Jan Goldyn, Author

A Halloween Treat -- Enjoy my short story "Cakes and Curses"

Arabella walked carefully in the dwindling light. How quickly the woods seemed to be sinking into darkness. Fallen leaves crackled under her feet, their sweet, earthy smell permeating the air around the small path which led out of the ravine. She would need to keep her bearings. The twilight direction in the forest was not so clear. In darkness, it could be obscured completely. And, yet, there was a wedge of moon, floating brightly between small mists of cloud, popping here and there from behind a tree. She recognized the stone border she had placed to the sides of the path when she was younger – home soon, she thought.

From somewhere behind her, she sensed light footsteps. Perhaps the rustling of a skirt. Only a deer, she insisted to herself as she tried to hush the uneasiness inside. A few mushrooms spilled from the willow basket she carried. I shouldn’t have stayed so long, trying to pick every last one. The woods are tricky that way, Arabella thought. They tell you not to trust your eyes to the vanishing light – “There is still plenty of time,” they like to whisper. Arabella heard a barred owl’s whinny-like call as it raised from the tree above her. My stone border; where did --- Arabella’s stomach dropped as the way became unfamiliar – more crooked, more narrow. Then she heard the knocking.

She willed herself to become invisible as her eyes searched her surroundings. To her right, between two jutting branches there appeared a little old woman wearing a cloak of black which was, here and there, moss and dirt covered. She was crouched low at the bottom of an oak tree, knocking at what appeared to Arabella to be a tiny door with copper hinges. “Soul cakes,” the woman’s low, raspy voice pleaded. “Soul cakes to be prayin’ for your dead.” Arabella’s knees became weak as a tiny woman with a pointed hat, holding a small candle, opened the miniature door. The old woman spoke, “’Tis the night of the dead. Have you any soul cakes, then?”

“Oh, yes, yes. I’ve baked them this morning,” said the sprightly woman in the tree, from the back of which Arabella noticed a small chimney shooting skyward letting out little puffs of smoke. The lady brought two tiny nut cakes to the doorway and wrapped them in a poplar leaf. “Prayers for the dead of this family, please, old one. As you do each year. And prayers for what dead walk the forest. The woods are unsettled, be sure.”

“Thank you, kindly. Prayers will be offered, Dear.” The old woman said and then scurried along the path.

Arabella followed and her eyes just barely caught the hem of the woman’s cloak as she jumped down a river bank and into a little cave-like hole. The woman set down the lantern she’d been carrying and spread the nut cakes on top of the poplar leaf before her. She screeched in a high-pitch and sang, “Soul cakes, soul cakes, stolen for your dead. Not in supplication, but thirty years bondage here instead.” Arabella was certain she heard a young girl's cry at the same moment.

Her insides turned icy as the old woman took a knife from under her cloak and made a slit in her palm. Blood flowed as she crumbled the cakes in her hands, all the while laughing, her eyes flying about wildly. My God. Instead of a blessing, a curse! Arabella backed up from the scene as quietly as possible. Then in a few yards, she sprinted down the path, mushrooms flying as she dropped her basket. Please God, get me home. And please turn the old woman's song around. Arabella began singing, “Soul cakes, soul cakes, from the Father's hand poureth, blessings to the little family – and the dead of the forest. Soul cakes, soul cakes ---"

Arabella stumbled and fell as the way was dark as a raven’s back. She laid there trembling. But the half moon soon pierced its foggy covering, pointing out to her the stones she had placed along the path years ago. My path. As she made it to the edge of the woods, the familiar smoke from her mother’s hearth poured from the chimney. Arabella hurriedly entered her kitchen to the warm smell of chicken and parsnips simmering in a pot.

Her kitten mewed and rubbed his little nose on her leg. “Aw, Ferdinand, I’ve missed you.” She picked him up and held him tightly.

“You’re late, Arabella. I’ve told you not to wonder in those woods after dark. There’s some say they’re haunted.” Her mother scolded.

“I’m sorry mother, I lost track of time.”

“You’ll not let it happen again!”

“Oh, of that you can be sure, Mother! Have we had any visitors begging soul cakes this Hallows Eve?” Arabella shivered slightly. “There wasn’t a very old woman in a black cloak ----”

“Oh, we’ve not had beggars of soul cakes in many a year,” said her mother. Arabella sighed, relieved. "But there was a lass come to the door in an old-timey dress. Ragged and torn like she’d been lost in the woods – and so pale, poor lamb. Said she had just found her way out and was now sure of the route home," her mother said.

“Was she wanting food or drink?” asked Arabella.

“No, though I did offer. But, funny, she found a basket and said she was certain it belonged to the girl that lives here, and wouldn’t I be sure to see that she got it." Arabella's Mother pointed to the willow basket on the table and shook her head. “You must be more careful about leaving your belongings lying about. “And the darndest thing – when she walked away, sure if I didn't see some wee folk. The tricks these old eyes can play in the dark!” Arabella’s mother laughed.

Arabella peaked into the basket as she rubbed the kitten’s belly. There she found several tiny nut cakes under a poplar leaf. “Yes, the tricks that get played in the dark, Mother.” Arabella smiled as she shared her treat with Ferdinand.