Evil Jester Digest, Vol.1 (23 page)

Mitch pulled the sprite into the lake. The water was cold and numbed Mitch in waves. The Forestkeeper floated on top like a piece of driftwood. A strong wind blew fiercely, trying to propel the sprite out amongst the waters. Mitch had to hold onto him with every ounce of strength. Soon the wind subsided.

“I want you to watch these woods, Mitch. Protect those who dwell here.” The Forestkeeper coughed. “And now I die. Hopefully the Ferryman will find me. He will want passage, no doubt. My coin, Mitch?”

Mitch rummaged in the Forestkeeper’s pockets and found the lucky coin. He placed it in his hand.

“You need two, Mitch. One for each eye.”

Mitch thought for a second. “I have the other coin you gave me!” he declared. “I can…”

The Forestkeeper stared up at the open sky. His little arms flapped in the strong current. Lifeless.

Mitch held the Forestkeeper for a long time and wept. When he was done, he placed the coins over the Forestkeeper’s eyes and finally let go of his friend.

The wind took the Forestkeeper far out on the horizon.

*****

And far away
, the three doorways in the Dreamkeeper’s lair began to shift. Fog branched out in tendrils and blanketed the ice in the Hall of Mirrors as if a thousand fog-spirits were unleashed and haunted the barren wasteland.

“They have returned,” the Dreamkeeper said to the Timekeeper. “I’m sorry, but you have lost. Not all want perfection in life.”

The Timekeeper said nothing.

And from out of the first door, the Groundskeeper exited. “Am I dead?” he asked, wiping dirt from his clothes.

“Not yet, Chris,” the Dreamkeeper said. “You are in the void between worlds.” She took the hourglass from his hands, handed it back to the Timekeeper. “The path to the world of the dead,” she continued, “is through the mist. Your last journey. You will not be alone anymore in this life. Do you have any regrets before autumn is at an end?”

“Plenty,” Chris said. “And they are mine. I wouldn’t trade them for the world!”

And out of the second door, the Fatekeeper emerged. “I made it!” she exclaimed. “The world is much colder here. I must be in the right place.”

“You’re in the right place, Sarah,” the Dreamkeeper said, taking the compass. She cracked the glass open and released the remaining magic. Sarah’s eyes burned in bright amber, then became a normal green. “You know the direction,” the Dreamkeeper said. “Go now and walk in winter with your true sight once again.”

And finally, the Forestkeeper emerged. Soaking wet. He didn’t say anything, just smiled and placed two coins in the Dreamkeeper’s hand.

“Mitch, do you accept your life?” the Dreamkeeper asked.

“I do. Gladly.” He hugged his two friends who he hadn’t seen in ages. “But I missed my friends the most.”

“But wait!” the Timekeeper shouted. “You can come back with me! I will let you. I have one hourglass here even! Who wants it?”

But they didn’t hear.

“Going once!” the Timekeeper said. “Twice!”

They still didn’t hear.

“Three times! Four!”

The three ignored the Timekeeper.

And as they walked through the void between worlds, ignoring the Shadow’s pleas, they entered the realm of the dead. They laughed and chatted about faraway lands and exotic foods and books of poetry. Stories upon stories. A whole lifetime full. They realized that friends pursued their own lives and interests, but in the end, they always found a way to come back together.

And then they argued about whose stories were better.

Epilogue

Mr. Ridgecomb ended
his quite unusual tale.

The three kids clapped for at least a minute and then hugged him kindly and said their goodbyes. Mr. Ridgecomb walked them to the entryway. He opened the door just as a burst of wind rocketed through the streets and into the house, bringing with it the smell of jack-o’-lanterns and pine needles and moist leaves.

“I’m glad you liked the story,” Mr. Ridgecomb said. “Now, hurry home! Your parents must be worried sick!”

“They might,” Chris began, “but they know I’ll be out late. Last year I was out until midnight. I was grounded for two weeks.”

“Wait a minute,” Mr. Ridgecomb said. “You’re going out for more candy?”

“Of course!” Chris fitted his plastic teeth into his mouth and twirled his black cape around his body. “The night is still young for a vampire!”

Sarah slipped on her gypsy cap and linen shawl. She regarded Mr. Ridgecomb with pretty eyes. “Why don’t you come with us? We have two more streets to hit before we go home. It’ll be fun.”

“You want me to take you trick-or-treating?”

“No, we want you to
come
trick-or-treating.”

Mr. Ridgecomb laughed. “I couldn’t do that. I’m too old!”

“How long has it been?” she asked.

“Well, let’s see.” He thought for a moment. “My goodness! Over sixty years!”

Sarah mouthed the word “sixty” in disbelief. She grabbed his hand. “That’s too long! Come on!”

“I don’t think so, Sarah.”

“Your story is about living life to the fullest, right?”

“Yes.”

“So, let’s go!”

“But I don't have a costume. And I don’t walk too well these days.” He motioned to his cane.

“He could be one of my minions,” Mitch said with a grin. “Imps kind of hobble like that.” He fingered his pitchfork and thought of the possibilities.

“How about a zombie?” Sarah asked. “They don’t walk too well, either.”

But Chris already had Mr. Ridgecomb’s costume figured out. He held up a roll of toilet paper with a mischievous grin, and then began wrapping it around Mr. Ridgecomb’s waist. “There,” he said when he was done. “The Mummy has awakened!”

Sarah laughed and pulled out her own toilet paper roll, hidden inside her bag. She wrapped up Mr. Ridgecomb legs. “You better not smoke your pipe,” she said. “You’ll go up in fire like a chimney!”

Finally, Mitch added his roll to the costume, wrapping it around each arm and his forehead. He handed Mr. Ridgecomb his cane and pointed to a mirror.

“That’s how old I feel,” Mr. Ridgecomb said and then laughed. “But not tonight. Let’s go, while we still have time left!”

*****

The moon was
high in the sky by the time they arrived at the last house. Since it was so late, most of the adults wanted to get rid of the extra candy, so they unloaded on them. Mitch pocketed handfuls and left trails like Hansel and Gretel. Sarah ended up using her hat because her bag was so full. And Chris used his black cape. Of course, it didn’t help that Mr. Ridgecomb gave them all the candy he received, too. Most of the parents recognized him. The cane gave him away instantly. And his costume didn’t hold up to much abuse, either. Half of it dragged on the street behind him.

Right before midnight, they found themselves back at Old McMurphy’s clock.

“Did you have fun tonight Mr. Ridgecomb?” Chris asked.

“I did!” he exclaimed. “I wouldn’t change it for the world!” He sat down on a bench, out of breath. “I forgot how much fun it is to walk outside at this hour. The air is so crisp. I can feel it in my lungs like icicles.”

A few other trick-or-treaters sprinted by.

The park grew quiet.

Mr. Ridgecomb listened to the kids talk about school, about science reports and what they were going to be for Halloween next year. Soon the minute and hour hands kissed and the soft echo-chime drifted through the streets.

Midnight had come.

Mr. Ridgecomb felt the chime ring in his chest, listened to it echo, farther and farther.

As if in answer, a ticking rose in its place, causing his heart to skip. He thought he was hearing things, but it came again. It was a sound he had never heard in all the years he sat in the park.

For a split second, he thought he saw something descend from the clock above, something silhouetted against the night sky. He shook his head in disbelief and then nudged Mitch, who nudged him back, albeit more gently. Mr. Ridgecomb pointed to where he saw movement, but Mitch didn’t see.

Mr. Ridgecomb listened to them talk for some time. He stifled a yawn. It was getting late. Greta would have seen the note he left her, but still, it was after midnight, and she would no doubt worry.

He stood with the help of his cane and told his new friends to stop by for another story and hot chocolate the following weekend.

They all accepted, graciously.

*****

And one by
one, the kids hugged Mr. Ridgecomb.

And he hugged them back, lovingly.

And as Mr. Ridgecomb made his way back home, he realized how much he wanted to spend the rest of the night with his wife, reading a book in the warmth of his bed next to the woman he loved for fifty years.

Tonight was his last night. And he wanted his ending to be perfect.

*****

Aric Sundquist
is a graduate of Northern Michigan University and holds an MA in Creative Writing. His first published story appeared in
Dark Moon Digest
in 2011, and he has numerous other stories forthcoming in various anthologies, including
Twit Publishing Presents: PULP! Winter/Spring 2012
,
Knightwatch Press: New Tales of the Old Ones Anthology,
and
Evil Jester Press: Attic Toys Anthology.
He loves ’80s horror movies and playing the guitar. He currently lives in Marquette, Michigan.

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