Halloween Messenger (Long Version)

Ron Koppelberger

Halloween Messenger

The satisfaction of ripe apples and tasty Carmel popcorn balls wrapped in plastic allied the distant whisper of “Trick or Treat!” and screams that echoed the joy of candy and ghostly reflections of bounding youth. The night called out for the sticky smiles of young adventurer and maybe for the souls of those who are lost without the Halloween spirit to guide them.
He jogged in his designer sweats and costly sneakers. His Rolex kept perfect time with his rhythm sounding every 10 minuets with a tiny beeping sound. The park was splendidly vacant and the cobbled path was unwinding in a perfectly enduring climate of chill October air and crunching amber and orange oak leaves. The sky shone a dark evanescence and a wild aroma of wood smoke filled the cool air.
He was a slave to his method and the message came to an irritating supposition, a burden of arduous agency. The shadows were deep between the rows of maple and oak trees. A misty sensation crept across his face, Damp, cool in rivulets of adoring moisture. The black clad figure surprised him by stepping into his path. He stumbled, nearly falling into the flowing black robe. What was this he thought disturbed by the interruption of his even footfalls. The tranquility of the park was ceaseless except for the distant revelry of Halloween and the black clad specter.
He stood panting before the truth of the moment. The figure held out his hand and whispered, “Holler muffin, bewilderin stuffin, bits and pieces of silk. I warn ye aware of the wash with the flow of harmful ilk! A genuine custom you think not to yer death ye might or might not find the perfect spot, but ye shall see the notion of my fee if ye hesitate in row of the seeds that are sown by the hands of fate, now I leave ye now for I can not be late.” the figure receded into the line of trees and disappeared. Pausing, he traced the faint outline of the path before him. “M.I.S.S.I.S.I.P.P.I. for Christ if I try.” He thought as he reclaimed the path and sped onward carelessly ignoring the apparition.
Rambling in measures of adrenalin and reminders of imagined horizon and in the remainder of the wild fly jaunt a rumbling roar of tribute to the stars and creeds of a runner blessed. He crossed the rise of a gentle slope and tramped across Cervantes Boulevard. A tangle of trick or treaters milled near the corner. “Trick or treat!” they screamed with a delicious glee and warm hearts of fire and bounding youth. They grabbed at the sweet sugars of a dream and moved on calling and crying out, “Trick or treat, smell my feet all the way across the street!” as they moved to the next brownstone apartment complex and the next bargain of sweet surprise for the lessoned distraction of soap, wax and bags full of flaming dog poop. Onward to the next conquest with tiny hands in father’s clutch while brothers much too old stood along the sidewalk waiting for the young to return from the front doors of neighbors and perhaps a few strangers alike.
“Bounds and bone yard minds in point lay behind!” he whispered in panting breath. Western lights filled the skyline as he moved closer to the city and the bump in the path, the hard spot in the way of passage. “Taunt, ledges and tall hedges along the way, wayfarer evidence of the fray!” He embraced the night and the Halloween mists as tendrils of fog roiled around his ankles as he ran to the edge of the world and ever closer to the Halloween mists, to the next year and the next Halloween night, by days that shine the light of next years run and the secret what spirits unveil to the chosen few. The path continued to unfold before him and he ran and ran and ran. To what end he thought, to what end? Perhaps to the end of the world, the end of life, love and precious breath. I must move forward to the edge of what is and what has to be he thought as his feet began to complain in aches and throbbing measure. He ran and ran and ran, to what cause, to what division of here and there, to what distant drama unfurling beyond the veil and the realm of life? He heard the black clad figure again speaking in whispers of what had to come to pass and what fate the runner would guarantee. “Disquiet and plights of resolve, to this we revolve away and beyond motionless and married tender beyond!” He ran far and long with the sounds of crickets and children and honking cars behind his ears and the orange glow of a bloated pumpkin moon far ahead beckoning to the soul of men and women alike on the vast testimony to Halloween night. His feet left earth and his soul took leave, to the unbidden realm of sleep and dreams until next Halloween run, I take my leave until next Halloween run. He fell in silent testimony to the turn that fate had handed him as if by force and with little will to turn back. The jogger lay broken near a bend in the path, hidden forces abated and children yelled trick or treat to the vast night cloak, to the mystery of another bidden tomorrow and yesterday in destiny of next years run. “To the land of creepy crawlers and monsters that grin, to the land of apples and Carmel popcorn balls that begin, the day of shadow and delight on this wondrous and magical Halloween night.” the specter repeated to the sky and the moon and the whole of them all in the silence of the night and the promise of next years Run. To the promise of Halloween again.