1: All Hallows' Eve
The historic Scottish town of Gallowgreen lay sleeping in the dark October night. A new day had started and a nearby church tolled the hours of midnight. The house lay far back from the road, as if hiding. It was protected from the gaze of others by a ring of ash trees crowding thickly around it's darkened walls. Casual passers by would take note of it's wrought iron gates, heavy and imposing, and the beginnings of a path, stretching away to be lost amongst the shadows of the trees. This late in October they had shed their leaves and so it was possible, if a person was curious enough, to make out the dark brickwork of the large house lurking behind the naked branches. By day there was little to attract any interest, and by night there was usually no signs or movement other than the restless motion of the trees. The many windows remained closed and dark throughout the year and the locals had grown used to the idea that the house was cold and empty. It would not be true to say that the house was ever truly forgotten, not by those who were forced to lie in it's shadow, but it could safely be ignored by most people on most nights.
Tonight, however was different, and the chance could be sensed in the very air during these cold still hours of Halloween. For the first time that anyone could remember, lights shone out from the house, their golden light shining through the surrounding mass of branches to send twisting shadows to dance on the road outside, like grasping hands. And what was more surprising, the large iron gates, closed and locked for so many years, now stood open. It gave the appearance that, at long last, the Winter House was stirring itself awake, preparing itself to receive guests maybe, or to allow something to leave.
2: Halloween
It was halfway through day one of a three day business conference and already Rose was rapidly losing the will to live. These things always seemed like a great idea beforehand: the chance to learn new strategies, hear different viewpoints and, God help them all, network, but now the reality was hitting home about how deeply tedious and pointless these things always were. The truth was that, as sociable as she came across at these type of events, at best, she was deeply ambivalent about most of the people here, and, at worst, there were many that she actively despised. She had long ago decided that being imprisoned with a group of jargon spouting escapees from a management cloning facility for most of the week was nothing less than an infringement of her human rights
She was surrounded by people who, she imagined, had been raised from a petri dish to grow into someone who could reduce any idea, no matter how complicated, to a simplistic, acronym friendly sound bite.
Of course the main thing that needled her was the knowledge that, up until fairly recently, she had been one of them. She could still remember feeling fairly excited about coming to these kind of events in the days when she still clung to the delusion that her job was enjoyable and rewarding. This was back when she had believed she had the power to change things. She had long since realized that nothing of any real substance ever really changed and her work, much like these stifling, unbearable conferences, was repetitive and bone crackingly dull. She remembered seeing a woman wearing a T-shirt with the words: "Same Shit, Different Day". It was a great slogan for a T-Shirt, although it was far too close to her own reality for her to find it even remotely funny now.
In previous conferences the opportunity for after-event flirting and maybe even a fling had been at least one silver lining she could rely on, but the conversations so far had convinced her that she would rather shove flip-chart markers into her own eyes than share a hotel room with any of these cliche spouting zombies. When the final session of the day had finally crawled painfully to it conclusion she was asked if she wanted to join a group of attendees who were moving onto a bar. She couldn't think of nothing worse. She made her excuses and fled to her hotel room
She had never visited Gallowgreen before. The problem with conference centres was that they were all pretty much alike. After a while they all merged into one another so that, although her job had taken her around all four corners of the country, it often felt that it was only taking her, via different routes, to the same spacious conference room looking at the same projection screen, delivering the same message year in, year out. She never had any sense of individuality, of difference. She was pretty sure that, barring some world shattering cataclysm, she would be sat in the same hall next year, listening to the same speeches, and looking at the same charts. That was fucking depressing! Something needed to change. She used to tell herself that she would be the one to bring it about, although any belief in her own ability to change the world had been bored out of her long ago.
In previous years her conference timetable had mainly involved speeches, bar then bed (sometimes alone, sometimes not). Second verse, same as the first. The conference this year took place in a hotel situated slap bang in the town centre. Usually this would be seen as an advantage as it meant that she never had to step outside the building. As she paced around her hotel room she took a moment to appreciate the limited view from the window. From this angle the town appeared to be a chaotic tangle of gables and streets, with the cathedral looming over the buildings to dominate the skyline. She had heard good things about Gallowgreen and the idea of spending the evening hiding in her hotel room did not appeal. She just needed to get out. She knew that she had a, as yet unwritten speech to deliver tomorrow but, fuck it, if everyone else was going to resell last year's learning points then so could she.
She studied herself briefly in the mirror. Her dark black hair was cut stylishly short in a pixie cut, a boyish look that her ex-boyfriend had described as sexy and which did serve to accentuate the classic, streamlined features of her face as well as her long, slender neck. Her body was slender, helped by her love of jogging, the only part of her day that she felt content these days. She was wearing a simple outfit of a black pleated skirt along with a white workshirt. She considered changing, maybe even into her jogging outfit, but even the idea of the slight delay this would cause was enough to discount it. She felt trapped and the urge to go outside was strong. In the end she merely removed her heels for more comfortable black shoes and headed for the door.
She had never really been one for sightseeing, she pretty much left that to her retired parents who were currently busy spending the last of her inheritance by touring the nation's many and varied caravan parks. She did not begrudge them, they had earned it, providing they didn't do anything unthinkable such as invite her. For tonight however, she was going to go full tourist and see the sights, or at least what sights were still there to be seen on a Monday evening when everything appeared to be closing down.
The chaos she had seen from her hotel room was matched by her experience on the ground. The town appeared to have been designed by a madman. There did not appear to be a main town centre, just a tangle of narrow streets, many of which doubled back on themselves. The shops were all festooned with cobwebs, skeletons and pumpkins although she was disappointed not to see any kids out trick or treating, although maybe it was a little early. Dusk was bathing the town in an amber glow, mirroring the pumpkins staring at her with malevolent, jagged grins as she passed.
Her attention was caught by a group of people she could see huddled in front of a grand, dark stone building she took to be the town library. They were a mixed group, ranging from an elderly couple, maybe in their 70s, to a small collection of young men and women that had the look of students. They appeared to be waiting in front of the main entrance next to a large, imposing stone statue of a bald man in scholarly robes carrying a large, heavy looking book.
Separate from the group she could see a young, slender man dodging in and out of traffic handing out leaflets with an agility which was as eye-catching as it was reckless. Usually Rose prided herself on her ability to dodge pamphleteers and charity workers before they even had the chance to get near her, but this time her curiosity got the better of her.
