He shuffled to and fro every day. He was a nondescript man in a nondescript neighborhood. It was his last year. He was withered with the years of loneliness and longing. He hung on though, inexplicably to many, except himself. This year, this year would be his last. Life had been full. Fuller than most were so lucky to have, and longer than any had a right to. It was the end of October, complete with the collusion of heat and cold in messing with the daily dress of the population. The day starting out in heavy sweatshirts and vests ending with all extra layers tucked away, sweatshirts wrapped around waists. People would scurry a little faster, now that summer was over, as they try to complete all of their tasks prior to sundown. Mankind still afraid of the dark. It always seemed hazy this time of year. The sunlight shining at the odd angles of late afternoons, the brightness of the sides of the neatly spaced houses contrasted by the shadows coming down from the rooftops. It is a season of golden orange and banana yellow leaves, waiting to dry into the crunchy carpet on the lawns, and be swept up by purposeful homeowners.
It was a lonely place of dying he had found himself in. He loved the neighborhood, but had enjoyed it alone for so many years with the intermittent visits from relatives. He was a man of immense age that had hijacked the norm. In his youth he had been a man of leadership quality, circumstance had made him a gambler and a dealmaker. It was Hallow's eve. Oh how had it changed. A time for the dead to return and talk to the living. It was the time of the Great Hunt, the Wild Hunt. Yet....the days of the Great Hunt were over, as a reminder a car honked at him as it passed by, someone maybe-familiar waved. And the dead? Well, they talked to no one. Yes, the days of the past were long gone and here he shuffled as much towards nothing, just as much to the end of things.
He continued down the street, his plastic bag from the corner store full of candy and a lighter. He loved to hand sweets out every year. It reminded him of so many children and grandchildren over the years he had known. He had outlived them all, a part of the bargain he had written in his own blood. The curse was simple: he would outlive every blood relative he had. At first he felt immortal, but after a couple centuries he had had enough. He wanted the eternal sleep so many had earned before him. However, by the time he had made this decision his kin had spread across the earth and would continue to grow in population. He would take matters into his own hands eventually, he had to or he would walk this plane until the sun ate it.
He passed an old purple painted house with tan shutters. It was a beautiful old house, he had always thought. It had stood there for years even before he had moved here, in the early parts of the last century. It rose in all angles from the center of it's lot. A great many turrets crowned it and offered it's owner a multitude of views of the outside world. He had been in it several times through the years visits with whoever lived there. It was the kind of house kids would make up stories about and all the bad things that could happen to you if you weren't wary and found yourself inside. Chuckling at the irony of it, nothing bad had ever happened to him in there. He moved along and looked about, he could already see the groups of kids coagulating along the sidewalks. Mini-ghouls, super heroes, witches, princesses, animals and clowns all giggling at each other with talks of great hauls of candy of years gone, with promises of full bags tonight. A few costumed kids recognized him waved and went about their business.
He eventually made it to his home a nondescript little house. very pristine and immaculate though except for his yard. The trees had shed all over his lawn leaving a thick blanket of maple and buckeye leaves. He always left the leaves until at least November and every one had finally fallen. They would crunch underfoot louder each passing day until he finally gathered them up and placed them in bags to be hauled off. He enjoyed the crisp sounds as he made it up his walk, produced a key and walked in. His house smelled of cedar and pine and the must of the depths of very old forests. he inhaled it. Turned to the small table beside the wall on the entryway took a bag of candy from his shopping bag, with a quick rip he emptied the contents into a great bowl. He looked up in the mirror and saw his face as it was now, but as always he daydreamed of what it once was........
Then. He knew it was hopeless, it was a war that he had led the men of his tribe up and against the Romans. The odds were impossible, really stupid if he had allowed himself that thought. A battle during the days of Samhain, a time no one of his tribe would have surely chosen, but the Legions cared little for the tradition of the folk they conquered. Still, the tribesman fought with valor and cunning, they did not line up as fodder outflanking and harassing the enemy. In the end the ability of the Legions to throw endless armored manpower at them wore them down. It was in that battle he was struck down last, taking the his final enemy with him. He was ready to die with the bravest of his warriors, atop a mound of the invading butchered enemies. Something that would be sung about through the ages. He laid there for hours unable to move, just slowly dying atop the dead, staring as the sun moved quickly across the sky, blue gave way to dull oranges and reds then to deep twilight, the mists and darkness encroached.. It was then the phantasms of a thousand hunters came upon him, they hung translucent and pale. The lead hunter had the visage of either man or beast and shimmered and changed in the moonlight, but always a set of antlers pierced the sky from it's brow. It reached a hand out to him and he took it. With a touch he knew the rules of his bargain, gladly he accepted. Joining the hunt that night, riding through the hills and vales atop a horse made of shadows and whispers. He drank with gods and ancestors and slayed the beasts that haunted the lowlands with great spears.
When he woke in the morning he was still covered in the blood of his enemies but his wounds were completely healed. he left the Old World and began travelling with his new gift of life.
.....He snapped to with a ringing of the doorbell. He opened the door to find a skeleton, a pumpkin and a witch with outstretched bags. He laughed and threw candy in their bags. They flittered like bats into the darkness. He smiled, put the bowl down and grabbed the lighter from his bag. He quickly lit the 3 pumpkins he had carved outside, said a silent prayer, stepped back inside and closed the door. He ripped open a piece of candy from the bowl and chewed thoughtfully on the caramel and peanut delight inside the wrapper. Of all things he probably would miss, that sweet taste would be one of them. For the rest of the night he was content to putter around finding items he needed and put into a canvas bag he had always used for travelling. Interruptions from Trick or Treaters helped him either pass the time or forget what he was looking for in the house. The moon was hanging thinly in the night, it always made him forget so many things, made it hard to concentrate. He had made himself colcannon for dinner, he chewed at it wistfully, a last meal fit for a kindly king. Eventually he was looking at the empty bowl with a melancholy grin. The night wore on, the doorbell ceased ringing. He collected his canvas bag, now almost bursting at the seams and barely zipped shut. He strode out the house now, had you seen him walking earlier that day, you would not have guessed him to be so tall. He no longer walked with a hunch or stoop. His gait was young and full of life as he quickly walked back the way he had come from the store earlier that day. His path took him to the grand house he had always loved so much. It truly was mesmerizing and almost impossible for anyone to resist. He walked up to the door produced his key and walked inside, striding quickly to the basement door. Through little effort he had memorized the path for many years, never turning on a light. Quickly opening the door and stepping through, then shutting it again. He flipped the switch so the light would reveal the steps leading downstairs. His footsteps were light and brisk as went down the staircase, turning the corner and there he saw his last descendant chained to the floor in the prepared circle. The man was in his late 80's, it hadn't been hard to get him to move here. Just like the rest, a free house bequeathed by a long lost relative who had died. It was quite the lure for just about any senior citizen, many would at least visit which was easy enough for him to track, or at least take care of them before they left the small city. This was the last one. It had to be. He began to reveal the items from his canvas bag, candles, knives, various offerings, bowls and all of the other entrapments of this final sacrifice. The man who was probably his great great great great great....well a lot of greats, moaned softly but he was too old and perhaps a little to drugged to speak. It reminded him of the first ancestor who had owned this home originally when he had tracked them down so long ago. It was exactly a night like this he had come up with this method of finding his progeny. He knelt down beside the man splayed and chained in the center of the room. Then he spoke. A final speech upon this night before he found his final breaths in the mortal realm. He felt he owed this man that much.
"It's not you. Really. It's just that you are the last one. I've herded you all here one by one, I've gone to the ends of the earth to find even the smallest measure of my blood. The awful things I've done over the years. I've lost so many. I cultivated and pruned the tree, arranged the accidents that would sterilize or cause miscarriages. I am awful I know, I never have disparaged the point. I let you live. All the way to this point because I knew you were last." He arranged the knives and said the prayers he always had in the past. He lifted the knife it glinted and reflected. He could hear the sound of hooves and the shadowy neighs of horses floating outside the house. Time would finally catch up. He allowed himself a smile with the first cut.
