Adrian Koul - What October Brings

What does October Bring? Thats a very good question. I know Beggars Night, at the very end of October, would bring us treats. This was one of Halloweens many aspects that make the 31st of October so special. Halloween isnt just about receiving treats. Halloween is also a chance and a possibility. A chance to thumb our collective noses at death and the great unknown, and a possibility, even if for only one evening a year, the curtain separating this world and the next might be drawn back just far enough for us to catch a glimpse of what is waiting for us on the other side. Or using Mr. Lovecrafts phraseology; we might get to meet The Lurker at the Threshold!

I mentioned treats earlier. And thats how I see this collection. I loved all those candies. B-B Bats and bite-sized Baby Ruth bars were great, but those little foil-wrapped Reese Cups were my favorites. And you, the reader are exceedingly fortunate to be holding a literary version of one of those foil-wrapped Reese Cups. On the outside though, instead of foil, you have a beautiful Daniele Serra cover to catch your eye and give you some hint of what awaits you between the covers. Of course you wont find a diabetic coma-inducing mixture of Chocolate and Peanut Butter between those covers, but I can promise you though, that you will still find two great tastes that taste great together; H. P. Lovecraft and Halloween!

Every story in this anthology has been written a current Mistress or Master of the macabre and Lovecraftian. No voice is alike nor are any voices similar. This means that each story is to be savored as an individually wrapped and uniquely flavored Halloween treat. Each one sharing only a seasoning of Mr. Lovecrafts essential Saltes.

So now that the nights are getting longer and the season of the witch draws nigh, turn down the lights and prepare yourself to enter a world of dreams, fantasies and horrors.

Enjoy!

Nuremberg

August 2018

Yes, I can tell you about it.

It was in the Leaf Falling Time, when Uncle Alazar was in the treetops. He could come close to the Earth then, out of the midnight sky. You could hear him among the upper branches in the forest, sometimes skittering like a squirrel, sometimes hovering there, his wings buzzing and fluttering like those of some enormous insect. Whose uncle was he, precisely? There were stories about that, often contradictory. Id been hearing them all my life. He was one of us, one of the Burton family, though whose brother and how many generations back, was not at all clear. He dwelt among Those of the Air. He spoke to the dark gods. He had gone to them, out into the night, and had never come back, not really, only able to return halfway like that, and was utterly transformed, beyond humanity altogether. Sometimes we Burtons heard him whispering to us. He reached into our dreams. My father had heard him, in his time, and my fathers father, and his father; though not my mother, because she was only a Burton by marriage and there was something about the true blood that went back for years and years but I digress.

Now, mind you, the village of Chorazin may be isolated, and it may be different in its customs, but its still in Pennsylvania, not on Mars, so we do have some things in common with the rest of the world. We have Halloween here, and Leaf Falling Time (old Indian name) is pretty much the same as Halloween, so we indeed have kids in costumes shuffling noisily through the leaves from house to house, collecting candy. They travel in groups only, and make all that noise to scare away Zenas, who was one of us once, so the story goes, but he too went into the darkness on such a night and became part of it whether he was still alive or not was a matter of some debate and he supposedly had long, sharp fingers like twigs, and you really didnt want to meet him.

It was on such a night, after the candy and costumes were put away. Id gone as Darth Vader that year, my brother Joram as a vampire. We sat on our porch in the dark with our parents, my brother and I he was ten, three years younger than me and two very distinguished visitors, Elder Abraham, who is our leader, and his assistant Brother Azrael. They questioned Joram and me closely, and spoke to us both in a very old-fashioned way that I knew was part of the ritual.

My father sat wordlessly, while my mother let out a little sob.

This was a serious business. People who went out into the dark sometimes did not come back.

Joram, said the elder. Tell me in truth, hast thou heard thine uncles voice clearly and comprehended his words? Wilt thou act as his messenger?

Yes, I will, my brother said.

The Elder turned to me. And thou?

Yeah. Me too.

He reached out, and took both of us by the hand, and joined our hands together, and he said, Then you have to go. Go now.

I knew the rest, and we didnt have to rehearse it. The signs had manifested themselves. The stars had turned in their courses, as if tumblers had fallen into place in a lock, and gateways in the sky were open, and Uncle Alazar could come racing back out of the dark depths to speak to us on this night.

It was a very special time. To our people, though not to other Pennsylvanians, I am sure, a holy time.

My father spoke only briefly, to me, Thomas, take care of your brother.

I will, Dad.

So, hand-in-hand, my brother and I went. You could conjure up an almost bucolic scene, despite the spooky undertones, two boys holding hands for comfort, or so they wouldnt lose one another, two brothers making their way (noisily at first, kicking up leaves, then less noisily) into the wooded hills beyond the town, to fulfil some ancient rite, like a confirmation or a walkabout, some passage into manhood perhaps.

So we followed the unpaved road for a little bit, then cut across the fields, into the woods, beneath the brilliant stars, and what, I ask you, is wrong with this picture?

There are things Ive left out.

The first is that I hated my brother intensely. I didnt show it, but Id nursed my hatred in secret almost since when he was born. I didnt even know why at first. He was smarter than me, cleverer. My parents liked him best. When we were very young, he broke my toys because he could. He did better in school. (Ours was perhaps the last one-room school in the country, so I saw when he won all the prizes. That meant Id lost them.) But more than that,