Anne had never been much of a Halloween person. She supposed that she would have thought more of the holiday if the orphanage or her previous foster families had made a bigger to do out of it, but besides having the building TP-ed by neighborhood teenagers, every year the day passed by just like any other.
When the Cuthberts had adopted her just last November, and she moved to her new home in Avonlea, Halloween had already passed, so she hadn't given it much thought that she might be allowed to partake in the future.
This year, Anne's new best friend Diana had insisted on having her accompany her and her younger sister Minnie May for trick-or-treating on Halloween night. At sixteen, she was slightly concerned that she would be considered too big to be trick-or-treating alongside all of the other youngsters, but Diana, who was pretty short for her age and could easily pass as a twelve-year-old, assured her that in small-town Avonlea, where everyone knew everyone, no one would turn away the mayor's daughters and their friends.
Diana's family was one of the wealthiest families in town because the Barrys' ancestors, who had been there since the establishment of Avonlea in the 1800s, remained successful throughout the years and were still in possession of the Barry mansion that was built all those years ago.
Mr. Barry, being the the mayor of Avonlea was very respected, Anne learned, so when Anne was first introduced to the family, Marilla Cuthbert had told her that she must always be on her very best behavior if there was to be any chance of hers and Diana's friendship to thrive.
Anne seemed to pass the Barrys' expectations, so she and Diana were allowed to be friends. The Barrys were extremely old-fashioned in Anne's opinion, but she really couldn't complain about the joy of having a new friend. From then on, Anne kept herself restrained around Mr. and Mrs. Barry, and only Diana knew of Anne's true personality and vivid imagination.
She accepted Diana's invitation to go trick-or-treating while their parents hosted a dignified costume party for the adults, and it was all she could think about in the days leading up to it. Diana made Halloween sound absolutely wonderful with the talk of dressing up as anything you could possibly dream. Why, the possibilities were endless! She could be a wood nymph, or a fairy, or even a sprite. Fairylike costumes had always seemed alluring to her, so she was delighted when Diana offered to take her costume shopping the day before Halloween.
Anne had marveled at the tiny but enchanting shop, brimming with costumes and accessories of various colors and designs. Long, elegant dresses were hung on racks against the walls, and a long mounted shelf on the wall displayed crowns, costume jewelry, and other fun accessories.
Her eyes widened when Diana grabbed her hand to pull her towards a rack where fairylike tops and skirts were displayed. Oh, the colors... the textures. Sequence and ruffles were sewn onto the bottoms of the skirts, tiny flowers were embroidered on the neckline of the flowy white blouses. Some even had the most adorable red and white mushrooms.
Fairy wings made of wire and tulle fabrics hung from the ceiling, with LED lights sandwiched between the layers of fabric. It gave it a soft glowing look.
She yearned to trace her fingertips across every single thing, so that she could admire each and every little detail that was put into them. Surely she would have no trouble at all finding the right pieces for her costume.
Diana had her heart set on being a sort of medieval princess, and quite literally screamed in delight when she came across a dress of beautiful deep purple velvet, with a golden hem, and the perfect amount of flounce in the sleeves.
Both girls left the shop later, white paper bags in each hand, filled with their treasures. After much consideration, Anne had finally settled on an earthy green dress with artificial moss and ivy woven into it, and a wooden crown with plastic flowers and butterflies attached to it. The wood was braided onto intricate swirls and designs, and Diana had exclaimed that it looked absolutely stunning with Anne's red hair.
"See you tomorrow, Anne. If you need any help with your makeup for tomorrow night, just send me a text!" Diana cried, when they neared the Barry home.
"You know I will, Di," Anne replied with a playful eye roll. "I can't do eyeliner correctly to save my life."
Diana's musical laughter was the last thing Anne heard, before her friend shut the front door of her castle-like home.
The next evening, Diana arrived at Green Gables in answer to her friend's desperate text for help-- for her eyeliner was indeed a disaster. Anne noticed that her friend had already applied her own dignified and dark makeup, and had a tote bag slung over her shoulder, which she assumed held her medieval gown.
Chattering the entire way up, Anne lead Diana upstairs to her room, shutting the door behind them.
"How do you do the wings of your liner so perfectly, Diana? All I can do is one squiggly looking line per lid, and it comes out looking nothing short of monstrosity."
"You're so funny, Anne." laughed Diana as she set down her bag. "Practice. Practice, makes perfect."
"You know, it's a miracle that I haven't stabbed myself in the eye with one of those pencils yet. But I haven't practiced enough to have the chance. I think only a graceful hand like yours has the ability to control something so freaking skinny-- I can barley control a regular pencil. Have you seen my handwriting?"
"If you've finished telling me how badly you suck at eyeliner, should I start doing what I came here for in the first place?"
"Yes," Anne huffed in relent, plopping herself down on the edge of her bed. She gestured to the makeup supplies thrown on-top of her vanity. "Do your magic, Di."
"And you do know liquid eyeliner exists, right?"
Diana applied Anne's eyeliner and shadow flawlessly in less than five minutes, all the while having the tip of her tongue poked out from the side of her mouth, and brows furrowed in intense concentration. Anne gaped at her reflection in her mirror, restraining herself from reaching up to touch her friend's handiwork. She had selected a sparkly golden eyeshadow, and a chocolate colored liner. Highlighter was applied on her cheekbones and the bridge of her button nose, along with some rose colored blush. Lastly, Diana suggested a clear lipgloss for the final touch.
Since Diana had arrived promptly at six o'clock, the girls didn't have long to wait before trick or treating hour began. Diana changed into her gown in the bathroom, while Anne changed in her room. She couldn't help but admire her reflection in the mirror once more. The dress hugged her curves just so, and the dark forest green of it brought out her flame colored hair. Setting the wooden crown on her head, she pulled forward two curled locks of hair to frame her face, and let the rest lay loose down her back.
After a couple rounds of selfies, the girls headed downstairs where Minnie May was waiting for them at the dining room table, gnawing on a pumpkin biscuit that Marilla had baked fresh that morning. Crumbs were plastered around her mouth, and dusted the skirt of her snowy-white angel costume. "The devil is what she should've dressed as," Diana mumbled under her breath. "She's going to harass us all evening."
"I won't!" Minnie May stuck her nose in the air defiantly. "But even if I do, you're stuck with me, whether you like it or not. And if you ditch me somewhere, I'll tell mom, and she'll ground you for another month."
Anne and Diana exchanged annoyed glances. The last time that Minnie May had tattled on her was late in July, when she had been sneaking out at night to see Jerry Baynard. Anne hadn't seen her again until the first day of school in September.
Footsteps came from the kitchen, and Marilla appeared with a tray of pumpkin muffins. She was known for going all out with harvest baking, and the house had been enriched with sweet smells for the last two weeks. She set the tray down with a satisfactory grin pulling at her thin lips, and turned her attention to the three girls. "I would run along now, if I were you," she gestured to the door. "Have you looked at the weather forecast, Anne? A thunderstorm is expected around 8:30, and I'd like to have you home well before then."
"That's no time at all!" exclaimed Anne, furiously throwing her hands in the air. "It has to rain tonight, of all nights."
"Minnie May and I have trick or treated in the rain before, Ms. Cuthbert," said Diana. "We can bring an umbrella with us if you want."
"The rain itself is the least of my worries, Diana. The forecast said that harsh winds are expected, along with lighting and the possibility of hail. I don't want you girls out in that." she looked at the girls sympathetically. "I hope you know that I'm not trying to spoil your girls' fun, especially as this is Anne's first official one--"
"No, Marilla, I understand completely." Anne groaned. "We've got nearly two hours, so we'll just have to make the best of it."
Diana smacked her seven year old sister's hand as it slowly crept across the table, in attempt to snatch a second biscuit. "Think of all the sugar that you're about to eat, Minnie May! Do you want to have fake teeth like Aunt Alice?"
"If I were to get fake teeth, it wouldn't really matter what I eat anymore, would it?"
Marilla sent them off with hand baskets to trick or treat with, since they went with each of their costumes in one way or another. When they stepped out the front door, the air that met them was cool, but a heavy humidity made the task of breathing difficult, and Anne felt it's stickiness all over. The sky overhead was dark grey, but Anne couldn't tell if it was foreshadowing the coming rain, or if it was just getting dark. After just a few blocks, Anne could already feel the wetness of sweat at the nape of her neck, under her arms, and the bridge of her nose felt like a piece of melting wax.
"How much foundation did you put on me, Diana?" gasped Anne, lifting a free hand to feel her face, only for Diana to slap away. "My face feels like it's melting."
"I swear it wasn't like this when we were walking over," Diana said with a hint of annoyance in her tone as she looked at the clouds overhead. "And don't mess with it!"
"Diana, don't swear." The seven year old instructed.
"Hm," she scoffed. "I swear you're going to be the death of me. Come on, Anne, let's head towards Orchard Road, down Pine Avenue, and then we'll work our way towards Old Settler's Lane. The streetlights over there are pretty crappy, but I've got glow sticks and a flashlight. I doubt it'll be much darker by the time we get there, though."
Minnie May came to an abrupt halt, and her tiny, rosy face paled. "Mom says we aren't allowed over there," she said, her entire demeanor changing. "Diana, we can't."
"Do you have to complain about everything?" Her older sister moaned, yanking her hand forward. "Older folks live around there, and they're known for the full sized candy bars they give out."
"Lead the way, Diana," Anne smiled, gesturing ahead and trying to ignore the prickle of fear that Minnie May's protest had stirred. Although Diana's younger sister was a great many things, a child easily frightened was not one of them. "Avonlea has far too many winding streets and paths for my brain to keep track of."
Tension remained in the air as they neared a cluster of homes, and Diana sent Minnie May ahead of them to where a crowd of kids had begun to gather in front of a house. Her little angel wings, and her halo headband bobbed as she skipped along, whatever fear she had experienced moments before replaced with the excitement of candy.
"What was that about?" Anne asked quietly, when she was sure Minnie May was far from earshot.
Breathing in through her nose in attempt to compose herself, Diana turned to look at her, dark eyes flashing with disapproval. "I'm sure you already know, but my mom is very superstitious. Like, very." she began. "For as long as I can remember, she's been under the impression that the woods out skirting Old Settler's Lane are... that they're haunted. There are old tales that the angry spirits of Avonlea's original settlers roam there. It's... silly, really."
Anne felt a nervous chuckle escape her. "She can't seriously believe that. I've lived here for almost a year now, and I've never heard of anything like that. Well, I don't think I've ever actually had a reason to go over to Old-- Old Settler's Lane, but..." she trailed off, mind reeling. "Why are they angry?"
"Don't pay any attention to a thing she says, or the lies that she feeds to my sister." said her friend firmly. Pulling her phone out of her basket, she checked the time. "It's already 7:45. Let's just try to get as much candy as we can, before Marilla sends out an entire search party to hunt us down."
Nodding, Anne glanced down into her own basket, and a sharp, heart stopping feeling overtook her, a feeling all too familiar to most people. She let out a screech of frustration. "I don't have my phone. I left it upstairs after we took our selfies."
"That's okay, we have mine," her friend replied with a lift of her basket, puzzled by her concern.
"Diana, Marilla being the frantic, worrisome person that she is, keeps tabs on my location through my phone. She's going to murder me."
"So, I'll send her a text," Diana shrugged. "It's no biggie. Unless you want to go back...?"
Though she appreciated her friend's thoughtfulness, with a shake of her head, Anne dismissed the suggestion. "No, that wouldn't be fair to you and Minnie May. You don't mind texting her?"
"Of course not!"
As Diana's nimble fingers delivered the message, Anne caught sight of the little figure of Minnie May racing towards them, beaming as she held her basket of candy triumphantly. "There was a house down there giving out toothbrushes and toothpaste, but the house next door to it had full sized candy bars."
"I'd say this stop was a win, then." laughed Anne.
Minnie May took her elder sister's hand, and the trio wandered from house to house, street to street, their baskets filling steadily.
Anne couldn't help but ogle at every costume that they passed; there were princesses, Disney characters, zombies and ghosts... a gum ball machine? Laughter, and delighted screams echoed the night. What fun she had missed during her time in the orphanage. She was determined to experience all of it now.
As they walked, Anne noticed a group of boys dressed as ghosts, their white sheets with holes for eyes and mouths, giggling and running ahead. She watched as one of them trailed behind his friends, and snuck up behind Diana and Minnie May, his sheet flapping in the wind.
"Boo!!" shouted the boy, causing Diana and her sister to scream.
After stopping by several more houses, the sky slowly began to grow darker, and the streetlights gradually began to flicker on. Anne's eyes widened in panic as she realized she had lost sight of the girls. She spun around, searching for them in the sea of masked and unmasked trick-or-treaters. "Di! Minnie May!" she called, but her voice was drowned out by chatter of the other children. Her heart pounded in her chest, and blood was rushing loudly to her ears. She tried not to think about Minnie May's wide eyes, and her terrified voice when she spoke of her mother's warnings. What street was she on right now?
The breeze picked up a bit, and she began to worry that she wouldn't locate the girls before 8:30. She didn't even know what time is was now. A wristwatch would've been smart, she scolded herself. She should've expected for something like this to happen. And she didn't even have her phone! Growing desperate, she wandered a few more dark unfamiliar streets. She figured most of the trick or treaters had already gone home, or this was just an unpopular area, as it was almost completely free of activity. A few teenagers dressed as zombies lingered, but soon she lost sight of them too.
As she kept walking, the dark figure of a boy sat on a street corner eventually came into view. She suspected he was underneath the streetlight so as to be seen by the youngsters; with a humongous candy bowl in hand. She could hear his gentle laughter as the cluster of kids surrounding him began to thin. He complimented every child's costume, asking who they were dressed as. Something about guys who are good with kids is just so strangely attractive. As the last girl skipped back to her waiting mother, he looked up and met Anne's eyes from where she stood a few yards away. He was roguishly handsome, she realized. Dark unruly curls toppled over his forehead, and he had a wonderful profile. He was dressed as a farmer of some sort, Anne decided, studying the white button down shirt he had tucked into a pair of trousers, and suspenders over them to complete the look. Before she lost her bravado, she approached.
"Uh, hi. I was wondering if-- um." she chuckled nervously. "Are you okay?" The boy was looking at her with such awe that she was slightly taken aback. Under the streetlight she couldn't make out the exact shade of his eyes, but could tell they were dark and unblinking. A smile pulled at his lips.
"Yeah, I'm- I'm sorry." The boy snapped out of the trance he seemed to be in. "It's just... you're the prettiest dryad I've ever seen. Nymph?"
"Fairy, nymph. I'll accept any and all," laughed Anne. "But thank you. I... I've never been called pretty before."
"You can't be serious."
"Unfortunately, I am. You have the honor of being the first." Anne smiled at the boy-- young man really. He looked about seventeen; but with the combination of his curls, sculptured nose and particularly long eyelashes, there was still a boyish look to him. His intense gaze caused her to blush, and she hastily dodged her eyes. "I was gonna ask-- I got separated from my friend-- she has a very enthusiastic little sister-- anyway, sorry, do you happen to know the way back to the Barry's place? I've lived here in the neighborhood for a year already, but the dark and my memory do not go hand in hand."
"Barry Mansion, you mean? Sure, it's a ways past First Street and The Avenue. You would have to turn back that way," he pointed behind Anne. "And--" A loud crash of thunder interrupted him, causing them both to jump, the boy scrambling to his feet. The night sky illuminated with a flash of lightning. And just like that, the rain began.
In vain, Anne reached up in attempt to cover her head with her arms, but within seconds her wet dripping hair was sticking to the sides of her face. "You know, this is just my luck--" she began, but trailed off as she met the boy's eyes. He looked even more beautiful than before. If that was even possible. Raindrops rolled down his cheeks and the sharpness of his jaw like tears, and his dark curls became darker and heavier, clumping together on his forehead like a running ink.
"You'll catch your death out here," the boy said, hastily grabbing her wrist and starting for the woodland patch straight across the street from his perch beneath the streetlight. She felt the muscles in his hand tense, before he stopped and turned to look at her. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude," he said with a frown. "Here I am dragging a girl around, forcibly making her come with me." The boy looked mortified with himself, and shook his head ruefully. "The Barry's is quite a ways walk," he continued. "But I know somewhere we'll be dry."
She laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. "It's alright," she said, her voice light and teasing. "I think I can handle a little rain." She pulled her wrist free from his grip, but didn't move away. "Besides, I'm more concerned about your manners than your strength."
The boy looked at her, horrified. Anne rushed into an apology. "I'm teasing, I'm sorry. That's just the way I am." She smiled awkwardly. The rain began to pour down heavier. "On second thought, what kinda place did you have in mind?" The boy looked up at her, hope gleaming in his eyes. "I have a… shack if you will. It's old, but it's my hideout of sorts, and it'll keep us dry."
After retrieving his candy bowl, the boy's eyes were lit up with excitement as he led her through the woods, the rain pelting against them. It was nearly pitch black, but he seemingly knew his way around quite well. A bolt of lighting lit up the sky, and for a moment Anne could see the little structure they were rapidly approaching, and couldn't help but smile at how adorable it was. It couldn't have been more than five feet tall, certainly only a place large enough to sit, and read, be one with nature, or simply just a place to think. He pushed aside branches and vines, before saying, "Welcome to my sanctuary," with a grin, holding open the flimsy door for her, the other hand balancing the bowl. Inside, it was dimly lit by candlelight, and musty, but dry. He gestured for her to sit on a worn embroidered chair, with a Victorian look to it. He took a seat across from her, on a short wooden stool.
"Why were you handing out candy under the streetlight, rather than your front porch like everyone else?" The question rushed out before she could stop it, as she watched him set the nearly empty bowl on the ground in the corner.
The boy hesitated, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. He casted his gaze downward, his expression becoming somber. "My father is very ill," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The constant noise of trick-or-treaters outside our home might disturb him." He looked up at her with a pained expression, and she could see the weight of his worry in his eyes.
"Oh," Anne breathed, understanding washing over her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry if that was rude of me to ask, I didn't even think—"
He shook his head quickly. "No, it's fine. I don't mind telling you." He looked up at her. "It's nice to talk about it, actually. Most people avoid the topic."
Although he said he was okay with it, Anne saw that it still pained him, and eased into another topic as the rain continued to hammer loudly above their heads. A few steams of water were flooding in from gaps in the large wooden planks that made up the roof, but she was quickly reminded how of much worse it would be if she were outside. "Thank you for bringing me here. I can tell this is a private haven for you," she said, looking around at the collection of books he had stacked around the place, and the sheets of blank papers, along with quills and pots of ink. "You use quill and ink! I've always loved the aesthetic look of it."
He smiled, looking around at his collection with a hint of pride. "I do indeed. There's something special about writing with quill and ink. It's a connection to the past, I think." He gestured to the books stacked around them. "I love reading and writing. It's a way to escape into different worlds." He looked at her with a spark in his eye. "What about you? Do you enjoy reading?"
"Reading is my entire world," she gushed. "I love classic literature, like Shakespeare and Jane Austen, but more recently I've become very invested in Holly Black's work. I also devour a good romance."
He raised his brows, impressed. "Holly Black and romance? An interesting combination. I tend to be more of a fantasy reader myself, but I can appreciate a good love story." He leaned in closer, his voice low and confidential. "I've been working on a story of my own, actually. It's a tale of magic and tragedy, with a dash of romance."
Anne shook her head in amazement. "Why have I never seen you at school?" she asked him, studying the boy in front of her closely. She definitely had never seen him before, she decided firmly. How could she possibly forget bone structure like that, or such passionate eyes? He squirmed a bit in his seat. "I take my lessons at home, so it's more convenient to care for my father." He looked away, expression guarded.
"I am so sorry. I am such a jerk for asking you all these personal questions." she groaned, putting her head in her hands.
He smiled, his eyes gentle. "It's alright. You're not a jerk for being curious," He reached out and touched her arm, his fingers cool against her skin, a contrast to the warm sticky air, humid from the rain.
She felt a shiver run down her spine at his touch, and she looked up into his eyes. They were deep and intense, and she felt like she could get lost in them. She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. "Thank you," she whispered. "Oh my gosh. I don't even know your freaking name." She held her head high, and offered her hand, sincerely hoping it wasn't shaking. "I'm Anne, and please make a mental note to spell it with an 'E.'"
Chuckling, he took her hand in his. "My name is Gilbert," he said. "And I promise you, I will remember the 'E.' You know, moments ago, I had just decided I would call you 'carrots,' for the time being, but you beat me to it." He held on to her hand for a moment longer than necessary, before releasing it. "It's nice to meet you, Anne."
She snatched her hand back, the flutters she felt in her stomach confusing her. She hoped she wasn't flushing; she really didn't need her entire body to be red. The tiny shack was painted with shadows, so she let out a tiny breath when she realized her flush was masked. Then, she released her fury. "Carrots?!" she exclaimed. "How dare you!" As cute as this boy was, that did not give him the right to insult her. "Alright, Gilly," she shot back at him, "What's your costume supposed to be?" she piped, running her eyes up and down his buttoned shirt, brown trousers, and suspenders once more. "You already know that I'm a woodland fairy. If I had to guess, you're either a lovesick poet, or you're a sad and handsome farmer-" she clamped her mouth shut, and internally kicked herself. She hadn't meant to call him handsome.
He laughed again, amused by Anne's guesses. "Let's just go with a farmer," he said.
Anne rolled her eyes. "Fine, a farmer it is," she said with a smirk. "But don't expect me to start calling you 'Farmer Gilbert.' If anything, it's gonna be 'Farmer Gilly.'"
"Oh no, wouldn't dream of it."
A comfortable silence enveloped them. Gilbert sat there and studied her, his eyes trailing from her button nose, to her piercing blue eyes. She wondered if he could read her body language, and figure out how annoyingly attractive she thought he was. If he could, he didn't say a word.
"Aside from the fact that you got separated from your trick or treating party, I know nearly nothing about you." he whispered.
"There's really not much to know," Anne replied slowly. "I was orphaned as a baby; spent most of my life in an orphanage or with foster families. This last one, I got lucky, and they decided to adopt me."
"Lucky," Gilbert echoed. "I'm glad you found family and security. A life that you deserve." Anne couldn't help but notice the sadness in his eyes.
"What's wrong?" she asked, concern in her voice.
He looked away, his eyes fixed on a flickering candle. "Your company tonight has been a wonderful comfort to me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "More than you'll ever know."
Anne chewed her lip, not knowing how to respond to that. Eventually the conversation shifted to school subjects, and more talk of novels, half of which Anne had never even heard of. The boy in front of her had such a sad beauty to him, but the sound of his deep, steady voice and gleam of his kind eyes radiated such a comforting feeling off of him. She could tell the illness of his father took a toll on him, from the shadows under his eyes, and the way he would occasionally trail off mid-sentence, a sorrowful look etching across his face.
As they talked, Anne found herself feeling more and more at ease. Gilbert's eyes sparkled with intelligence behind his years and humor, which she loved. She found herself opening up to him in a way she never had before with anyone, sharing her dreams and aspirations, her wild theories and outlook on life. And as they sat there, surrounded by the pitter patter of the rain, and what Anne assumed was hail, she realized that she was falling for this boy who seemed to understand her in a way no one else ever had.
Becoming stiff from sitting on the firm embroidered chair for so long, Anne slowly lowered herself to the shack floor, where Gilbert had several dusty carpets spread. Anne found herself leaning against Gilbert's shoulder, where he still sat on his short little stool, feeling safe in his presence. She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh, surrendering to the peaceful quiet of the moment. Feeling drawn by his soft and gentle nature, despite the many times she wanted to kick herself while talking to him, she felt herself relax, and be lulled into a desire for sleep. She felt him gently stroke her hair as she drifted off.
Gilbert's heart ached as he watched Anne sleep, her peaceful face illuminated by the moonlight seeping in through the cracks between the roof planks. The rain had slowed, and the moon had triumphantly peeked from the clouds. With tears in his eyes, he allowed his long dark lashes to flutter shut. A single tear streamed down his pale cheek. Anne stirred, her brow furrowing in her sleep. She reached out a hand, as if searching for something. Gilbert's heart constricted, and he took her hand in his, his fingers intertwining with hers. She sighed and settled back into sleep, against his broad shoulder, her grip on his hand eventually loosening.
When morning sunlight streamed into the tiny shack, Anne stirred and sucked in a sharp breath. Still without opening her eyes, she quickly noticed that her head was no longer propped upon Gilbert's shoulder. Somehow, it had migrated to the wall—but a small cushion he must have placed there separated her head from the rough surface.
Finally opening her eyes, Anne realized she was alone. Where had Gilbert gone? Licking her chapped lips, she got up, stretching her sore limbs. Straightening the skirt of her dress, she brushed off debris and stray pieces of nature. Anxiety already gnawing at her stomach, Anne stumbled out the shack door. With the rainstorm long gone, for the first time she realized that Gilbert's hideout was near a graveyard-- basically IN a graveyard. An old settlers one, from the looks of it. With a shuddering breath, she forced herself to take a step forward. What if Gilbert had gone looking for something, and hurt himself? The realistic voice in her head told her that he had probably just gone home to check on his father, but she couldn't shake the horrible gut feeling she had.
Studying her surroundings, a moss covered gravestone with a piece of paper blowing in the gentle breeze, a rock placed on top as a weight, caught her eye. Intrigued, she walked over, and her heart nearly stopped.
The headstone read:
Gilbert Blythe
Born October 25, 1882 • Died October 31, 1899
No. No, no, no. Anne was dizzy. She felt sick. Her knees turned to jelly as she took a staggering step away from the gravestone. Scrunching her eyes shut, she began to pinch the inside of her wrist fervently. She must be dreaming. She hadn't woken up yet. She was still inside the shack, resting against Gilbert's shoulder, holding his comforting cool hand. Cool hand. No.
Letting out a small cry, she forced herself towards the paper. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw her name etched across it in neat, precise penmanship. With shaking hands, she tossed the rock aside, and picked it up.
"Dear Anne,
You the most lovely, wonderful, and ethereal person I've ever met. You bring so much into this world; light, joy, and innocence. Your perspective of the world is like none other. You made me feel alive, for the first time in forever.
I know you're wondering where I've gone. Anne, I should have explained when I had the chance, and although I assure you that I was mustering up the courage to do so, you soon fell asleep beside me, and you were simply too beautiful and sleeping too peacefully to disturb.
In your slumber when you rested your head of red curls on my shoulder, I felt something that I didn't think I would ever feel again. Warmth. Love. Yearning.
I know that folks say this old graveyard, or even these entire woods are haunted, and I suppose they are, but only once a year. Halloween. It's only me though.
My father and I both caught pneumonia after a trip to Alberta; the place where I was born. My father had wanted to bring me to the place where him and my mother had married, and lived for awhile before I came along. I never met my mother, you see.
We made it back home, but my father was very weak, and although I was very ill as well, I cared for him until the end.
Weak, exhausted, and dying to put it quite plainly, I waited for my time to come as well. I knew I was going to die. There was no doctor; for I had tried to persuade my father to allow me to fetch a doctor for us when he was still alive, but he wouldn't allow it. He didn't want me to be traveling the long distance into town, in the harsh bitter winds we were having that October.
I was studying to be a doctor, and had great hopes for the future. I wanted to be the one to discover cures for illnesses, somehow find ways to save mothers after childbirth so that the world would have less motherless children who would suffer the same situation that I had.
But I couldn't even save us. I poured into my medical books late into the night, finding more and more remedies; such as trying to get my father to breathe in hot steam, or even drink various teas I had blended together from herbs. I failed.
All alone in my bed, trembling with fever, fireplace still, without a spark nor flame, I waited for death to claim me as well. I searched my heart and mind, wanting to gather my final thoughts. I realized that I was angry. Angry that my father was gone, and all of my attempts to save him had been in vain. Angry that I was to lose my life at such a young age, when I had such plans for the future. Angry that we had even taken that trip up Alberta.
I lost my life that evening. All Hallows' Eve. Halloween. Since then, every year I've returned to this graveyard where I was buried. Just wandering around the grounds, not really alive, but not dead either. Every year, I stared at the same familiar gravestones, the same old trees, and the same old sky. From sunrise until midnight. When the years began to pass, I noticed houses start to appear across the street, while before it had just been another part of the woods. I watched little ones scurry up and down the sidewalks, laughing and running up to knock on the doors of houses for candy. I was confused about this for a few years, before I realized that over time, new traditions had been made.
One year, I decided that I was tired of just waiting around in the graveyard, year after year, waiting for midnight to finally come. This year was the only time I didn't want the night to end.
I began experimenting, and learned that I could go only a small distance from the graveyard without feeling some sort of force retraining me back. Just far enough to reach the small store on the corner.
I began to collect coins and paper money that I would find blown around by the wind, across the road and sidewalks. I would save up for about half a dozen Halloween's, and then with the savings buy a bag of candy to give out to the little ones. I figured giving out candy from the graveyard would be quite traumatic for some, so I settled on the curb across the street, underneath the lamppost to hand out the sweets. Strangely, each time I went to buy the candy, the price went up higher and higher. I asked the store owner about it once, and after eyeing my clothes a bit strangely, (how is it that suspenders are no longer in fashion?) he shrugged and mumbled something about inflation.
This year was about my fifth time handing out candy, and then I met you. Please don't be alarmed about my fate, Anne. I don't want to scare you.
I truly don't expect your favor, or even the fact that you would want to return, but, if it's not too presumptuous of me to say, you seem like the sort of person who would understand.
Even though I've only known you for this short time, I want to thank you for making me feel alive for the first time in years, and I thank you for your friendship and kindness.
I've buried something not far into these woods. I want you to have it, Anne.
I'll see you next Halloween, Carrots?
P.S there's a shovel in the shack.
Anne felt a mix of emotions as she read and then reread Gilbert's letter. Tears filled her eyes as she realized what hardship and suffering this boy had had to endure, and how his life had been so cruelly cut short. He had died alone, in the darkness and cold of his empty house, without the comfort of someone holding his hand, or even the roar of a fire, for he had been to weak to make one. His dreams, his precious hopes for the future-- forever lost. Her mind continued to reel. She couldn't believe how much she had connected with him in such a short amount of time. She looked around the graveyard, hoping to see him one last time, although she knew that wouldn't be possible.
The sound of wailing sirens disrupting the quiet of the early morning brought her back to reality. In a haze, she vaguely remembered the men in uniforms who flooded from several police cars, run into the woods, where she stood in the graveyard, gently speaking to her and leading her towards the street where a distraught looking Matthew and Marilla waited. She found herself seated in the back of one of the cars, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, although she couldn't remember who placed it there. There seemed to be movement taking place outside; murmuring and the hushed whispering of her adoptive parents and the officers. Nothing felt real anymore. Her entire body felt numb. At that moment, the only real thing in the world was Gilbert's letter, still clutched tightly in her hand.