Down through the foggy night streets, on All Hallows’
Eve, a devil and the Riverman caroused. The devil was ten, so the ferryman was
unsure how more magical nights they would have like this. In my hooded cloak
and shawl (with backpack hidden underneath, giving an unsightly hump) and with
my staff, I encountered many reactions.
“Are you dressed as a hobo?”
“Maybe he’s wizard!”
“He’s a hunchback!”
Reactions to the devil, with his burgeoning bag of
treats, however, were uniform praise.
“Great costume; I saw you coming. And who’s he?”
“He’s the Riverman, who everyone pays to get into
hell.”
One thing to remember about clunking along with your
staff on a rainy, leafy, damp night. If you say “hi” to an older woman, whether
to impress or seem collected, you may put your staff (a rake with the forks
removed) into the holes of the top of a manhole cover. Then, while attempting
to remove the wooden post, you may land your feet in a significant puddle,
soaking your shoes.
Last night, the fog lingered in the glow of the lamplight
like a John Carpenter shot.
Among the sporadic flocks of disguised children, and
brightly coloured creatures who seem in vogue this year, we saw a teenage girl
who was Freddy Krueger, a woman who answered the door with some sort of demon
mouth opening in her torso, a hole that looked untoward, and a grinning skull
face that offered candy on the threshold.
My favourite, though, was a darkened figure sitting by
the bowl of the candy by the front door as Mike-Oldfield-esque music played.
The Crow-beaked thing with glowing eyes moved as we reached for candy. Raised
an arm. Looked upward. Whether alive or not, we could not say until we said, “Happy
Halloween.”
“Happy Halloween,” they intoned, startling us.
And I hope everyone else had one, too.
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