Walpurgis Hallow

Gravehallow Fair

Dear Alice Cooper,

I don't know what to do with my life anymore. I graduated. I'm done. 18 has come and gone. But all that makes sense is parties and booze and rock. I wish I could be as fearless as you are when you're onstage. It would make things a hell of a lot easier.

--Eddie

The trees swayed uneasily in the wind, like hanged men at dawn. Autumn had come, its cold fingers lancing through the wind, creating patterns and sights in the dying leaves that seemed to set the very trees aflame. The rain had fallen, and the mists had begun to swirl among the lonesome corners of Walpurgis Hallow. The squirrels scampered up trees, searching for their winter's feast, and found the trees dismally bare of acorns. There was a sound of wind, and little else, as a forlorn sedan trundled along the sodden roads.

It was a cold day, and the creaking of branches made for an unsettling underscore. Little children ran inside their homes; old men looked up at the sky and held crosses in their pockets. The driver of the sedan, however, heard nothing. He was busy with the sounds of Alice Cooper echoing from his car's tape deck. How he loved the feeling of cassette tape—the hiss of the winding reels, the squeal of the rewind—it was all part of the experience. He was welcomed to Alice's nightmare as he pulled into the driveway and switched off his radio and engine. The driver got out, brushed himself off, and stood up. His name was Eddie Gabriel. He was a thin man—meat seemed to simply be brushed onto his bones like paint, and he wore an outfit consisting of mostly denim—jacket and jeans. Gabriel was not especially tall, though he cast long shadows. His hair fell comfortably to his shoulders, and he would pause occasionally to remove a leaf that had landed in his tangled locks. A faded concert t-shirt framed his emaciated torso, the ghosts of his bones visible underneath the worn logo. John Lennon sunglasses framed almond eyes and green irises.

Eddie Gabriel locked the car and began to walk up to the steps of his house. The scattered leaves from the rainstorms of the past few days had painted his lawn like a Monet. He sighed lightly. Gabriel was of an age where high school had left him disappointed, and college had left him jaded. He walked past a growing stack of newspapers, barely even looking at the most recent before resolving to burn them at the nearest possible opportunity. The news held little charm for him, and he relished on some level watching the pictures of politicians and celebrities burn. The sight of men and women, rich, powerful, talented—all burning gave him a pleasant chill. It was a pleasure to burn. They couldn't be so smug and fearless and perfect when they were ashes. After all, no one lived forever.

But it didn't mean he wouldn't want to, if he could.

After pouring a cup of coffee, he sat back and began watching TV. Not a lot to choose from, but all of it was related to Halloween. The couch fit him comfortably, the wool coating wearing away beneath his fingers; in some places, the wood and metal inside were exposed. The couch cushions, once overstuffed, had now become shallow and sunken from years of seating a happy family. Eddie's family were gone, mostly, his sister having moved away long ago and his parents both dead. His grandmother reportedly was in a retirement home in upstate New York, but he didn't care enough to check. He had been around to see her in her previous retirement home, but she wasn't the most receptive of people. Not that he could blame her, exactly. Eddie was of the mind that there were two kinds of people in the world—crazies and assholes, and he honestly preferred the crazies. His grandmother, he had decided, was a crazy. Crazies stuck to being alone. They didn't pry into your business, they didn't even care what time of day it was. Assholes, on the other hand, made it their business to know yours, and never, ever shut up.