Hello, I’m Zoe Molloy, a writer from east London, with an interest in people and their stories. Welcome to my final October Showcase. I’ve so enjoyed sharing some fantastic writing that has been contributed under ‘Difference.’

As we step into Autumn, with visible differences in the colour of the leaves and the dying summer gardens, nature is defiantly telling us to slow down. Being an Autumn person, I’m thriving with everything that these cosy, lamp illuminated, dark evenings bring and already have an excitement in my tummy for the wickedness that is Halloween. Feel free to grab a hot chocolate or something warm, and enjoy some Halloween fun, along with a fabulous final poem I have chosen as being representative of October as a whole.

Legend Of The White Hanky is a short story by Nicholas Vaughan. Offered in a child-like voice, his is the first piece of writing to get us in a darker mood. It has all the components of a terribly good Halloween tale: redemption, violence, love and a supernatural transformation.

Legend Of The White Hanky

Bellow and Straker were fighting to the death in the streets of Beverley. Bellow had Straker on the floor at sword point. Straker pulled out a bloodstained handkerchief and waved it in surrender, then it disappeared. Bellow plunged his sword into the deepest artery on his throbbing neck, then made off.

A few seconds later, a monk came strolling past.

Straker saw him, and uttered in a weak voice, “Come and save me!”

The monk stopped. Straker had been lucky and the injury missed his vital organs. The monk bandaged him up so he could get off.

“Thanks for that,” Straker said. “Otherwise, I’d have been done for.” He struggled to his feet and stumbled down to the market.

He approached one of the sellers.“Do you have any handkerchiefs I might buy?”

“Of course. Take your pick.”

Straker took one and pushed it into the top pocket of his suit. As he walked towards the minster, he passed a spook- looking cottage, and shuddered.

“Come in, I’ll show you around,” an old woman’s voice said.

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”

Despite his reservations, he followed her in.

As he entered, he could see a massive cauldron bubbling away.

Straker asked, “Are you a witch?”

The witch replied, “Yes, but I’m a good witch.”

“Do you know what?”

“What?”

“This morning, the hanky  I’ve saved for nine years suddenly disappeared.”

“Vanished?”

“Exactly, now I need to find somebody who can help me locate it.”

“What can you give me, something I could turn into the handkerchief?”

Straker reached into his top pocket.“This is the replacement hanky I bought.”

“That should be ideal.”

“Take it.”

The witch began to chant. The hanky lifted from her hands and whipped about in the air. Then it laid gently on the floor. She went to investigate.“I want to see if it has taken on a new persona.” The witch peered deep into the scrap of fabric.“The hanky will now have a different lifestyle.”

“How do you mean?” he asked.

“Every night it will go on a haunting spree of the streets of Beverley.”

“But why, though?”

“Because it’s imbued with Anna’s presence.”

“How do you mean?”

“It can now be used to contact her.”

“I love the sound of that.”

“And the hanky, will you take it with you?”

“Yes. It’s laden with Anna’s spirit.”

As he was about to leave, the hanky flew up into the centre of the room, only to gently float back into his hand. He pocketed it and was off.

Straker took the hanky back to his digs. As he entered, a chilling scream froze him to the spot. It came from an upstairs window and he rushed up and peered out. The hanky moved devilishly about, as if commanded by strings. Then he lost consciousness.

The next morning, it flew through the letter box and landed in his hands.

There was a familiar voice. “Straker, it’s me, Anna,” a woman’s voice said.

“It can’t be.”

“I’ve been brought back to you. But I must go out on these awful nightly hauntings. Can you rescue me?” She magically appeared from the hanky. “See, I’m real.”

Straker exclaimed, “I must kill off this hideous thing!” He positioned himself with the sword above the hanky, ready to do the awful deed.

With an icy tone, Anna said, “That’s my other half.”

“But this could work. It would be like having an exorcism.”

He was about to plunge his sword in, when he heard the pleading voice of his darling cry out: “Don’t kill it! Have pity on the hanky. Don’t forget there’s also a little of your love in there.”

Straker pulled his sword back.

“Allow it to go and live a new life.”

Straker replied, “But to go and do what?”

“Improve its ways, then maybe it’ll do you a good deed.”

Then the hanky spoke, “Thank you, Straker, for saving my life.”

“It was nothing.”

“I know I’ve led an awful existence. But now all that will change.”

“But what will you go on and do?”

“I will help the poor.”

“A lofty aim, but is it realistic?”

The hanky continued. “I may be a ghost, but with my many human connections, I’ll be able to carry out great deeds.”

“Do you know what this means?” Anna said to Straker. “Now you can be my groom.”

At that, there was the swoosh of a sword as it arced before her, neatly carrying Straker’s head away.

Johannes Bellow, displaying murderous wrath, stood above her. “I had to finish him off.”

© Nicholas Vaughan, 2024

Connect with Nicholas on Facebook: Nicholas Vaughan and via their website: nickvaughan.org

*****

The second piece of fun prose for Halloween keeps us on our scary track. I Was Almost Asleep by Celestine ( Cee Cee).  The ordinary beginning sets up a world of eerie suspense, where something is dripping…

I Was Almost Asleep

My work day at the over-crowded airport checking in anxious holiday customers had been long and another would start again in just a few hours. In my shared apartment, the number one country love song played quietly on the alarm radio in the background. All my boisterous flatmates had gone away for the long weekend into the city. Since peace and quiet seemed to be a rarity, soon after hanging up my coat in the hallway closet, I went directly to bed.

I was almost asleep. Drip! Drip! Drip! Plop… plop… plop. Drip! Drip! Drip! Plop… plop… plop. Someone hadn’t completely turned off the kitchen sink tap, again. Unfortunately, my bedroom door was wide open. I could have sworn the door had been closed shut. Ten whole minutes of trying to ignore the constant echoing sound of water hitting a metal sink passed before forcing my tired body to get up to make it stop.

In the dark, I almost stumbled as my hand reached the tap. Using both hands to grip the separate cold and hot water handles at the same time, they were forced into closure. I waited a short beat and heard nothing but the music on the radio and the rustle of my nightshirt. I gladly returned to my rumpled bed with great satisfaction and threw the covers back onto me. A new slow love song was playing softly on the radio and I was finally able to sleep.

Plop… plop… plop. Plop… plop… plop. Awake, groggy and now vocally grumpy, I made my way back into the yellow-painted kitchen. Determined to stop the new slower annoying version of torture, my searching hand finally found the light switch and flicked it on. I had to abruptly stop mid-step  on my way to the sink . I tried and failed to muffle my high-pitched screams. A large bowl of apples, all sliced in half and covered in blood were sitting on my long granite counter top. As if this sight wasn’t bad enough, among the butchered apples was a bleeding right hand. Someone had firmly stuck a knife in the person’s back and placed the individual on top of the counter.

There was blood everywhere. Before my unsteady feet could turn to run, the click sound of the kitchen light switch filled the room. Suddenly the room went pitch black again. Drip! Drip! Drip! Plop… plop… plop. I awkwardly found my way to the front door, fumbled with the locks until they opened and ran for my life. I refused to give in to the temptation to look back.

© Celestine (Cee Cee), 2024

Connect with Cee Cee on Instagram: @AlwaysCleverContent

*****

This piece of Halloween art from Afsana Elanko made me chuckle. I hope it does the same for you!

*****

I am signing off October with Bad Relations, a poem by Beverley Massiah-Abrahams.  This superbly-written piece reflects all that October has represented for me. It  feels as though mirror is being held to contemporary life and is a reminder we humans thrive on social connections while also displaying contradictions. We can be cruel, but also display beautiful acts of kindness. I will always side with this, along with optimism and hope. Peace out.

Bad Relations

It’s strange, this need we have for each other
This strong yearning to be close
Social Beings
Being social
And yet, so antisocial, so mean and hurtful
So incapable it seems of hearing, seeing
Loving, caring, understanding, empathising
Why do we wait for an emergency catastrophe
To show our true colours
Help, aid, care,
Donate, support, share?
What is it about devastation, that make us good relations
And the usual, every-day, that makes us bad relations?

Nature or nurture,
Internal bad relations,
Sets us up for bad communications
Minds become warped;
Seeing evil, power, lust.
Me and mine. I must.
When in reality,
We are all unique
We are all the same
Homo Sapiens
A species, when compared to all the others
On this huge tiny dot within the universe
Has so little, genetically, which divides us
Categorises us, separates us

We must know deep within,
Inside our souls;
Only together, are we whole
But this me and mine survival
This need, for supreme control and greed,
Has sown a seed,
So, we do not see
Objective reality
Instead, we warp history
Distort our social, economic commentary

Make angels, of those who are in
And demons of those who are out,
We elongate, caricature, denigrate
Look down our noses from on high.
How strange!
If we could see, a bird’s eye view
A drone or satellite’s perspective
Would we then realise the truth?
Or is this just nature’s way?
Surely now, when we see
The impact of our choices
The ticking clock
Of drought, decay, devastation
We can learn, realise
That survival of the fittest is not ours to decide

It’s our differences that make us the same
It’s our individuality, genders, races, ethnicities
Varied, unique and shared abilities
Faiths, Interests, Nations, Specialities
Neuro typical and neuro divergencies
Individual and superpower intelligences
That are all parts of the puzzle,
Each piece connecting to complete the puzzle

By the time we realise who we are,
We are already who we are
And yet, if, we could but open our minds
Peep outside our limitations of wealth, fame, and power
It is, just possible that the trickle can become a shower
Cause a downpour of change… until,
Weathering the storms, little by little
We begin to shift the forecast
From bad relations…
To increasingly; better, and better, relations.

© Beverley Massiah-Abrahams, 2024

*****

If you’d like to see your writing appear in the Write On! Showcase, please submit your short stories, poetry or novel extracts to: pentoprint.org/get-involved/submit-to-write-on/

Hear extracts from Showcase in our podcast. Write On! Audio. Find us on all major podcast platforms, including Apple and Google Podcasts and Spotify. Type Pen to Print into your browser and look for our logo or find us on Spotify for Pocasters.

*****

If you or someone you know has been affected by issues covered in our pages, please see the relevant link below for ​information, advice and support​: