"I think this one will be worth remembering."  

     With only that less-than savory premonition to hold my nerves in bundles, I left that night to make a stop at Gerrymander Black, a grill and bar across the way from city hall which I frequented. Compared to the rest of the town, it was something of a dark spot (a description which could be applied to myself as well these days).  

Not to say my town is necessarily bright and happy, but at the very least it wasn’t seedy; the place was an edifice of charcoal brick and mortar framed in the shape of an old European cottage, complete with a woody, thresh roof which looked as if it would simply collapse merely by watching it for too long.

     Honestly, I was tired enough to forego even driving despite my newfound fear. That damned preacher would still be around tomorrow, so why not sleep and go in the morning?

     But that man had genuinely disturbed me. No, more than that, he had frightened the living hell out of me. As if I had been watching a monstrous butterfly trying to crawl its way from the cocoon of a human shell. Or something like that…I don’t have any idea how to describe it. Just that those words-

     “Halloween is always such a sinister time of the year. I think this one will be worth remembering.”               

     -were a threat. A prophecy perhaps. Not that I believed in such things. Hell, I had no idea why I was even-               

     Here. By ship you set port in one dead, nightly haven….               

     Without even really paying attention to the road, I had already turned into the lot outside the bar and parked in a fire lane. I rolled my eyes without even thinking about it; nice one! Knowing my corvette wouldn’t be towed in this part of town, I stepped beyond the confines of the car and made my way, half walking-half jogging, up to the Gerrymander’s porch, wet and sagging from last night’s rainstorm. Despite the look, it was obviously sturdy; several old-style rocking chairs had been set right beside the front door. They were arranged in a circle around a small, stoolish looking table blanketed in chips and cards. I stopped for a moment to watch those sat around it. I was surprised to recognize an old high school acquaintance among the bunch; old, grizzled, a man who had always bragged about his exploits at Saigon during the War after lecturing us on Shakespeare: Lt. General Jonathan Treize.               

     Now?  Just a feeble, wrinkled Mr. Treize, dealing hands outside a shady shack to others as old and bored as him. They didn’t notice me, and I didn’t call out. I watched a moment longer, then went through the door.               

    Oh well. I had things to do.               

     Behind the door was dark and walls of smoke, familiar as my face in a mirror. Lights hung above the scattered tables, flickering in their death throes. The bar itself lay situated against the furthest wall, lined with a little over twenty stools to accommodate the crowds. Tool’s “Vicarious” surged from somewhere above me in muffled waves, distorted by the old speakers. A shame really, since it was a song I liked.               

    The darkness of the place, comforting in some strange way, drew me in as always, and I navigated myself to the bar where Gerrymander, a dim shape in the light, was cleaning glasses. I kept my eyes straight ahead, not desiring to look around. For although I was a regular, I could feel eyes prodding, watching. Dead, drunk, sharp as needles from the bed, uncompromising to even the fellow damned.                

    Caroline, I knew, would have hated it here. She…               

     -cannot find the path, for a haven is not kind, but one of love blown clear…               

     Glimpsing a vacated stool near the edge of the serving bar, I took it when it came and sat myself. I touched the wood, moving my finger down a small length. Oily, yet not a lick of dust.               

    “A mite early tonight aren’t we Peter?”               

     I glanced up. Gareth Gerrymander was young, tall and thin as a willow was. Young, muscled and goateed; everything I wasn’t. His hair however, was already going, a fact noted and snickered about by people he and I knew.               

    Only behind his back though. Saying that in his face was a death sentence.                

    “Your usual on the rocks, right?”               

    I smiled, feeling tired suddenly. “Yeah.” A word I said, passing along a line of both business and friendship. Like a handshake, but better.               

    We didn’t say anything for a few minutes. I lay my head in my arms, listening to the talk and tinny music while he concocted the order. Caught a single lyric before losing interest: “Help, I’m stepping into the Twilight Zone…”                

     Damn straight to that. Summed the damn thing up almost. Oh Carol…               

     “Hey, here” he said.               

     I didn’t even notice his voice. It was the sound of clinking ice made me sit up. I nursed it quietly, taking pleasure as stark, sour coldness rushed heavy down my throat. I could feel my mind, everything, numbing. All…just....gone…                Heypeterhalloweencanwebuysocksthechildrenloveyoubutthepreacherisherenowhe               

     “Pete. I-“ 

    I raised a hand, stopping him. I hiccupped slightly. “Hey Gerr, can you tell me…..if you seen anyone weird around?” I slurred. Damn it, I was drunk already.               

    And he paused. For an instant I heard it, and it told me everything. “No.”               

    Goddamn it, I didn’t need this now. “You’re lying”.               

    Another pause. “Yeah” he said in a tone I didn’t recognize.  Now was wouldn’t even look at my face. He just stood there, turned around at the wine rack.                

     Yet this told me something else yet again, a thing I hadn’t realized in his pause before. He was scared. A man who I knew would jump into a burning building to save dying children, was terrified. Frightened of the preacher it seemed, though the word hadn’t passed between us.               

     But why? What was this?               

     A few seconds passed before I spoke again, weighing my words. “Who is he Gareth? I may not know much, but I know that you know everyone and everything that goes on here in town. He came to me yesterday. Asked me things. Scared the **** out of me, then left with a threat off his lips. Talking about Halloween, about something that will happen.”               

     I paused, waiting. Hoping perhaps, though for what I could not say.               

     Gareth was looking at me now, his eyes sad and…what? Pity? No it couldn't be-              

     “Peter, can I ask you a question?” It fell like death from his lips, masked in innoncence.                

     My hands felt cold suddenly. I couldn’t hear the music anymore. “S..Sure.”               

     He mumbled something then, and every light in the room went out.               

     I stood up in the darkness, lost in smoke and sightlessness. My heart was beating itself to smithereens, my body shaking. I felt as if I were with the preacher again, locked in horrible blackness. Oh God....              

     Gareth, faceless in the pitch, asked again the question.                

     I wished, at that moment, I had not ever come here.                

     “Do you believe in monsters Peter?”