A Place of Honour

Sally looked at her reflection in the mirror and smiled. She had spent a long time on this costume, and it had – in her humble opinion – all paid off. She turned to and fro to admire the movement of her dress. Multiple layers of delicate white fabric almost floated in the air, ragged yet still elegant. Her blond hair fell in loose curls over her shoulders, and her pale skin was powdered to be even paler. The only bit of colour to her was in her blue eyes, which were sparkling with excitement. This was her favourite time of year. She loved the costumes, the parties, the chill of autumn in the air, the warm spiced drinks. She always tried to go all-out, and this year she had outdone herself. She had to admit, she looked stunning – almost ethereal. With a last dab at the clear gloss on her lips, she turned and hurried out of her room and headed downstairs.

It looked just as it should – the decorations were up, the lights were dimmed, and the tv was playing horror movies on a low volume. She smiled at the little black paper bats hanging from the lampshades, the flickering Jack'o'lanterns sitting on each windowsill. In the dining room the table was laid out with a spiderweb tablecloth and tealights between large silver platters that would soon carry gingerbread biscuits, shots of vodka jelly, cupcakes with spooky designs in icing, pumpkin pie, toffee apples, and a bowl of hot alcoholic apple and cinnamon punch, among other tasty delights. Right now, though, the platters were empty. Which was odd, because she was sure that when she went upstairs to dress, her housemates were getting the food ready in the kitchen. Shouldn't they have gotten it all out by now? The guests would be arriving any moment.

She wandered into the kitchen, fully expecting to see them there, standing at counters filled with food in preparation, and braced herself for a torrent of praise for her costume. But the kitchen was empty, and spotless. Odd. Maybe they'd popped out for last minute supplies? She hadn't heard them call her. Confused, she wandered into the living room and perched on the arm of the sofa. 'Hocus Pocus' was playing – they always started the movies with this one, it was a tradition by this point. She loved it. For a while she let herself relax and watch the movie. But by the time the Black Flame Candle had been lit, she was feeling anxious. People should have been arriving by now, and her flatmates were nowhere to be seen. What was going on?

Maybe they were playing a trick on her? Everyone knew how much she loved Hallowe'en, so … that was it! They were all hiding in the front garden, waiting for her to look for them. She'd open the door, looking all confused, and they'd all shout 'boo!' or 'surprise!” and she'd shriek and act surprised, and everyone would laugh, and then they'd come inside and they'd turn on the music and ring out the food and the party would begin. Of course! Smiling to herself that she'd figured it out, she went to the front door and paused to compose herself. She didn't want to spoil all their effort, so she'd do her best to act like she had no idea. She took a deep breath and put her hand on the door handle. She pushed it down and pulled on the door … but it wouldn't move.

Frowning now, she pushed down again. The door handle remained stubbornly in position, refusing to give even an inch. Was the door locked? She didn't feel the lock catching – it just wouldn't move. She peered out through the frosted glass window. Everything outside looked black – no sign of movement, not a single errant cigarette ember or lit up phone screen to suggest that anyone was out there. She couldn't even see the street lights.

Were they hiding in one of their rooms? Or the back garden, perhaps? She hadn't heard anyone come in. Not sure what else to do, she started wandering through each room in the house. The living room was as empty as she'd left it, as was the dining room and the kitchen. She flicked on the light in the bathroom – empty. She climbed the stairs and checked her housemates' rooms – all empty. The upstairs bathroom – empty. She even checked her own room – still empty.

At a loss, and starting to feel a little afraid, Sally wandered downstairs again. She could hear Bette Midler starting to sing 'I Put A Spell On You' from the living room. Ignoring it, she turned into the dining room and looked around. The platters on the table were still empty. But there was one thing she hadn't noticed before: a small side table had been placed in front of the fireplace, where they'd usually have a bunch of carved-out pumpkins sat with candles burning inside them. This year, instead, the side table had a single seat placed behind it, between it and the fireplace, so that whoever sat there would face out into the room. And on the table was a single black pillar candle, a glass of red wine, a plate with a selection of food on it, and a piece of folded white card with a name written on it in elegant black ink. Curious, she moved closer to take a look.

It was her name on the card. Bemused, she examined the looping script, the little drawings of bats and love hearts that surrounded her name. And the plate contained all the things she loved the most – there was a toffee apple oozing caramel onto the plate, a cupcake with bright green icing and a black cobweb design, a handful of popcorn that she bet was toffee flavoured (her favourite), and a little gingerbread vampire with red jelly fangs.

This was some kind of surprise. She'd never known her housemates to be so quiet and sneaky! Normally they clomped around like elephants! She smiled and listened for a moment. The house was still completely quiet, except for the movie playing quietly in the other room.

“Alright,” she called out. “I don't know what you're playing at, but I'll admit I'm impressed! This is very cute, and I'll play along, okay?” She paused – still silence. “I'm sitting down now!”

Still no answer. With a shrug, she pulled out the chair behind the little table and squeezed in, taking care not to knock the table over. She surveyed the empty room before her, feeling a little silly, and reached out without thinking to pick up the wine glass.

As her fingers touched the stem of the glass, there was a sudden sighing in her ears, like a gentle rushing wind around her, though she didn't feel it. Slowly in front of her eyes the room began to fill with shadowy figures, moving to and fro, sitting on the chairs that had been pushed to the sides of the room, standing at the dining table. The empty platters filled with featureless shapes that slowly faded into focus, revealing the party foods she had expected to see earlier – the pie, the jellies, the gingerbread biscuits, the cupcakes. Bottles of various soft drinks and alcohol materialised behind them, along with a stack of disposable cups. The figures moving around grew clearer and took on the faces of her housemates and friends, all dressed in costumes of monsters, ghouls, and cartoon characters, or just dressed up for a party. All smiling and looking happy. As the rushing sound died away, their voices faded in to take its place, and Sally was surrounded with the sound of laughter, chatting, music playing from someone's phone connected to the Bluetooth speakers on the mantelpiece behind her.

Sally sat very still, her hand still on the wine glass, her eyes wide with disbelief. How had they done this? One moment she was alone, and the next …

Then Julia, Sally's housemate and best friend, pushed into the room and headed toward her. She was dressed like a witch in a black dress and a pointy hat. Sally looked up at her and smiled, opening her mouth to ask her what was going on, how had they done this? But Julia walked straight past her, pausing at her side to press a button on the speakers and cut the music. She didn't look at Sally once. As the music stopped, the chatter faltered, and everyone turned to look as Julia turned round to address them.

“Hello everyone, and thanks for coming,” she said, raising her voice to be heard as the last bit of conversation died away. “Um. So this is a weird speech to be making, and I'm going to try not to mess it up, so bear with me.”

There were several sympathetic smiles and nods among the guests. Sally looked up at Julia, confused. “What is it, Julia?” she asked. But her voice seemed very small, and Julia didn't appear to have heard her.

“So there is one important person missing tonight,” Julia went on. “Someone who never ever missed a Hallowe'en party.” A few people laughed, but it sounded sad. “We didn't think it was right not to hold one this year – she would have been so mad at us if we hadn't – and it didn't feel right doing it without her, either. So … we thought we'd do something that my gran told me about, something they used to do back in Ireland, where my family is from.”

She gestured to the table where Sally was sitting. Sally gave a small, self-conscious smile. “On All Hallow's Eve, it is said that the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest, and the spirits of the dead can come back to visit those they love. It was a tradition for those who had lost people to set a place at the table for the ones they'd lost, so they'd feel welcome and could spend some time with them before they had to move on. So this place is for Sally. This food is for Sally. And we invite you to add something to the table for Sally to enjoy, and to talk to each other about your memories of her. And if Sally is with us tonight, I hope she enjoys the food and has a great time, just like she always did.”

There was a long, sorrowful silence. Sally looked around at everyone – their bowed heads, their solemn expressions, the drinks held forgotten in their hands – and at Julia, her clasped hands and the tears starting to sneak out from beneath her eyelashes. She opened her mouth to protest, but just then memories started to come back to her. Slowly, with a cold creeping despair, she remembered the illness … the tests … the sickness … her long hair falling away … the last couple of months in a hospital bed …

She looked down at her hand on the wine glass. It looked solid enough. But she remembered how she had looked in the mirror before she came downstairs. Ghostly. Ethereal. The best costume she had ever put together, she had thought. But she couldn't recall when she had made it, when she had bought the fabric. In fact, since the illness she couldn't remember anything at all.

Julia gave an uncomfortable laugh and clapped her hands once, breaking the silence. “Alright, that's enough of that, this is supposed to be a party!” she cried. “Happy Hallowe'en, everyone!”

Glasses were raised, and multiple voices gave the reply: “Happy Hallowe'en!” Julia turned and restarted the music, and just like that, the moment was over. A song by one of Julia's spooky goth bands came on, and the feeling of despair in Sally's chest began to fade. Now that she knew – now that it all made sense – she realised that it also felt right.

Julia moved away, then returned a few minutes later with a mug of hot apple punch. Sally inhaled the lovely smells of cinnamon and rum, and smiled as her friend set it down before her. “Thank you, Julia,” she said, though she knew she wouldn't hear her.

Julia smiled, her eyes looking at but not really seeing Sally. “Happy Hallowe'en, Sally,” she said. “We miss you.” Then she turned away, raising her hand to wipe away tears.

Sally released the wine glass and wrapped her hands around the mug. It felt warm and comforting between her palms. She didn't lift it – she felt instinctively that she wouldn't be able to – but she didn't feel the need to. She just took in the warmth and the smell, and that was enough.

More people came forward here and there, putting down a cupcake, a vodka jelly shot, an apple, a slice of cake. Sally's tiny table became cluttered with plates and bowls and cups of festive food and drink. She touched each one, savouring the smells, textures and colours, and smiled. She couldn't stop smiling. She felt so loved.

Somebody shouted, “Hey, remember that time Sally fell in Jordan Collins' parents' pool at 2am?” and a wave of laughter rocked the room. Several people who didn't know the story started insisting it be told, and the person who had shouted was eager to oblige. Sally sat back and listened, laughing along with the others, shaking her head at the things they got wrong or embellished. Normally she would have been embarrassed – it hadn't been her finest hour – but instead she was just happy to see everyone smiling.

“Happy Hallowe'en,” she whispered. She'd never missed a Hallowe'en party in her life, and she wasn't going to start now.