The Witches' Communion

"If human beings had genuine courage, they'd wear their costumes every day of the year, not just on Halloween."

-Douglas Coupland

***

About one thing Jo was certain: She absolutely did not want to go into that house. But here she was walking up to it anyway.

A jack o'lantern's flickering face peered from the window as she approached, and she paused with her hand right over of the aged brass door knocker, which someone had painted an unwholesome shade of red to match the rest of the place. Try though she might, she could not bring herself to knock.

But then she felt Nashia's hand tugging on her skirts.

"Mommy, come on," Nashia said. "I want to make it to ALL of the houses tonight." She shifted the weight of her half-filled trick or treat bag between her hands.

Jo conjured up a quick smile. "Of course, pumpkin," she said. "Ready?"

And she knocked.

It was a warm night, much too warm for autumn, but the wind still raised a chill that made Jo shiver as it whipped through the bare trees and sent dried leaves skittering like insects into the streets.

The voices of children running, laughing, shouting, banging plastic buckets and rustling half-filled candy sacks echoed in every direction, but Jo and Nashia were the only ones who had approached this house. It was a big, crooked, Gothic thing, painted bloody red and then given awful black trim.

Jo had never liked Halloween; an entire holiday dedicated to frightening things seemed counterproductive. Wasn't every other day scary enough?

Her own mother had never liked it either, calling it "the devil's night" and insisting they spend every October 31 at the church lock-in. She'd filled Jo's head with stories about strangers poisoning the Halloween candy, and snatching kids right off the street, never to be seen again.

"Do not love the world or the things of the world," Mom would say if Jo ever complained, quoting whichever chapter of the Bible or another.

So Jo had never grown up trick or treating. But Nashia loved dressing up, and it wasn't long before Jo realized her own daughter would be heartbroken if every other kid on the block got a costume and not her. So every year, against her better judgment, they went out, and Jo spent the whole night hating herself every bit as much as she loved her daughter.

This year's fairy costume was Nashia's favorite so far; Jo had made it herself, with the exception of the plastic wings, which they'd bought at the drugstore. With those cheap store-bought wings on Nashia really did seem to float down the sidewalks to one house after another, her small voice never wearing out as she said again and again:

"Trick or treat!"

"Trick or treat!"

"Trick or treat!"

Meanwhile Jo looked with suspicion on the other kids as they passed, many of them dressed like little monsters; what if she pulled aside their masks and found even uglier faces underneath, with beady little imp eyes staring back at her, crooked teeth smeared with pilfered chocolate?

Then she scolded herself: Stop it.

It was Nashia who spotted the strange house first, with its awful red exterior and crumbling brick wall around the yard. It looked as if nobody had raked a single leaf in the yard since autumn started, and weeds tangled up the flower beds beneath the windows.

Jo would have assumed nobody lived here, but Nashia spotted the jack o'lantern in the window and insisted they approach. After finally knocking Jo checked to make sure the red color from the door hadn't somehow rubbed off on her hand—a silly idea, but one she couldn't quite suppress.

Then the door swung open and a smiling woman wearing a long black dress appeared. Nashia actually leaped in the air as she said, "Trick or treat!" The plastic fairy wings on her back wobbled.

Bending down to look Nashia in the eye, the woman in the black dress said, "My, my. You're the prettiest little goblin I've seen all night."

"I'm not a goblin, I'm a fairy," said Nashia. Then she turned a tiny pirouette on one foot. The woman in the black dress nodded as she put a handful of candy (too much, in Jo's opinion) into Nashia's bag.

"And you're very good at it. But fairies and goblins are sometimes the same thing."

"They are?" Nashia said, her eyes growing wide and thoughtful.

"Of course," said the woman. "Especially on Halloween."

And then she stood up to her full height again, tall enough to look Jo in the eye. She was a handsome woman about Jo's age, and Jo thought she detected something insolent in her smile despite herself. Without even the suggestion of irony in her voice the woman said, "And what are you supposed to be?"

Blinking, Jo found herself momentarily tongue-tied. "I'm...just supposed to be me, I'm afraid."

"I don't think that's anything to be afraid of."

Over her shoulder Jo saw the house aglow with the soft yellow light of candle flames, and odd but homey smells wafted out of the doorway, cinnamon and cloves and burning wicks mixed with something sweet and sticky and slightly burnt that Jo couldn't put her finger on.

Placing a hand on top of Nashia's head in an affectionate gesture, the stranger said, "You know, I have something special that I just took out of the oven. If you both want to come in for a second I'll let you try one?"

Instantly Jo felt a compulsion to put a protective hand on Nashia and pull her away. No, we really have to be going home, she tried to say.

But when she opened her mouth nothing came out, and instead she found herself nodding in agreement. Nashia went in first, grabbing the hem of Jo's skirt and pulling her.

The woman in the black stepped aside, and as soon as they were both over the threshold the red door swung shut behind them. It was hard to see anything; the candles were barely strong enough to illuminate even themselves. The living room seemed populated by bulky shapes draped in sheets. That sweet, slightly burnt smell came from down the long hallway.

The woman took a candle from the foyer table (a black candle, Jo noticed) and held it in front of them as she walked. "I apologize for keeping things so dark," she said. "I'm expecting company later and I want to get the atmosphere just right."

"Are you having a Halloween party?" Nashia asked.

"I very much am."

The kitchen had more light. Another jack o'lantern sat in the middle of the table, freshly carved, and a fat cat with yellow eyes sat next to it, motionless except for the never-ceasing twitch of its tail. Nashia climbed up onto a chair to get a better look at it. "What's her name?" she said.

"Trulibub."

"Can I pet her?"

"That's up to her."

Now Jo could identity that aroma: On a flat metal pan on the counter rested a dozen caramel apples, candlelight gleaming on the glossy surface of each. The woman in black noticed a stray bit of sweet caramel on her finger and licked it.

"I'm Dulciana," she said, as she picked up one apple and twisted plastic wrap around it.

"Jovanna. Everyone just calls me Jo."

"Jovanna it is. You live in the neighborhood, right? Have you been here long?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing. I don't think I've ever seen you around." She would remember seeing someone like Dulciana.

"I've been here," the other woman said, and shrugged. "I guess we've just always missed each other."

She held out the apple, and Nashia, no longer distracted by the cat, looked at it for the first time. "Oh!" she said. "I can't have those. See?" And she pulled at the corners of her mouth to show off her braces.

Clucking her tongue, Dulciana said, "Why don't you take it then? So that I don't end up with an extra."

It took Jo a second to realize that she was talking to her. Blinking, she stared at the apple in the other woman's hand, candlelight winking off of the plastic wrap. "I really shouldn't," she said.

"Why not? Mommies deserve a treat too." Dulciana held her gaze and then, very deliberately, she let the apple fall into Jo's palm. It was very heavy.

"Be careful," she said. "It's still sticky."

Back on the front porch, the night air seemed more pleasant than a moment ago. Hesitating on the stairs, Jo turned back. "Thank you very much," she said. She was still holding the caramel apple in her hand.

Watching from the shadows underneath the front door, Dulciana said, "My pleasure." Then, "Will you stop by again sometime? Since we're neighbors, we should get to know each other."

"I...yes, of course. This week maybe."

"Anytime," Dulciana said. "I'm always here."

The red door closed again. Jo kept staring at it. Only when Nashia grabbed her skirts once more did she look away.

"Mommy, there are more houses."

"Right."

The jack o'lantern kept watching them from the front window as they left. It didn't seem as ugly as before, but she still didn't like the look on its face. It seemed to know too many things.

***

"You liked the lady in the scary house," Nashia said as she climbed into bed that night. She'd changed into her pajamas, but insisted on keeping her wings.

Jo nodded as she tucked her in. "Yes, I guess I did."

"I did too. I liked her cat also."

"Did it let you pet it?"

"Not this time. It said maybe next time."

"There's always next time," Jo said, and kissed Nashia on the forehead.

Sitting up a little again, Nashia said, "You don't like Halloween, do you?"

A little surprised, Jo shrugged and admitted, "No, I never have."

"Why not?"

"I guess nights like this just remind me that you're growing up is all. Good night, pumpkin."

"Good night," Nashia said, and rolled over. She'd bend up her wings up sleeping like that, but she didn't seem to mind. Jo turned on the night light (jack o'lantern shaped) before she left the room.

Sighing, she flopped onto a chair in the living room and put her feet up. Her knees were going to be sore tomorrow from all the hiking door to door. Nashia's trick or treat bag was nearly bursting. It sat by the kitchen table, like the carcass a great hunter might drag back to his cave.

Jo wanted a drink, but she reminded herself that it was late. She'd have to start at the hospital early to make up for the hours she'd taken off tonight, and then after work she and Nashia both had to start getting ready for her class's Thanksgiving pageant. And then...

Groaning, Jo covered her face. The holidays were always a grind. Of course, the non-holidays weren't much easier anymore. But life had to go on, didn't it? Vaguely, she recalled her mother's voice, chasing after her with Bible verses on Halloween nights 30 years ago:

"I declare that the dead, who had already died, are happier than the living, but better than both is the one who has never been born, who has not seen the evil that is done under the sun..."

Realizing her shoes were pinching her feet, Jo went to tug them off. She only got halfway through the first one before the apple caught her eye.

It was sitting right in the middle of the coffee table, next to her purse. She'd have sworn that it should still actually be in her purse, but evidently she had removed it. Now its mere presence seemed somehow incriminating.

Picking it up with just two fingers, she went to throw it out. She wished the woman (Dulciana, she reminded herself) hadn't insisted she accept it. But then, she hadn't really taken all that much convincing, Jo realized.

She marched to the kitchen and pressed the pedal on the trash can. She imagined that the plastic-wrapped treat was a dead sailor being consigned to burial at sea, and laughed. But when she tried to let it go, she couldn't.

Frowning, she tried again. Despite her resolve, she simply couldn't bring herself to toss the apple away. Shaking her head, Jo muttered to herself, "You're going screwy, kid."

Holding the treat up to the light, she addressed it directly. "You are not wanted here," she said to it. "You're a hitchhiker. So it's time to go. Got it?"

And then she paused, as if waiting for something. Instead of trying to throw the apple out again, she found herself sitting at the dining room table and unwrapping the treat, going slowly so that the plastic didn't pull all of the caramel off. The smell of sticky sugar hit her full in the face.

When she was done she hesitated again. You're really not supposed to accept treats from strangers anyway, right, she thought? That's what they always say...

But then, only barely aware of it, she shrugged and said, "Hell with it."

Her first bite was just a nibble. It was juicy and sweet, and the mellow caramel taste smoothed itself evenly all across her tongue. It tasted altogether familiar, although she couldn't remember the last time she'd had anything like it.

Her second and third bites were bigger. Her lips became sticky right away, and she wiped them on the back of her hand like a kid. Swallowing, she felt the lump travel down her throat.

Sitting back from the table, Jo looked at the bitten apple as if someone else had done it. But no, she told herself, there's no one here but you. And Nashia, but she's in bed, and too reliably well-behaved to sneak sweets in the middle of the night.

"Your daughter's not like you," Jo imagined her mother's voice saying. And then: "Each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Desire when conceived gives birth to sin."

Jo wasn't tired anymore. Restlessness had replaced exhaustion, even though it was past 11:30 and nearing midnight. It was as black as oil outside her windows; even the streetlamps seemed to have given up their nightly contest with the darkness.

Maybe I'll go for a walk anyway, she thought. Burn off some of this extra energy. It'll be healthy.

Pausing to put on her coat, she listened for any sign that Nashia might still be awake after all. The house was quiet through and through. She really shouldn't leave her daughter here alone, she thought with chagrin. But Nashia had slept through plenty of Jo's graveyard shifts over the last year, and would sleep through more in the future.

"And anyway, I'll be right back."

She locked the door behind her.

The unseasonal warmth of the early evening had given away to the cold, burnt-out end of a Halloween night. Jo had the street to herself, it seemed.

It only took a few steps for her to admit to herself where she was going. And why not? Dulciana did say to stop by sometime. Maybe her party isn't over yet. Jo could catch the end...

At first Jo worried that she couldn't quite remember her way back to the red house; earlier she'd just been following Nashia as she fluttered and flitted wherever she pleased. Now she struggled to remember the way.

It was the jack o'lantern that caught her eye again; its candle had burned low, it seemed, but wasn't out yet. The carved pumpkin sat right on the porch steps now instead of in the window. It looked like it was expecting her.

She wanted to bend down and blow it out as she approached, but as she did she noticed that the red door was halfway open. A breeze blew the dead leaves off the porch.

It's actually a rather pretty old house, she realized. Even the color is nice. It was a warm, living color. What was it her ex used to say about the color red? "If it bleeds, it leads." She couldn't remember what that was supposed to mean, but it seemed to fit now.

Letting herself in, Jo found the interior much brighter. There were more black candles burning, on the mantle and the end tables and even right here in the entryway. Melted wax filled metal trays and ran over the sides of candlesticks. The little yellow flames seemed to form a trail for her as she pushed the door shut behind her with her back. She imagined them as a welcoming committee of sorts.

There was nobody here in the living room, where sheets still covered everything. For a moment Jo almost retraced her footsteps back to the kitchen, but then she sensed that wasn't quite right. Instead she followed the candles to another open door, and standing at the threshold she peered down into the swallowing depths of the basement.

Jo put one foot on the top step and then waited to see if anything would happen. What was she even doing, she wondered? I just broke into a stranger's house. I'm about to barge into a dark room. I'm liable to be shot.

Instead of turning around, she took another step. The basement blackness looked like a solid thing, some sort of membrane that she might break through if she forged ahead. She thought of playing hide and go seek with Nashia and wanted to call out, "Ready or not, here I come."

Biting her lip and holding her breath, she half walked and half charged down the, bracing herself for the coldness and darkness below. Instead she found the basement warm and inviting.

A cozy feeling like a comfortable blanket settled on her as she forged through the shadows and came out the other side in a space with a deep, plush rug on a brick floor, the room glowing orange with the roar of an old, black furnace on one end. Shadows climbed every wall.

Dulciana was here, dressed in a white garment that flowed down to the floor, and she greeted Jo with an impatient look, as if she'd been kept waiting.

Standing at the foot of the stairs, Jo wasn't sure what to say at first. Then she threw back her shoulders and said, "You told me to come by."

"Yes," was all Dulciana said. With her back to the fire it was impossible to read her expression.

Jo tried again. "I thought maybe you'd still be having your party."

Dulciana didn't answer for a while. And then she shook her head very deliberately, moving it just once to the left and then just once to the right.

"Oh no," she said. And then she opened up her white robe a little bit, so that Jo could see that had nothing on underneath it. "The party is just getting started."

Jo took another step forward, but Dulciana stopped her with a single upraised finger. "Ah, ah," she said. "Not like that. Crawl."

Blinking, Jo said, "I'm sorry?"

"You crawl if you want to come to me. Or you stay right where you are."

The furnace light burned like a red halo behind Dulciana's head. Jo noticed for the first time that she was holding a huge book with a red cover, almost too big for her to lift, and she thought it made her look like a saint in a stained glass window.

Careful not to scuff her pants, Jo dropped to her knees, then went down on her hands, and then, keeping her eyes on Dulciana at all times, she crawled on all fours over to where the other woman's bare foot tapped impatiently on the deep piled rug. Woven into the fabric of the rug were strange symbols Jo couldn't guess the meaning of; they seemed to crawl out of her way as she passed by.

Up close, Dulciana smelled like perfume and sweat. Tentatively, watchful for any negative sign, Jo kissed the other woman's bare foot. Dulciana purred in approval. Then she extended an index finger. Rising up a little, Jo kissed her fingertip, and before she really knew it she was sucking on the rest of the finger.

"That's good," Dulciana said. Her voice was low and little different from the steady growl of the furnace.

Jo kept her eyes closed and continued sucking until Dulciana took her hand back. Suddenly hesitant, Jo briefly glanced away. "I don't normally do this kind of thing," she said.

"You can't possibly think I care what you normally do," said Dulciana, and Jo flinched. But her voice became kinder as she said, "Did you like the treat I gave you?"

Nodding, Jo said, "My mother always warned me about accepting treats from strangers. She said bad people were always out to get kids like me on nights like this."

"How stupid. What would I want with some kid? It's mommies who interest me. They're the ones I make my most special treats for. I have another treat for you, if you want it."