A Halloween Tale
Created | Updated Oct 19, 2006
The cold October wind nipped harshly at the children's faces as they ran from house to house, trick-or-treating in their brightly-coloured costumes. They giggled to one another, showing off the spoils that they had collected from yet another house.
He watched them, standing still, cold and alone, not feeling the harsh wind blow, not feeling the cold nip in the air. He was too engrossed in his task to notice these things. He started to move slowly. Looking almost as if he was hovering just above the ground, as he followed the children.
The children moved along the street, chatting happily to one another, occasionally stopping at a house to collect more goodies. Silently, he watched. Part of him wished he could take part in this very alien world. It looked so colourful and happy. He didn't know what it was to feel happy. He didn't really know anything at all, apart from this horrible black dead feeling that was often charged with a blinding crippling loss whenever he cut his targets' last delicate threads to this world.
He sighed softly to himself as he sorted out the one that would fit this particular profile. It was a profile that had to be meticulously checked, planned and then checked again. He couldn't afford mistakes, you see. Everything had to be spot-on. Mistakes were not allowed — they were forbidden, could not even be conceived. No, he checked, this was the right one, no need to worry.
His target was now lost amidst the little group of children, lost in a little-child maze of giggling bright colour, as if they knew the fate of their companion and were somehow protecting him with their happy warmth.
No matter, he had plenty of time. He could wait until the children tired of collecting goodies and, in their eagerness to fill their little tummies, broke off from one another to make their way to their warm, cosy little homes. Then and only then could he approach his target. He mustn't be seen, you see, no, that was bad. No one should see he was here. There must be no witnesses to him or his work. Things would end badly if they did, very badly indeed.
And so he carried on, following the little group as they approached the end of the street. He stood back in the cold, dark shadows as the group stopped and started to chat. Parents slowly filtered up to the group, collecting their children. Soon, oh so very soon, his target would be alone. He smiled slowly to himself, knowing that no parent would come to collect his target and therefore he would be free to carry out his planned work. Oh yes, soon the time for that would be here.
The group of children whittled down. One by one, parents took away their darling babies, ready to tuck them up warm and snug in bed. But not for his target. Oh no! No parent would come; there would be no warm comforting bed for that one.
The children laughed and chatted, saying goodbye to each other as they left the group. Some of the parents chatted for a while, then departed with their sons and daughters.
After the last cheery goodbye, he moved slowly towards his target. His target turned and watched his approach with a look of mixed fear and wonder. He didn't feel bad about this. It almost always happened like this. Of course, there was always an exception to the rule. But mostly this was how things went. It was if a little voice had told them, warned them, what their fate was too be, and they were horrified, yet elated at the prospect.
The man turned and watched in disbelief as an angel began to walk towards him. The angel slowly unfurled his beautiful shimmering wings. Slowly, he walked towards the man. A honey-coloured glow seemed to light the top of the angel's head.
'Are you ready?' he asked. His voice sounded sweet, yet pulled harshly at the heartstrings, making you want to curl up and weep till you could weep no more. The man nodded slowly in answer to him, suddenly realising why he was here.
'You know who I am? Why I am here?' That voice again so beautiful, yet so unbearable to hear. Once again, the man found himself nodding. Yes, he knew him. This was Azrael the Angel of Death, come to escort him to his judgment.
Azrael touched the man's shoulders. Slowly, the man's soul left his body, leaving an empty shell in Azrael's hands. Gently, Azrael let go of the body and watched as it crumpled to the floor. Azrael then walked with the soul to the gates of heaven, again feeling that blinding crippling charge as he left the soul to await its fate.
