A Short Work of Historical Fiction submitted by Edward Arwin
It started many moons ago on a crisp autumn eve, much like this one will be. Lunar light chills the faces of children who are fast asleep, with one eye open. Always one eye open. This time of year, it is best not to be observed in true form. For the morrow is Samhain, when summer dies, darkness grips the harvest, and the veil to the otherworld is desperately thin.
So desperately thin in fact, that fairies begin to lead the souls that they have captured throughout the year, directly to the otherworld, the Tír na nÓg — some through the openings of ancient graves and Oweynagat cave. The fairies are out for one final hunt along the way, and they will look for you. When one crosses your path, it is best not to be seen in true form; carry a turnip lantern and don weird wares and cover the face, the kind of disguise that will cause enough confusion so that the fairies will pass you by. This time.
This time of year, the cave and surrounding areas are lit with a lasting fire and ritual celebration for three days straight. This is to collect the final harvest and celebrate their ancestors passed before the dark time comes. Offerings of food and spirits are presented at an empty spot at each table and left overnight in case they arrive late. Meanwhile, parents and children will prepare little cakes that the children will pass out as they go door-to-door and give them to the house masters — to commemorate the dead and give blessing to the souls passed. These were called soul cakes, a humble treat made of flour, cream, butter, sugar, and spices such as clove and nutmeg.
This journey door-to-door is meant to be a reminder to give thanks for the blessings of ancestors, and to also be aware of the treachery that surrounds us, as to not to let our weary souls be subject to its trickery. This ceremony, having been tricked with time, has been changed completely. It is today that the children seek each door to get gifts of candy or trickery from their neighbors, with no mention of ancestral tradition or the blessing of the dead. For on this night, on Samhain, lest we forget, there are dark forces afoot that seek to capture souls, and bring them back to the cave, and through the veil, forever.
The Oweynagat cave, today sits hidden away in a remote farming village of Rathcroghan, Ireland. This entrance to the otherworld was the prominent gateway more than 2,000 years ago, before written history. But it is said that the hosts of beasts that inhabit the murky subterrain are always busy looking for the next place to pierce the veil. And it appears they’ve headed west, led by Jack the eternally doomed smithy, never to enter heaven or hell. His forever burning hellfire ember of coal housed in a hollowed-out turnip illuminated the growing expanse of the Oweynagat, where the beasts continued carving massive tunnels, gnawing, and gnashing their way under the Atlantic Ocean; seeking new lands to haunt and new souls to scavenge.
And so, years passed, and the beasts became incredibly hungry. Until one day, they reached a point of accession — ravenously tunneling their way upward they came to rest at a rattling cave full of snakes, which housed a spring. It is in this place where they healed their wounds and sorrows acquired from centuries of burrowing through rock and underwater fissures, never finding the respite of death. After a time, they tunneled on through ancestors and Mastodon bones lost in strata, and came across a most peculiar legume, whose oil and
nutty fragrance appealed to them. Jack and his beasts bathed in this oil until their cracked skin became simultaneously buttery and sticky as jelly.
It was there in the Oasis, that they parked. They have been peering about the area unseen, as they set up their subterranean camp. Using it as a base, they have been developing a vast network of tunnels underneath the area — connecting it all the way back to the Oweynagat cave, in Ireland — and to the Tír na nÓg — the otherworld. The beasts and monsters were amassing and honing their trickery. And the Fairies have begun planning and forming soul-hunting parties. Each eye with sights on those in true form.
Close by, in the village of Portales, the ghoul-carved tunnels stretched abound and surfaced in hidden areas. One, is said to be somewhere hidden within the ENMU campus. Jack of the lantern and his cloud of ghastly ghouls lie waiting. There are so many souls, and many without disguise for the coming Samhain. It is said that this year when the Summer dies, the dark harvest will begin once again and this time with centuries of vigor. So, remember to honor your ancestors, carry your jack-o’-lanterns, and disguise your face and form — so the fairies cannot drag you into the otherworld on this mysterious morrows’ Samhain.