One Dark Hallow's Eve

It happened in October.

The worst Halloween weather in years. It was a raging storm, blowing a gale.

You couldn't stand up.

Trick or treating was out.

No way could could kids and parents have  braved that tempest.

It was shocking and after a bigger build up in the shops than last year, it put a dampener on the first All Hallows Eve of the brand new Nineteen Seventies.

Axel cursed under his Wolfman mask and cape.

Fuckin rain, bastard wind! It's fucked it right up!

He reached for another bottle of Watneys pale ale, having already downed a good four already and it had only just gone 6pm.

Shelley, or Shell as she liked to be called, was worried. The portents were there. Temper, beer, disappointment. It could very well lead to unpleasantness. Axel had used his hands often before now to make himself feel better about his shite life. His fists were known to Shell. He'd never touched their little girl, Sailor, but given enough ale and anger there was always a first time.

For fucks sake! No-ones coming. It's a waste of time! Why did I bother buying sweets for the little twats! That could have gone on the bookies! 

Axel fumed.

Another three beers, another step closer to ignition. 

Shell and Sailor, dressed for the occasion as A Witch and a devil, cowered in the TV room, staring at the bowls of monkey nuts and Quality Street for the kids that had promised to visit this far out on the edge of town, where the streetlights stopped. 

Sailor stared at the fury outside, the rain lashing the night like a prison guard. She glanced at her Dad, now drunk and stood in the open doorway cursing the darkness, cursing the deluge and cursing his shit family.

He turned, hands clenched.

I could be at the pub but no! Fuckin stay in you said, fuckin join in you said, it'll be fuckin fun with Sailor and me you said! Well it's a fuckin disaster and after a day graftin' at the scrapyard it's not what I fuckin expected! Do you hear me Shell! Do you fuckin hear me! 

The inevitable conflagration of alcohol and self-loathing exploded and a hail of the wolfman's merciless fists sent Shelley flying over the kidney table, flinging nuts, chocolates and her pointed hat in all directions.

Shell didn't move after that.

Glaring at Sailor pressed up against the corner, the drunk roared.

Pick that crap up you little cunt! Do it fuckin now!

His daughter, sensing a new and dreadful rise in her father's violence, did what she was told and putting down her plastic devil fork, placed the strewn confectionary back in the bowls.

At least someone fuckin does what I say in this piss-poor shithole of a house. 

Axel swayed and headed to the outside loo, belching as he went. The heavens crashed around him.

With any luck he'd break his neck slipping down the soaking steps or drink the Izal in the bog.

Sailor went to her Mum and kissed her head.

Oh Mum, Mum, he's got worse.

Shelley opened her puffed eyes and nodded.

I know honey pie. I know. Did he touch you?

No. But I think he will next time.

Mum and daughter sat together on the settee, comforting each other with tears and cuddles that dreadful night, Shelley's green eye-shadow mixing with the blood on her lips like a cauldron's broth. 

We've got to do something Mum. He's going to kill you at this rate!

Sailor was visibly fearful for her Mum's safety and clutched her bruised hands.

Shelley pecked her on the nose, smiled, her black-sticked lips pulped and pained. She got up for a rolly at the back door.

She stared out into the angry sky, roaring and tearing like a black bear, the trees flailing in the gusts like hungry ghosts.

It felt good on her tender face, the wild air, fresh and cold, blown in from beyond their world. From Heaven hopefully she mused.

Shell took one last drag and tip-toed down the stone steps into the wind-swept open rear. More of a long yard than a garden, it backed onto woodland owned by the Coal Board, where pines planted for Christmas stood shaking like widows eyeing the pit a half-mile away. 

Against the tumult, she carefully peered into the outdoor loo and saw wolfman slumped on the thing asleep, his cloak draped round the seat. He would be there all night with any luck, Armitage Shanked and her and Sailor might just get a glimpse of what it's like to feel safe again for a few wee hours.

Grabbing a bunch of kindling from the shed, she slowly made her way back through the howling air to the house, blew a kiss at Sailor and with a scrunched up Daily Express lit the open grate.

Damn, there's no coal. Can you get us a shovel full Sail but do it quietly and watch the weather. It's dreadful out there. 

Sure Mum.

Sailor eventually got to the coal store and gently nudged a bundle together.  The nuggets formed a dark peak on the hand shovel like an ancient pyramid. 

As the youngster stood up she heard a groan coming from the woodland edge. A sort of moan like a cow lowing in pain beneath the Christmas trees.

But there weren't any cows in the yard. 

It was sort of human noise.

A trick or treater maybe, messing with her?

The girl decided it wasn't. There was something real about it.

Sailor quickly and stealthily peeked into the privvy, but her Dad was still fast on, a slumbering beast among the spiders, thank God.

So who was it at the bottom, where the darkness thickened?

Another groan. Then another.

Sailor put the coal down, braced herself against the ferocious wind and slowly approached the sound.

Suddenly a withered hand reached out from the pitch-black shadow.

This was followed by a wild mass of thrashing grey hair straddling a face so weathered and uncanny that it made Sailor gasp.

It was joined by the rest of the body, a wiry, soil-splattered figure painfully crawling along the ground like a dying newt, it's bony fingers grasping the grey grate-ash chucked everywhere by her impatient Dad. 

It was a man before her.

A very old man. 

Naked save for drying leaves stuck to his face and various nooks of his leathery form.

Who are you?

Sailor whispered the question, obliterated by the storm, and considered just running off and yelling Mum all the way.

Something made her stay. 

She gawped at this secret being emerging from the Christmas trees. 

Are you Santa Claus. You're much too early if you are!

The old leafy man grunted and pointed to his mouth.

You're hungry! Is that it?

The figure nodded.

Sailor, being a kindly child, decided there and then, that he must be a local winter tramp down on his luck. 

Feeling sorry for him, she helped the elderly oddball gent up the yard through the tempestuous blasts towards the beckoning glow of the back window. 

As they stumbled past the outdoor loo she held her finger to her lips.

Shhhhhh!

The tramp figure mouthed the sound, as if it was his first ever encounter with the word.

Reaching the house, Sailor sat the man down at the kitchen table and went to fetch Mum. They were both drenched. 

The bare light bulb sputtered above, as if failing in the rage.

Oh my God! What the fudge Sail? Who the hell is he?

Shelley gawped at the emaciated character in front of her. He looked to be a hundred years old and was encrusted with wet earth and pine needles. His cheeks and hair seemed to have leaves and moss adhered to them, but they appeared to be actually sprouting from his flesh, as they did on other parts.

It must be a trick of the dodgy light. That's it. It our damn dumb bulb.

Shell comforted herself with this thought and heeded Sailor's efforts to put some food in front of the stranger.

Maybe it was a Halloween prank, a joke at their expense. Rent-a-ghost. 

Still, whatever it was, they fed him at least.

A pork pie, an apple, a handful of Quality Street, some bonfire toffee and a boiled egg.

He ate voraciously, devouring everything, including the eggshell. 

He downed the half-bottle of milk in noisy slurps and the white liquid ran from the mossy corners of his mouth into the foliage clinging to his chin. 

Tasty?

Tasty! he parroted. 

Then he emitted a loud burp and stared at the two females in the room before him, the bonny witch and the devil girl.

They thought they saw gratitude settling in his eyes but it may have been something else. 

Something greener.

At that moment and to the two girls' complete terror, Axel, rain-soaked and livid, lurched through the doorway, grasping the frame to steady himself. He was still wearing the Wolfman mask and cape, now dripping wet.

The stranger instinctively gripped the table.

Wolf-Axel glared with malice at the old man.

Who the fuck are you?

The loamy one twitched.

The semi-drunk husband took several unsteady steps towards his wife, pointing at the newcomer.

Who, who is that ancient old fucker?

I dunno love, we're just giving him something to eat! 

You fuckin what! It's Halloween, not fuckin' Christmas you dozy slag! That's my fuckin food you're giving him!

With uncanny aim and speed, Axel lunged and slapped Shelley hard across the face.

She winced, clutching her head and then guarded Sailor from anything that might follow.

Leave Mum alone Dad! Please!

Axel kicked Sailor squarely in the chest, knocking her and Shelley flying into the full maiden. 

Tangled up in clean clothes, they accidentally nudged the mirror, which fell off the wall and cracked, but not before they caught a glimpse of the woodland stranger's reflection, no longer the innocuous green man before them, but a smoking, seething, malevolent woodland goblin.

The girls gasped. They looked at Axel and then at the visitor, doubt fermenting in their eyes all the while.

Axel growled at them. 

Halloween Bitches!

The raging wolf then turned to face the unwelcome oddity, who had now risen and leapt up onto the table, standing fully in the remaining food.

What you looking at you fuckin maingy cunt, coming into my house, scoffin' my grub, stark bollock naked! I've seen more muscle in a pan o' piss! I'm going to fuckin kill ya!

The stranger leapt towards him.

Jumping too, Axel grabbed hold of the face of leaves, trying to rip them off, but they were stuck fast and confusingly part of the man's body. Momentarily flustered, the furious husband then hooked his fingers into the stranger's mouth and prized it wide open with all his beer-addled strength.

The strange man looked into Axel's burning eyes and then bit down hard, severing three of Axel's fingers at the knuckle from both hands. 

He began to chew.

And swallowed.

Tasty!

Axel held his devastated hands up to his face, blood spurting from the fresh stumps, spattering his werewolf mask. 

He screamed in agony, the pain unbearable.

The brutal guest grabbed hold of Axel's left hand and frenziedly sucked the open knuckles, slurping the hot grue like Blue Nun.

He smacked his lips, blood dribbling through the humus of his chin and pushed his reeling victim out of the back door and through the snicket to the front. 

Before Axel had chance to stagger into the street, the vicious woodlander found two rusting fondue forks thrown next to the bins alongside a cracked, cheese-encrusted bowl.

The sprite mercilessly rammed the forks into Axel's ears, straight through the eardrums and deep into the brain, pink cranial fluid streaming from the wounds down his cape.

Axel staggered into the street where passing monsters applauded his realistic costume. 

He fell to the ground frothing at the mouth.

The entity clicked it's tongue, swivelled, gnashed and sprinted back onto the kitchen, as the mother and daughter were just standing up. 

The thing roared before them like a possessed hedge ape, as if Hell had usurped the forest and spewed out this vile corruption. 

The creature suddenly clasped its member and pissed all over the room, hot steaming urine covering everything in a disgusting slick.

It stopped as abruptly and without any warning grabbed the two petrified onlookers and carried them off shrieking and writhing  under its long arms, out through the back door, down the yard and into the hopeless  black of the coal pit pine forest, all the while the mad storm whirling round like a demon that darkest of All Hallows Eves.

And they were gone.