“Young master, please step away from the window.” Without waiting for him to move, Maria hastily slid the heavy curtain back over the window pane, blocking the view of the courtyard. Silas blinked in surprise. He hadn’t heard her enter the room, but that wasn’t what startled him. He’d never seen Maria so forceful. Wondering what had made her so angry, Silas turned towards her and realized instantly that he’d been mistaken. Maria wasn’t angry, but rather, frightened. “Maria? What’s wrong?” The maid started at his question, a bemused expression on her face, “What… young master, did you forget that tonight is the Night of Hollows?” “Ah.” He hadn’t exactly; more accurately, he’d forgotten the fear most people bore for that time. His mild reaction seemed to be making Maria nervous, so he added, “Don’t worry, Maria. I promise not to open any more curtains tonight.” Maria spared him a look that stated she didn’t quite believe him, but still nodded, “Be sure you don’t, young master. Goodnight.” Silas waited until he could no longer hear her retreating footsteps, then waited some more. Waited until he was certain that that all of the servants had settled in for the night, getting up and pacing around the room to make sure he didn’t fall asleep himself. Fortunately, most people made sure to be in their beds early on the Night of Hollows, so it did not take long for the manor to fall dark and silent. Silently as he could, he slipped towards the back garden door, carefully easing it open so that it wouldn’t creak and alert everyone. He’d promised Maria he wouldn’t touch the curtains; he’d never said anything about the doors. The bite of the early autumn wind cut straight through his clothes and he shivered. Too late to go back for a coat now, but it wasn’t as though he was planning on staying out long. He fumbled behind the nearest bench for the lantern and matches he’d hid there the day before. He wouldn’t light them until he was out of sight of the manor windows; not that he thought any of the servants were brave enough to investigate a strange light outside tonight, but it was better safe than sorry. An eerie wail drifted across the night air, a dreadful sound that echoed through one’s bones despite its low volume. The same sound that began every Night of Hollows, but this would be the first time he would see what was causing it. He raced towards the garden gate, unlatching it and slipping down towards the neighbouring forest. The long shadows of the trees welcomed him, and he slipped into their familiar embrace, stopping only to light his lantern, before continuing on. The wail had faded away, but it started up again, the sound sharper, more ominous under the canopy of the trees. Cautiously, Silas started towards it, listening carefully to make sure he had gotten the direction correct. Deeper into the forest he wandered, careful to keep track of the direction he’d taken. He was well familiar with the forest and its quirks, but it all looked different than during the daytime. He had no doubt he could find his way once the sun rose, even if he did become lost, but he didn’t dare stay out that late. Grandfather would throw a fit if he knew he’d gone out tonight and he had no intention of risking him finding out. Silas spotted the light glow of fires before him and paused in his approach. He knew no one lived here, or at least, no one who used fire for lighting. Travellers wouldn’t be out tonight, so why… Creeping closer, he realized that the light came from lanterns, hung from posts along a dirt road. Silas’ brow wrinkled in confusion. There shouldn’t be a road here. Had he strayed far from where he thought he was? Or were the stories about the Night of Hollows true, after all? A shadow loomed before him and Silas’ footsteps faltered, eyes widening as he slowly focussed on what he saw. A tall figure seated on a great steed, both horse and rider watching his approach in silence. Or at least, he assumed the rider watched. His hood was turned towards him, but even in the dark, Silas could tell there was nothing inside. The figure was headless, its skin mottled and rotten, just like that of its steed. The eyes of his mount watched the boy intently enough for both, however, a pair of glowing red orbs surrounded by shadows. An earthy smell wafted towards him, oddly more like that of decomposing vegetation than the flesh he saw. In the figure’s hand was clutched a wicked scythe, the blade longer than Silas’ torso, its sharp edge glittering as its wielder shifted ever so slightly. They stood frozen, staring at each other for what felt like an eternity. Then the figure tilted its hood, a strange, whispering voice echoing from its depth. “How odd. Do you not fear Death, boy?” Silas shrugged, “No more tonight, than any other night. After all, you’re always here, aren’t you? It’s just that tonight the Veil is thin enough for us to see you.” The figure was silent for a moment, before a low rattling chuckle floated up from its throat. Entry for 2024 Halloween Writers Contest