October 31, 1068 — All Hallows Eve

John lives in a small village in northern Britain. He, along with his village, are of Celtic descent. Their traditional festival of Samhain has been blended with the Christian holiday of All Saints Day, however many of the traditions have stayed the same. Especially the customs of All Hallows Eve, the night before All Saints Day. It is said that the barrier between the dead and the living is weakened, and the ghosts and spirits of the departed are free to roam the earth. This village especially, is shrouded in a dark history and mysterious happenings. It is customary to stay inside on All Hallows Eve and always be in the light. John is just getting home from the evening liturgy when he is startled by a knock on his door.

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Who could that possibly be? John went over to the thick wooden door and as he was lifting the latch he hesitated. John thought about his family. How long had it been since the accident? John had a guilty conscience and he blamed himself for everything. Not a single day has gone by where he isn’t filled with regret. I could’ve saved them, John thought dejectedly. He knew what this night had in store for him.

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John leapt over to the fireplace to get the fire iron and returned to the door feeling more protected. He lifted the heavy latch and threw the door open. Standing before him was a group of vagrants begging for soul cakes. John spoke his mind and they went on their way. He made sure they were well down the street before closing the door.

John could tell the seasons were changing. The days were getting shorter, so much so that his walk home from evening worship was in pitch black. He also noticed a nip in the air, and at the moment there was a strange draft going through his home that sent shivers down his spine. He put some logs on the fire and sat down to absorb the warmth. His thoughts drifted to the summer months. Strolling through the beautiful meadows with the sun’s warmth on his-

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John became consumed with rage and flung the door open, ready to verbally assault the vagrants. But there was no one there. He stepped outside and his foot landed on something soft and squishy. He looked down and it was his youngest daughter’s stuffed toy. John staggered backwards in bewilderment. That’s impossible, John thought. He stumbled back into the house and slammed the door shut, with his back against chilling slab of wood. Everything was silent except for the crackling of the fire and a loud thump, thump, thump emanating from his chest. John’s mind was racing back and forth, trying to process what he just saw. He got down on his knees and began to pray.

After some time, John heard a faint sound coming from the back of the house. He got up, grabbed a candle, and approached the back door. As he got closer, he was able register what he was hearing. It was a soft, angelic voice singing a hymnal. It was enchanting like a siren’s call and was the most beautiful thing John has ever heard. He pulled the latch to the back door and creaked it ajar. Standing before him was his youngest daughter.

“I’m so sorry sweetie,” John managed to stammer. “I miss you so much, it’s all my fault.”

“It’s okay dad, come here and take my hand.”

John took a step outside. His face was streaming with tears. He didn’t know his heart could ache so much. He drew in a deep breath and stepped towards his daughter. As he landed his last step, a gust of wind extinguished his candle, and his world went black.