Halloween night, full moon turn the clocks, we've already lost all meaning of time in this haunted year, what more can you want from us? The children are delighted at the treats and wonder less about the tricks, the old Victorian town does so well around the holidays, we remark, and I wonder if I'm losing them forever to this dream. The whole attic floor is yours, they say. We thought your writing desk could go here by the window.
Later at night, as I bury myself under layers of November bedding, the demons return to fill the spaces in the silence. The street is empty, the little town dark. I went a long way, but they can smell my shivering heartstrings a hundred miles out of sight. Every escape is temporary, they say. You haven't answered anything, and you know it.
November approaches in the icy darkness. My room is so quiet, so absolutely still, if I only try hard enough, maybe I'll believe this vacuum is all we have left. Maybe it will look something like peace.
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