Page 191 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1

whose leaves forever burned orange, red, and yellow against
the bleeding sky. I watched a single crimson leaf cartwheel
across the surface of the murky water, leaving tiny expanding
rings wherever it tumbled. I could hear something pushing
through piles of fallen leaves, drawing closer.
Suddenly, Marvin’s mad whispers filled my mind as he
seized me from behind and pulled my ear to his bloodied
lips. “She’s the mother of many, Vincent. But you’re her
favorite child, by far. She came to us all, searching, but in
the end, there was only you. I hate you for taking her away
from us! But now, after I’ve seen something of your dreams,
I understand why she left. She chose you! She chose you
over the rest of us!” As he disappeared into the darkness, I
heard him hiss, “Damn you, brother! But good luck!”
My last memory was of exploding light and the sound of
leaves blowing across darkened fields. When I awoke, my
sisters were still in my hands, apparently exhausted from the
effort of conducting my unconscious body away from my
would-be killer.
Sometime later, after limping through miles of sewer
tunnel, I saw the glowing lights of a displaced Halloween.
Marvin’s carved head swung from a piece of red yarn
tied around a steam pipe, its bloody hollows lit by several
black candles placed within his skull. A chunk of concrete
lay upon the headless body, the words Happy Halloween
scribbled across it in colored chalk. A bag of dirty candy
lay stuffed into Marvin’s dead, knotted hand. I gazed into
triangular holes that had once been partially stitched-up
eyes, and offered one last whisper to the whisperer. “Good
night, brother.”
I made the sewers my home for a time, healing and
ruminating. Eventually, and as is often the case, it was
darkness that led me to my next step. The principle of
darkness, if one can forgive the possible misappropriation of
the word principle, is to reveal that which is hidden. Now,
this may seem a bit ironic, but for the realization that light
194 | Mark Anzalone