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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
The ancient festival of the dead, which some misinformed folks know as ''Halloween.''

Submitted: March 16, 2007

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Submitted: March 16, 2007





IT was harvest time.

O'Herily, the medicine man, lit the bonfire, smiling up at the moon.

The frail ones would be coming soon.

His daughter, Tanya, approached from the clay hut nearby; naked, her skin made cadaverous by the moonbeams piercing the trees. Her body bore the ceremonial tattoos of animal blood and tree sap.

''There are so many of us this time,'' she told her father, seeming anxious. ''Will there be enough frail ones to sustain us?''

  ''Of course,'' O'Herily said,'' There are more frail ones this year than any other year before.''

''The harvest.....what fun it is!!'' Tanya bellowed, dancing around in circles like a child. ''And the moon is so bright.........alive!!''

O'Herily grinned devilishly. ''!!'' he said, snickering.

''Well...yes, hungry,'' she agreed, seeming embarrassed.


The night's silence was suddenly pierced by the sounds of the frail ones; high pitched screams, animal like howls, cries of agony and stark terror.

O'Herily and Tanya turned to see the tribal elders leading the frail ones into the clearing, their bodies bruised and naked, their eyes filled with fright. The elders led them by collar poles  into the invisible net, which smashed their bodies together into a reddish-white gel as they were hoisted up above the flames of the sacrificial fire.

  Soon, all fell silent.

It was All Hallows Eve.

As the tribes feasted, Tanya asked her father, ''The frail ones are so......strange looking, father. What are they normally called?''

''Souls,'' he said, sucking blood from his fingers. ''We eat the smaller, young ones first - they are the tastiest and there will be plenty of leftovers for the 31st.''

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