The Spirits of the Season Part 3

The Spectre whipped Laney back through the darkness and and then they were on Laney’s front porch again. This time she didn’t even try the door knob. She could see an elderly couple standing in the shadows of the porch and as the clock inside the house struck eleven, the Spectre of Spring suddenly left her and the elderly couple, white hair glowing in the porch light, came forward together. They looked disturbingly like illustrations of Santa and Mrs. Claus from a child’s picture book.

They were smiling and friendly looking though, and as they stood on either side of her and took her arms, they said,  “We are the Wraiths of Winter, and we will guide you to see what we see in winter.”

The feet of the three of them crunched in the snow, but Laney didn’t feel terribly cold. She did feel the falling snowflakes, though, delicately tickling her face as they brushed by her. This was one part of winter that she did like. Actually, she rather liked winter, although not nearly so much as she liked autumn – and she wasn’t about to admit it right now; these Seasonal Spirits were pressuring her, and she really disliked coercion.

“The snow covers up all sorts of harshness and makes the world beautiful and peaceful,” came the voice of the elderly woman on her right.

“And as the Spectre of Spring told you, it is moisture for the earth,” added the man on her left.

A group of children ran into the yard, the adults behind them pulling an evergreen tree though the snow and laughing.

“Holidays – festivities. Joyful times!” said the woman.

“People competing to over spend, greed, consumerism, budgets ruined, family fights…” Laney began. “Your least favorite uncle always drinks too much and gets into an argument about politics; your aunt who thinks she’s 30 years younger than she really is flirts with everyone’s dates; the kids eat too much junk food and at least one of them throws up on someone; they break each other’s new toys and cry; someone leaves in a huff  and swears never to speak to anyone else again; someone who takes the time to bake or sew for everyone’s gifts is hurt because they don’t know the time and love it took to make them and the people who get them are annoyed because they spent so much on the gift for the person who only baked or sewed gifts…shall I go on?”

“Those things are a matter of choice, not necessity. One can have the beauty of the season, and the festivity, without all of the other. Look!” and the man swept his hand out. Laney could see into the house now, and the tree was up. Lights twinkled out into the darkness. Children were making paper chains and stringing popcorn. The littlest child was covered in glitter and was grinning gleefully as she hung something covered with almost as much glitter as herself on the tree. The family sang carols and ate more of the popcorn as they decorated. Candles shone on the table and the air was scented with evergreen. The only fight that broke out was a popcorn fight which was resolved with giggles and squeals.

“These parents are teaching their children to give and give joyfully. See the packages by the door?” the woman pointed to some brightly wrapped gifts. “They will go to children who have little. All of the children in this family helped with the choosing.”

Laney nodded, acknowledging the choices this family made. “And the family they give to, can that family afford to heat their house in the winter? Or do they have to choose between heating and food?”

The couple frowned, and said, “This is not a fault of winter’s – like the commercialism of the holidays, it is a choice of those in this world. And it is a problem that only those who live in this world can fix.”

They stepped back out into the winter night, and in another step were somewhere and somewhen else. Now the sun was shining in a cold and bitter sort of way, and the wind was sweeping the snow from the streets.

“Yep. This is winter.” Laney winced as someone slipped on the ice and fell hard on the sidewalk. The wind grabbed the papers in the person’s hand and flung them down the street.

“Yes, and what does it make you want to do?” asked the woman.

“Stay inside, of course, and not stick my nose out unless I have to.”

“People, and all things, really, can do with some resting time. It doesn’t hurt to take thing a bit easier now and then. Books will get read, plans for spring made, stories will be told around warm fires, and while people will go out and do things, they will come inside to get warm and relax once more.” The couple on either side of her beamed with pleasure.

“Fine, I agree, winter has its good things, just like summer and spring. I never said it didn’t. Now can I go home?”

The Santa and Mrs. Claus clones sighed and shook their heads. “Of course. It’s time anyway.” The Wraiths of Winter guided her back to the darkness and home again.

When they stepped onto the porch, Laney pulled loose from the Wraiths of Winter and ran to stand in front of her door. When she turned around again, she found that she was facing all three sets of the Seasonal Spirits.

The Ghost of Summer cleared his throat. “Well, what do you think now? Don’t you think we all have as much to offer as autumn does?”

“Aren’t we as good as autumn after all?” the Spectre of Spring added.

“You don’t really wish it were autumn all the time, do you dear?” the Wraiths of Winter asked her wistfully.

“Because we really can’t be having that, you know…” All of the Spirits stepped forward in a way that was subtlety threatening.

Laney stepped back, pressing against the door and reaching behind her to try the doorknob once again. Her body was on the other side of that door…as she reached, the clock inside struck midnight. Laney smiled. It was officially Halloween. A wind swooped across the yard, and fallen leaves began swirling. Something was happening.

The leaves swirled faster and tighter and the seasonal spirits looked at one another uneasily. Then the leaves came together with a sound like a clap of thunder, and standing there was a woman – a motherly woman, but not a matronly one. The woman was bounty, and harvest, and the gathering in and feeding of all things. She smiled warmly at Laney as she stepped up on the porch. The other Seasonal Spirits edged to one side nervously.

“I am the Spirit of  Autumn, my dear, and I appreciate your love of me. I do not know why these others take offense at this, for I know that you know we all have our appropriate times and places…This visit by the Seasonal Spirit was unwarranted.” Her voice hardened as she turned to them. The smile she had for the other Spirits was a bit stiffer and didn’t quite reach her eyes. “This is my time and my place and I will thank you to be GONE!”

The others started to edge backwards and fade slightly, but their retreat wasn’t fast enough to please the Spirit of Autumn. She turned towards the house. “Jack! Come to me! Bring your friends and come!”

The front door swung open of its own accord and from the house came the sound of shuffling steps. First through the door was the bedsheet ghost, wafting along a foot above the ground. Then came three Jack-o-lanterns, rolling through the door, their grins lit up from within. Finally, the scarecrow stepped through the door, the last Jack-o-lantern now placed as a head on top of his body. The Spirit of Autumn gestured to the Seasonal Spirits and the symbols of autumn started towards them.  The Seasonal Spirits turned as one and ran, fading away rapidly as they did. The Spirit of Autumn burst into laughter, and after a moment, so did Laney.

The Spirit of Autumn looked at Jack, the pumpkins and the ghost and told them, “Go and set yourselves up where you need to,” and they all arranged themselves decoratively on the porch and in the yard. Then she turned to Laney and said, ” Let’s get you put back together again too, my dear!”

Laney looked at the Spirit of Autumn and replied, ” Thanks – I would appreciate that.” Then she added, “I guess you have an hour, since the others did. Would you like to come in for some tea and pumpkin cookies?”

“Delighted!” came the answer. And that was what they did.

-She Wolf © 2008

Haunted Tree

I was out snapping images of these very old sycamore trees near my home and well………..

L. Gloyd (c) 2008

The E-Mail Soul Eater

 

Yesterday me and my best friend Amihan were shopping at the Mall for hats ( I love those old lady styled hats with fruit and birds on the brim…the one I was wearing that day had little cats dancing around the edges ) when she asked me if I had heard the story about the E-Mail Soul eater and I was very sorry to have to say I had not heard that one.

” Well,” Amihan ” tells me- “the E-Mail Soul Eater is this demon who sits in this Library and sends out this picture and if you don’t pass her picture around she’ll come out of your computer and kill you.”

” Yeah but why…”

” She doesn’t have a Soul, so she eats them to stay alive.”

” Oh she does, does she?”

Amihan opens up her purse and takes out a couple of pieces of paper and I see that one is a copy of the e-mail and the other is the picture and I say to her:

” You have got to be kidding me.”

” No, it’s true. I mean I think it is.”

“Listen Amihan- Demons are old world. They do things the old fashioned way, that’s in their nature -they are hands on and in your face. Please Amihan, e-mails?”

” What the Hell kind of stupid story is that? ” I ask and then I took the picture from Amihan and folded it up in a neat little square and I put it in my back pocket.

 ” I know, I know, I took the e-mail and the picture and if I don’t pass it along the E-Mail Soul Eater will come and get me. Well I hope she does. ”

Amihan is near tears and she says, ” Why did you do that? “

” Hey Amihan, don’t worry about it. “

Amihan does look worried so I shrug and say as I pull my hat down over the little horns on my forehead ” Don’t worry about her, Soul Eater, Soul Thief, whatever- all I know is I don’t need the competition.”

:::to read about the real “E-Mail Soul Eater” go HERE:::

Brother Wolf Part Two (final)

In a few moments the whole camp was awake, and a chain had formed to the well, with buckets of water being passed from hand to hand. But though they worked feverishly, they could not put out the fire. The caravan stood on its charred iron wheels, a blackened ruin from which came the pervasive odor of burning flesh.

Rolfe’s remains were wrapped in cloth and taken to the sea, as was the custom with the circus folk. The girl whose charred form still lay in his arms was given to her grieving family.

That night the she wolf howled again, but this time she pushed her single cub into the world, aided by Mama Mattea and by Morwenna, whose eyes were almost as red as the she wolf from crying.

“He is sickly,” Mama Mattea said.

“I will stay with them,” Morwenna said listlessly. She lay down in the clean straw and placed her arm around the she wolf. Together they watched over the cub until finally it fastened its small jaws upon its mother’s teat.

The sun was rising over the city walls when Morwenna woke. She found the cub had crawled in under her arm, so that it slept between her and Sheba.

“Hello, Brother Wolf,” she whispered.

The cub opened his eyes and gazed at her. His eyes were topaz. Morwenna reached out to stroke his mother, but her fingers found only stiffened fur and flesh.

This second tragedy left the city folk wondering if they would ever see the circus again. But the year rolled round, and once more they heard the sound of flute and drum approaching the gate.

A new couple rode the white horses, tall and fair with sea green eyes – acrobats from Atlantis, who had gained fame in the bullrings.

This pair dazzled the crowd, so much that they barely noticed Morwenna enter the gate. She was not alone. Beside her strode the she wolf’s cub, now almost full grown, a black and rangy beast with blood in his eyes. But there was no iron cage, no she wolf, to follow.

Though there was great excitement over the couple from Atlantis, and many more new acts to marvel at, it was the act with Morwenna and the black wolf that people were really curious to see.

The pair were introduced as Brother Wolf and Morwenna, and they strode into the ring with all that old inbred pride that the city folk remembered from years past when Morwenna had performed with her twin.

But this act was very different. Morwenna, resplendent in a blood red cloak and gown, directed the wolf to prove their psychic abilities and seek, in the audience, the person she was thinking of. Amazingly, the wolf never failed, and Morwenna proved to have uncanny knowledge of the secrets hidden in every heart.

“Find me the woman who prayed for a child, made an offer to the Gods and now quickens with new life,” she commanded the wolf.

The audience was hushed as the great beast roamed between the seats and stopped by a woman, laying a paw on her lap.

The woman gasped, and her hand flew to her throat.

“Why it’s true!” She exclaimed. `I just found out this morning I am with child – and I told no one!”

“Clearly the Gods were pleased with your offering,” Morwenna smiled. “But your cat misses her kittens.”

The woman blushed red. “The offering has to be new born,” she mumbled.

“Those lives will be replaced,” Morwenna said, “for you also shall bear a litter of five.”

The woman cried out in alarm and the rest of the audience laughed. Brother Wolf bared his teeth at the woman and strolled back to the circus ring.

“Now find me the man who loves a good woman but is too shy to speak his love aloud,” Morwenna said. “Then find me the woman he loves.”

The wolf sought amongst the people and found the baker’s assistant young and tongue tied, twisting his cap in his hands. When the wolf moved on and placed his paw in the lap of the baker’s daughter, the crowd erupted into laughter and cheers. Blushing furiously, the young lovers avoided each other’s eyes, but both smiled and patted the wolf.

The act was tremendous success – no one wanted them to leave the ring, but finally Morwenna gave her last command.

“Find me the one who keeps a dark secret from his fellows,” she said.

The crowd shifted uneasily. Brother Wolf’s eyes blazed darkly golden as he sought through them. There seemed no light hearted fun behind his purpose now, as he gazed long and deep into the eyes of every man there.

In the high seats, deep in the shadows, a man sat watching warily as the wolf approached. When the golden eyes blazed into his, he looked away. But the wolf did not lay a paw upon him – he bounded away, back to the ring to stand beside Morwenna, whose laughter rang out.

“My Brother Wolf tells me there is not a man here who can meet his eyes,” she cried.

The crowd once more erupted with laughter and applause.

Mamma Mattea was waiting for them as they passed through the curtains that shrouded the performers from the audience. The old woman kissed Morwenna and caressed the wolf’s head.

“Did you mark him?” she asked.

“He was here,” Morwenna murmured.

Morwenna no longer shared Mamma Mattea’s caravan. The circus folk had built her one of her own, a strange looking wagon with two doors set into the side. One door led to her own quarters, which were very simple, consisting of a bed and a chest for her clothing. The other door led into a large straw filled room where Brother Wolf slept.

But all three ate together from the communal cauldron of stew, and joined in the talk and singing around d the campfire until the stars rode high and one by one, the circus folk drifted off to bed.

Only Morwenna did not sleep. Her eyes staring into the darkness as she crouched beside Brother Wolf in the straw. When she saw his ears flatten and his teeth bared in a growl, she crept to the door that she had left slightly ajar and peered through the crack. She saw a dark fire moving across the square, pausing only to grab a burning log from the campfire.

“He comes,” she whispered.

Brother Wolf moved to the door. As the dark figure, still clasping the burning log, came toward the caravan, Morwenna violently flung the door open and Brother Wolf leapt out.

The man screamed in fear as he was borne to the ground, pinned beneath the paws of the black beast. The log rolled harmlessly away, and caravan doors opened, sleepy heads peering out into the night.

Beneath the jaws of Brother Wolf, the man gazed up at Morwenna.

“So,” she said, “you are the one who hides a dark secret in his heart.”

The rest of the troupe came running, to gather about Morwenna and the wolf. There were sounds from the houses nearby, as townspeople also came out to investigate the screams they had heard.

“This is the man who killed my brother Rolfe and the young girl who loved him,” Morwenna shouted in a carrying voice. “Brother Wolf marked him tonight and he came here again to kill both of us.”

“Why, it’s Kern Vord, the Officer of the Watch,” an onlooker marvelled. A murmur went through the crowd.

“She was mine,” the man hissed, his eyes wide with terror as he saw the sharp wolf’s teeth inches from his face. “She was promised to me – your brother would only have cast her aside and moved on.” The wolf’s teeth fastened on his neck, just holding the flesh.

“No, brother,” Morwenna said softly. “Let there be no more murder.”

The crowds watched in silent horror as the wolf held the man’s life in its jaws. Morwenna said no more, but watched in silence. The wolf’s eyes sparked fire, and Kern Vord moaned in despair.

Then the wolf shook the man, gently in his teeth as if he were a rabbit, and released him. Kern Vord scrambled away, sobbing, as Brother Wolf padded silently back to Morwenna’s side.

“Good people of Castabela,” Morwenna said. “This creature before you has confessed to the murder of my brother and your daughter and sister. Do what you will with him.”

Kern Vord was dragged away. Slowly the townspeople went back to their homes, the travellers to their caravans. As sun rose over the bleak plains, the caravans creaked slowly through the city gates, on their way to the next city.

But this time, instead of the cries of the crowds of children that usually followed, begging them to return next year, the only sound that accompanied the travellers was the creak of a gibbet, hanging from the city walls, and the only one that watched them go was Kern Vord through sightless eyes.

Brother Wolf Part One

The walled city of Castabela loomed over an arid plain. Little could approach without being seen, but in the last hundred years or so, that city had been at peace with its neighbors and the gate was always open to travellers.

For the people of Castabela, isolated as they were with the sea at their backs and desolation at the gate, regarded any diversion as a welcome change from a humdrum existence.

Once a year the faint sound of drums and flutes heralded the arrival of the circus from the inland, their bright caravans drawn by horses with fantastically colored feathers bobbing on their harness. The circus people in their brilliantly striped and patterned silks brought with them the excitement of a world beyond the desert, at the time of the Seven Empires of Man and Beast.

As they cartwheeled through the gate, or balanced on silver globes, the children ran down to meet them, jumping on the caravan steps to be thrust off again by irate women.

A scream greeted the cage that trundled through the gate, with a black she wolf pacing inside an iron cage. Her red eyes glowed as she gazed out upon the throng staring at her with open mouths.

She was no ordinary wolf – she was one of the proud beasts of the Second Empire, and no one knew why she chose to travel this way, in an iron cage with the circus people.

Many of the city folk knew the circus visitors well, for they came every year at the same time, as long as even the oldest could remember.

“There is Rolfe, and his sister Morwenna,” the buzz went along the crowd, as two splendidly dressed youngsters came through on white horses. They bowed and waved to the crowd like a King and Queen. The city folk had seen this prideful pair grow from babyhood to performers. Castabela almost felt a proprietory pride in these two youngsters, for the twins had been born there, sixteen years before.

Their mother had been a wire walker. Though heavily pregnant, she had still danced across the wire that night, but had slipped and fallen into the dusty ring. The local doctor could not save her but he brought the twins safely into the world. They were raised by an old traveler woman called Mama Mattea, who spoiled them. They did little work, except in the circus ring, and they only worked together. They were very alike, with the same topaz eyes and fearless character.

It was said that when they were very young, Mama Mattea placed their heads together so that the soft skulls flattened out. Because of this, they became the most famous head to head balancers in the Seven Empires, their smooth flat heads fitting together perfectly, Rolfe bearing the weight, and Morwenna balanced on top.

This year, as they rode through the streets of the city, there was talk that they had devised a new act. Rolfe had reclaimed his mother’s old tightwire, and he walked across it with Morwenna balanced on his head.

But that was not the only excitement – it was also said that the she wolf was bearing a cub, and was near her time. Perhaps another famous birth may take place in Castabela.

The first performance took place in the city square, under the night sky. Blazing torches illuminated the ring that had been laid out there. Strange apparatus had sprung up around and over the ring, and a garish curtain hid the performers from the public view.

When Rolfe and Morwenna made their entrance, a huge cheer erupted from the crowd. Rolfe caught his sister round the waist and vaulted her up onto his head. There she remained throughout the entire act, like a flame on a candle.

When they walked the wire, the crowd cheered lustily. Then finally, they broke apart and took their bows.

Rising from his deep bow, Rolfe’s glance fell on a girl seated at the front of the crowd. She gazed at him with huge dark eyes. She threw a bunch of wildflowers at him, and he caught them easily. He blew her a kiss in return. Pretty girls were his weakness, and he accepted their adoration as no more than his due. But Morwenna shunned the favors of young men who vied for her attention. It was the only way in which they differed.

After the show, Rolfe hung the flowers over the door of his caravan. Mama Mattea was cooking a stew in the huge cauldron suspended over an open fire, and the fragrant aroma drifted round the square. The she wolf watched with red eyes, waiting for her portion. Everyone in the circus lined up with a tin plate and mug, which she filled with stew and a slug of wine from a skin hanging nearby.

Then they gathered together to laugh and talk into the night until the fire went out and they all drifted back to their caravans.

Mama Mattea said goodnight to the she wolf and walked back to the caravan she shared with Morwenna.

“I think she will have her cub very soon,” she said to Morwenna.

The circus folk closed their doors and slept, but one door remained open, and soon a slight figure wrapped in a cloak flitted across the square and sprang up the steps of Rolfe’s caravan.
It was the custom of the circus to stay until the full moon. Every night they played to an enthusiastic crowd, and every night, a dark eyed girl watched the show and threw wildflowers to Rolfe.

On the last night there was also a man with burning eyes, who stood at the back of the crowd and watched her get to her feet and blow kisses to Rolfe. But none observed him as he curled his hands into fists and cursed the young traveler under his breath.

The travelers celebrated their last night in Castabela with a huge party, to which all the city folk were invited. The revels went into the night but eventually even the last reluctant reveler drifted away and silence fell on the square.

And then, once more, a small figure ran across to Rolfe’s caravan and up the stairs. But this time she was followed by a dark shadow that moved slowly, and with evil intent.

Morwenna slept fitfully, and was woken before dawn by the howling of a wolf.

“Mama Mattea,” she whispered. “I can hear Sheba.”

“It must be her time,” Mattea said. “Get dressed, I’ll need your help.”

But as both women stepped out of the caravan they saw it was not the time of birthing that had roused the she wolf. Rolfe’s caravan was ablaze.

Tricks and Treats

Tis the season of Halloween.

I will trick you,

all in fun,

and I will treat you

with candies and sweeties,

and maybe even a tot of rum.

Vi

Hey, Pris, Look at me.

I’m visiting with Vi and she’s been telling me all about you.

Penelope

The Ghost on the Riverbank

My father was an avid photographer. Over the years, he took many, many pictures with his 35mm camera; most of them were slides.. Landscapes were one of his favorite subjects, especially landscapes on one of the big, slow tidal rivers of the south, and especially in the autumn. (Hmm… I wonder where I get my love of autumn photography from?)

He and my mother were often out in their boat in the years before I was born, and Dad would take photos whenever he saw something he liked. One day when the trees were starting to turn, he took a shot of the river bank where there was a clearing – the vegetation in the south is very heavy, so clearings are few and far between unless someone keeps them up. There was nothing there except the clearing, the trees, and the river, my parents swore; Dad was just taking another pretty picture.

But when the slides came back, it was another story. On the river bank, standing in the middle of the clearing, was a white figure.

Now, I have seen that slide many times in my life. Every time my Dad would show it, he and my Mom would say, “And here’s the ghost!” I was always afraid of that slide, and would close my eyes. I still remember it clearly, though. The ghost looked like a classic bed-sheet ghost. It was shaped white figure, completely opaque, and it was about the size of a human being. The rest of the picture is perfect, and all the other slides from that day were perfect. It doesn’t look like a flaw on the slide.

There was no way that someone could have jumped into the shot at the last minute; the figure is too far from the woods for that. And Dad would surely have seen someone while he was taking the light reading, setting up the camera, and focusing. The only explanation I have is that my parents were right…it was a ghost.

Somewhere I still have all of those slides. They are very old now, and I don’t know if they are in good enough shape to scan into a computer, but someday I intend to try. If it works out, I’ll have another look at that ghost!

-She Wolf © 2008

Halloween’s A-Comin’

It’s October again, and we all know what that means:

HALLOWEEN!!!

This year I am doing something fairly new for me: I am doing some brief (for me) photomontages set to music on the constants of Halloween.  I have finished the first one and it can be viewed at:

http://video.fotki.com/GwenGuin/

I hope you enjoy this, I had a ball getting it just so.

Spirits of the Season Part 2

“Oh, don’t worry, you’re not dead. We just can’t take your body on this trip, that’s all.” He tugged again and they were out the door – through it, just like the Ghost of Summer had come through it when he came in. Then, at the edge of the porch, they stepped into a space that hadn’t been there before. The darkness here was more intense than any darkness Laney had ever experienced before in her life – even darker than the inside of a cave she had visited once, even though Laney knew that was impossible.

Just as suddenly, they were out again, into a blindingly bright and brutally hot summer’s day with people everywhere. Laney pulled back automatically.

The ghost held onto her hand tightly, though, and she stayed where she was in spite of herself.

“Summer!” proclaimed the ghost. “Glorious summer!”

“And just what’s so glorious about blazing heat and swarms of people?” asked Laney.

The ghost sighed and replied, “Come with me.” He dragged Laney along, dodging through the crowds of people at an impossible speed. Soon they were standing on suburban street watching children play.

“See there? On that bike? That’s you. Remember when summer was fun? Long days, riding bikes and swimming and then playing tag under the street lights and catching lightening bugs? Remember?”

Laney did, vaguely. “Yes, that was when summers didn’t mean working all day the same as always. Freedom always makes a thing better,” she said. Then she nudged the ghost as she saw the younger version of herself begin to cry, hop on her bike and race away, only to take the corner badly and fall off and skin her knees. “I remember that, too – my mother and I were picking gravel out of my knees for a week. I still have the scars. And that group of kids made me miserable all summer.” She sniffed. Her nose was starting to itch. “I also remember the hay fever and the swimmer’s ear infections and the heat rash I always got. Oh yeah, and the mosquito bites. They loved me.”

The ghost got a funny look on his face and tugged on her arm. Now they were at a beach crowded with young people and surf boards, young people and volleyballs, young people sprawled on beach towels baking in the sun. The young man ghost looked like he fit right in here. In fact, Laney noticed that he was wearing long, baggy swim trunks, a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops, all ready for the beach.

“Remember the beach? There you are, on that big blanket with some other girls. See? You’re giggling and having lots of fun…you can’t possibly forget that!”

“I do remember this day. I got that really bad sunburn and the volleyball hit me in the nose. It bled for an hour, and about the time I got it stopped, I saw my boyfriend with that nasty, catty girl a year older than I was. That day was unforgettable, all right. Oh, and my best friend cut her foot on something and had to get a tetanus shot, and someone else got stung by a jellyfish, and…”

“Enough! Let’s try something else.” The ghost pulled her along again. This time they were in the middle of a field, with sweet corn on one side of them and tomato and cucumber vines on the other. “Summer produce. You can’t beat it! The corn is perfect right now, and the tomatoes and cukes won’t last into cold weather. Mmm…” the ghost licked his lips. “Just imagine, tomatoes fresh from the garden, and sweet corn…” He reached out and picked a ruby-red tomato and handed it to Laney.

She took it and then pulled off the fat caterpillar that was hiding on the far side of the tomato. Grimacing slightly, she dropped it onto the ground.

“Um, sorry,” said the ghost. “I guess it means they’re pesticide free?” He smiled hopefully, grabbed another tomato and bit into it. “Try it. It’s good!”

Laney had to admit that the tomato was excellent, despite the caterpillar. The ghost won that round. The growing time of summer was a good thing, she had to agree to that.

The ghost was looking a little tired by now, and more than a little bit frustrated. As they finished the tomatoes, there was a flash, thunder rolled across the sky and raindrops almost the size of the tomatoes starting pouring down.

“Shoot! Well, we needed to go anyway,” said the ghost as he dragged Laney back into the dark place. Moments later they reemerged on Laney’s front porch. Through the glass in the door, she could see herself slumped against the wall inside, apparently asleep. Laney lunged for the door and was twisting at the knob frantically when the ghost tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Um, it’s locked, remember? That’s why I had to come through it instead of opening it and coming inside in a reasonable manner.”

Laney stopped and stared at him. “Well, take me back through it then!” she demanded.

“Not quite yet. There’s someone else here to see you.” He jerked his head toward the side of the porch. A young woman stood there, slender and pale, dressed in a flowing pastel gown with flowers woven in her hair. As she floated forward, the young man began to fade away. Laney could hear the clock inside striking ten.

“I am the Spectre of Spring,” she breathed in a delicate voice. “You will come with me, now…” And she wrapped one slim, bare arm around Laney’s shoulders and drew her into the black place again.

They stepped out into a mud puddle. A weak and watery sun gave some warmth, but a brisk breeze drew the warmth away again.  In the field in front of them, where the mud puddle ended, there was a carpet of bright green new grass, and green buds were on the trees at the far side of the field. A group of children were running here and there with baskets in their hands, shrieking.

The Spectre pulled Laney forward, and she stepped up to her ankles in the mud, which the Spectre floated over.  Laney looked down and pulled first one foot and then the other out of the muck with a look of disgust on her face. The Spectre looked down. “Oh, sorry!” she breathed, and then Laney was floating above the mud, too. Then mud on her feet disappeared and they walked towards the children.

“Spring. Rebirth of the land. Beauty and life return to the world once more…Look at the children. They celebrate and hunt eggs. Easter egg hunts! What fun!” The Spectre of Spring looked delighted by the scene in front of them.

Laney saw herself as a child again, hunting eggs, with a basket full already.

“You seem to be doing well, Laney. Not many of the children have so many eggs in their baskets!”

“I did do well, and I shared my eggs with my little brother. I always did like Easter egg hunts,” Laney agreed. “It was the falling in the mud in my good dress that I didn’t like, and the way it looked nice but still felt really cold out. Look there, see? I have a winter jacket on over my dress.” As they watched, the younger Laney climbed up in a tree to get an egg hidden way up high. She slipped and caught the hem of her dress on a branch, tearing it. “I remember I really liked that dress, too,” she added.

The Spectre ignored her comments and flowed over to a patch of small green spears poking up from the ground under the trees. “And here – look at this. The miracle of the spring. New life is here, and growing.” A bird darted down from the tree branches and grabbed a twig, carrying it away in its beak. The Spectre turned around, drawing Laney with her and swept her arm across the landscape. It became greener and full of flowers blooming. Children were flying kites in the field now.  A loud peeping came from the tree overhead, and the Spectre reached up a gentle hand and drew down the branch. A nest full of baby birds waited with mouths wide open and prickly pin feathers covering their bodies.

Laney felt herself melting at the sight of the baby birds. They were so awkward and ugly looking and yet so precious.

“Spring, and rebirth. Dead-seeming seeds swelling into new life. We must have spring, if life is to continue.”

Laney couldn’t argue with that part of it all. “Look, I never said that spring was bad…”

The Spectre of Spring was hurrying them on, though, to the top of a mountain this time. She paused there and gestured at the hillside below. It held a few patches of snow on it, and beside them rushed a swollen stream.

“Water from the frozen days of winter, saved, stored, and then released by spring! What a wonder this is, is it not?” Then she whirled them off again, through another field with young animals in it, a garden newly sprouted, a child running in the sunshine.

Laney kept trying to speak, but the Spectre was moving so fast she didn’t have a chance.

-She Wolf (c)2008