Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my universe, yada yada.

Note I: Lyric Wheel!  Thanks very much to Athers for the lyrics -- Iron Maiden's not my usual thing, but these worked great.

Note II: This takes place sometime pre-"Archangel" (for those of you who believe in that sort of thing).  This is very important, because something that ooky would really spoil the effect.  Got it?

Scary Stories in the Dark

©, HonorH

"It's not that I hate Halloween," claimed Joe Dawson, "it's that Halloween hates me."

Methos leaned back and grinned that grin that meant he'd just heard something that would allow him to torture one of his friends for hours.  Duncan MacLeod shook his head in resignation.

There had been a Halloween party planned at Joe's Bar, so Mac and Amanda had duly decked themselves out in costumes -- he as a pirate king and she as a Fairy Queen -- and headed for the bar.  Upon arriving, however, they'd discovered the place closed due to fire damage.  After determining that Joe was inside with Methos twitting him, they'd come in.

As Joe had warned them beforehand, something had gone wrong.  A kitchen fire had shorted out the electricity, and Joe had breathed in enough smoke that his normally gravelly voice had gone raspy.  Now the four of them sat around a candlelit table with free drinks.

"Just what do you mean, Halloween hates you?" asked Methos.

Joe plucked at a guitar string.  "Just that.  Every Halloween I can remember has been a total disaster, ever since I was five and my ghost costume caught fire from a Jack O'Lantern."

"Can't be that serious," said Methos.

The Watcher gave him a baleful glare.  "Here's a sampling.  High school freshman year: I got chased and bitten by two Dobermans while egging the principal's house and had to be taken to the hospital -- and I got suspended.  Sophomore year: my girlfriend broke up with me at the Halloween dance, and I was so distracted by it I tripped and knocked the Homecoming Queen and her trained gorilla of a boyfriend into the punch bowl.  Junior year: a flood hit, and I spent the whole evening shoveling mud out of my house.  Senior year: I fell down a flight of stairs and broke my leg right in the middle of football season.  And I don't wanna even talk about the Halloween I spent in ‘Nam."

He shook his head and continued to play idly with his guitar.  "Same story every year.  Halloween comes around, and I get walloped.  This is classic -- a fire that'll cost me thousands of dollars, and I sound like Harvey Fierstein with bronchitis.  I'm telling you, Halloween hates me."

Duncan chuckled.  Joe turned his glare on the Scot, who wafted his hands.  "Joe, you make it sound like the universe has it in for you on this one day.  I'm sure there's a logical explanation.  Maybe your mind is playing tricks . . ."

"Oh, yeah," Joe scoffed.  "I had a bad Halloween experience as a five-year-old, so I'm now projecting onto the day the ills of mankind.  I expect bad things to happen, so they do.  In fact, I make bad things happen just to prove I'm right about it.  I've heard it all, Mac, but what it boils down to is that Halloween and I don't mix."

Methos munched a pretzel, looking thoughtful.  "So you think there's some sort of Halloween demon out to get you?  Vengeful ghosts?  Bad fairies, perhaps -- nothing personal, Amanda."  Catching the look Joe was giving him, Methos pasted on an innocent look.  "Just trying to pin down the source of your troubles, Joe.  Really.  I try to be helpful."

"Sure," said Joe.  "Of course, you, oh wise one, never had anything inexplicable happen to you."

"Not a thing."  Methos leaned back, looking smug.  "I've had a blissfully un-supernatural five thousand years.  What about you two?" he asked Mac and Amanda.  "Got anything ooky to tell us?"

Mac looked thoughtful.  "As a matter of fact, I remember something from when I was a boy that's pretty unexplainable."

"Do tell," murmured Methos.

Mac decided to take him at his word.  "When I was twelve, there were these two brothers living in Glenfinnan who no one thought much of.  They drank too much, chased women, and never lent a hand to help unless forced to."

"Kinda like Methos," noted Joe.

"I think I resent that," protested Methos mildly.

Mac grinned.  "Well, one day, one of the brothers was caught in an indiscretion with Sarah, who was the daughter of a widow named Morag.  The brother admitted he'd had Sarah, but he refused to marry her.  Morag was furious.  She told the brothers that because they had placed themselves outside of God's will, the sidhe would take them.  Then she told her daughter that by disgracing her mother, she would take them both down to hell.  She said this in front of the whole clan.  No one thought much of it -- Morag had a reputation for being a little eccentric.

"That night, shortly before midnight, I was awakened by the most horrifying sound I'd ever heard.  It sounded like the sky itself was wailing. Like all the fear, pain, and misery of the world was in that sound.  My mother and father shut the windows and doors of our house tight, lit candles, and said prayers to ward off evil.  As the midnight hour passed, the wailing suddenly stopped.  My mother begged my father not to leave, but he said he was chieftain, and he had to see to his people.  He left the house and came back less than an hour later.

"Four people died that night: the brothers, Morag, and her daughter.  They had no obvious wounds, they hadn't been ill -- it was like their hearts had just stopped."

There was silence in the darkened bar for a moment.  Joe broke it.

"You're kidding, right, Mac?"

Mac shook his head.  "Nope.  It all happened exactly as I said.  I don't know what to make of it, either, but it's true."

"I don't doubt it," said Amanda.  She was wearing a thin, skintight green silk dress, silver glitter pumps, a pair of diaphanous wings, and a sparkling tiara Mac didn't want to know the origin of.  She'd also made liberal use of glittering body spray, and her hair was white again.  "I once saw a ghost."

"Amanda, Amanda, Amanda," sighed Methos. "I thought you were more sensible than to be communicating with the dead."

"It's the truth," protested Amanda.  "Back in the 15th century, I broke into an English mansion with my good friend Jeremy Dexter.  Dex and I split up once inside, and I headed for the bedroom of the countess.  As I was approaching, I suddenly saw someone coming toward me.  One second he wasn't there, and the next second he was.  I was sure he'd spotted me.  I hid behind a coat of armor as well as I could, but he didn't seem interested in shouting an alarm.  He just kept walking down the hall, pausing briefly outside the countess's room, then continuing on.  I got a good look at him then, and I realized he was wearing oddly archaic clothing.

"He passed on by me, and then he was gone -- I didn't see where.  I was scared at that point, so I grabbed what I could, got out, and rendezvoused with Dex.  He wanted to know what had happened, why I hadn't gotten the countess's jewels, so I told him about the man in the hallway.  Dex quizzed me on the man's appearance and clothing, then just shook his head.

"He said the man I'd seen was someone he'd known some fifty years ago -- the Earl Ketteridge, uncle of the current Earl Ketteridge.  Dex said that the old earl had fallen desperately in love with a beautiful, but unfortunately morally-impaired, young woman."

"Nothing like yourself, of course," interjected Methos.

"Shut up.  He married her, but practically the moment they returned from their honeymoon, his wife started cuckolding him.  Unable to bear the pain of betrayal, the earl killed his wife and her lover, then himself.  The inheritance had then gone to his nephew."

"Ooh, I've got the chills," Methos commented.

Amanda glared at him.  "I know what I saw, Old Guy.  And may I remind you, Horatio, that there are more things in heaven and earth than you could possibly imagine."

"Mangled Shakespeare.  Perfect capper for the evening."  Methos took another swig of his beer.  "Besides, you don't know what I can imagine.  I might just have a spooky story of my own."

"Let's hear it," challenged Joe.  "And it better be for real."

"Would I lie to you?"

"Want me to answer that?"

Methos looked insulted.  "How little faith my so-called friends have in me."  He tossed off the last of his beer, then toyed with the mug.  "I sometimes feel a little strange -- a little anxious -- when it's dark, and I know what that comes from.  Somewhere around the tenth century, I was journeying through Europe when I happened upon the most charming little mountain town.  I decided to rest there for a few days.  The people were friendly enough, but the bartender at the first tavern I went to told me that I should get out of the region as soon as possible."

"He probably just had advance warning about you and your inability to pay bar bills," said Joe.

"That's funny.  But back to my story.  I didn't like the sound of that, so I decided to leave after a night's rest.  Now, normally, a town like that would have at least a little bit of a night life -- people coming by the tavern to toss back a few, leer at serving wenches, tell bawdy jokes, and sing badly once they get drunk enough.  This town -- nothing.  As the sun set, everyone hurried into their houses and stayed there.

"I thought it was odd, but I settled into my little room at the inn and attempted to get some sleep.  I was awakened in short order, though, by the sounds from outside.  It sounded like raucous laughter from all over, then screaming.  I poked my head outside my room into the hall, and there the innkeeper was, loading up a crossbow and carrying a cross.

" ‘Just stay in your room,' he told me.  ‘The Strygoia can't enter unless invited.  We'll be all right unless they try to burn us out.'

" ‘Vampires?' I asked.

"The innkeeper nodded.  ‘They always feed more during harvest times.'

"I shut my door, improvised a cross, and laid awake with it all night, listening to the insane laughter of the Strygoia and the screams of the townsfolk.  Next morning, I found out they'd burned two houses.  The families inside had burned to death rather than be food for the Strygoia.  At that point, I decided to head someplace warmer -- or colder, or anyplace else.  I put my pack on my back and trekked my way out of the Transylvanian Alps just as quickly as I could."

The ticking of Joe's clock was deafening.

"You're kidding, right?" asked Mac after a very long pause.

"Actually, I'm not," said Methos.  "It all happened exactly that way.  However, I never did look outside.  I never actually saw the supposed Strygoia, so it could have been a case of mass hysteria by townsfolk who had listened to scary stories once too often."  He shrugged.  "Still, one can never be sure.  As Amanda pointed out, there are more things in heaven and earth."

Amanda shivered.  "Well, this has turned out to be quite the Halloween, even if we never did find a party."  A thought seemed to strike her.  "Hey, Joe, maybe we could throw a costume party next week -- sort of an anti-Halloween."

"I'm game," rasped Joe.  "If I ever get my voice back, that is.  You in, Methos?"

Methos shook his head.  "Sorry.  I'm out of town next week.  I got an invitation to guest-lecture in California."  He pulled on his coat.

"Really?" asked Mac.  "Where?  Amanda and I may come to visit you -- we're going to go to San Francisco next Thursday."

"Oh, the joy," deadpanned Methos.  "Actually, I'll be nowhere near San Francisco.  I'll be at the University of California campus in Sunnydale.  Sounds like a pleasant little town, doesn't it?"

"Sure does," said Mac.  " ‘Night, Methos."

" ‘Night, all."

And he headed out into the dark.

--end--

Fear of the Dark - Iron Maiden
(Harris)
(Reprinted without permission)

I am a man who walks alone
And when I'm walking a dark road
At night or strolling through the park
When the light begins to change
I sometimes feel a little strange
A little anxious when it's dark

Fear of the dark, fear of the dark,
I have a constant fear that something's always near
Fear of the dark, fear of the dark,
I have a phobia that someone's always there

Have you ever run your fingers down the wall
And have you felt your neck skin crawl
When you're searching for the light?
Sometimes when you're scared to take a look
At the corner of the room

You've sensed that something's watching you
Have you ever been alone at night
Thought you heard footsteps behind
And turned around and no-one's there?
And as you quicken up your pace
You find it hard to look again
Because you're sure there's someone there

Watching horror films the night before
Debating witches and folklore
The unknown troubles on your mind
Maybe your mind is playing tricks
You sense, and suddenly eyes fix
On dancing shadows from behind

Fear of the dark, fear of the dark,
I have a constant fear that something's always near
Fear of the dark, fear of the dark
I have a phobia that someone's always there

When I'm walking a dark road
I am a man who walks alone...

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