This is the darkest night of the year for us; the night of dead souls, screams and dancing will o’ wisps: All Hallow’s Eve. The unpronounceable fear descends on us and in the cold night we mourn our lost ones. We murmur the ancient prayer of our kind as the darkness draws closer:
“Save us from the grinning death
Keep us from the flashing knives
Let our soul not turn to light.
Hold us through this fateful night.”
And we shudder in our warm beds, cuddling together as much as we can. We can hear their footsteps, they’re coming to reap us. They don’t need our flesh – they rip us apart because an ancient tradition demands so. Also for the fun of it. We can’t escape. If you’re picked, you’re damned. The rest of us can do nothing to save you. We are taught to think of the taken as a sacrifice, they give their souls to save the rest of us. The monsters tear their souls out and throw it away. Why? Because they want to replace it with a feeble flame, a candle shining its treacherous light through the mutilated faces of our brothers. Their horrible grimaces cast a shadow over our huddling forms and we tremble, fearing the next Halloween.
Bio: Fanni Sütő writer, poet, translator and the proud owner of a growing number of novels-in-progress. She publishes in English and Hungarian and finds inspiration in reading, paintings and music. She writes about everything which comes in her way or goes bump in the night. She tries to find the magical in the everyday and likes to spy on the secret life of cities and their inhabitants.
Previous publications include: The Casket of Fictional Delights, Tincture Journal, Enchanted Conversation. Paris Lit Up 5.