into a little huddle to discuss it. After a few moments their decision was made.

“Right, let’s have some hush everyone,” Lucien’s voice rose above the babble in the room which gradually quietened amidst sounds of “hush” and “shhhh”. “You all know what the proposal is so let’s vote. Yes’s to the right and no’s to the left.”

There was an inordinate amount of shuffling as the weird looking assembly moved around the room. When all had settled there was no doubt that Lucien and his followers had won.

“Good,” Lucien uttered thankfully. “Let’s go and make this the last and best Halloween ever.”

The gathering left the Hall and swept down the gravel drive, chattering excitedly to one another. Some started to practise the ghostly wailings and wooings they knew would be expected of them in the village.

They spent a happy night darting here and there, playing hide and seek with masked children who looked like green ghouls, vampires and anything else hideous that the manufacturers of such things could come up with! 

They knocked on front doors and got away before folk managed to open them. They rattled on window panes and wailed through cat flaps, before, eventually shattered, making their way back to the Darkwood Hall just before midnight. 

Lucien addressed the family group. “It’s been a wonderful night and a great one to finish on. We must all go our separate ways now but, who knows, we might all be together again at some point."

With that they all embraced, hugging each other and whispering their goodbyes, and on the stroke of midnight they made their way outside. Holding hands they joined as one making a long snake like procession that silently lifted off and sailed through the night sky like the bow tail of a kite, heading through the thin veil between earth and the Other World.

Back on the ground Darkwood Hall looked lost and forlorn. No longer a place full of the hustle and bustle of the evening but a solitary, derelict, abandoned, pitiful presence with blackened, broken windows looking out with unseeing eyes on to the neglected grounds. The dilapidated roof now home to bats and foliage but still trying to stand proud against the moonlit clouds.

All was silent except for the creaking of the huge, ivy clad iron gates closing for one final time.