Alright, folks, trying something new...I discovered the cache of Labyrinth fiction a few months ago and have kind of fallen down the rabbit hole. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not...we'll see, I suppose. ;-)
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Jim Henson and crew. Borrowing, here.
"You remind me of the babe..."
She will always remember two things from her childhood very clearly: the smell of musty, old books at the town library and the barn owl that sat outside her bedroom window every evening through her adolescence. The books are a scent memory, and therefore easiest to recall despite the nearly two decades that have passed since then. Even now, on particularly damp days, she'll smell the books in her current library and instantly feel ten years old again.
The barn owl, however, is a different - darker - memory, altogether...one that has a horrible tendency to pop up when it's unwanted...much like the Goblin King associated with it...
"Miss Williams!"
The hush sound that leaves her mouth is reflexive at this point, but the child quiets without dampening his enthusiasm. She shakes her head, smiles down at him over the counter. He holds up an oversized tome, seems to struggle under the weight of it. She takes it from him, her eyebrows rising at the title.
"The Encyclopaedia of Ancient Things, huh?" He nods, nearly vibrating from excitement. His young face wears a serious expression. "Do you think you're old enough to handle such a subject, Callum?" He nods again. "Well, then, young sir, I want no complaints if the mummies scare you."
He laughs, the sound full of sunshine in the dimness of the library. "I'm not scared of nothing," he says, watching her stamp the card and its pocket with the return date. She eyes him over the rims of her glasses and fully believes that he isn't. Callum Archer's father is the Fair Haven Police Chief; bravery runs in the family.
She leans on the counter to smile at him while she hands him the book. "Off you go," she says and the boy grins, takes off for the front door of the library.
"Sarah!"
She rolls her eyes, has to keep herself from hushing her boss. Sandra Green hurries across the floor of the library, skirting around small children and bored mothers. When she arrives at the circulation desk, she's out of breath and grinning.
"You're setting a poor example, Sandra," Sarah says, returning the grin, "yelling and running like a rambunctious teenager."
"To be fair, they're about to be Michael's problem so you shouldn't worry." Sandra hands her a cream envelope. "This came for you just now."
She opens it, frowns. "Oh lord…"
Sandra peers over Sarah's shoulder at the invitation. "I had a feeling it was one of those."
Michael arrives, arms full of books, and stares at the two women with a wary expression on his boyish face. "What is it?"
"An invitation to Samhain Night up at the Prescott Manor," Sandra says, all smiles.
Sarah tries not to shiver at the mention of Samhain. Since her adolescence, since that night she'd run the Labyrinth, she'd made a point of staying in on Halloween night - doors locked, porch lights off, and tucked away in a corner so she could see something coming. The idea of going up to Prescott Manor - the ridiculously oversized mansion at the top of Prescott Hill towards the edge of town - on that particular evening appealed to her about as much as day old sushi from a gas station.
"I'm not going," she says, letting the invitation fall into the wastebasket near her feet.
They both look at her, shocked. "You have to go!" Michael says, more animated than she's ever seen him.
"I don't go out on Halloween," she says, her tone brooking no arguments.
"But it's Prescott Manor," Sandra says, her voice nearing a whine. "It's not every day that one of us lowly pilgrims gets an invitation to a party up there."
"What can I say?" Sarah shrugs. "I'm hard to impress."
From The Encyclopaedia of Ancient Things
Page 703:
Samhain: Pronounced "sow-in", this is the end of summer and is recognized as the final harvest of the season before the darkness of winter descends. Also known as Ancestor Night, the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead is thin during the late hours; many creatures may pass through this veil and souls may walk amongst those they left behind.