In October the sky becomes grey and watery while the leaves blaze with color, even on the quietest of days. In one of my favorite cemeteries there is a hill, tucked back beyond its farthest end. It is embraced by a hug of unhindered oaks that stand tall into the sky, even as they check their footing to avoid the the deep ravine that cuts the earth behind them. On this small hill there are a few gravestones scattered, leaning, in disrepair. Mosses and lichens live silently, and snails and worms are the tigers in this forest.
Silence, I have found, likes this corner of the graveyard best. There are no upstart blooms, no ornate crypts, no ostentatious flags. Letters on the headstones have become blurry, and seem to whisper the names of their owners in worn, weary voices.
Johanssen—hush. Wingquist—quiet. Lars—shhhhh! Only the hot orange leaves threaten the peace as they fall to the ground. Untrammeled in this forgotten end, they cover the graves like locusts and murmur to the dead.
“Wake up!” they say in their rustley voices. “Halloween will be here soon!”
The dead shift in their dirt beds, wishing to be left alone.
“Wake up!” say the leaves. “Wake up! We have a gift for you.”
As harbingers of half-life, the leaves’ color leeches into the soil, and slowly stains the sleeping spirits. Orange oozes through their ectoplasmic veins, slowly at first, until enough glowing hot October reaches their ghostly hearts.
By Halloween, the spirits have gained enough strength to sit up. Slowly, as evening falls, they shamble to the edge of the graveyard. The iron bones of the gate creak in their sockets as the ghosts swing it wide open, into the unsuspecting neighborhood. The silent ghosts step out. Hollering children stampede past! Fiery pumpkins flicker and wink. Hissing cats, flapping bats, crappy rats, and ding-donging doorbells reverberate through the night.
“TRICK OR TREAT!” yell the wax-nosed witches.
“TRICK OR TREAT!” howl the plastic ghouls.
“TRICK OR TREAT!” scream the bedsheets, “TRICK OR TREAT!”, “TRICK OR TREAT!”,”TRICK OR TREAT!”
“Forget this noise,” says Johanssen. “I’m going back to sleep!”
Posted by Ned at octobre 31, 2004 12:11 AM