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Each year between 2004 and 2018 I had a story to share for Halloween every year, because it's a significant date for me. This year, I have a soft wisp of a story for anyone who is still reading.
Here I feel warm and well-content by Alex Draven
Outside, autumn had turned up all at once, with the clocks going back, and the unseasonably hot Indian summer abruptly replaced with wind and driving rain. The darkness, and the patter of rain on the window just made the cosy stillness of the untidy lounge all the more relaxing. Ian was napping - exhausted from another long day of young people with more problems than he could solve. Steam drifted slowly above the mug of tea he’d made after dinner, but not drunk - something herbal and spiced, that you couldn't quite identify. You curl up on the rug, next to the couch, resting your head against his folded legs, where he’d shoved his bare feet under the crumpled fleece blanket that never got put away.
You listen to his deep, even, breathing, and, from the kitchen, the quiet chatter of the smart speaker. He’d got into the habit of leaving it running - podcast after documentary discussion after podcast - back when you were first in hospital, when everything was acute and terrifying and touch-and-go, and being alone in the silent flat was more than he could tolerate. He still tends to leave it running through the night: says that it helps him sleep.
There hadn’t been any trick-or-treaters to disturb his rest this evening - he’d half-heartedly picked up a bag of snack-size chocolates in the last grocery run, but there wasn’t spare time or energy for full-on decorations and carved pumpkins, and when he’d come in from work, he hadn’t remembered to turn on the outside lights. He put so much of himself into his work these days - so many things from the before times had been put away, and never re-started. Going to clubs, gigs, festivals didn’t feel safe for so very long, and in the meantime, the accelerating crisis growing between his kids and them achieving their goals, launching successful adult lives despite the odds, just got bigger and bigger, and took up more and more of his attention.
He’d re-started game nights, eventually, but that had always been more of a him thing than a you thing, so it was nothing new for that context when you weren’t around - you’d always done your best to clear out and leave them to it, ever since you’d first moved in together. He’d started going to the gym, too, which was new. Tackling the pandemic pounds, he’d called it, and while you thought he looked hot with the extra weight, it was his body, and you weren’t that kind of asshole. You had to admit that the extra muscles were also pretty hot, and it seemed like something that helped him, a new community that he could build, in this strange new world that everyone was figuring out. Anything that kept him from burning out was OK by you - neither of you had ever been the best at the whole “put your own gas mask on first” stuff, and so many of your colleagues and friends had pushed themselves too hard for too long, injuring themselves in body and in spirit. These days keeping Ian safe, seeing him well, was most of your hearts’ desire. So little else mattered.
The washing machine in the kitchen frantically span to the end of its cycle, the noise bringing you back to the present moment, although it didn’t disturb Ian. If tonight went true to form, he’d sleep on the couch until his bladder got him up in the early hours, and then slowly shuffle through to the bedroom. The evening stretched long and calm, warm golden lamp-light and squalls outside. Back before, there would always have been music playing, if not a half-dozen friends over, or full on preparations for a night out underway - elaborate make up and carefully crafted costumes. It felt impossibly far away - another world . This - the peace, and the calm, and the bat-and-cat bunting that had become a permanent feature of the room, and Ian’s chest rising and falling, the small movements of the muscles in his thigh under your gentle fingers as he shifted in his sleep. This was timeless, and it filled your heart.
Timeless, that is, until you realise that it’s nearly midnight - the last few minutes of all hallow’s eve. The wind has died down, the washing long-since finished, leaving the muffled voices from the kitchen alone in your ears. It feels late - that growing coldness that tells you that you’ve been here too long. You stand, and Ian shifts in his sleep, turning towards you, and tugging the blanket up over his chest. His breathing settles again, and he’s deep in sleep. You lean over and ghost a kiss on his forehead.
“Sleep, babe. Dream well. I love you,” you whisper, and then it’s midnight, and your time is up.
---- fin ----
If you're interested in reading the previous stories I've posted as Halloween gifts they are:
1) Dream Come True (2004)
2) Thirteen Kisses (2005)
3) All Souls (2006)
4) Favour ($0.99) & two free snippets Soar and Raining Cats (2007)
5) Tradition (2008)
6) Everything changes (2009)
7) It's not the dead that haunt graveyards (2010)
8) Here Comes The Rain (2011)
9) Mellow Mists (2012)
10) Sunset Starts (2013)
11) Unexpected Callers (2014)
12) Energy (2015)
13) According to Plan (2016)
14) Tricky treats (2017)
15) Sweets for my Sweet (2018)
You'll find these and other seasonally appropriate snippets under 'seasonal : autumn' in the tags list
(I am doing this because it's a significant date for me, so, thank you, everyone who reads this, and twice thanks to those of you who let me know that you did.)
Here I feel warm and well-content by Alex Draven
Outside, autumn had turned up all at once, with the clocks going back, and the unseasonably hot Indian summer abruptly replaced with wind and driving rain. The darkness, and the patter of rain on the window just made the cosy stillness of the untidy lounge all the more relaxing. Ian was napping - exhausted from another long day of young people with more problems than he could solve. Steam drifted slowly above the mug of tea he’d made after dinner, but not drunk - something herbal and spiced, that you couldn't quite identify. You curl up on the rug, next to the couch, resting your head against his folded legs, where he’d shoved his bare feet under the crumpled fleece blanket that never got put away.
You listen to his deep, even, breathing, and, from the kitchen, the quiet chatter of the smart speaker. He’d got into the habit of leaving it running - podcast after documentary discussion after podcast - back when you were first in hospital, when everything was acute and terrifying and touch-and-go, and being alone in the silent flat was more than he could tolerate. He still tends to leave it running through the night: says that it helps him sleep.
There hadn’t been any trick-or-treaters to disturb his rest this evening - he’d half-heartedly picked up a bag of snack-size chocolates in the last grocery run, but there wasn’t spare time or energy for full-on decorations and carved pumpkins, and when he’d come in from work, he hadn’t remembered to turn on the outside lights. He put so much of himself into his work these days - so many things from the before times had been put away, and never re-started. Going to clubs, gigs, festivals didn’t feel safe for so very long, and in the meantime, the accelerating crisis growing between his kids and them achieving their goals, launching successful adult lives despite the odds, just got bigger and bigger, and took up more and more of his attention.
He’d re-started game nights, eventually, but that had always been more of a him thing than a you thing, so it was nothing new for that context when you weren’t around - you’d always done your best to clear out and leave them to it, ever since you’d first moved in together. He’d started going to the gym, too, which was new. Tackling the pandemic pounds, he’d called it, and while you thought he looked hot with the extra weight, it was his body, and you weren’t that kind of asshole. You had to admit that the extra muscles were also pretty hot, and it seemed like something that helped him, a new community that he could build, in this strange new world that everyone was figuring out. Anything that kept him from burning out was OK by you - neither of you had ever been the best at the whole “put your own gas mask on first” stuff, and so many of your colleagues and friends had pushed themselves too hard for too long, injuring themselves in body and in spirit. These days keeping Ian safe, seeing him well, was most of your hearts’ desire. So little else mattered.
The washing machine in the kitchen frantically span to the end of its cycle, the noise bringing you back to the present moment, although it didn’t disturb Ian. If tonight went true to form, he’d sleep on the couch until his bladder got him up in the early hours, and then slowly shuffle through to the bedroom. The evening stretched long and calm, warm golden lamp-light and squalls outside. Back before, there would always have been music playing, if not a half-dozen friends over, or full on preparations for a night out underway - elaborate make up and carefully crafted costumes. It felt impossibly far away - another world . This - the peace, and the calm, and the bat-and-cat bunting that had become a permanent feature of the room, and Ian’s chest rising and falling, the small movements of the muscles in his thigh under your gentle fingers as he shifted in his sleep. This was timeless, and it filled your heart.
Timeless, that is, until you realise that it’s nearly midnight - the last few minutes of all hallow’s eve. The wind has died down, the washing long-since finished, leaving the muffled voices from the kitchen alone in your ears. It feels late - that growing coldness that tells you that you’ve been here too long. You stand, and Ian shifts in his sleep, turning towards you, and tugging the blanket up over his chest. His breathing settles again, and he’s deep in sleep. You lean over and ghost a kiss on his forehead.
“Sleep, babe. Dream well. I love you,” you whisper, and then it’s midnight, and your time is up.
---- fin ----
If you're interested in reading the previous stories I've posted as Halloween gifts they are:
1) Dream Come True (2004)
2) Thirteen Kisses (2005)
3) All Souls (2006)
4) Favour ($0.99) & two free snippets Soar and Raining Cats (2007)
5) Tradition (2008)
6) Everything changes (2009)
7) It's not the dead that haunt graveyards (2010)
8) Here Comes The Rain (2011)
9) Mellow Mists (2012)
10) Sunset Starts (2013)
11) Unexpected Callers (2014)
12) Energy (2015)
13) According to Plan (2016)
14) Tricky treats (2017)
15) Sweets for my Sweet (2018)
You'll find these and other seasonally appropriate snippets under 'seasonal : autumn' in the tags list
(I am doing this because it's a significant date for me, so, thank you, everyone who reads this, and twice thanks to those of you who let me know that you did.)
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