The Celts celebrate their new year on November 1. This day marks the end of summer and the harvest and the beginning of the dark, cold winter. This time of year is often associated with human death. Some Celts believe that on the night before the New Year, the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead becomes blurred. On the night of October 31 they hold a festival, Samhain, when the ghosts of the dead return to earth.
This is not a scary time for all. Yes, there are the skeptics and there are those who are simply too scared to leave their homes. For those willing to believe and for those who enjoy a good scare, however, this is an enchanted time. The opportunity to communicate with a spirit of one gone is too great a temptation to turn down.
You must understand something. Though I am the bringer of plague and the sole reason breath leaves the body, I am not without feeling. My life, if that is what you can call it, has only one purpose: to take away that which instinct clings to. Samhain is a retreat for my mind, a holiday for the bloody hands I bear. I bring back what I once took away, if only for one night. This is enough for me to carry out that which I am named for, Death, for every other sun and moon.
Ah, but the dead do not return without great sacrifice, you see. I cannot have an evening without my fulfilling my mecca, no matter if I wish it so or not. The flesh of an innocent man must be consumed by the flame in which the spirits appear. Surely the death of one man is a small price to pay for precious moments with those who are with Ambisagrus or Dispater now.
It is a gift what I bring back. The Celts understand this, and abide by the laws of which it works by. In merely weeks it will mark a century since this joyous occasion began. Excuse me then, child. I have spirits to make.