Trick-o’-Caroling!

Then suddenly a door slammed and the room blackened. “Penny, sweetheart — you’re not supposed to turn the lights off anymore,” Dulcey called out.

“I didn’t turn the lights off,” Penny said.

Bob made his way to the light switch. “The power’s gone.” He looked out the window. The entire neighborhood was black, except in the glowing orange light of children trick-or-treating, their plastic pumpkins eerily swinging in blackness.

Carol hunted out candles. Bob lit an old hurricane lamp, the light somber, flickering ghosts deflected.

“You had this all planned out!” someone accused Dulcey.

“Not me!” she laughed. And then she found her legs. “It is All Hallows’ Eve, the night the dead become the living. Expect the unexpected. All other nights the ghosts hide inside us, wandering in our imagination, where dark is light and light helpless. Only once, one night out of the whole year, are they too strong to be held in imagination, too irresistible to be dismissed. Boldly they come, boldly into the night, to grab what is theirs and celebrate. What we won’t recognize, what we can’t believe because we are too afraid, is that this one night, they own us. Ghosts are here always, their breath on our hair, their touch down our spines, watching us as we huddle in our beds. It’s not just our imagination. Tonight is Halloween. Let’s touch the ghosts. Come on. Everybody. Blow out the candles. I dare you.”

Bob turned off his hurricane lamp. Slowly, the candles snuffed away. It was blacker with the sounds of hushed, anticipating breathing. The room seemed choked.

I can feel you, Megan thought, her arms folded about her. Stella.

Suddenly a cracking, thunderous sound!

“Is that you, Bob?” Dulcey giggled.

“How did you know?” Bob asked.

“Been on too many soundstages. Not bad. I’m going to put you into the act, dear man.”

Bob shimmered his cymbals.

“I know! Everyone, hold hands,” Dulcey commanded. “Let’s have a seance! Be very quiet. Be very welcoming. Hello. Hello. Is there a spirit in the house? Is there a spirit in the house?”

“Yes,” Bob croaked.

“Who are you, spirit?”

“The spirit of the drunken sailor!”

“What do you want, spirit?”

“A cold martini, shaken, not stirred.”

Laughter roared.

Dulcey quickly stood up, lit a candle.

“We’re going trick-o’-caroling, everyone,” she said. “Light all the candles!”

“Trick a what?”

“Trick-o’-caroling — you know, like Christmas caroling.”

“But there aren’t any Halloween songs,” Helen called out.

“We can sing camp songs,” Stephanie suggested.

“Stephanie!” Dulcey grabbed the girl and kissed her cheek, hugging her tightly. “Right, then, off we go.”

“Oh, this is getting too hokey,” Regina whispered in Megan’s ear. “She can be too much. Don’t you think?”

Megan ignored Regina, walking away.

Gaily, Dulcey’s party went around the neighborhood, ringing doorbells and yelling, “Trick-o’-caroling!” As they sang, other groups joined them, until, a festive mob, they ended up on Platter’s Field, drinking apple cider and roasting hotdogs and marshmallows around a bonfire, giddy with joy. The power quietly flickered back on around four in the morning.

Excerpt from Anchored Leaves. Buy at Amazon, B&N, Kobo, iBookStore, etc.