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<v Speaker 1>This program is intended for mature audiences only.

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<v Speaker 2>You are now listening to Observable Radio.

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<v Speaker 3>Hi.

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<v Speaker 1>There, it's Cameron Suey. Our interim season continues with a

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<v Speaker 1>little folk core this month. This story was originally published

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<v Speaker 1>in Flapperhouse and was written around the same time as

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<v Speaker 1>The Green Tunnel. I'm sure my anxieties are on full display.

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<v Speaker 1>We're anxious to tell you more about season two, but

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<v Speaker 1>rest assured the machinery is in motion. For more updates,

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<v Speaker 1>We'd love to see you over at Patreon, where even

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<v Speaker 1>free members get access to behind the scenes information. And

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<v Speaker 1>now here's tonight's story.

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<v Speaker 3>Last Halloween, on the last morning I will have with

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<v Speaker 3>my son, I will make him pancakes with fresh blueberries

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<v Speaker 3>from the community garden mixed in the batter. When the

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<v Speaker 3>Patel's from down the street heard the news day, it

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<v Speaker 3>brought us a flask of fresh maple syrup from the

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<v Speaker 3>trees in the Western Woods, and I've chilled it over

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<v Speaker 3>night in the in the fridge. Butter from the community

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<v Speaker 3>farm sizzles and and spits on the gridors. Malcolm drags

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<v Speaker 3>his feet downstairs outside the kitchen window, perched on the

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<v Speaker 3>skeletal frame of an old oak. The crow gazes at me,

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<v Speaker 3>his head crooks to one side, and beetle shell eyes

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<v Speaker 3>flash in the October sun fixed online. I look away morning.

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<v Speaker 3>I grunt, trying to keep the desperate quiver out of

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<v Speaker 3>my voice. Thought, maybe you'd like to try some coffee

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<v Speaker 3>with breakfast. He narrows, sleepy eyes, skeptical of the offer,

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<v Speaker 3>then shrugs. Doesn't stunt my growth. I wins, but he

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<v Speaker 3>doesn't notice. I think maybe one cup is okay. I

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<v Speaker 3>set the chipped, steaming mug in front of him with

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<v Speaker 3>the first patch of pancakes. Just don't tell mum. He

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<v Speaker 3>tries to play it cool, like it's no big deal.

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<v Speaker 3>I can I can see the excitement in the corners

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<v Speaker 3>of this smile. He wraps his small hands around the mug,

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<v Speaker 3>half covering the not a rum crest, and sniffs at

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<v Speaker 3>the steam. I realized that I'm staring at him as

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<v Speaker 3>I look out of the window again, and the crow

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<v Speaker 3>catches my eye and nods and takes flight in a

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<v Speaker 3>burst of sparkling black feathers. After breakfast, Malcolm lays out

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<v Speaker 3>his goblin costume, the itemizing and accounting for each peace

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<v Speaker 3>and prop I watch from the hallway, passing by with

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<v Speaker 3>the same load of laundry again and again. I want

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<v Speaker 3>to make this day any harder than it has to be.

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<v Speaker 3>From our bedroom, Annie's tiny cries drift out alongside the

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<v Speaker 3>sound of Rose singing gentle lullabies. Rose said her goodbyes

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<v Speaker 3>to Malcolm as he slept last night. She doesn't trust

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<v Speaker 3>herself not to upset the boy, so she's planned to

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<v Speaker 3>stay with our infant daughter until he's gone. I told

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<v Speaker 3>her I would cover for her if Malcolm asked. When

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<v Speaker 3>I've run out of reasons to pass by his doorway,

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<v Speaker 3>I go to the garage. In a box above the

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<v Speaker 3>work bench, still packed from our move last January, I'll

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<v Speaker 3>find what I'm looking for, a cracked plastic bucket molded

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<v Speaker 3>in orange, like a child's drawing over Jack O'Lantern. It

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<v Speaker 3>was mine from childhood and her place far away from here.

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<v Speaker 3>I'd hoped both my children would have the chance to

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<v Speaker 3>use it. But if I sent that out with Malcolm,

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<v Speaker 3>ne I know that won't be coming back, and he

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<v Speaker 3>won't be old enough to carry it for at least

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<v Speaker 3>another year. My throat is tight again, and I clear

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<v Speaker 3>it to chase away the tears what's one more lost

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<v Speaker 3>tonight in the greater scheme of things. Malcans should take it.

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<v Speaker 3>He's always loved it. As I turn back towards the house,

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<v Speaker 3>I hear scraping on the rafters above. The fox strides

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<v Speaker 3>across the beams and sits on its haunches. I have

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<v Speaker 3>an idiot impulse to fling the pumpkin at the animal,

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<v Speaker 3>an impotent urge for violence in the muscles of my forearms. Instead,

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<v Speaker 3>I sigh and not. It looks at me from pools

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<v Speaker 3>of liquid black gray fur, rising and falling with each

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<v Speaker 3>patient breath. There is no malice in those eyes, nor

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<v Speaker 3>the others. We all know what has to happen night.

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<v Speaker 3>Rose and I signed the pact when we came to

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<v Speaker 3>this town. We accepted the risk because it seemed worth it.

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<v Speaker 3>Maybe it is still. This is a safe town, safer

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<v Speaker 3>than anywhere else on earth, and Annie will be exempt

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<v Speaker 3>in future years. The fox is gone. When I look up,

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<v Speaker 3>I'm surprised to see Rose. When I come back in

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<v Speaker 3>the house, Annie bouncing on her hip. Her eyes are

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<v Speaker 3>red and raw, but she's smiling as Malcolm shows her

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<v Speaker 3>the whole costume she sewed. The shredded burlap tunic together

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<v Speaker 3>herself last weekend, before we'd known Malcolm had been chosen.

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<v Speaker 3>He slides on each piece the mask, the long fingered

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<v Speaker 3>rubber gloves, the hooded cloak, and then poses with mock threat,

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<v Speaker 3>straining to make his voice deep as he cackles at

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<v Speaker 3>Rose and Annie daughter burbles with delight and reaches out

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<v Speaker 3>to touch his outstretched cours. Rose looks to me wordless

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<v Speaker 3>and reads the question on my furrowed brow. She nods

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<v Speaker 3>just once, and her smile strains with infinite sadness. She

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<v Speaker 3>turns and kisses Malcolm on the forehead of the grotesque mask.

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<v Speaker 3>I'll get you some makeup, honey. We'll black out your

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<v Speaker 3>eyes a bit so it matches the mask. She squeezes

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<v Speaker 3>his shoulder and I see the dark wave wash across

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<v Speaker 3>her face, eyes dipping beneath the water. Malcolm behind the mask,

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<v Speaker 3>he doesn't see it. She hurries out of the room,

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<v Speaker 3>and he's still giggling at her side. I clear my

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<v Speaker 3>throat to draw Malcolm's attention away from the slam of

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<v Speaker 3>the door. Look what I found, I say, holding the

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<v Speaker 3>pale pumpkin aloft. Oh, he says, lifting the mask up

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<v Speaker 3>just high. Enough to speak. I thought maybe I'm a

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<v Speaker 3>little too old for that. It's a kid's pumpkin, right,

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<v Speaker 3>I was gonna ask you if I could use a pillowcase.

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<v Speaker 3>I hate myself for the flood of relief. I feel

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<v Speaker 3>the pumpkin will stay. Malcolm, we'll go.

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<v Speaker 2>Yeah.

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<v Speaker 3>No, that's a good idea, buddy. You can carry more

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<v Speaker 3>in a pillow case. He grins, white, his lips splitting

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<v Speaker 3>beneath the goblin's face like a slip throat. I turn

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<v Speaker 3>away and busy myself with scouring the iron griddle in

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<v Speaker 3>the sink. The sobs feel like punches to my soul,

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<v Speaker 3>the plexus. But I choke on the sound, and he

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<v Speaker 3>doesn't notice. The sun dips, fat and orange to touch

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<v Speaker 3>the skeletal arms the trees in the western forest. It's

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<v Speaker 3>almost time. My head is swirling masses of dead leaves

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<v Speaker 3>as I sit on the porch chair, staring into the

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<v Speaker 3>solid wall of trees on the far side of the street.

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<v Speaker 3>Malcolm has to tug on my sleeve before I realize

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<v Speaker 3>he's standing next to me. Dad, he says, his voice

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<v Speaker 3>quiet and tremulous. I don't feels so good. I think

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<v Speaker 3>it was Mum's hot coco. Maybe the milk was bad.

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<v Speaker 3>I've spent his lifetime feeling a flood of anxiety whenever

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<v Speaker 3>there he tells me this. He's always been such an

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<v Speaker 3>easy child, never tells me something is wrong unless it's

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<v Speaker 3>really very wrong. But I don't feel the anxiety now.

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<v Speaker 3>Maybe I do, but it's a familiar rain drop in

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<v Speaker 3>an alien swirling storm. What burns in my chest all

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<v Speaker 3>the brighter for the contrast between the gloom's hope. Maybe

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<v Speaker 3>he doesn't have to go tonight. I put my hand

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<v Speaker 3>on his forehead, then kiss the skin to confirm. But

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<v Speaker 3>he is cool, no fever. His hands still in the

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<v Speaker 3>goblin gloves, presses up against his belly, and his face creases.

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<v Speaker 3>The raccoon eye mask of black eyes. Shadow has started

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<v Speaker 3>to run as his skin beads with sweat. Not too fast,

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<v Speaker 3>too excited at the possibilities to stay calm. But let's

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<v Speaker 3>go inside, Bud. We'll see what we can do. I

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<v Speaker 3>take him by his gloved hand and lead him too

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<v Speaker 3>the bedroom. He lays down on his back and I

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<v Speaker 3>leave him, their heart pounding as I go to the

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<v Speaker 3>medicine cabinet. This is a sign. It has to be

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<v Speaker 3>that they're telling me this okay, we can keep him,

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<v Speaker 3>this was just a test. And passing through our bedrooms,

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<v Speaker 3>I race towards the bathroom. I see Rose holding Annie close.

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<v Speaker 3>The moment I see her eyes, I know what's happened.

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<v Speaker 3>She's pleading at me not to be mad with the

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<v Speaker 3>crook and angle of her head, and I know the

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<v Speaker 3>bottle of expired antibiotics is still open on the counter,

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<v Speaker 3>a needless confirmation. My skin flushes hot, and I don't

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<v Speaker 3>trust myself to stay quiet or still. I turn away

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<v Speaker 3>from Rose, refusing to meet her pleading gaze. She's talking now,

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<v Speaker 3>but the roar of my heart in my ears blots

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<v Speaker 3>it out. I have to leave before I act, without thinking.

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<v Speaker 3>I need to clear my head. I don't know what

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<v Speaker 3>comes next. I stumbled back down the stairs, past Malcolm's

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<v Speaker 3>room into the living room, and y smell hits me first,

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<v Speaker 3>a great galloping blast of wet, green air, the smell

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<v Speaker 3>of mud and rotting leaves and tender shoots from the

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<v Speaker 3>forest floor. I've never seen the stag before, but I

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<v Speaker 3>know it instantly stands in the corner of our heart,

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<v Speaker 3>leg splayed broad and challenging, Its great head is dipped

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<v Speaker 3>low as if smelling something in the freshly shampooed carpet.

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<v Speaker 3>Beneath the shining nut brown pellet, muscles like iron cables

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<v Speaker 3>contract and release a coiled spring of implied thread. The

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<v Speaker 3>curling mass of its antlers gleam like polished oak. At

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<v Speaker 3>the edge of my perception, they seem to twist and

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<v Speaker 3>writhe in the last of the autumn sun, a mirrored, squirming,

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<v Speaker 3>rawshack blot of bone and light. It raises its head

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<v Speaker 3>to me, Oi, your black eyes, rising far above my own,

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<v Speaker 3>and snorts. The blast of wet air stings my eyes

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<v Speaker 3>and my knees. Buckle limbs cold and distant. As I

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<v Speaker 3>slide low, prostrating myself before the stag, the thunder of

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<v Speaker 3>its hoofs rattle my teeth as it steps closer, I

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<v Speaker 3>see myself reflected in the eyes, mouth open in mute horror.

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<v Speaker 3>They're not eyes, I think in some distant corner, they

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<v Speaker 3>are poored windows in a vessel, were something from from

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<v Speaker 3>far beyond looks back out. It sniffs at me, taste

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<v Speaker 3>in my primal terror. It doesn't speak, it doesn't have to.

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<v Speaker 3>I know, I'm sorry, I say my voice, just a

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<v Speaker 3>distant scratch of insects on bark from somewhere deep inside me.

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<v Speaker 3>I'm sorry. I just didn't want to let him go.

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<v Speaker 3>It cocks its head to the right, the weaving tangle

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<v Speaker 3>of antlers, creaking like the forest at night, and waits.

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<v Speaker 3>I'll do it, I say, I give my word, and

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<v Speaker 3>I will do it. For a long moment, the only

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<v Speaker 3>sound is the great bellows of its breath as it

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<v Speaker 3>looks straight through me. And it turns satisfied and walks

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<v Speaker 3>through the wall, passing through a plaster and paint as

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<v Speaker 3>if it were a waterfall. I watch from the window

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<v Speaker 3>as it strides across the road, away from the houses

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<v Speaker 3>on the eastern side of the street, into the dark

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<v Speaker 3>thicket of westernwards. I'm too tired to cry. Children are

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<v Speaker 3>just coming out of doors a parade of home made

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<v Speaker 3>ghost costumes, which is hat and bright primary color. There

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<v Speaker 3>are no parents with them, even with the youngest groups.

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<v Speaker 3>They have nothing to fear tonight or any other night

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<v Speaker 3>in this town. The pact keeps them safe. They only

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<v Speaker 3>take one each autumn, and the rest of the year

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<v Speaker 3>the children are protected. The kelper's eyes, heavy with sympathy,

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<v Speaker 3>assured us it's almost never the new family in their

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<v Speaker 3>first year. We're just got unlucky it happens. Malcolm is

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<v Speaker 3>still bent forward in discomfort, but since he vomited in

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<v Speaker 3>the bathroom, seeing his spirits have lifted. He holds the

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<v Speaker 3>pillowcase in one hand as we step out onto the porch.

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<v Speaker 3>The crisp night air, heavy with the scent of approaching

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<v Speaker 3>winter walkt off. I told him, think of all that

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<v Speaker 3>candy you'll miss out on, I said, hating myself with

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<v Speaker 3>every word. I'm doing it for Annie, I think, But

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<v Speaker 3>I know I'm doing it for me, so I don't

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<v Speaker 3>ever have to kneel before those atlas again. Rose watches

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<v Speaker 3>from a window, eyes fixed on me, not our sun.

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<v Speaker 3>Malcolm's already gone for her, and I wonder if we'll

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<v Speaker 3>ever recover from this. I meet her eyes and try

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<v Speaker 3>to say a thousand things With one small nod. Malcolm

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<v Speaker 3>adjusts the mask, obliterating my son's face forever. His black

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<v Speaker 3>eyes peer out like coins drop down or well, vanishing

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<v Speaker 3>as they go. He starts to walk down the sidewalk

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<v Speaker 3>towards the next house. No bad, I say, you should,

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<v Speaker 3>you should cross the street. He looks at me, the

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<v Speaker 3>goblin face cocking to the side with confusion. On the

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<v Speaker 3>western side of the street, there are no houses, only

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<v Speaker 3>the great wood. He's about to ask a question. When

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<v Speaker 3>I say my last words to my son, the words

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<v Speaker 3>that will haunt me till I die, the words I

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<v Speaker 3>loathe myself for saying, trust me. He looks both ways,

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<v Speaker 3>big silly instincts never lost, and crosses the street. The

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<v Speaker 3>woods sway, the hissing sound rising as a thousand branches

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<v Speaker 3>shed dead leaves to the wind. On the far side,

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<v Speaker 3>there is no sidewalk. The road just gives way to

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<v Speaker 3>a thicket wall of trees. He stands before the woods,

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<v Speaker 3>the place he's played in a hundred times since we

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<v Speaker 3>move to town, a place that holds no danger for

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<v Speaker 3>the other children. He sees them in the dark before

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<v Speaker 3>I do, thousands of them, a churning mass of silent

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<v Speaker 3>life watching him, waiting. He turns back. He turns back,

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<v Speaker 3>and I think a stag that he's too far away

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<v Speaker 3>from me to see the rising panic in his eyes.

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<v Speaker 3>I wave, try to smile. He doesn't deserve to be afraid.

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<v Speaker 3>In the end, hey swallow him a tide of fur

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<v Speaker 3>and antlers and feathers and little needle teeth. He's swept

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<v Speaker 3>along like a cork on water, carried with quiet reverence

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<v Speaker 3>into the gloom between the trees. My sun, he's gone.

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<v Speaker 3>The great hissing noise of the watchers in the wood,

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<v Speaker 3>a thousand bodies sliding in the undergrowth, drifts away from

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<v Speaker 3>the October wind. After that, they only hear the children laughing.

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<v Speaker 3>Halloween's sound effect records being played from a half dozen

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<v Speaker 3>houses in our block, sounds of joy and celebration. Why

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<v Speaker 3>shouldn't they celebrate? They're safe. I turn away and back

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<v Speaker 3>into the dark and silent house. The bowl of candy

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<v Speaker 3>sits on the floor stoop for any one who will

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<v Speaker 3>come by. No one will question our lack of festivity

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<v Speaker 3>this year. They'll know, they'll understand. Rose and I sleep

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<v Speaker 3>on opposite sides of our bed, the gulf between us,

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<v Speaker 3>silent and impatient. It comes late that night. I hear

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<v Speaker 3>the door open, and I know, with an oily dread,

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<v Speaker 3>exactly what it means. Still, I go to the front door.

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<v Speaker 3>It stands in the door frame, looking into our home,

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<v Speaker 3>still wearing the coblin costume. Behind the mask, the dark

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<v Speaker 3>pits of its eyes yawn. One of our good pillow

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<v Speaker 3>cases bulging in strange and queasy ways hands in its

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<v Speaker 3>gloved hand. Hey dad, it says a voice that is

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<v Speaker 3>so like Malcolm's, and fills me with a flash of rage. Sorry,

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<v Speaker 3>I was out late. It was a good night. I

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<v Speaker 3>can only nod, my breath catching as I try to inhale.

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<v Speaker 3>Rose emerges from our bedroom, putting a trembling hand on

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<v Speaker 3>my shoulder. I take her hand in mind and squeeze

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<v Speaker 3>so hard I can feel the bones grind. She breathed

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<v Speaker 3>deep before speaking to the thing in the doorway. Hey,

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<v Speaker 3>no sweat, honey, Why don't you hop into bed? It

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<v Speaker 3>shuffles forward across the threshold, The movements almost exactly like

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<v Speaker 3>Malcolm's gate. I resist an atavistic urge to strike for thee,

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<v Speaker 3>to force it back out of my house, but we

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<v Speaker 3>sign the fact. There's no going back now. It walks

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<v Speaker 3>straight up to me and reaches out for a hug.

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<v Speaker 3>I take it in my trembling arms. It is warm

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<v Speaker 3>like Malcolm. It smells so much like him. It hugs

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<v Speaker 3>me back a coblin mask, nuzzling into my neck, just

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<v Speaker 3>like Malcolm. We will make do for the good of

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<v Speaker 3>the town. We will endieu.

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<v Speaker 1>You have been listening to observable Radio. Tonight's episode Last

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<v Speaker 1>Halloween was performed by the Ensemble featuring Liam Gregory, written

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<v Speaker 1>by Cameron Suey, Produced by Cameron Suey, Phil Van hest

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<v Speaker 1>Perperina and Wendy Hector. Edited by Cameron Suey. Our psychology

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<v Speaker 1>consultant is Doctor Elisa Leal, art by Krinn Fletcher. Our

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<v Speaker 1>theme is The back Rooms performed by Mew. Additional music

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<v Speaker 1>from this episode provided by John Barzetti, Ana Dodger and

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<v Speaker 1>Hannah Exstrom, Luella Grenn, Luba Hillman, Tim Koulik, Sondra Martaloure

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<v Speaker 1>and Moreland Songs. Observable Radio is listener supported thanks to

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<v Speaker 1>all of our patrons and listeners, including Kathleen, John Tidd, Russ,

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<v Speaker 1>Rick Callison, Brianna Zach and jessp. Patrons fund the production

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<v Speaker 1>costs of the sho show, as well as get access

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<v Speaker 1>to behind the scenes information, extra production material, a discount

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<v Speaker 1>at the Observable Radio Company store, and an ad free

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<v Speaker 1>early release feed of this show all at Patreon dot

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<v Speaker 1>com Slash Observable Radio. Thank you for listening and stay tuned.

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<v Speaker 3>Scratch all that shit that was just widely and shit

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<v Speaker 3>not a bike