A Ghost Story

Hallowe’en.  It never used to be a thing in Mellowdene. Long before I was born the village participated in the Beastie Hunt, our own tradition that occurs roughly the same time. This still dominates, but as the population has grown to include crittizens from elsewhere in Sylvania, they brought their expectations that Hallowe’en should be celebrated.

Nobody has any problems with that. Even the slightly scary element. After all, the Beastie Hunt is based upon the premise of wild creatures being given treats so that they won’t eat people during their search for the mythical Dreamstone. When I heard about Hallowe’en I was a little surprised how widespread it was throughout Sylvania. Also, when Tara Lapine-Frost told me it was also a human tradition… Ah, never mind.

The point is that we now have an element of Hallowe’en celebrations in Mellowdene. Because of the Beastie Hunt, the so-called "trick-or-treat" aspect of Hallowe’en is effectively redundant. We are left with carving vegetables, bobbing for apples, and a light dabbling with the supernatural.

 

I'm aware that there are some inexplicable occurrences throughout Sylvania. I've experienced some, you may remember. I also understand that Darcy Fielding is working on something that involves our resident paranormal investigator Mulder Honey-Fox. No doubt I'll find out about this soon. 

Exactly why supernatural events should be linked to a single day named Hallowe’en is beyond me, but I accept it. Part of this seems to be the telling of ghost stories. It makes sense that, to be effective, a proper storyteller should tell them. We have an author in Mellowdene and this year she was persuaded to fill that role. Fliss Robinson.

 

Having a son with an active imagination, his interest in fiction and role-play boosted by going to Ken Furbanks' Thursday drama club, it was only natural that my Brendan would want to attend a Hallowe’en Ghost Story event held by Fliss Robinson. It was a small event, and I first heard about it from my cousin Jonathan. Jon has an association with Everett Honeydew at the bank, and as Fliss Robinson's financial adviser, it was Everett's suggestion that Fliss share some of her stories for Hallowe’en. He also suggested that, for added atmosphere, the old meeting room in the chapel annex would be an ideal venue. He was sure Reverend Kelvin Waters would be agreeable.

Somehow this information was leaked to Ken Furbanks - I'm guessing that this was via the Cake Club (Everett's sister and Ken's wife both being members) and he became involved too. That's when Brendan expressed an interest in going.

 

All these associations! No wonder news spreads in Mellowdene. Anyway, that's why I attended the event at the old meeting room, an eager Brendan by my side.  

 

This is what we heard.

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"...and the condensation on the window seemed to shift. Some droplets separated to form opaque shapes on the glass. Others briefly joined together, moving to draw lines as if controlled by the inexplicable draughts. Moving and solidifying to draw the face of... the ghost bunny!"

Fliss half-closed the book to survey the intent faces of her audience. Some were wide-eyed, some were whispering into the ears of their friends. 

Brendan nudged me and mouthed, "Good, isn't it?" and I smiled and nodded in response.

A deep voice intoned, "Why are you here?"

It was Ken Furbanks. He had a copy of Fliss Robinson's book marked with vocal cues. Fliss responded by reading the words of her earthly characters. She used a wavering voice, contrasting well with Ken's ominous vocalisation. 

"We came to ask about the Hallowe'en treasure - we mean no offence, ghost bunny..."

"The Hallowe’en treasure? Assuming you are worthy, why would you want it? It only lasts for a day. Unless..." - Ken paused - "...one of you wants to join me in the ghostly realm..."

"We don't want to take the treasure, ghost bunny."

"No? Then I repeat - why are you here?"

"We heard that bringing pine cones to the treasure's resting place can free you so that you can join your family."

"But then the treasure would never return. You would do this? For me?"

Fliss closed the book and surveyed her rapt listeners.

"Well, children. What do you think they did? What would you do?"

 

o 0 O 0 o

Afterwards, many of the children clamoured around Fliss and Ken whilst the seats were stacked. During this period, Everett Honeydew approached me.

"Hello, Jackson. And Brendan, isn't it? I thought that went quite well."

Brendan nodded and I said, "She's a good writer. But whose idea was it for Ken to play a role? It was very effective."

"Fliss and Ken jointly, I think. Nothing to do with me. I think the kids enjoyed it."

Brendan answered for himself, as expected. "It was good. I've never been a ghost in my games. Mister Furbanks was brilliant." He mimicked Ken's ghost voice, "'Why are you here' - brilliant."

A young rabbit joined us. Button Honeydew.

"Ah, my son," explained Everett. "Where did you disappear to?"

"I went to see Mrs Robinson. I had some questions."

Everett closed his eyes and I thought I detected a gentle sigh. He reopened his eyes and addressed his son.

"Button, I hope you didn't pester her too much."

"Of course not, dad. I wanted to know why cutting down a pine tree would make a ghost. Lots of people cut down trees. They aren't ghosts."

"And did you get an answer?"

"Sort of. A combination of chopping a particular tree down at Hallowe’en, the bunny not having Sylvanian values, and the type of treasure. Still seems a bit odd."

Brendan had been listening. "Ghosts are odd. Hallowe’en is odd. They're supposed to be. That's the point of writing these stories. If they weren't odd, they wouldn't be ghost stories."

Button stared. "Yes. That makes sense." He appeared to assess my son. "You're Brendan, aren't you? In the class above me?"

"Yep. And you're Button. I saw your sister in the talent show earlier last year."

"Britney, yes. She's always dancing. Always. Odd."

"Your sister isn't odd, Button," said Everett.

Brendan raised one brow, looking upwards. This was usually an indicator that he was deep in thought. This time, it was clearly a quick thought.

"I wonder if there's a story about a dancing ghost?"

Button smiled. "A dancing Hallowe’en ghost?"

"Maybe."

Button took hold of Brendan's arm. "Let's go and ask Mrs Robinson."

As they sped off, Everett smiled apologetically.

"Button likes to ask questions. Sorry."

"No need to apologise," I said. "My Brendan is curious sometimes."

"I doubt he's as curious as Button. I hope Brendan doesn't regret taking him on."

"He won't. Questions feed his imagination."

We both nodded. We knew our sons. Odd things don't only happen at Hallowe’en. 

 

o 0 O 0 o