Speaker 1: This program is intended for mature audiences only.
Speaker 2: You are now listening to Observable Radio.
Speaker 3: Hi.
Speaker 1: There, it's Cameron Suey. Our interim season continues with a
Speaker 1: little folk core this month. This story was originally published
Speaker 1: in Flapperhouse and was written around the same time as
Speaker 1: The Green Tunnel. I'm sure my anxieties are on full display.
Speaker 1: We're anxious to tell you more about season two, but
Speaker 1: rest assured the machinery is in motion. For more updates,
Speaker 1: We'd love to see you over at Patreon, where even
Speaker 1: free members get access to behind the scenes information. And
Speaker 1: now here's tonight's story.
Speaker 3: Last Halloween, on the last morning I will have with
Speaker 3: my son, I will make him pancakes with fresh blueberries
Speaker 3: from the community garden mixed in the batter. When the
Speaker 3: Patel's from down the street heard the news day, it
Speaker 3: brought us a flask of fresh maple syrup from the
Speaker 3: trees in the Western Woods, and I've chilled it over
Speaker 3: night in the in the fridge. Butter from the community
Speaker 3: farm sizzles and and spits on the gridors. Malcolm drags
Speaker 3: his feet downstairs outside the kitchen window, perched on the
Speaker 3: skeletal frame of an old oak. The crow gazes at me,
Speaker 3: his head crooks to one side, and beetle shell eyes
Speaker 3: flash in the October sun fixed online. I look away morning.
Speaker 3: I grunt, trying to keep the desperate quiver out of
Speaker 3: my voice. Thought, maybe you'd like to try some coffee
Speaker 3: with breakfast. He narrows, sleepy eyes, skeptical of the offer,
Speaker 3: then shrugs. Doesn't stunt my growth. I wins, but he
Speaker 3: doesn't notice. I think maybe one cup is okay. I
Speaker 3: set the chipped, steaming mug in front of him with
Speaker 3: the first patch of pancakes. Just don't tell mum. He
Speaker 3: tries to play it cool, like it's no big deal.
Speaker 3: I can I can see the excitement in the corners
Speaker 3: of this smile. He wraps his small hands around the mug,
Speaker 3: half covering the not a rum crest, and sniffs at
Speaker 3: the steam. I realized that I'm staring at him as
Speaker 3: I look out of the window again, and the crow
Speaker 3: catches my eye and nods and takes flight in a
Speaker 3: burst of sparkling black feathers. After breakfast, Malcolm lays out
Speaker 3: his goblin costume, the itemizing and accounting for each peace
Speaker 3: and prop I watch from the hallway, passing by with
Speaker 3: the same load of laundry again and again. I want
Speaker 3: to make this day any harder than it has to be.
Speaker 3: From our bedroom, Annie's tiny cries drift out alongside the
Speaker 3: sound of Rose singing gentle lullabies. Rose said her goodbyes
Speaker 3: to Malcolm as he slept last night. She doesn't trust
Speaker 3: herself not to upset the boy, so she's planned to
Speaker 3: stay with our infant daughter until he's gone. I told
Speaker 3: her I would cover for her if Malcolm asked. When
Speaker 3: I've run out of reasons to pass by his doorway,
Speaker 3: I go to the garage. In a box above the
Speaker 3: work bench, still packed from our move last January, I'll
Speaker 3: find what I'm looking for, a cracked plastic bucket molded
Speaker 3: in orange, like a child's drawing over Jack O'Lantern. It
Speaker 3: was mine from childhood and her place far away from here.
Speaker 3: I'd hoped both my children would have the chance to
Speaker 3: use it. But if I sent that out with Malcolm,
Speaker 3: ne I know that won't be coming back, and he
Speaker 3: won't be old enough to carry it for at least
Speaker 3: another year. My throat is tight again, and I clear
Speaker 3: it to chase away the tears what's one more lost
Speaker 3: tonight in the greater scheme of things. Malcans should take it.
Speaker 3: He's always loved it. As I turn back towards the house,
Speaker 3: I hear scraping on the rafters above. The fox strides
Speaker 3: across the beams and sits on its haunches. I have
Speaker 3: an idiot impulse to fling the pumpkin at the animal,
Speaker 3: an impotent urge for violence in the muscles of my forearms. Instead,
Speaker 3: I sigh and not. It looks at me from pools
Speaker 3: of liquid black gray fur, rising and falling with each
Speaker 3: patient breath. There is no malice in those eyes, nor
Speaker 3: the others. We all know what has to happen night.
Speaker 3: Rose and I signed the pact when we came to
Speaker 3: this town. We accepted the risk because it seemed worth it.
Speaker 3: Maybe it is still. This is a safe town, safer
Speaker 3: than anywhere else on earth, and Annie will be exempt
Speaker 3: in future years. The fox is gone. When I look up,
Speaker 3: I'm surprised to see Rose. When I come back in
Speaker 3: the house, Annie bouncing on her hip. Her eyes are
Speaker 3: red and raw, but she's smiling as Malcolm shows her
Speaker 3: the whole costume she sewed. The shredded burlap tunic together
Speaker 3: herself last weekend, before we'd known Malcolm had been chosen.
Speaker 3: He slides on each piece the mask, the long fingered
Speaker 3: rubber gloves, the hooded cloak, and then poses with mock threat,
Speaker 3: straining to make his voice deep as he cackles at
Speaker 3: Rose and Annie daughter burbles with delight and reaches out
Speaker 3: to touch his outstretched cours. Rose looks to me wordless
Speaker 3: and reads the question on my furrowed brow. She nods
Speaker 3: just once, and her smile strains with infinite sadness. She
Speaker 3: turns and kisses Malcolm on the forehead of the grotesque mask.
Speaker 3: I'll get you some makeup, honey. We'll black out your
Speaker 3: eyes a bit so it matches the mask. She squeezes
Speaker 3: his shoulder and I see the dark wave wash across
Speaker 3: her face, eyes dipping beneath the water. Malcolm behind the mask,
Speaker 3: he doesn't see it. She hurries out of the room,
Speaker 3: and he's still giggling at her side. I clear my
Speaker 3: throat to draw Malcolm's attention away from the slam of
Speaker 3: the door. Look what I found, I say, holding the
Speaker 3: pale pumpkin aloft. Oh, he says, lifting the mask up
Speaker 3: just high. Enough to speak. I thought maybe I'm a
Speaker 3: little too old for that. It's a kid's pumpkin, right,
Speaker 3: I was gonna ask you if I could use a pillowcase.
Speaker 3: I hate myself for the flood of relief. I feel
Speaker 3: the pumpkin will stay. Malcolm, we'll go.
Speaker 2: Yeah.
Speaker 3: No, that's a good idea, buddy. You can carry more
Speaker 3: in a pillow case. He grins, white, his lips splitting
Speaker 3: beneath the goblin's face like a slip throat. I turn
Speaker 3: away and busy myself with scouring the iron griddle in
Speaker 3: the sink. The sobs feel like punches to my soul,
Speaker 3: the plexus. But I choke on the sound, and he
Speaker 3: doesn't notice. The sun dips, fat and orange to touch
Speaker 3: the skeletal arms the trees in the western forest. It's
Speaker 3: almost time. My head is swirling masses of dead leaves
Speaker 3: as I sit on the porch chair, staring into the
Speaker 3: solid wall of trees on the far side of the street.
Speaker 3: Malcolm has to tug on my sleeve before I realize
Speaker 3: he's standing next to me. Dad, he says, his voice
Speaker 3: quiet and tremulous. I don't feels so good. I think
Speaker 3: it was Mum's hot coco. Maybe the milk was bad.
Speaker 3: I've spent his lifetime feeling a flood of anxiety whenever
Speaker 3: there he tells me this. He's always been such an
Speaker 3: easy child, never tells me something is wrong unless it's
Speaker 3: really very wrong. But I don't feel the anxiety now.
Speaker 3: Maybe I do, but it's a familiar rain drop in
Speaker 3: an alien swirling storm. What burns in my chest all
Speaker 3: the brighter for the contrast between the gloom's hope. Maybe
Speaker 3: he doesn't have to go tonight. I put my hand
Speaker 3: on his forehead, then kiss the skin to confirm. But
Speaker 3: he is cool, no fever. His hands still in the
Speaker 3: goblin gloves, presses up against his belly, and his face creases.
Speaker 3: The raccoon eye mask of black eyes. Shadow has started
Speaker 3: to run as his skin beads with sweat. Not too fast,
Speaker 3: too excited at the possibilities to stay calm. But let's
Speaker 3: go inside, Bud. We'll see what we can do. I
Speaker 3: take him by his gloved hand and lead him too
Speaker 3: the bedroom. He lays down on his back and I
Speaker 3: leave him, their heart pounding as I go to the
Speaker 3: medicine cabinet. This is a sign. It has to be
Speaker 3: that they're telling me this okay, we can keep him,
Speaker 3: this was just a test. And passing through our bedrooms,
Speaker 3: I race towards the bathroom. I see Rose holding Annie close.
Speaker 3: The moment I see her eyes, I know what's happened.
Speaker 3: She's pleading at me not to be mad with the
Speaker 3: crook and angle of her head, and I know the
Speaker 3: bottle of expired antibiotics is still open on the counter,
Speaker 3: a needless confirmation. My skin flushes hot, and I don't
Speaker 3: trust myself to stay quiet or still. I turn away
Speaker 3: from Rose, refusing to meet her pleading gaze. She's talking now,
Speaker 3: but the roar of my heart in my ears blots
Speaker 3: it out. I have to leave before I act, without thinking.
Speaker 3: I need to clear my head. I don't know what
Speaker 3: comes next. I stumbled back down the stairs, past Malcolm's
Speaker 3: room into the living room, and y smell hits me first,
Speaker 3: a great galloping blast of wet, green air, the smell
Speaker 3: of mud and rotting leaves and tender shoots from the
Speaker 3: forest floor. I've never seen the stag before, but I
Speaker 3: know it instantly stands in the corner of our heart,
Speaker 3: leg splayed broad and challenging, Its great head is dipped
Speaker 3: low as if smelling something in the freshly shampooed carpet.
Speaker 3: Beneath the shining nut brown pellet, muscles like iron cables
Speaker 3: contract and release a coiled spring of implied thread. The
Speaker 3: curling mass of its antlers gleam like polished oak. At
Speaker 3: the edge of my perception, they seem to twist and
Speaker 3: writhe in the last of the autumn sun, a mirrored, squirming,
Speaker 3: rawshack blot of bone and light. It raises its head
Speaker 3: to me, Oi, your black eyes, rising far above my own,
Speaker 3: and snorts. The blast of wet air stings my eyes
Speaker 3: and my knees. Buckle limbs cold and distant. As I
Speaker 3: slide low, prostrating myself before the stag, the thunder of
Speaker 3: its hoofs rattle my teeth as it steps closer, I
Speaker 3: see myself reflected in the eyes, mouth open in mute horror.
Speaker 3: They're not eyes, I think in some distant corner, they
Speaker 3: are poored windows in a vessel, were something from from
Speaker 3: far beyond looks back out. It sniffs at me, taste
Speaker 3: in my primal terror. It doesn't speak, it doesn't have to.
Speaker 3: I know, I'm sorry, I say my voice, just a
Speaker 3: distant scratch of insects on bark from somewhere deep inside me.
Speaker 3: I'm sorry. I just didn't want to let him go.
Speaker 3: It cocks its head to the right, the weaving tangle
Speaker 3: of antlers, creaking like the forest at night, and waits.
Speaker 3: I'll do it, I say, I give my word, and
Speaker 3: I will do it. For a long moment, the only
Speaker 3: sound is the great bellows of its breath as it
Speaker 3: looks straight through me. And it turns satisfied and walks
Speaker 3: through the wall, passing through a plaster and paint as
Speaker 3: if it were a waterfall. I watch from the window
Speaker 3: as it strides across the road, away from the houses
Speaker 3: on the eastern side of the street, into the dark
Speaker 3: thicket of westernwards. I'm too tired to cry. Children are
Speaker 3: just coming out of doors a parade of home made
Speaker 3: ghost costumes, which is hat and bright primary color. There
Speaker 3: are no parents with them, even with the youngest groups.
Speaker 3: They have nothing to fear tonight or any other night
Speaker 3: in this town. The pact keeps them safe. They only
Speaker 3: take one each autumn, and the rest of the year
Speaker 3: the children are protected. The kelper's eyes, heavy with sympathy,
Speaker 3: assured us it's almost never the new family in their
Speaker 3: first year. We're just got unlucky it happens. Malcolm is
Speaker 3: still bent forward in discomfort, but since he vomited in
Speaker 3: the bathroom, seeing his spirits have lifted. He holds the
Speaker 3: pillowcase in one hand as we step out onto the porch.
Speaker 3: The crisp night air, heavy with the scent of approaching
Speaker 3: winter walkt off. I told him, think of all that
Speaker 3: candy you'll miss out on, I said, hating myself with
Speaker 3: every word. I'm doing it for Annie, I think, But
Speaker 3: I know I'm doing it for me, so I don't
Speaker 3: ever have to kneel before those atlas again. Rose watches
Speaker 3: from a window, eyes fixed on me, not our sun.
Speaker 3: Malcolm's already gone for her, and I wonder if we'll
Speaker 3: ever recover from this. I meet her eyes and try
Speaker 3: to say a thousand things With one small nod. Malcolm
Speaker 3: adjusts the mask, obliterating my son's face forever. His black
Speaker 3: eyes peer out like coins drop down or well, vanishing
Speaker 3: as they go. He starts to walk down the sidewalk
Speaker 3: towards the next house. No bad, I say, you should,
Speaker 3: you should cross the street. He looks at me, the
Speaker 3: goblin face cocking to the side with confusion. On the
Speaker 3: western side of the street, there are no houses, only
Speaker 3: the great wood. He's about to ask a question. When
Speaker 3: I say my last words to my son, the words
Speaker 3: that will haunt me till I die, the words I
Speaker 3: loathe myself for saying, trust me. He looks both ways,
Speaker 3: big silly instincts never lost, and crosses the street. The
Speaker 3: woods sway, the hissing sound rising as a thousand branches
Speaker 3: shed dead leaves to the wind. On the far side,
Speaker 3: there is no sidewalk. The road just gives way to
Speaker 3: a thicket wall of trees. He stands before the woods,
Speaker 3: the place he's played in a hundred times since we
Speaker 3: move to town, a place that holds no danger for
Speaker 3: the other children. He sees them in the dark before
Speaker 3: I do, thousands of them, a churning mass of silent
Speaker 3: life watching him, waiting. He turns back. He turns back,
Speaker 3: and I think a stag that he's too far away
Speaker 3: from me to see the rising panic in his eyes.
Speaker 3: I wave, try to smile. He doesn't deserve to be afraid.
Speaker 3: In the end, hey swallow him a tide of fur
Speaker 3: and antlers and feathers and little needle teeth. He's swept
Speaker 3: along like a cork on water, carried with quiet reverence
Speaker 3: into the gloom between the trees. My sun, he's gone.
Speaker 3: The great hissing noise of the watchers in the wood,
Speaker 3: a thousand bodies sliding in the undergrowth, drifts away from
Speaker 3: the October wind. After that, they only hear the children laughing.
Speaker 3: Halloween's sound effect records being played from a half dozen
Speaker 3: houses in our block, sounds of joy and celebration. Why
Speaker 3: shouldn't they celebrate? They're safe. I turn away and back
Speaker 3: into the dark and silent house. The bowl of candy
Speaker 3: sits on the floor stoop for any one who will
Speaker 3: come by. No one will question our lack of festivity
Speaker 3: this year. They'll know, they'll understand. Rose and I sleep
Speaker 3: on opposite sides of our bed, the gulf between us,
Speaker 3: silent and impatient. It comes late that night. I hear
Speaker 3: the door open, and I know, with an oily dread,
Speaker 3: exactly what it means. Still, I go to the front door.
Speaker 3: It stands in the door frame, looking into our home,
Speaker 3: still wearing the coblin costume. Behind the mask, the dark
Speaker 3: pits of its eyes yawn. One of our good pillow
Speaker 3: cases bulging in strange and queasy ways hands in its
Speaker 3: gloved hand. Hey dad, it says a voice that is
Speaker 3: so like Malcolm's, and fills me with a flash of rage. Sorry,
Speaker 3: I was out late. It was a good night. I
Speaker 3: can only nod, my breath catching as I try to inhale.
Speaker 3: Rose emerges from our bedroom, putting a trembling hand on
Speaker 3: my shoulder. I take her hand in mind and squeeze
Speaker 3: so hard I can feel the bones grind. She breathed
Speaker 3: deep before speaking to the thing in the doorway. Hey,
Speaker 3: no sweat, honey, Why don't you hop into bed? It
Speaker 3: shuffles forward across the threshold, The movements almost exactly like
Speaker 3: Malcolm's gate. I resist an atavistic urge to strike for thee,
Speaker 3: to force it back out of my house, but we
Speaker 3: sign the fact. There's no going back now. It walks
Speaker 3: straight up to me and reaches out for a hug.
Speaker 3: I take it in my trembling arms. It is warm
Speaker 3: like Malcolm. It smells so much like him. It hugs
Speaker 3: me back a coblin mask, nuzzling into my neck, just
Speaker 3: like Malcolm. We will make do for the good of
Speaker 3: the town. We will endieu.
Speaker 1: You have been listening to observable Radio. Tonight's episode Last
Speaker 1: Halloween was performed by the Ensemble featuring Liam Gregory, written
Speaker 1: by Cameron Suey, Produced by Cameron Suey, Phil Van hest
Speaker 1: Perperina and Wendy Hector. Edited by Cameron Suey. Our psychology
Speaker 1: consultant is Doctor Elisa Leal, art by Krinn Fletcher. Our
Speaker 1: theme is The back Rooms performed by Mew. Additional music
Speaker 1: from this episode provided by John Barzetti, Ana Dodger and
Speaker 1: Hannah Exstrom, Luella Grenn, Luba Hillman, Tim Koulik, Sondra Martaloure
Speaker 1: and Moreland Songs. Observable Radio is listener supported thanks to
Speaker 1: all of our patrons and listeners, including Kathleen, John Tidd, Russ,
Speaker 1: Rick Callison, Brianna Zach and jessp. Patrons fund the production
Speaker 1: costs of the sho show, as well as get access
Speaker 1: to behind the scenes information, extra production material, a discount
Speaker 1: at the Observable Radio Company store, and an ad free
Speaker 1: early release feed of this show all at Patreon dot
Speaker 1: com Slash Observable Radio. Thank you for listening and stay tuned.
Speaker 3: Scratch all that shit that was just widely and shit
Speaker 3: not a bike