Gods and Monsters

"To a new World of Gods and Monsters," Dr. Praetorius said.

Ellen yawned. "Tired already?" Peter asked.

"Sorry, Dad," she said. "It's just that it's been a long day and I've seen this movie, like, a million times already."

"I know," Peter said. "But that's what makes it a tradition."

Ellen stretched out on the couch and yawned again. "We can watch the rest tomorrow," she said. "Tonight, I just want to get some sleep."

"But tomorrow won't be Halloween," Peter said. "And that's when we watch Bride of Frankenstein. Not the day after Halloween."

"I'm just tired," Ellen said.

"Okay, okay," Peter raised his hands as Dr. Praetorius cackled. "Go to sleep and I will watch the rest by myself. But you'll be missing out!"

"Again: I've seen it a million times, Dad," Ellen said chuckling. "I doubt I'll miss anything on the million-and-oneth time." She stepped into the hallway to her bedroom and said, "Night."

"Night," Peter said, popcorn already on his way from his hand to his mouth. He sat on his chair, the bowl of popcorn on his lap, and the screen illuminating him against the white walls of the apartment. And then a cockroach crawled up onto the television screen, the shape surrounded by the movie's light.

Peter stopped. It's only one cockroach, he thought. Just one.

But it was joined by another and another. They spread out across the screen, spelling out the word "COME."

Of course, he thought. Of course they would ask for me on Halloween. He got up from his chair, placed the popcorn on the coffee table, and then quietly slipped some shoes on and put on his jacket. The roaches stayed in place until he was ready and then, the moment he opened the front door, they moved in unison outside.

He followed them outside and down to the old laundromat, abandoned due to disrepair several years ago. None of the machines worked, although you could always see puddles of water on the floor, stagnant and black. The door was usually locked, but tonight it was open. The roaches led him inside and down into the darkened room lined with dryers.

In the center of the room was a mass. It rose up as more joined it, roaches and ants and ticks and fleas and spiders and everything else that was near. It rose up and Peter bent on one knee.

"My lords, I am at your service," he said. "What do the Harvestmen wish of me?"

There was a loud cacophony of hisses and clicks. His ears adjusted -- it had been so long since he had heard their language -- until he was able to understand a few of the words they were saying: "end" and "near" and "gathering."

Finally, still kneeling, he said, "I do not understand, my lords. Do you wish me to gather something?"

More hisses, more clicks. weeee wish you toooo gather ooouuur swaarm, the language translated to in his ear. fiiind allll you cannn. theee end aaapproaches.

"What end, my lords?" Peter asked.

theee end offf eeeverything, they replied. go nnnow annd finnnd them.

"Yes, my lords," he said and stood, his vision blurring and his head going light. He turned, careful not to let them see his unsteadiness. He had to be strong, he had to show them he was loyal. If not, the end would come to him much faster than the others.

He hurried back to his apartment and his daughter, a weariness in his walk that indicated how tired he was of gods and monsters.

The October Court

In the woods, there was a clearing. The clearing was a perfect circle devoid of trees and grass and plants. No animal would ever venture into this clearing, no bug nor worm. All that was in the clearing was dirt and the light that shown from the moon when it wasn't new.

When it was new, on the other hand, the clearing was illuminated by the moss on the trees surrounding it, making the dirt inside the clearing shine with a sickly glow.

And then, once in a while, when the moon was new and the moss glowed, the October Court convened in the clearing.

A shadow crawled across the surface of the clearing. A dog, his fur like pitch, stepped into the sickly glowing dirt. A bird landed in the clearing. A woman, her arms trailing thin strings, jerkily stepped inside. And, finally, an old man rose from the dirt, his eyes hidden behind dark glass.

"I call the October Court to session," the man with the dark glass said. "The Lethean presiding." His voice was the sound of dry pages turning. He gestured to the shadow. "The Glimmer Men present." He gestured to the dog. "The Limehound present." The bird. "The Inclemency present." The woman. "The Mammet present."

The woman jerked her hand upward, her strings lifting to the sky. "And where are the rest?" she asked. The strings curved like stairways in the air.

"They have declined to join us, as is their right," the Lethean said. "All or one, the October Court convenes."

"I would have thought the Epiphany would have shown," the Mammet said, her fingers splaying outward and then back. "Or the Orarian. They love these little meetings."

"They are busy," the Lethean said.

"Of course, of course," the Mammet said. "And there are some who never show up when you call. Why do you suppose the Floramour has never come to a session?"

"You ask questions you already know the answer, Mammet," the Lethean said.

"Those are the best kind," the Mammet said. "I know the Floramour chafes against all rules, just as I know why you refer to us with those silly names. Tradition, tradition, tradition, oh how we all pine for older days gone by."

The Lethean looked at her with the pits that were his eyes. "I have called the October Court to session. Five have come. Many have stayed. It matters not. I have called and it has been convened. The world runs ruinward. The Entanglement shrinks."

"Not possible," the Mammet says.

"You can see for yourself if you like," the Lethean said. The shadow on the ground held up its hand and motioned with its fingers in sign language. "It is not a random incident. It has been happening steadily. The end has caught up with us, like it catches up with every one and every thing. We may see it happening, but we cannot stop it."

The Limehound growled, the sound so low it reverberated through the trees and caused many animals to hide in their heads underground, trying to block it out and failing. "I understand," the Lethean said. "Where once the seasons recurred, so too will they end. Even the Epiphany, in this aeon, will die. I can tell you no more. I have convened the October Court and you came when I called. That is all. That is all there is. Go now."

The Inclemency flew out from the clearing, thunder in its wake. The Limehound walked into the woods, its eyes like lanterns. The Glimmer Men pulled themselves back into the shadowy depths of the woods. Finally, the Mammet looked at the Lethean with her pearly eyes and stated, "I do not believe you."

"Belief is not required," the Lethean said.

The Mammet sneered at him. "You are holding something back. I can force it from you. I can play you like a puppet." The strings unwrapped from her body and slid towards the Lethean.

The Lethean did not move. His face never changed. The strings stopped right before touching his papery skin. He said nothing.

The Mammet stood still for a second and then pulled her strings back. "It would be pointless," she said and stepped off into the woods, her strings curling around her body as she walked.

The Lethean looked around the clearing. There was only the sickly glow from the moss. He pulled out a book from his coat and glanced at a page. It was all there, he knew. It was always there.

And then he scattered into dust and was gone.