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the forest of dreams. My every move was foreshadowed by
the sights and sounds of my own soul.
The chill autumn breeze became the cold sting of Jack
Lantern’s knives. His blades moved through my body with
an impossible swiftness, and with my mind so displaced, my
sisters could only manage to deny them a killing depth. I
required the few blows I could land to matter, and so my
father rose into my hands. He needed to strike but once.
The massive axe crashed through saplings, brambles, and
even felled several Eternal trees. But my opponent was ever
beyond my father’s reach, always just a streaking mask and
the dim fade of reddened knives. He was like a scream in the
night – everywhere and nowhere.
It soon became apparent that I was losing. While I had
resisted most of his attacks, the sum of his lesser gains had
relieved me of much blood. I had all but fallen when I finally
saw the Carver of Souls clearly. He was standing only inches
from me, floating in the darkness, wearing his true face—in
his madness, he’d mistaken it for a mask. I had perhaps a
second to act.
My sister flew, hissing through the space once occupied
by the Carver as I tumbled into a cleverly hidden hole.
Twilight turned to night as the blackness swallowed me into
its cramped belly. I soon realized I’d become the contents
of a small cage of steel bars. I was too weakened to attempt
a leap from the trap before the lid was slammed shut and
sealed. I wrapped my hands around the bars, channeling the
Red Dream as much as I was able, but the cage was bound
by the will of the Woods. I could not break free.
Finally, I looked up to see Jack standing above me, just
a pale wisp dissolving into the night. “You can’t kill me,
Vincent,” he said, “and I won’t kill you. The only way to
properly put a stop to this foolishness, I’m afraid, is to keep
you locked up tight, like a dirty secret. This way, Halloween
won’t end. You must be my monkey wrench in the works,

376 | Mark Anzalone