Entry # 21

Silence 
(Short Halloween Story)
By: A.H. Browne

He awoke in the middle of the night. Unaware as to what had awoken him. Looking around his room yielded no results as to why he should have been woken up. 
Casting sleep aside, he threw the covers to one side and got out of bed to use the bathroom. As he came back, he realized something was wrong. Something inside him—an alarm—went off. He didn’t know what. He couldn’t figure it out. There was something though. Something not right. 
Silence. …
It was silent.
Too silent.
It was the middle of the night. But… this was different. It shouldn’t be this quiet. Something was off. 
The power in the apartment. It was not on. 
No big deal, he thought. Probably just a power outage. 
He walked over to the window and looked out. The whole neighborhood seems to be out.
Walking towards his battery powered radio, he turned it on.
Silence…
What the hell is going on? He thought to himself, a little unnerved. 
There was something else though. Something else that was bothering him. Something not quite right in his apartment… 
Where were his dogs? He owned two large cumbersome male Dobermans. They weren’t under his feet as was normal. Those logs always blocked his pathway to the bathroom and refused to move during the night. He always managed to trip over them. But they weren’t in his apartment. So where did they go? 
He wandered around the entire apartment; he didn’t see them anywhere. Calling their names yielded no results. This wasn’t like them. They hid from absolutely nothing and always were by his side. But where were they now?
No electricity. ... 
No dogs. …
No radio. …
Complete and utter silence surrounded him.
He grabbed his keys; a flashlight—checking to make sure it worked; and walked out into the hallway. Locking the door he went into the hallway to find his dogs and figure out what was going on. 
They weren’t in the hallway or anywhere to be found; by once again, calling their names. 
But the neighbors’ apartment doors were wide open. … All of them. As many as he could see up and down the hallway. 
He knocked on the nearest neighbors’ door and walked inside, calling their names, flashing the light around. 
No response.
Their electricity was off just like had been in his apartment. He couldn’t find their cat; calling its name produced no hairy glob running to greet him. 
He walked into the bedroom still calling out to them—as well as their cat. Pushing open the bedroom door, he saw. …

Nothing. 

They weren’t in their bedroom. They weren’t anywhere in their apartment. 
He went back into the hallway; continuing to walk through the hallway and each apartment as he came to them. No electricity in any of them. Using his flashlight produced no help in finding people hiding in corners, animals scurrying underfoot; nothing. 
No animals.
No people.
No electricity.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
He didn’t understand what was happening.
Where did everyone go?
What happened to the electricity?
What the hell is going on?
He walked out into the cool night air of the city. There was nobody outside. There was no electricity as far as the eye could see. 
He walked into the middle of the street as his flashlight gave out. He banged it against his hand a couple times, but it was done for. 
As he stood there—glancing up and down the street—a slight fog slowly crept quietly along the street.
Silently it slid in along the street as it came ever closer to him. He stood watching, unsure of what exactly was happening. Unsure of what he should do, but remaining transfixed on what was coming his way. 
The fog seemed to grow thicker as it enveloped him. No longer able to see through it, he felt something cold and slimy glide along his body, grabbing at him as it gathered around him. …

Then it was gone. 

A horn blared at him from the street as a car slammed it brakes to avoid hitting him. 
“What’s your problem?! Get out of the damn street you crazy jerkoff!!” The driver shouted at him as he jumped onto the sidewalk near his building and out of the way; dropping his flashlight into the street as he did. 
He looked around to see lights on, people walking the sidewalks, and everything was … back to normal. 
He looked around, trying to figure out what had happened. People simply walked past him as they went about their nightly stroll. He could see nothing amiss. 
He turned and headed back to his apartment. He reached for the door handle to his apartment building, but it wasn’t there. He looked around as an ear shattering scream broke the silence. It seemed to surround him, causing him to quickly cover his ears with his hands as it grew in pitch and became deafening. He saw absolutely nothing when he looked around. There were no buildings; no street … nothing. 
The fog appeared again as he felt something running through his fingertips—that were pressed against his ears—and down his cheeks. He pulled his hands away and saw blood. 
The scream continued to pierce his brain as the fog enveloped him once more. Unable to run, unable to make a sound, he was helpless as he felt the thousands of slimy cold hands wrapping around his body. The screaming only increasing as the hands tightened their grip. … 



She awoke in the middle of the night. Unaware as to what had awoken her. 

Entry # 20

Halloween Tackle

By Gregory Hart

When I was a kid, I was almost scared of everything that goes bump in the night. The best analogy that I can give you is that of me being like Shaggy and Scooby Doo but without all the eating. Hahaha!!! Anyway there was one Halloween where I dressed up as a ghost and usually my mother was the one who took me trick or treating while my dad gave out the treats to those who came to our house. But this night was going to be different because my mother happened to get sick and she was the one left to give out the treats, while my dad took me trick or treating. He didn't know all the houses that I normally went to so we ended up going to all the houses in the area. So needless to say, I got a lot of candy that year.

There was this one house that went out in the Halloween decorations and with the tricking part of Halloween and me and mom always knew this and because I scared easily when I was a kid, never stopped at the house. Well my dad stopped at this one house even after me telling him not to stop there. After much convincing on his part, I finally caved in. I was thinking at this point, what harm would it do me? Boy was I ever wrong in thinking that.

I get out of the car and begin making my way up to the door, spooky lighting and music playing in the background somewhere. The front yard has an oak tree and in front of the oak tree was a raised flower bed that would now go little pass my knees. I had to pass this flower bed to get to the house.

Unknown to me, the owners of the house had raked up a lot of leaves from the tree and put them into a pile behind the flower bed. In the pile, they had covered someone up underneath them. I'll come back to this bit later. As I continued up towards the house, I heard a bunch of leaves being rattled. I stopped and looked around me, satisfied nothing was wrong, I continued on to the house.

Two steps later, I heard the noise again. This time I stopped and took my time looking around again but this time looking in the tree branches themselves, thinking that a cat or some animal was in it making the noise. When I didn't see anything, I naively continued on to the house for the candy. Here's where the pile of leaves came in. I took two more steps and the next thing I realize is Dracula is coming out of nowhere and he was heading for my direction.

Well, I screamed and began running away from the house. Not only was I was running away from the house, I was running away from the car as well. From behind me I heard the owner yelling at me Hey! Come back here! Don't you want your candy! Needless to say, at this point, I didn't care about the candy. All I was thinking was HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO GET OUT OF HERE WITH A MADMAN CHASING ME AND TO HELL WITH MY CANDY!!! I kept going and wasn't going to stop for anything, including for my dad who was now calling for me to come back to the house.

I would have left the yard too if it wasn't for someone tackling me to the ground to get me to stop running. I was kicking and screaming so hard for them to let me go all the way up to the front door of the house, which come to find out it was my dad who had tackled me. He and the owner of the house spent the next five minutes or so trying to calm me down and explain to me that it was all a joke and there was nothing going to hurt me. 

Well after everything was said and done, my mom had a kick out of telling my dad to listen to me the next time when I said I didn't want to stop there. One thing was certain; he never took me trick or treating again after that. It's one of those memories that I'll never forget. As for all that candy that was still in my bag, it was a miracle that I never lost any as hard as I hit the ground when I was tackled.

Entry # 19

Just One Night

By Amy McNamara Fraher

It was a crisp night; the wind howled, not a single star in the black velvety sky, and yet the moon appeared as if it was gigantic orange ball. The month was October, the month for ghosts and ghouls, the month that celebrates the day of the dead, the month that some say is brought on by Satan; but for most it is the month for sweet, yummy, and oh so delicious holiday known as Halloween. From the very first day of this wonderful month; and for some it may start even earlier than that, the ideas of costume and decorations start to unfold. Children began to concoct just who or what they want to be, the layout of their path of which houses have the best treats, the practicing of saying that perfect phrase, “Trick or Treat… Please”. Adults climb into their attics, basements, and garages to collect their desired yard ornaments; may they be spiders, witches, zombies, or just a typical pumpkin. Lights and cords alike are strewn across the yards, devious carvings of the pumpkins displayed by the front door, “Beware of the Dead” signs entail the walkway, and as for the entry way – the pit of all things good – is usually donned with a fall-like wreath or a wickedly decorated welcoming of some sort.

Welcome to the world of Halloween! Or as Emma liked to call it, Welcome to the world of the “best-est” holiday ever! Well with the exception of Santa Clause and Christmas… Emma was seven years old, Emma loved candy, and most of all Emma loved Halloween. To go to the local outlet store and gaze at costume after costume, her mind changing every time she saw one that had a pointy hat, which donned glittery wings, that came with a tail and cat-like ears; the decisions that had to be made. Does she carry the typical pumpkin container, does she bring her pink pillowcase that she used last year that held tons of candy, or does she pick something new? The right container says it all in regards to candy volume; no candy too small due to it getting lost in the shuffle, no candy too large since that is valuable wasted space. Now that Emma had just the right costume, just the right container, and with her dad’s helps finding just the right path; her goal was to get the most candy ever in the few hours that Halloween existed!

As the clock strikes with the small hand on the six and the big hand on the twelve it is show time. Emma dressed head to toe appearing as a young vampire; her costume existing of a long black silky dress, and a matching long black silky cape with red on the inside, her hair twisted back so you could see her pale white skin and blood red lips enclosing her white vampy teeth, her hands adored black spider rings, with the final touch of a small rubber bat riding shot gun on her left shoulder – Buford was his name.

“Dad, it’s time! I don’t wanna be the last kid out the door! Dad!” Emma shouts.

As Dad grabs himself a flashlight and Emma’s red glow stick he replies with the usual “I’m coming! I’m coming!”

Out the door they go, pre-drawn map that Emma herself drew of the neighborhood in one hand and a black plastic cauldron in the other hand, with Dad trailing behind. As each house was approached Emma prepared for her moment; cape on straight… check, teeth in correctly… check, cauldron positioned in left hand (right hand was for ringing the doorbell)… check, all systems were a go!

“Trick or Treat! Please…” Emma proudly says to the elderly woman sitting on her porch swing, of course making sure her goody basket was duly noted.

“My, just look at you, it seems I have been visited by a mystical creature of the night,” noted the elderly woman, and just as she noticed Emma’s costume Emma noticed the two mini snicker bars placed in her bucket. Emma said her farewells and moved on.
After going from house to house and neighborhood to neighborhood, her pointy black boots were beginning to hurt her feet; not only that but Dad was seeing wear and tear on his as well. Emma couldn’t wait to get home and dump out all her goodies on the table, she would divide them into various categories like “the good stuff” (candy bars, starbursts, and twizzlers) “the grandma candy (the kind that the elderly have had around forever and none dares to eat), “the chewies” (gum, tootsie rolls, caramels), “the teeth breakers” (lollipops, jawbreakers, and fireballs), and finally the strangest items left were “the no-eat-ums” (Halloween pencils, Halloween erasers, and small silly toys… like MORE spider rings).

As Emma and Dad approached the house the street was filled with many visiting children seeking their own treats. Mom and big brother were handing our infamous popcorn balls out to a devil, a witch, and two princess fairies.

Emma went into the house and kicked off her boots, you could hear the swoosh of her bucket emptying onto the floor followed by squeals of delight.

“Emma, did you get me any Kit Kat bars? Emma…” Mom asked.
When Mom received no reply, she went into the living room to find Emma fast asleep amongst all of her Halloween treats; probably dreaming of more spider rings.

Entry # 18

This Old House

By

Paul Freeman

The old house looked the same, all crumbling mortar and rotten timbers, even the overgrown ivy appeared no different. He allowed himself a self-satisfied smile, who would have guessed, he thought to himself, that he would come back after all these years and buy the old heap. His eye was automatically drawn to an upstairs window, a dark gaping hole in the off-white wall.

Somebody had boarded up the front door and downstairs windows, they needn’t have bothered, nobody from around here would set foot inside the place. He remembered growing up in the area, none of the kids would come near this place, even the bravest of them were petrified of the old house. It was still considered ‘the old house’ back then, he smiled as he remembered.

The place was haunted, they said. ‘Don’t go down there or the White Lady will get ye.’ Some swore they had seen her, looking out from that top window, dressed in white. There were countless sightings and rumours, ‘walk three times around the house at midnight, on the night of a full moon and she’ll appear,’ they said. ‘Old Mick saw an English man do it back in the fifties. The man was never seen again.’

All nonsense of course, superstitious rubbish. He believed it as a kid though. He even thought he had seen her himself. He had accepted a dare to go into the house, he didn’t want to but he was thirteen and there was a girl to impress, he could not turn down the challenge. He got as far as the front door when he heard a creak, he imagined a rope swinging from the rafters, when he looked up there she was. Her white gown floating in the breeze. She was staring at him, two black pits for eyes, that look turned his insides to ice. He ran and ran, to hell with impressing girls. He cried all the way home. He could laugh now.

They even had a name for the ghost, Mary McGuire, maid, married and widowed all in one day. The story goes; it was during the Irish civil war, the Irish rebels had fought the British army to a standstill and a ceasefire was declared. The Irish sent a contingent to London to negotiate a peace treaty, that treaty resulted in the island being divided, twenty six counties were set free, six remained under the control of the British. This sparked a civil war between pro-treaty and anti-treaty factions. Setting brother against brother, father against son. Ironically the pro-treaty side who formed a government used British guns against their former comrades.

The story doesn’t say which side Mary McGuire’s new husband fought for, only that on the evening of her wedding he was called away, there was an ambush and he was shot dead. So, a widow on her wedding night. They say she was distraught upon hearing the news and was found hanging from the ceiling of the bridal chamber the next morning. Every night since she comes down off the rope and comes to the window searching for her lost love.

He shivered at the memory of the old ghost story. She’s going to have to find somewhere new to live, he thought to himself, his construction firm had big plans for this place and there was no room for ghosts in the new development.

He kicked in the door and stepped inside into the darkness. It smelled of decay and neglect, the staircase in the hallway was rotten away, even the ceilings had gaping holes, he could see right through them. It’s about time this place was demolished, he thought.

He heard a creaking noise, a shiver ran down his spine. He felt a breeze on his face, he swung around his eyes opening wide in shock. He couldn’t breathe, his chest felt as if someone had stabbed him in the heart with an icicle.

Falling…falling…blackness.

*****

The old house looked the same. The estate agent felt an odd, unpleasant sensation every time he came out to the place.

“So what happened to the previous owner?” A voice interrupted his thoughts

“It’s a strange story, he was a local lad, made it big up in Dublin with his own construction company. He came back here a few years ago with big plans to develop this site into a shopping centre. Then he just disappeared,” the estate agent answered the young couple.

“How very odd,” the woman said.

“Hasn’t been sight nor sound of him in years. The company just want to get rid of the place now,” the estate agent shrugged.

“Well that’s to our gain so, we really like this village and plan to start our family right here,” the man said, smiling at his wife.

“Well, she’s all yours, come by the office later and we’ll sort the paperwork.” They shook hands and the estate agent left the couple to wander around their new property.

As he walked from the overgrown garden he glanced back. What was that in the window? He knew all the old stories about the house, every local did. He wondered should he have said something to the new owners… and have them laugh at him for spouting such superstitious nonsense? He shook his head at his own foolishness and with a wave left them to it.

  

Entry # 17

The Best Costume Ever
By 
Rose Blackthorn

I watch them as they cross the street, caroling, gamboling, some almost cart-wheeling in their excitement. They are a joy to behold in all their many costumes. There are witches and ninjas, cowboys and furry blue monsters. There are princesses and hobos, a lady bug, a clown. There are babies in strollers disguised as a pea in a pod, or there, a bumblebee.

The decorations on the houses are an invitation, letting these little masqueraders know which to approach. Tissue paper ghosts hang from trees, plastic jack-o-lanterns glow, and molded zombies push their way up from beneath piles of dead leaves.

“Come on, hurry!” Daisy says beside me, hidden beneath the bushes. “All the good candy will be gone!”

I won’t be rushed. I’ve been looking forward to this night all year, and I’m going to have the very best costume ever.

There, rushing past my hiding place, is a group of children. They are all of an age, perhaps ten years old. One is a pirate, black greasepaint on his cheeks to pretend beard stubble, and a black patch perched over one eye. Another wears a red and blue body suit, a large black spider on the chest – he is a superhero. I’ve seen them before, but I’m not impressed. Here’s a girl in a sparkly dress and shoes, a wand held in one hand, spangled wings strapped to her back. 

“Billy, we’re running out of time!” Daisy hisses, poking me in the side with one bony finger. 

“Shut up,” I whisper back, watching the last of the group approach the nearest house. He’s smaller than the other boys, dressed in a satin vest over a dazzling white shirt. Real leather shoes, shined by someone who knows how, peek out from beneath freshly ironed slacks. He wears a black cape, thrown back with pizzazz to show the scarlet lining. His black top hat is a little too big, but still dapper. A tiny fake mustache has been glued to his upper lip, and he carries a stuffed white rabbit under one arm. A magician, yes he is. Seeing him is like magic.

“Billy!” Daisy whispers, poking me again, but I ignore her.

“Trick or treat!” the children yell, holding out bags and baskets when a woman answers the door. She oohs and aahs over their costumes, handing out her dole of candy. The first three children quickly head to the next house on the block, but the magician is saying thank you for the candy.

“Shut up,” I say to Daisy, wiggling out from under the bush. When the magician leaves the house, cutting across the lawn to catch up to his friends, I’m right behind him. In the shadows of the nearly leafless trees, I reach out to touch his hand, snatching at his sleeve like a stray wisp of wind.

***
We make it home just as the big clock in town chimes midnight. Mother oohs and aahs over our costumes, and Father laughs when he sees mine.

“Magic, huh?” he says, scratching a cracked yellowed nail along his bony chin. “Where did you find it?”

“Over on Sycamore,” I say, turning so he can see the whole outfit. The black and scarlet cape swirls, the shined leather shoes gleam, and the boy’s pale skin glimmers in the moonlight. He was a small boy, and it’s a tight fit, but I’m proud of this year’s costume.
“Alright, children,” Mother says, “Time to put your costumes away.”

“But Mom!” Daisy complains, letting Mother help her out of her costume with a pout. “Halloween only comes once a year!”

“Yes, I know dear,” Mother says, laying the blond girl’s skin, dressed in a ballerina’s leotard and tutu, across the nearest headstone. “But it will be Halloween again before you know it.” She’s smiling, though it’s hard to tell; her lips rotted away long years ago.

End

Entry # 16

The Note: The Day We All Died

by Colleen Douglas

I never did find out what happened that day. We know it was a nuclear attack but, no one really knows from where, or why. We knew it was coming but, we also knew there was nowhere to go. I remember my husband and I going to a nearby park with our old dog to play catch; to have fun before we all died. I remember the bright light and the blast. I remember standing there watching, then feeling myself being lifted off the ground, hurtling through the air. I heard my dog screaming as if someone were ripping off his legs one by one. I had been too afraid to scream for him; had been too afraid to scream for my husband. I remember instinct taking over and my body curling in on itself, my arms wrapping around my head. I remember finally hitting the ground after what felt like hours in the air. I rolled over and over countless times, I didn't fight it, there was no point. My body couldn't remain curled up, the force of the air demanded compliance. I remember allowing myself to go limp and letting the wind to carry me over the ground.

Then the air stopped moving. It might have been only a few seconds, a few minutes, a few hours, days, weeks, months or even years that I laid there, when I opened my eyes, the sky was grey and dark with ashes falling like thick heavy snow. I was covered in a layer. I couldn't see the sun or even the light from it. I remember sitting up and looking around at what was left. Everything was flattened. Nothing left, the grass, there were a few trees that had survived the blast but just barely, the limbs on one side gone, the roots on the same side pulled from the ground.

I remember getting up and shaking the soot from my hair. My first thought was to find my husband. I'm not sure how long I searched. I screamed for him over and over again. I realized at some point that my cheeks were wet; I had been crying. My throat was sore from screaming. I found my dog or what was left of him in a tree; the only way to tell it was him was his tags attached to his collar. They had been just a joke really, being bright red with violet zebra patterns.

I continued my search for my husband, I came across a man that been impaled by a bit of wood about the size of a 2' by 4"; it had pinned him by the chest to one of the few remaining, still standing, trees. His screams still haunt my dreams.

I wasn't the only person left. There were others but it seemed everyone one was in some form of panic or shock. They were no help, not that I was asking. After a time, it was like my mind jump started itself back to life. Before the blast, back in my old home, my mother and I used to go out of our way to find old abandoned buildings and scavenge random things we could either find a use for or sell. In video games I had also always been a scavenger. Even at that time, nothing had changed.

I went back to the pile of rubble that once been my home and searched till I found one of my larger backpacks then proceeded to search for anything of potential use in my own and several other used to be houses. I remember coming across bodies and not feeling a thing and then wondering, is that really such a bad thing?

Then I left. I left that area completely, though, what I was looking for I really didn't know. I think I was running on pure instinct at that point; just had to find somewhere safe. I learned early on to avoid other people. Desperate people only equal feral animals. People had always liked to pretend they were better than animals but, there was no pretending now; no, everyone knew that to survive meant doing things we never would have done before.

With nothing left for me I just travelled from place to place until I ended up here. Where here is exactly, I'm not sure. It's been a long time since I've seen a map with a "you are here" dot. I'm also not sure how long it's been since "the end of the world" as people have been calling it. I don't see the "end" part; as far as I can tell I'm still breathing, still starving, and still generally alive. I'm not sure how I survived being so close to the blast site. Not sure I'll ever figure it out or even if I really want to. The only way I know it's been at least a few years is that I've got more wrinkles than I remember having. I'm not real sure how old I am now though the occasional man not out to rape and pillage, will tell me I'm still attractive. Not sure I should believe them, though. I know the years have been hard on my body. Scars litter every inch of my skin but I don't care. I think of them as trophies for all the battles I've won or lost and learned from. Though, if I had to guess I would say I'm probably in my early to mid-thirty's or maybe even in my forty's as I was in my late twenties when the bombs went off.

Doesn't really matter how old I am though. I'm not sure how I survived this long. Gods knows I shouldn't have; I think it was pure dumb luck. I miss my husband, and my dog, and all my friends and family. I can't remember the last time I could call someone a friend and mean it. It's been so long since anyone one could trust anyone else; everyone's in it for the one and only. Even in a large group it's every man for himself. I tried that scene once, got tired of always having to watch my back and sleeping with one eye open and a weapon at the ready. It was like that on my own too but, at least out on my own there was less chance of getting stabbed in the back by the guy who was supposed to be watching it.

I think of that first day, the day of the blast, as the day we all died 'cause god knows there is nothing left of the people who once lived. Their bodies and faces may look similar but, their minds can only hold the memories of what they use to be. I'm not sure what happened to the governments or the armies; all I know is I've never seen any official looking person since the blast. Not sure they could do anything with this world of chaos anyway; especially, since they couldn't get it right even when there was at least the illusion of order. No way can they do anything now.

The reason I've written this is more out of boredom. There comes a time when one realizes that their life is coming to an end. I'm tired; I'm tired of it all; all the running, the fighting, the killing. Preying on those weaker than myself; that list seems to be getting shorter. I'm finished even if I have to end my sordid existence myself. I didn't write this so others could learn from my mistakes or anything as selfless as that. I wrote this as a simple, "Hey, yeah, I existed!" sort of thing.

I lost what was once me after that blast and sometimes I miss that me. Sometimes you have to kill yourself to survive or just kill yourself and rid the rest of us of your living existence so we can eat you and take your belongings.

Entry # 15

"The Swamp Vine"

by Matthew C. Nelson

And so the legend goes....

A long time ago, before the land across Europe was greeted by Ponce De'Leon and his crew, smaller shadow-filled swamps surrounded the much larger Okefenokee. In one hidden swamp, a small village lay nestled within a circle of cypress trees, one which the local people called Turtle's Shadow. Along the edges of the village, a little girl by the name of Swamp Flower, used to play for hours. One day, her grandmother, Sand Crane, approached and sat beside Swamp Flower.

"Swamp Flower", Sand Crane looked to her grand daughter as she spoke, "I know you are growing faster then the vegetables in the garden, and faster then the swamp deer along the edges of our village, but I hope I need not remind you to stay away from Grandmother Cypress."

Swamp Flower looked at Sand Crane directly in the eye and replied, "The large tree that sits with its roots deep within the earth over there?" She pointed to what was perhaps the largest cypress tree in the area, it's roots so massive that they began to erupt out of the ground and back in, forming loops all along the ground.

Sand Crane nodded without looking to where Swamp Flower pointed, for she knew better then most of its direction. "Child, only those who are ready to take the first steps towards womanhood are allowed to approach, and you still have several more seasons to go. Though you might think you are ready, trust me when I say that you are not. My sister...your great aunt, Water Weed, thought she was ready and approached well before her time, and vanished without a trace. We have no wish for that to happen to you as well.

Now, "Sand Crane slowly attempted to rise, "help your dear, old grandmother up, would you?" Swamp Flower placed her hands beneath her grandmother's arms and slowly lifted her up to her feet. Turning to head back towards the center of the village, Sand Crane looked back at her granddaughter one last time. Removing a freshly picked flower from her pouch, she gently placed it within Swamp Flower's hair.

Swamp Flower silently watched in amazement as her grandmother headed back towards the village. How did she always have the knack for reading her mind? Why, also, was it possible for her grandmother to say something that always made her frustrated? She slowly began to count off her fingers until all of them were stretched outward. That, plus a few fingers, were how many seasons she had already seen pass by. How was it, then, that she was not ready? She had heard rumors of women as young as two hand's worth of fingers, and almost one other complete set, had gone before Grandmother Cypress, and successfully completed their steps towards being a woman. Surely, one or two years shy of that was good enough...right?

Swamp Flower looked at the grand tree, and slowly found her feet walking towards it, all the while thinking about her grandmother's sister, Water Weed. Maybe she was just not ready. Maybe she had performed the ceremony wrong. Yes! That had to be it! Smiling, her feet began moving faster towards the tree, her gait increased to match her steps. Within minutes, she stood directly beneath the branches of the massive tree... and stopped.

Slowly getting down onto her knees, she looked up above into the hidden branches and tried to follow with her eyes all the patterns of the vines that wove into and out of them...that is, until one of them moved.

Swamp Flower blinked several times and directly stared at the odd-shaped vine. It was no false sight, or trick of the eye; the vine really moved. Then, having unfurled itself a bit from the branches, a set of reptilian eyes opened and gazed at her. Beneath the pair of eyes, the vine gave way and appeared to crack in half, only to reveal a matching pair of glistening white teeth shaped in the way of a half-smile.

Opening wider, the mouth yawned a few times before speaking. "I know your name, child...just as I knew your kin before you...Water Weed. Are you prepared for the ceremony, or will you succumb to the same fate that Water Weed did? Hmm?"

Swallowing once before speaking, Swamp Flower whispered, "I am...ready."

A chuckle erupted from the alligator's mouth before speaking, "We shall see...we shall see." The "vine" slithered down and appeared along side Swamp Flower. "Before going before the great spirit, Grandmother Cypress, you must give up something of great value...a sacrifice. What will your sacrifice be, child?"

In that moment, Swamp Flower understood why her grandmother had given her that flower. Try as she might to persuade her granddaughter to not go before Grandmother Cypress too early, Sand Crane realized that Swamp Flower had already made her mind up. So, Sand Crane gave her the gift of a swamp flower, in hopes of ensuring her granddaughter's success.

Picking the swamp flower gently from her hair, she set it down before the "vine". "I give you this token of my faith, as well as my belief, that I am ready."

The "vine" looked to child's sacrifice and nodded before leveling its eyes back at Swamp Flower. "You offer a token of love and family. It is accepted, child. Let me lead the way."

Turning back towards Grandmother Cypress, the alligator guided Swamp Flower towards a small opening within the tree and entered it...and vanished.


Resting now back at her hut, Sand Crane sat brewing some tea near the fire, when a lone, damp cypress leaf came fluttering in through the window, and gently stuck to the side of her face. Reaching up to grab it, Sand Crane gently smiled at it as a long tear rolled down her cheek.

"Good luck Swamp Flower...good luck."