The sounds of the Brinton St. Michael Halloween Party died to a distant chatter as Becca stepped out of the old building, tears beginning to appear at the tops of her cheeks. Her thick soles clattered loudly on the flagstones as she walked, echoing around the courtyard in the moonlight until she disappeared through the open gateway and pat-patted down the road. Becca’s wet cheeks reflected the light from the full moon high above in the cloudless sky as it gazed down upon her, spreading its pale blue light across the countryside. At first the clap-clap-clap of Becca’s careless footsteps and her painful sobs were the only sounds she noticed, but as she walked further she tired of walking entirely, content that she was at least some distance from the party, and stopped to rest against the high stone wall of the church yard, drying her tears to look out across the moonlit fields. The sounds of the countryside began to creep unnoticed into Becca’s mind; the gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the beeches in the church yard, horses in the field opposite crunched on crisp grass and blew misty air through their nostrils, an owl hooted in the woods across the fields.
Becca began to sob again as her mind span with the evenings events and she turned her head, staring fiercely through her tears back towards the courtyard, flooded with light from the party. Part of her wanted to go back, part of her wished that she hadn’t got upset and ran from the table; but there was no way to go back, no way to face her family and friends and have as much fun as she’d been hoping to have. Becca’s heart felt like it was filled with lead as she gazed sightlessly around the moonlit lane, her mind’s eye deep inside her memories, replaying every time her family or friends had laughed at her, laughed when she was being deadly serious, laughed over things that she had thought about long and hard. Why did nobody ever take her seriously? All they ever did was laugh at her.
Sniffling loudly, Becca picked herself up from the wall and began to walk further down the road, wondering if it was possible to get lost in the countryside and never return home. She wondered if her family would miss her, and decided that they probably would, although she knew she would end up back home sooner or later and have to face their anger at her for running away.
Becca stopped when she reached the old wooden bench beside the church gate, brushed aside the dust and leaves and sat down slowly under the single white halogen lamp outside the church. A horse wandered slowly towards the fence opposite Becca and regarded her curiously, seeing one of the slow biped creatures, short and slim and made of curves. Purple hair hung messily over shiny rounded cheeks, across white cotton-covered shoulders and onto round breasts, pale pink in the moonlight; baggy blue jeans covered curvy legs.
Becca’s purple hair was just another thing her parents had laughed at. She had wanted to dye her naturally brown hair a deep blue-black and wear black lipstick and make-up like her friends did when they went into town, but they had refused to let her; they told her she would look silly. No daughter of theirs was ever going into town looking like a zombie, her mother had told her dismissively when she had found Becca dressing herself in her bedroom mirror several months previously. She had hoped that she would be allowed to join her friends on Halloween, dressed how she wanted to be dressed, telling her parents she was going to a fancy dress party, but they had seen past her plan and again they blankly refused. Instead they had agreed that she could dye her hair purple with a wash-out colour for the weekend, but by that time Becca had already declined the invitation to a Halloween’s night with friends and was dragged along to the boring countryside party by her mother.
That was how she came to be at the party, listening to their stupid conversation, listening to what was being said and saying little herself. Then Becca had said something, something she had been thinking about throughout the conversation, something she thought would be a valid contribution. Then her father had laughed out loud, smashing her thought into a thousand pieces so that as she cried on the church bench she could not even remember what the conversation had really been about.
Becca folded her arms across her knees and leant forwards, looking back at the horse that still held her in its wide glassy gaze. It bowed its head to sniff the grass as it stared sidelong at her, turning its attention to the tasty crops around its feet when it finally lost interest in the red-eyed biped. It eventually padded across the field as Becca watched it with little enthusiasm; she was trying not to think, trying to lose herself in the calm of the clear autumnal eve, trying to empty her mind, trying to think of nothing, as if every thought had the potential to worsen her pain.
Gradually the sounds of the night began to quieten, so slowly that Becca did not notice inside her crying mind. A dark shadow cast quickly overhead, blocking out the moonlight for a split second as it passed over Becca’s prone form, closely followed by a sound like a giant sheet of card flapping once in a single strong gust. Becca turned her head in the direction of the sound, over her shoulder in the graveyard, but could see nothing. A slender shadow moved in the distant courtyard and she turned her attention there: someone was leaving the party alone, walking quietly towards the gate.
The silhouette of a girl appeared against the gate to the courtyard, outlined in the light from the party. Becca did not recognise her, although the old building had been very full and she had not been there long before she left. The girl was wearing fancy dress, as were many of the other partygoers, although Becca thought that this girl’s costume was very impressive, even from such distance – two big bat wings stood proud behind her shoulders and rose high above her head. They were furled, although Becca thought that was just as well – their wingspan would have been over twenty feet.
The girl continued down the road towards Becca and she wondered if the girl was walking home, or coming to talk to her. She wished the girl would just walk past without saying anything; she was not in the mood to talk to anyone. She wanted to think, about her life and its importance, and she thought so much more clearly when she was alone.
Becca gazed at the girl as she approached, even though she did not want to attract her attention. Her face looked as pale as the full moon above her and as soft as the snow that Becca remembered from her childhood, and her lips, although full and deep in colour, seemed not out of place under her small pinched nose. Her long hair was straight and green, a deep bottle green, and like a glass bottle the colour seemed to change depending on how the light hit it. Under the blue-tinged halogen streetlamp and the paler globe of the moon it shone with a surreal darkness, as if her hair was radiating dark light to spite the lamp and the moon above. The girl’s hair really put her own cheap bottle colour to shame, Becca thought absently to herself.
The girl walked with a gentle sway that made her wings furl and unfurl gently; Becca marvelled at the ingenuity of the costume. The wing skin was a rich dark purple as sheer and smooth as silk and the texture of leather – not the thick heavy hide that most of her friends wore to their Goth clubs, but a soft lightweight skin that flowed in the draft of her motion. Just as fascinating were the bones inside the skin, long and slender and dark, each as thin as a finger but longer than a leg, jointed with slight knuckles and tipped with sharp points that threatened to break through the delicate purple skin.
As the girl approached Becca found herself looking at her slender body, her shoulders bare, pale in the moonlight, the curves of her breasts disappearing into her low-cut purple halter-top, her defined belly narrow above her slim hips. Tight PVC trousers fitted her legs perfectly, their colour matching her halter-top and wings so that the girl was a vision of purple punctuated only by her pale skin and her green hair, and her shiny black stilettos. The girl appeared quite tall as she stopped in front of Becca and smiled down at her, showing two seamlessly-fitted sabre teeth, although the weeping girl could see that she would be short to average out of her high-heeled shoes.
“Hey.” The girl said in a cheery voice, tilting her head to one side as Becca turned to look down at the floor. “Hey, what’s up?”
Becca felt her heart sink as the girl sat down next to her, reaching across to take hold of her hand.
“Nothing.” Becca mumbled as she continued to stare at the ground.
“Nothing? That’s a lot of tears over nothing. No use crying over nothing, eh?”
Becca pulled her hand free and shrugged. “It’s nothing. I just wanna be alone.”
“No you don’t, hon.” The girl said quietly, leaning forwards to look at Becca’s face. “Nobody wants to be alone.”
“I do. I’m only happy when I’m alone.” Becca replied darkly, willing it to be true even though she knew deep inside it was not so.
“Well, you don’t look happy.” The girl said again, her voice still full of enthusiastic cheer. “Would you be happy if I went away?”
Becca paused for a moment, thinking about what the girl had said, replying with nothing but a long sigh.
“I bet I can make you happy.” The green-haired girl suggested. “I bet I can make you smile.”
