FICTION: Halloween Messenger by Ron Koppelberger

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. He jogged in his designer sweats and costly sneakers. 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.

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. The tranquility of the park was ceaseless except for the distant revelry of Halloween.

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.

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. “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. “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. “Disquiet and plights of resolve, to this we revolve away and beyond motionless and married tender beyond!” He waved in flowing testimony to Halloween night as his feet left earth and his soul took flight. 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.