This is a Halloween story about a woman haunted by guilt over her husband's death.
Vera dreaded the night. Each October 31st the dark shadow grew closer. Soon the demonic essence would claim her. All her magic, herbs and chants were useless against it. Scorpio, her pit bull/poodle mix with high intelligence and a killer instinct would be no match for what came closer and closer each Halloween Eve. Lord, how much longer must I suffer until the wicked marauder whisks me off to his evil lair? What have I done to deserve such threat of future eternal torture?
“Gram, why don't you believe in Halloween? “asked eight-year-old Tyler. "It's my favorite time of the year. I'm gonna be dressed in black like the grim reaper.” His blue eyes gleamed with anticipation.
‘That's nice,” his grandmother replied, trying to sound enthusiastic for the boy.
“Come for treats before sunset tonight. I'm going to bed early.”
“Okay, Gram, save me some Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and don't let the goblins get ya.” He jumped off the front porch laughing at his own joke.
How she yearned to share his excitement on Halloween Eve, once her favorite holiday. No more. When did it begin? She knew exactly when. It was on a Halloween night when Hank and she had the terrible fight. He’d accused her of flirting with the local butcher, which she denied; admitting only to being alluring enough to secure the best cuts of meat. The argument raged on through the evening, when Hank suddenly grasped his heart and fell to the floor. Vera tried hard to resuscitate him, after calling 911, but it was futile. She mourned her loss, certain that their quarrel had killed him.
And then the dreams began, more terrifying as each Halloween grew near. The nightmares were never clear, just a black clawed hand beckoning, and the scent of evil wafting over her. Her heart pulsated wildly through her chest as she felt haunted by fear and guilt . . . It would be the death of her.
Halloween arrived with all its costumed, hidden faces. She handed out candy until evening, and then refused to answer the constant ringing of the doorbell. Scorpio laid by the entrance, growls rumbling from his throat. It seemed to go on forever, until the children gave up and went to other houses. The night was nearly over and she could finally rest. Sudden rapping on the door made her jump — who would pound so loud, she thought. It awoke her from a deep dream of Hank, so realistic that she reached out to touch him. He was telling her his death was not her fault. He’d kept it from her, but his heart had been failing for many years. She felt his love wash over her body, mind and soul. The pounding! Why now when she finally felt liberated by years of guilt, knowing this dream would wash away the nightmares.
Vera rose from her bed slowly, donned her bathrobe and apprehensively walked toward the front door. If death greeted her now she was no longer afraid and even looked forward to it, knowing Hank awaited her with love. The door creaked as it opened – a figure all dressed in black, holding the scythe of the Grim Reaper stood poised before her.
“Hi, Gram! Tyler said, “Sorry I'm so late.”
What began as Songs of the Angelic Gaze in the summer of 2006 continued the following year as The Bridge of Silver Wings, and developed even further two years after that into The Bridge of Silver Wings 2009. Whether readers describe it as a conversa
