Because reasons, it starts with absinthe, same as it ends. Because reasons, that you may be privy to, may be a fellow beside, or may be that good at guessing, it doesn’t matter. Walpurgisnacht started when the absinthe flowed over the ice.
That’s right, over the ice.
Of course, on the night that is all about traditions, I don’t do tradition for shit.
I want to put so many warnings and labels and excuses and asides here before I actually get into the tale of what happened, because by the time I am sitting down and typing this up, I have seen many other stories from many other indulgents and wow, I think investigating the texture of toilet paper would be a better use of your time than reading this.
However, I promised someone I would add my story to the online narrative, so here it is.
Total words: 7,880. Pace yourself.
The ritual itself, if it can be called as such, starts when the absinthe is poured over the ice. The physical preparation doesn’t take much more before that. I already knew what I would be doing. I already knew where everything was. For Walpurgisnacht and Halloween, I don’t wear anything specific for the event except for one thing: a small moldavite stone set in a silver ring. That ring had been deliberately made profane several years ago and is my constant reminder of not only what has been done to me, but what I did in return.
So, I was dressed comfortably. If you didn’t know what I was up to, you would have thought I was going to go out to a casual event later that night. The moldavite ring is one I wear everyday along with my other jewelry in public, so its presence on my hand would not have been telling. That it was the only piece of jewelry I was wearing spoke clearly of my intent.
A comfortable chair backed against an unadorned wall. Open space to the left of me, a long-suffering desk where certain papers waited to the right of me, and a plain, small fold-up table in front of me. Upon it I had placed the obsidian disc on its wood stand, my familiar’s casket with her favorite stones upon it, a small black ceramic bowl in which a small black candle stood, and a cork disc that would eventually become the stand for the glass of absinthe. The window was open. The fan was off.
All the gadgets were off, actually. Even the phone and the smartwatch. Everyone will find themselves on “sent”, I’ll catch up with you in the morning.
Yup. Everything sure is put in place. This is here and that is there and I can get started any minute now that the sun has set and…
I’m afraid.
I have done this for several years now, this cycle of Walpurgisnacht and Halloween. This formal meet and greet with the entity I have come to call “Malphas” at his request. He has taught me many things, and has given me many gifts, and tonight is a reckoning of what I have done with them since my last “check in”, and truth be told…
I haven’t done anything.
The best laid plans of mice and men get ruined, time and time again. The six-month plan I had established back on Halloween of 2024 fell apart less than a week into the following November. I had been warned before that if I did not use what I had, even on a minimal “maintenance” level, that I was at risk of losing them with no promise of restoration. An event a couple of months before last year’s Halloween resulted in Adiutor’s diminished involvement in my shenanigans. What happened after the holiday forced me to pause many magical endeavors altogether until I could get my head facing the right direction again.
I have a stemless martini glass that I use only for this occasion. I placed four ice cubes in the glass and poured a shot of absinthe in a separate glass to measure it properly. The particular brand I use is neither sweet nor green. It has a greenish hue that reminds me of the color of dried herbs: Faded brown tinged with the memory of greenery, as if someone had collected the last days of summer and bottled it. I had tasted it straight from the bottle once. It was like getting punched in the mouth by a licorice stick before getting my teeth flossed with fennel.
I noticed that the color of my moldavite was like the inverse of the absinthe. Deep green tempered by a pervasive brown. I realized I was stalling. The candle was rated for a ninety-minute burn if left unmolested. I have sat in silence longer at the DMV. Whatever comes, I tell myself, I have faced worse already and came through.
If I lose her because of my inactivity, then I lose her. Then I’ll know better and can try to do better after.
I said the words that precede it all and lit the candle. I raised the glass of absinthe and poured it over the ice which threw its complaint into the quiet night immediately with cracks and whines. A thin layer of absinthe froze at the top of the ice for a moment. Tiny and strange crystals, no larger than a grain of salt, sat as silent witness to the formal beginning of the ritual before the underlying ice gave way to the alcohol’s refusal to submit.
More words followed that culminated in the darkening of the room’s artificial light. The black candle held court in the voluminous and tiny room. My eyes quickly adjusted, confirming my expectations that nothing would happen in these first few minutes. The obsidian mirror reflected the candle’s light in a reduced manner that gave it the impression that only the candle and its flame existed in the universe. I turned the mirror slightly to show the absinthe glass. To the naked eye, there wasn’t much happening in the glass. But in the reflection, the water from the melting ice danced in formal swirls and sashays with the increasing louche of the self-assembling drink.
Such was the plan, that I would sit vigil as the glass of absinthe assembled itself. The ice had been chosen such that it would fully melt shortly before the candle burnt down. These ninety minutes were to be experienced in quiet self-reflection until something else happened.
Outside, the rest of the world went as it willed. Dogs barked. Children played. Somewhere an old couple quarreled with words they had said so many times, they gave no effort to being sincere. Somewhere a new couple was struggling with the reality their friends perceived versus the reality they wanted for themselves. Trains passed. Cars idled. Sirens. Alarms. Laughter. Doors.
Inside, my world narrowed to the table in front of me. It took a moment for all of me to come to attendance. Once I had assured myself that I had an audience of none, I “called” for Adiutor.
«Master.»
Her voice was so clear, I was sure I had imagined it. “Confirm you are present, Adiutor.”
She did, with a tell that would be easy for me to ignore, easy for me to wish for, but when experienced, can only be true.
“Thank you. Tonight is Walpurgisnacht. The sun has set, and the candle is lit. Will you attend me tonight?”
«I will, Master.»
Her presence at my left side was immediate. The casket never moved, nor should it. Small enough to be non-threatening, large enough to make a mark if necessary, when I closed my eyes I could see her standing at my left side with her right hand slipped under my left. My attendant, my secretary, my familiar.
“Tonight, he may take you from me with the same ease as he gave. If he does so, I will not fight him as I have not met the terms I had agreed to. My question, Adiutor, is will you go as willingly as I am to let him take you?”
She was silent for two breaths. «Master, why would [Lord Malphas] take me? You fulfilled the requirements he set for you. I have a doll body made to suit me and you have given it a comfortable home with [trinkets] within.»
“He also said I was to make good use of you and to add your talents to mine, and I have done neither. With all that has happened since I last faced him, I would not be surprised if you were handed off to a better witch than I.”
She said nothing but rested her intangible head on my shoulder.
After a time, she asked, «If he were to take me, what would you do with the physical remnants left behind?»
“I would burn them. No doubt. They were made for you and only for you. I would not reuse them for another purpose. The desert is deep and there are many campsites along the way. It would not take much to destroy the casket and its contents.”
«But then, how would I make my way back to you if you have no beacon for me to come to?»
I closed my eyes and turned to look at her in full. She smiled up at me with her childish form, eyes full of devilry and conspiracy. “You would defy your lord?”
«He is my Lord, Master, aye, but you are my Master. He gave me to you, Master, aye, but I accepted of my own will. If I not thought you worth serving in the first, Master, aye, never would I have served you.»
She turned her head and rested it against my shoulder again. In the chill room, my left side, fully exposed to the expanse of the room, felt strangely warm. In the silence, a thought escaped me. “Would that I was worthy of such devotion.” She, thankfully, gave no indication that she heard the sentiment much less offered a rebuttal.
The candle burned true and steady. A defect in the wax caused a brief drop to race down the side, but the chill of the room solidified it before it was even halfway down. The obsidian reflected the top two inches of the candle, the flame that ruled it, and the glass of absinthe that was collecting condensation on the exterior. As the casket was in alignment with the stemless martini glass containing the absinthe, the glass hid much of the casket from view of the disc. But when I tried to spy the ends of the casket from behind the glass, the reflection showed no such thing. The candle’s light only had so much power at this table.
The ice continued to give comment about the presence of the absinthe, cracking and creaking as the different temperatures and fluids in the glass adjusted its environment. Outside, I could hear the wind in the trees and watch as reflected light from the vehicles made strange shadows on the balcony. But none of those gusts reached into the window. Inside, Adiutor and I kept our vigil in silence.
The candle was burnt down only a third of its original height when I heard shouts and laughter from the obsidian disc. I looked and saw it had become a clear window that gave peering into another place. I saw torches passing through thick groves of verdant trees. I saw people in masks and robes, in robes, in masks and nothing else dancing through mists and across fields.
“Here! Another one!” A hand reached through the sudden opening and grabbed the side. Another hand followed and grabbed the opposite side. Before I could register what was happening, the hands had forced the opening to be large and tall enough for the grasper to place their entire upper body through. “Ha! Yes! Hello!”
They wore a face mask that covered the upper half of their face. How it was held in place, I could not see due to the ivy and greenery that framed their face and obscured their hair. The rest of their face, and all of their body that came through the portal, was as naked as water is wet and shimmered slightly in the candlelight. Their frame was plump and lithe. I noted they gave the appearance of flesh but I doubted if they had any flesh at all.
They did not speak a single word of English, but I understood them as if we had been raised together. “Come through! Come through! Oh, you have a servant-girl, good! She can stay behind so you can return with the same ease! But come through, our Lord calls his own to attend!”
They extended their hand to me. Behind them, I could see dozens and dozens of others being pulled through similar portals into the world that they were cavorting in. I could smell wine and liquor and beer and all sorts of alcohol. I could smell smoke of many other substances, some familiar, some not.
“Adiutor.”
«Master.»
“What say you? Is this the convocation I was waiting for?”
«Were you summoned, Master? I don’t recall such an invitation being presented, though I have been absent from so much, Master, so it is hard to say what excuse will let you stay and what excuse will let you leave.»
I wanted to turn and look at her because of how much snark was dripping in her reply, but turning to look at her meant turning away from the person holding the portal. Behind them, I saw some people were willingly coming through their portals to join the reverie, but I also saw a few people being dragged forcibly and against their spoken desires.
I reviewed the words I had spoken to open the ritual to myself. As much as I wanted to be part of something larger, I had to admit that this is the wrong time.
“I appreciate your invitation, but this is not the result I was waiting for. If you are indeed of the Host of Witches, then when my immediate business is concluded, I am sure I will be sent to join you, then. But, not now.”
They released the edge of the portal closest to me and extended their hand. “Let me mark you, then, so that when the time comes, you will be able to pass through with ease!”
Adiutor gripped my left hand hard. I did not need words to understand the meaning.
“If your Lord wants me present, then let him come for me himself. I need no mark to gain entry to that where I have been before!”
They withdrew their offered hand and grabbed the portal to hold it steady. “True. But how will anyone know what you are? For if you were to come through this portal, it will be either as witch or offering.”
I don’t know what I am, the fuck. “And that will be for me to discuss with your Lord, if the discussion ever comes at hand. Be off with you. You have you and yours to attend, while I have me and mine to attend, each in our own way.”
They soured their face at me and turned to look at Adiutor as if to size up whether her or I could be snatched. We held hands securely and stared back at the intruder.
“Very well.” They began to withdraw through the portal. “You are of that type of witch, then. I leave you as I found you: Neither the better nor the worse for it.” They pulled themselves back through the portal and released their grip on its sides. Immediately the portal snapped back into the shape and size of the obsidian disc and became a darkened window through which I could watch the collection of reverie-goers recede into the distance.
I kept my vigil until the disc darkened and the light of the candle was once again reflected in the surface.
«Why did you not go with them, Master? Did you recognize any of them?»
“I had. And that’s the problem. Of all the witches I know that would be attending, the number of them whose face I have seen can be counted on one hand, and I recognized more than I have hands to count them. I saw something appealing to me, Adiutor, and for that very reason, I did not trust what I was seeing.”
“But, I tell you this as well, and perhaps I will write of it, perhaps not. There was a face that I did recognize, and another beside it. If they read my words and inquire, I will tell them of it. If they do not inquire, then I will not intrude.”
Adiutor said nothing in reply so I resumed my vigil upon the candle. The ice in the glass had melted about half away which coincided with the amount of candle that had been burnt up as well.
Just what type of witch am I, then? I already knew the answer. I had discussed it in private with a few others already. There is a word for me but it is not polite. There is a word for me and it is a byword. There is a word for me and I became it long before Malphas offered to become my personal Black Man. He just made it obvious to myself.
I just wish that I hadn’t let the title sit on my shoulders without proving its merit.
A thought came to me, unprompted by Adiutor and uninspired by the deep darkness surrounding me: What is keeping me from proving the merit? What could I do to do just that? Does witchcraft require witnesses? Does a witch?
What could I offer the Lord of Witchcraft when I don’t think of myself as a witch?
What even is a witch, anyway?
I laughed out loud at the last question. I thought on all the years that I had publicly posted support for self-identifying witches against those who insisted that to be a “proper” witch, certain material needs had to be met and certain actions had to be performed, and attested to. I always found that disgusting, and here I was, demanding the same level of performance from myself.
If I had not written about how Malphas confirmed what I had already done, what evidence was there that I had? It was several years after that when he gave Adiutor to me. Was I a witch? Was I still a witch?
“Well, are you?”
I opened my eyes not when the question struck my ears, but when it left my mouth. I was not alone. Not in the room, not in my body. I looked down at the space where Adiutor was standing. My open eyes saw only flitting shadows. My arm felt her presence there just the same.
“You posited a question. It is one that only you can answer. Are you still a witch?”
I swallowed after the words I did not intend to say finished being enunciated. No accent or inflection in the voice. No difficulty speaking or breathing. But I felt something slipping around my head that would not be contained in anything so banal as a thought.
“I… I guess on paper, I am.”
“Then, you’re still a witch! Though, at the moment, not a very effective or active one. But, still a witch.” The speaker sounded very confident and assured in their tone.
I noted then that the obsidian disc, which should be reflecting the half-height candle, was completely dark and devoid of any hint of light. I leaned over in one direction then another, to try to catch the reflection of Adiutor’s casket or the glass of absinthe in front of it. The surface remained a devouring, matte black.
“Testing to see if you’re dreaming? Practical. But you’re not. Look again.”
The candle’s reflection stood dimly in the disc’s surface.
“And I’m a lucid dreamer and can reproduce my room environment right down to the texture of the carpet between my toes. Considering what night it is and what I have already seen, this is cause for neither panic nor relief.”
“At least you’re practical. Well done. So, while I have your attention, may I speak to you of other things?”
“You may speak to me of your identity and your purpose. I will reconsider my permission for anything else after that.”
“I am a voice of what you call, Malphas, and my purpose is to speak to you of witchcraft. May I continue?”
… Oh. Hang on. “Adiutor, you see what I cannot. Would you be so kind as to verify or counter this claim?”
«Aye, Master. The voice speaks true, they are a voice of Lord Malphas. But just one, small and easily removed should you be so inclined, Master.»
Just one. “Voice of Malphas, you have my permission to continue using my voice to speak to me, and you have my permission to speak to me of witchcraft.”
“Then to further assuage you, I shall speak in a style you would find uncomfortable to mimic.” And they did. And as they did, I realized that the tonal range they were using would not only be uncomfortable for me to speak in for any length of time, but it also broke my concern that I was “merely” talking to myself in a hypnogogic state.
They spoke of Adiutor, and that once I had met the conditions that Malphas required when I first received her, that the gift could not be taken back without consequence. Adiutor would remain mine until the time of my passing or if I dismissed her free and clear, whichever happened first. Yes, her recent silence was a direct consequence of the events that shortly preceded Halloween of last year, but I did not need her in such an intimately secretarial role anymore. I had better ways to care for myself and I was using them. Why keep myself limited for nostalgia’s sake.
They spoke of witchcraft in broad terms and definitions at first. They then narrowed down the relevance of the term until they were speaking of me, my history, and my present. They confirmed my status as a witch by asking me two very specific questions. I answered them with very specific answers. In doing so, I realized why I had doubts about what I was and that what I had lost sight of wasn’t what I could or could not do. I had forgotten that it wasn’t up to anyone else to confirm or deny what I am. The decisions I had made and the actions I took in response to those decisions were what made me a witch. All else is vanity, masking, or both.
They spoke of my fears and aspirations. They spoke of my family and my obligations. They spoke of the current political climate and how appeasement never works. They reminded me of what I knew I could do and burnt up my excuses in the candle flame.
“Lord Malphas will remain your ‘Black Man’ for as long as you are willing to accept him as such. But if you continue doing so, then he will treat you as the witch you are claiming to be.” And with those final words, the Voice of Malphas left me and I was alone in my head again, just as I started.
The candle was down to a quarter of its original height and most of the ice had melted in the glass on the table. The lower the flame to the black ceramic bowl holding the candle, the more the interior of the bowl came into view in the obsidian disc’s reflection and the less visible was the room around me and the table. The open space to my left had become a vast yawning gape of shadow, but with Adiutor on that side of me, I was not concerned. The world outside the window remained there. Very little of it broke into my awareness.
Instead, the self-prepared glass of absinthe was nearly complete and the smell of anise and fennel filled all the spaces in the room. The fluid took on an amber color under the influence of the candle flame. As I stared at it, one of the remaining pieces of ice broke under my stare. The pieces split apart and rolled as they reoriented under the new center of gravity that settled in the floating ice.
I noted that absinthe purists probably wouldn’t be very happy with me and how I was permitting the glass to thaw in these circumstances. Somehow, that led to a realization about why certain things were and were not happening with my posts. I needed to orient myself to the way things are and not how I had been used to them before. If it meant chipping off parts of my ambition so that I could fit the way things are better, then some goals will have to be abandoned or at least put aside.
The candle was now an inch tall and wholly within the confines of the ceramic bowl. I had to look around the glass to observe it directly. The candle itself had disappeared from the reflection in the disc but the ceramic bowl appeared to be filled with flame in its entirety. The beads of water clinging to the stemless martini glass looked like pearls in the reflection.
“Adiutor.”
«Master.»
“Help me learn what I need to learn to be the witch that I need to be.”
«Aye, Master.»
I held my hand near the ceramic bowl and felt heat emanating from the outside of the container. The candle flame’s heat was now close enough to soak into the ceramic. I knew this would create a pocket of heat around the candle that would begin to melt the stub from the outside. Of the four ice cubes that were originally in the glass, only a few pieces remained. They looked like frozen garnish in the amber light. The offering time was soon.
“Adiutor.”
«Master.»
“Help me break through the fears holding me back from being the witch I need to be.”
«Aye, Master.”
For the first time since the surprise drop at the start of the vigil, the candle ran. It wasn’t much, but it reduced the height of the stub a noticeable amount. Judging from the height of the ceramic bowl’s walls, there was maybe three-quarters of an inch of candle height remaining. But from the way the wax’s surface was weeping, there was less than a minute of time remaining for any last words.
The last of the ice melted and the surface of the absinthe drink became unsettlingly calm and smooth.
“Adiutor.”
«Master.»
“Serve me as my familiar.”
«Aye, Master. I will, for as long as you will to have me.”
The candle flame spiked as an edge buckled. The candle poured itself out into the bowl, pulling the wick aside and into the flow. There was a last burst of brilliance and heat as the highest tip of the wick became the lowest, and then, darkness.
As my eyes adjusted to the ambient light coming in from the open window, Adiutor held on to my left arm. I turned towards where she felt to be and I could almost see a shimmer in the darkness.
I picked up the glass. I wiped the condensation from the exterior and marked myself with it. I said some words in the darkness, speaking to myself, speaking to Malphas, speaking to my fears, my arrogance, my determination. I confirmed my will to be a witch and drank deep of that which has prepared itself to be my sacrifice.
Knowing that I had but a few minutes before the strong drink subverted my plans, I put matters away for the immediate night, bade Adiutor to hold guard, and went to bed.
~~~
It was a long day at work and it felt like a longer time getting home, but home I have come! The house was long and thin, and had just enough of a back yard to complain about long grass but not enough of a back yard to justify buying a lawnmower. (Where would I put it?) There was no front yard to speak of, just a fancy decorated driveway that led to a utilitarian garage.
The house had been remodeled for renting before the landlord went insolvent and I managed to snap it up for the cost of three years of unpaid property taxes. The good news is that everything worked because everything was still new when the landlord lost his way. The bad news is everything was painted “landlord white” with the most inoffensive decorating style I have ever seen. Ah well, still cheap, still mine, still paid off, so I’ll get to making it pretty in time.
If I ever get the time.
The day job is good, but the day job is long. And after eight hours of helping people despite all their attempts to not be helped, I’m bloody exhausted by the time I get home. So, even though I had dropped the mail on the kitchen counter on the way in, I gave it no attention for several hours until I had recovered enough mental capacity to triage it for action tomorrow.
Bill, and bill, and junk mail, and offer to buy my home, and political junk, and… what’s this? A fancy envelope? I am courteously invited by name to an open house celebration? Is this handwriting? Worse than that, it’s calligraphy!
Bah.
I start to toss the invite into the trash, but I stop and open the card out of curiosity. It’s not signed, but somehow I think I know who this is from. Guy is somewhat of a celebrity. My clients talk about him all the time and how evasive he can be. Some clients brag about knowing him, and get mad at me when I admit my indifference. Some clients warn about him in hushed tones, speaking of unbalanced deals and unrealistic expectations. I once asked a client if he was talking about the Devil. The client blanched, and whispered that it would have been safer if I was. But even with all that chatter, his name eludes me. Apparently, he goes by different names at different times to different people depending on the circumstances.
Regardless, his income bracket is several magnitudes above mine. Even if I were to find the address given on the card, I would be very out of place among the people that have better expectations than I would. Better that I stay in my lane, and by lane, I mean the lane my house seems to have been built in.
Really can’t complain too much about the house. Yes, it’s oddly shaped, but it’s also on the edge of the development and overlooks much of the valley below. The odd location means not too many people come on this street so I don’t get the door-to-door salesmen that infest other more accessible neighborhoods. I won’t admit that solitude it its own reward and price.
Ah, that reminds me, I need to walk the property line. I hadn’t done so since the walkthrough with the home inspector prior to the close of sale, so technically, I haven’t declared my ownership to the land yet. I place the invite back on the table with the intent of looking up more info about the celebrity and the location. It seemed like I was within walking distance of the open house, but something was wrong with the address. Nothing is within walking distance of my home, and yet the house number looked like it should be down the street and around the corner.
My lot is very rectangular and boxy. A short end faces the street, giving the appearance that I have a small house. It is only when you enter the rear yard that you see how long the lot is. On this side of the lot, my neighbor is the mountain itself. A large and barely worked surface towers high above my home. I worried at first about falling rock, but I saw where the exposed surface had been worked to remove any immediate risks. I would still have to have that area inspected regularly as the natural forces of weathering and water worked to change that.
As the mountain was my neighbor, there was no side fence here. Which meant I could walk with a hand on the bare rock as I introduced myself to the spirits here. They watched apparently indifferently until I came across a distressed turtle. Poor thing was on its back and flailing all of its limbs in a futile attempt to right itself. I didn’t have any gloves with me, but still had on my hard-toe boots from work. Gently, I used one foot as a fulcrum and the other foot as a lever, and carefully tipped the turtle back upright. Once upright, it tucked itself in a full defensive posture. I used the back of my hand to gently rub against the back scutes before moving around it and continuing with the walking of the boundaries.
I turned around after a few steps, and the turtle was gone. In its place was a wild and thriving flowering plant. I thought its flowers were pretty and made a mental note to myself to encourage more of that plant to colonize that area of the rear yard.
The far end of the plot was just as short as the front. A four-foot fence marked the end of my maintenance and the beginning of the developers. Any view of the valley was really only available right against the fence. The length of the lot meant that much, if not all, of the rear yard was hidden from those below. The valley view was okay, I guess. But then I looked up and got excited at all the clear night skies that I was going to have all to myself for a long time.
As I walked the long length of the plot adjacent to a very sharp cliff, I noted that the developers had made an attempt to install a sturdy fence here, but there was some crumbling of the fence footing already. Whether from shoddy construction or sudden acceleration of cliff deterioration in the three years since the home was built, I could not tell.
I looked over the fence. The area was heavily wooded, with old-growth trees spearing up to catch any and all possible sunlight that might grace this slowly healing wound in the earth. On the far side of the chasm, was another cliff-side property. I watched people emerge from a gate in their rear fence and walk towards and down a set of steps that descended into the deep forested area. A secret hideaway? Not my problem.
I continued along the length of the property, making my way back to the front. As I came even with the concrete of my rear patio, I saw an aberration in the fence. Was that a gate? It was. When I peered over the fence, I saw a normal fence on the outside, then exposed rock, then the cliff itself. But when I looked back on my side, there was an old gate with rusty hinges and a rustier latch holding everything closed. Next to the gate was an inscription carved into the wood.
“To [too worn to read] House”
Wait… The celebrity’s party… the address on the invitation… That was at a named house as well. I wonder…
I wonder when I’m going to get a survey team out here to check some things. (I wonder when I’m going to have the money to get a survey team out here to check some things.)
Before I could wonder further, I made the mistake of giving the gate a quick rattle to determine if it was sound as the sun was setting and I didn’t want to be out here at night until I could make things secure and safe.
The good news is that the gate was indeed sound.
The bad news is that the ground underneath it (and me) was not.
The jerking motion shook the footing out from under me and the fence adjacent to me. I failed to scramble to safety fast enough and fell into the deep forest below. The canopy devoured me as quickly as it devoured the last drops of sunlight and all became dark and tumultuous until…
“Gotcha!”
The hands that were holding me at my waist were large, strong, and gently unyielding. They helped me regain my footing and held fast until it was clear that I was standing on my own. The hands released my waist and took my hands and softly pulled me a few steps forward.
“Come away from there, there is still debris falling.”
I followed the voice and let them clear away the dirt on my face which allowed me to see. I watched a tall, thin man continue to fuss over me this way and that.
“There. All clean and nothing broken. I apologize for the gate giving way like that. I will have a crew repair it and inspect the fence for further problems. Don’t worry about the cost, I will pay for it. As your new neighbor, I would like there to be good fences between us.”
My new… neighbor?
“Did you get my invite? It said that you had received, opened, and accepted it, after all. Were you able to read it?”
The invite? Oh, that invite!
I noted that I did, but I was not sure where was the address it was referring to. After all, mine was the last house on that street because of the unyielding mountain rock that prevented further expansion of the development. I hadn’t had a chance to look at it yet because I wanted to walk the property line while I still had daylight.
The tall gentleman smiled and nodded while agreeing that some things are best done by daylight. But, he also noted, some things are best done by night.
“Such as my reverie! I am glad you could attend after all. Tell me, what is your pleasure? What is your vice? I’m sure I can arrange a repast quite nice. There are so many here attending, surely among them are those you would find comfort with.”
He ushered me inside and it was only then that I realized that the outside of his home was surrounded by complete darkness. Was it because the sun had set, or was the surrounding canopy just that thick? I could not tell.
To say that we entered his home is to say that entering the ocean is just getting into a little water. Huge and spacious and multi-floored and multi-roomed and just when I thought we had reached the end of the layout, another door opened and here was an entirely different wing.
So many people! So many people doing so many things! So many things that could be done in so many rooms! I was agog at the busyness of it all and completely overwhelmed.
But, somehow, through it all, I noticed that very few people noticed us. And those few who did, noticed him without noticing me at all. I felt very small and invisible.
“Ah, no, my child.” Without me saying a word, I knew that my host had heard my internal thoughts as clearly as if I had announced them from a lectern. “The method of your entry was abundant with its lack of grace. I did not want you to feel unwelcome in my home, so only those I know would be graceful to you have the opportunity to meet you. However, it seems that of those who have the opportunity, none have chosen to use it. Please, accept my apologies for this slight.”
I shook my head to refuse his apology. After all, is not the purpose of a mixer party to mix amongst each other. It is a skill that I painfully lack in whatever world I find myself in. If I am indeed in the reverie announced by the invitation, then I expect to get lost as people find those they are already familiar with while avoiding all others.
And no one is familiar with me.
“No one? You have no kith? You have no kin? You have no one here that you call friend? Oh, my dear child. No wonder your entrance was so abusive. You must stop thinking that is the only treatment you deserve. I did not invite you here to be mistreated. Tell me, what gives you comfort? What gives you relief? What can I do to justify your belief?”
I looked at the expanse of rooms and asked if he might happen to have a library or a collection of books. Of course he does. Would he be so kind as to permit me to peruse them? With pleasure, he would.
We pass conversation pits dominated by vigorous speakers. We pass groups that have taken over rooms to have private meetings in full view and exclusion to everyone else. We pass people who are searching for my host with all their might and miss him passing right in front of them because he is not who they expect.
“I have invited many, and many are those that respond. But some come here with expectations that cannot be supported. I hope that is not the case for you.”
We arrive at a study room where an attendant in red clothing is waiting for me. “Here, she knows where my books are. Tell her what information you would like to study and she will fetch the books for you. But, take care, as of all the books she can fetch tonight, none of them can be removed from my home. Memorize what you can to the best of your ability.”
The helper looked very familiar, and I was instantly at ease. And so the night went in peaceful solitude. Outside, the hours passed as minutes and now it was time for me to leave.
The host came for me and said I was welcome to spend the day, but it would impair my ability to do my day job. If I was going to return, I needed to leave soon. The path from my rear gate had literally fallen apart when I fell. I would not be able to climb back up.
“Ah, my child, you do not know what you are capable of, I see.” He held my head in his hands so that I could look at nothing other than the brilliant black orbs of his eyes. In them, I saw everything. “You need only to become that which you always have been.”
He released my face but kept my gaze by his will alone. And while under his gaze, he pinched and pulled at my body’s form until I changed shape into Weaver Ravencloaked. “This is a start, but your regular form has no power here. Please, permit me to continue.”
In the back of my mind, I had the knowledge that I did have the power to stop him if I willed to. But I willed him to continue instead. And so he pinched and pulled at my cloak and my feathers until I was wearing a new shape entirely. “There. With this, you can fly back to your property, to that you find safety in.”
That I find safety in? The banal and the deprived? The plain and the lacking? Did I find safety in that excessively inoffensive presentation? I did.
I looked at my hands and at the new shape of my wings. This was a dangerous form to wear even with the advantages. Why was it dangerous? Who would take offense at doing what needed to be done to survive?
As fast as I thought of the questions, I understood the answers, and shoved the understanding back into the depths of my mind.
“I understand. You would rather leave here under a more orthodox method. I will have a rental car waiting for you out front. But if you are going to leave, leave now. You will not offend me as you are not seeking to offend.”
Ah, if only it was always that easy. I curtsied in gratitude, just the same. The attendant that helped me with the studies, helped me get to the rental car quickly. A simple car, but with more flair than I expected, it got me to the boundary between his property and the city street very quickly. But there was one last hurdle.
Apparently, parking wasn’t free. Somehow, that seemed appropriate. Anyone could make their way to the reverie, but there was always a cost, and the cost would come up at the end. I didn’t have a parking ticket, so the lost ticket cost was a hundred dollars.
The lot attendants in the booth were very smug as they told me the cost. I wouldn’t be permitted to leave unless I paid the fee, and it was urgent that I return so I could get to work on time.
It was at that moment, after all that had happened, that I realized that I was dreaming. I realized not only that I was dreaming, but that now that I was lucid, that I could make the fee go away. The lot attendants suddenly weren’t as smug about the fee as I also realized that not only they know that I’m lucid, but also they couldn’t stop me from doing whatever the hell I wanted to do.
“Okay. I’ll pay the fee.” I held out my credit card for them to run to process the fee.
“You… will?” The attendant carefully took my card.
“Yes, considering how I got here in the first place, paying only a hundred dollars is getting it cheap! Yes, I’ll pay.”
“But… you could just… not… pay the fee.” The attendant was still holding my card.
“True, but that wouldn’t be fair to the host, would it.”
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” The attendant began to run my card when the system suddenly blinked and reset. “Um, well, you’re not paying.” He handed the card back to me.
“I’m not?”
“No, you’re not. Your account has just been marked as ‘No Charge’. So you’re free to go. Have a nice day.”
The gate rose as the attendants looked at the screen then back at me. I felt like I had just passed an important test. I bid them well and drove under the open gate to the world beyond.
As I did, I woke up to the sound of my alarm announcing it was time to get up for my day job.
It took me a moment to realize that I wasn’t sleeping, that I wasn’t dreaming anymore.
I had made it through the night. It was now May 1, 2025.
Walpurgisnacht 2025 had ended.
(It would still be several more days before I could write everything down and post it.)
Leave a Reply