A Captain scarlet story for Halloween

By Chris Bishop

October 31, 2052

Halloween night

“This is a complete travesty. I don’t think it was a good idea to come here.”

Paul Metcalfe had visited Hampton Court twice before. The first time was with his parents, when he was very, very young, and he remembered very little of the place, except that he found it ‘very old and boring’. It was during the time of what people now called the ‘old regime’, during the Militarists’ hold on the whole country. The second time, he was fourteen, during a school field trip just a few months after the second Restoration, since Monarchy had returned to Britain. At the time, his teacher had awakened in him a latent interest in History – particularly that of his own country – and so that time around, Paul had demonstrated a better appreciation and respect of the place, not only of the historical richness held within its ancient walls, but also of its beauty and unique architecture.

Now he was sixteen, and it was a couple of years since that last visit to Hampton Court. Paul could only look with dismay at the mixed crowd of colourful and loud people that surrounded him as he stood with his friends in the middle of the Halloween Fair in Hampton Green, where a multitude of tents, displays and stands had been erected, with colourful seasonal and Halloween decorations that seemed oddly out of place.

He shook his head. “At the very least, I understand these guys,” he said, waving at a large group of people passing, all of them dressed up in medieval attire – knights in full armour, princesses, noblemen and ladies. “But these guys?” He then waved around, pointing in quick succession at clowns, pirates, fairy tale characters, super-heroes, vampires, ghosts and other monsters, of all sizes and shapes, that walked and ran all around them. “It’s all wrong. You see what I mean?”

“Cool it, bro,” Jason Miller said. “It’s Halloween. People dress up for the occasion, don’t you know? It’s tradition.”

Paul scowled. “Then why didn’t you, Miller?”

“I think I can dig ghosts,” Flora Evers said, with an amused nod that almost knocked off the conical princess hat she was wearing. She quickly reached for it with her hand to keep it in place. “They’re not so out of place here. Come on, Paul, don’t be such a drag.”

“Yeah, Metcalfe,” Gabriel Palinski said in turn. “Do you always have to be so uptight? Relax a bit.”

It was Gabe who had convinced his friends and fellow Furleyites – as the Chernocke House pupils were called – to take the train from Winchester and come to Hampton Court for an evening of fun. This was, after all, the Fifth Annual Halloween Festival, since the Restoration, and the event’s organizing committee had planned a lot of exciting activities for everyone on this special occasion – at least according to Gabe.

The son of an American general who was stationed at the Winchester W.A.A.F Airbase, Gabe Palinski was one of the very rare Wykehamists – as pupils at Winchester College were called – who were not British citizens. As an American, Gabe knew all about Halloween traditions in his home country – dressing up and trick-or-treating, ghost and monsters stories, horror movies and costume parties… Those were things his friends didn’t know much about, as they had grown up under the Militarist regime. The Militarists had effectively put a ban on Halloween, which was regarded as a worthless waste of time, and even worse, according to them, an ‘unacceptable intrusion of a foreign tradition, deemed inappropriate to British culture’. The fact that it mostly originated from the old Celtic festival of Samhain to mark the end of the harvest season didn’t seem to make any difference – or influence whatsoever – on the decision to outlaw all Halloween festivities. It was suspected that some Irish, Gaelic and Scottish people continued to celebrate – although they did it discreetly, for fear of repression from the Militarists.

It was only after the Restoration that people were allowed to openly celebrate Halloween again. It was even promoted by the new government, as a sign of inclusion into the World Government. Children all around England started dressing up and trick-or-treating on Halloween night. Rather mature for his age, Paul considered himself already too old for such childish display, and the first time he had opened the front door to a band of young witches, knights and monsters, he found himself rather bemused by the whole situation. It didn’t help matters that his mother, the next year, had decided to decorate their whole front lawn with pumpkins, Jack-o’-lanterns and hay balls, to attract more trick-or-tricksters…

Not only were children celebrating Halloween, but adults got fully into it as well, with costume parties, guided tours of so called ‘haunted places’, fireworks and various festivals such as this one in Hampton Court. It was now a family thing, and even though not everyone dressed up, many participated in the various activities planned for the occasion. Mostly, they were modelled on whatever similar events were done in other countries, such as in North America. Paul’s parents themselves got caught up in it, and accepted an invitation to General Palinski’s very prestigious costume party… that after agreeing to their only son going with his friends to Hampton Court.

It was possibly the ‘Ghost Tour’ within the former royal palace that made Paul curious about the whole Halloween celebration there. So he had invited Jason Miller’s sister, Sandra, to come along, while Gabe had come with his most recent girlfriend, Flora. Jason, and Bill Osterman, Chernocke House’s most notorious joker, completed the group.

“You sure it isn’t only just a way to make quick money out of gullible people?” Paul asked suspiciously as he assessed the many stands of goods around. He spotted a series of candy floss machines, which were making cones of orange, black and – very oddly – fluorescent green candy floss. Right next to them, there was a vendor of toffee apples. Some of them were the usual bright red or caramel apples, while others were covered in – again – orange-coloured toffee, decorated with black candies that made them look like Jack-o’-lantern pumpkins.

“Isn’t visiting all historic places in England a gimmick to make some money?” Jason replied with a shrug. “Come on, Paul, what does it matter? These kinds of places, they need the money to keep them going, to maintain them, clean them… So what if it cost a bundle? It’s for a good cause. Besides,” he added pointedly, “People’re obviously having fun, so isn’t that what really counts? Nobody’s forcing anyone to buy their stuff.”

“But you have to pay for everything,” Paul remarked.

“Who cares? We have tickets to see everything, haven’t we?” Gabe pointed out. “Thanks to your dad, Metcalfe. It must have cost him a lot.”

“Dad has contacts within English Heritage,” Paul answered. “He was probably able to get these tickets at a nice discount.”

“In any case, remind me to thank him next time we see him,” Gabe replied.

“So we just need to pay for whatever we eat,” Jason then said. “Those Jack-o’-lantern apples look good…”

“You only think of your stomach, Jason,” his sister Sandra teased him. “What do those tickets allow up to see, Paul?”

“Gabe said it,” Paul answered. “Everything. They’re premium tickets. We can visit the palace, take the ghost tour, see the Maze…”

“Oh, the Maze!” Sandra said. “That, I certainly want to see. You know I’ve visited Hampton Court before, but I’ve never been able to see the Maze.” She had her arm locked with Paul’s, and was standing close to him. They were not really going steady, not at the moment anyway, but she was a pretty brunette, amiable, and very bright. She shared Paul’s interest in History and they liked each other’s company, but at this point, that was about all they had in common.

“Oh, I want to see that too!” Flora added excitedly. “I heard they have put people dressed up as all kind of monsters in the Maze, to scare the visitors.”

“Oh, what fun,” Paul said, unconvinced. “You know I don’t scare easy.”

“We’ll shee about vhat,” Bill Osterman then said. “Nobodys’ likch a blowhard, Metcach…”

Paul glared at his friend. “You should remove those false teeth from your mouth, Osterman. Nobody’s able to make out what you say.”

“Shue me,” Bill replied, slurring as he did.

That made his friends laugh. Of the six of them, only he and Flora had gone as far as dressing up for the visit. While Flora’s princess costume was rather fancy and in good taste – except for that darn veiled hat that almost got stuck in the train’s door – Bill’s costume was another matter. He had showed up at the train station as a werewolf. The clothes he wore were nothing short of torn rags, completed with two old boots of different colours. He had put gel in his dark hair, tussling it wildly in all directions, and had glued fake fur on his sideburns and chin. His eyes were surrounded by dark make up, and he had completed the disguise with pointy and hairy false ears, covering his real ones, and a fake snout stuck onto his nose and upper lip, from which emerged long, sharp-looking canines, covered with a reddish substance that made Paul wonder exactly what it could be.

The other commuters all stared at Bill when the six friends stepped inside the train and Paul didn’t know if he should feel annoyed at his friend or embarrassed about him. Seeing as about half of the people on Hampton Green were also disguised – with various degrees of good taste and/or success – he had stopped asking himself the question.

He suspected there would be as many dressed-up people on the palace’s premises as there were here. So maybe even Bill Osterman, with his outlandish werewolf costume, wouldn’t feel too out of place.

“You know you look ridiculous, don’t you?” he asked Bill.

“M’not. I’m shcary,” Billy replied.

Paul shook his head, raising a doubtful brow. “No. You’re not.”

“Shure am. Want me to prove it to ya?”

Before Paul could reply, Bill turned around and leapt in front of a couple of about their age who were just passing, roaring and baring false fangs and false claws. The couple jumped back in surprise and the girl gasped, but they didn’t seem that much scared by Werewolf Bill. They steered away from him, with the boy glaring at him and calling him a weirdo. Unfazed, Bill leapt in front of a small group of schoolboys eating toffee apples and candy floss. They recoiled and went in the other direction. At this point, Paul was almost hoping for the Earth to open up beneath his feet to swallow him – or better yet, swallow Bill who reiterated a third time. A glance around at his other companions told him they shared his embarrassment.

“Stop it, Osterman,” Gabe called. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself!”

“Bill always makes a spectacle of himself, whenever he has the chance,” Flora said, rolling her beautiful eyes.

“Well, this time’s got to take the cake,” Paul replied.

“No, I don’t think so,” Gabe replied. “Remember when he put a frog into the pocket of Professor Winters, the Prefect of Library?”

“Do I.” Paul rolled his eyes. Although a brilliant mind, Bill Osterman certainly wasn’t the serious type. He was a joker, always looking out for an occasion to have some fun, usually at the expense of others. The teachers at Winchester College and pupils from the other houses were his favourite target – especially those at Hawkins, who were Chernocke House’s main rivals at football.

“I’m out of here,” Gabe declared. “Let’s get to the palace… take our place in the queue to get in. I’m looking forward to visiting the Maze and to the ghost tour. I’m sure we’ve a better chance of getting a real scare there.”

“I’m with you,” Flora added, taking Gabe’s hand and making a face as Bill tried his number again, this time with a group of schoolgirls who scattered around, squealing. “Anything’s better than watching that idiot making a fool of himself.”

“Right behind you, guys,” Jason added, following as his two friends were starting to walk away.

“Come on, Osterman, that’s enough,” Paul called. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“And us,” Sandra added pointedly. “Come on, we’re going in.”

But Werewolf Bill didn’t seem to hear any of them, nor to realise that Gabe, Flora and Jason had walked away from him. With three long strides, he came in front of a young red-haired girl of about eight or nine years old with large blue eyes, who was holding a big toffee apple in one hand and her mother’s hand with the other. He swiftly leaned in front of her and gave her his best roar to date. That was immediately followed by a shriek so strident that it froze Bill in place and made Paul wince. The next second, the little girl hit the fake werewolf on his snout with her sticky apple, making him yelp in pain and step back.

“Bag doggie! Bad!” she yelled angrily.

Despite himself, Paul chuckled seeing Bill Osterman’s discomfited expression, and distinctly heard Sandra giggling beside him. That wasn’t the only thing he heard either, as suddenly, the little girl’s mother stood between her daughter and the werewolf, gesticulating threateningly and shouting angrily. There was no doubt she was the little girl’s mother, as she had the same red hair. She wasn’t speaking English – it was some kind of a Latin language, like Spanish or Italian, Paul couldn’t be sure exactly. It was when the woman mentioned the easily recognised word ‘ polizia’ that Paul suspected his friend might have bitten off a little more than he could chew.

“You’d better scram, Osterman!” he hurriedly told him. “That old broad doesn’t look like she’s in a joking mood!”

“Old broad?!” The woman – who was approximately in her mid thirties - turned to Paul, glaring at him with eyes which were as big and blue as her daughter’s. She was strikingly beautiful, Paul noticed – but at the moment, it wasn’t what caught all of his attention. She looked insulted by what he had said, and waved her fist at him. Despite the good distance between them, Paul couldn’t help but feeling intimidated and took one step back. He truly didn’t think he had said anything that offensive.

“Why, you insolent little punk!” she lashed at him. “How dare you speak to your elders that way!”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Paul almost stuttered. “I didn’t think you would understand –”

“What?” the woman interrupted him. “You think I do not know enough English to recognise an insulting word when I hear one? Why, you’re no better than this imbecile who keeps bullying my poor little Di!”

“I’m not bullying anyone!” Bill protested vehemently, before Paul could reiterate his apologies. “Nor am I an imbecile!”

The woman turned back to him. “Don’t talk back to me! Sei uno coglione!”

If Bill had his way, the conflict might escalate, so Paul didn’t wait for that to happen. He followed his own advice and rushed through the crowd, with Sandra in tow, to put as much distance as possible between himself and that Latin fury. He was just dimly aware that Bill had the good sense to let it go and swiftly follow suit.

As they quickly left Hampton Green, he could still hear the woman behind, still shouting at them, but she didn’t seem to be coming after them. The English words he could make out from her mentioned how her husband, the diplomat, would be unhappy to hear how his wife and daughter were treated so badly.

Trust Osterman to create a diplomatic incident with the family of a foreign diplomatic official, Paul told himself with some humour. Of course, this episode didn’t really count as a diplomatic incident, as such, but he preferred not to stick around to learn who the husband of that woman with such a fiery temper could be.

She sounded Italian. Maybe she’s the wife of the Italian ambassador…

And what a looker she is… for her age.

With Sandra, he quickly crossed Hampton Court Road at the pedestrian crossing near the roundabout leading to Hampton Court Bridge. They briskly walked the short distance leading to the entrance of the palace, where they finally stopped. There was a long queue of people there, leading to the ticket office. As Paul suspected, a good number of these people were dressed up as various outlandish characters – though there weren’t as many as he had expected.

Bill was leaning against the brick palisade, laughing so hard he was literally wheezing. His glued-on snout was gone, as well as his false teeth, and his make-up was now a mess – an obvious result of his face’s encounter with the little girl’s sticky apple.

“I can’t see what it is you find so funny!” Paul told his friend with irritation. “Osterman, you’re still on probation for that last stunt of yours at the college. You don’t need to get yourself into any more trouble – and us with you! You know the headmaster warned us to act properly when we’re off college premises. We have a standard and a reputation to uphold… Who knows who that fury really was. She could have been trouble for us!”

“Oh, lay off, Metcalfe,” Bill replied, slowly calming down. “It was only a loud, overexcited broad; her bark was probably worse than her bite. I bet she only yelled at us that way to scare us, and it won’t go further than that. Man… what was it she yelled at me exactly? You know what it means?”

“I don’t speak Italian – but I bet that was a really bad insult,” Paul replied.

“You think she was Italian? Wow, no wonder she looks so good – Italian women are hot. And that temper they’re supposed to have… I guess that must all be true.”

“Can’t you be serious for a minute?”

“And be as uptight as you are? Come on, Paul, what trouble could she have caused us? Get us expelled from Winchester? Or from the Cadets? I know you’ve got a future military career all planned out by your family, but frankly, I think you’re over-reacting. For starters, we’re not wearing our uniforms to connect us to the college, so… ”

“I think Bill’s right,” Sandra then added, smiling at Paul and gently touching his arm in a calming way. “There’s no way he’s done anything serious enough to create such drastic measures. He was only acting as childish as any other boys his age roaming free on Halloween.”

“Thank you,” Bill beamed. He then scowled, as the full meaning of Sandra’s words sank in. “Wait, what?”

Sandra ignored him. “Admit it,” she continued, addressing Paul. “It was pretty funny seeing the way that little girl stood up to him.”

“And hit me on the nose with that apple of hers.” Gingerly, Bill touched his nose and grimaced. “Ouch. She nearly broke it. That still hurts.”

“You would have deserved it if she broke it.” Paul cracked a smile and nodded. “And yes, watching that scene was certainly gratifying. That little girl certainly has guts.” He chuckled. “She obviously takes after her mother.”

“You imagine the humiliation of being fended off by such a little kid?” Bill groaned. “I’m lucky the others didn’t see that. I wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

“What makes you think they won’t know about it?” Paul asked mischievously.

“Aww, you wouldn’t do that to your best pal, Paul?” Bill pleaded.

“Only if you promise not to play any more such childish pranks.”

“You’re cruel, you know that? How can you ask that of me? And tonight of all nights!”

“You’ll have to grow up one day, Bill.”

“Yeah, one day…” Bill offered a crooked smile. “But not tonight.”

“You’re truly incorrigible.” Paul rolled his eyes. “At least, try to keep out of trouble,” he sighed. “And if you see that Italian woman again – or her daughter – keep away from them.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice. So you won’t tell Palinski and Miller?”

Paul purposely ignored that question and instead looked around, craning his head to check through the long queue lining up in front of the ticket office. “Speaking of them, where are they gone to? Weren’t they supposed to come here?”

“Maybe they’re already gone through?” Sandra suggested.

“Would be surprising,” Paul replied. “Have you seen that queue? Besides, they left so fast, they forgot to pick up their tickets. I still have them all in my pocket.”

“They must be around, somewhere close. They didn’t leave that long before us,” Sandra remarked.

“Possibly, they’re somewhere around the grounds?” Bill suggested.

“That would be a possibility. Bugger. They should have stayed somewhere where we could have easily found them.” Paul got his phone out and keyed Gabe’s number. After four rings, he reached the voicemail. “No answer… Figures. I bet he forgot to bring his phone along. He’s notorious for forgetting it. You’d believe he was born in the last century.” He waited for the welcoming message to end, then left his message: “Hey, Gabe, it’s Paul. On the off chance that you have your phone on you, can you please call me back? We’re looking for you in front of the ticket office.”

Sandra had already got her mobile out and had tried her brother’s number; she groaned when she realised she could only reach his voicemail. “Same here. Jason either didn’t turn his mobile on or is currently using it.” She cleared her throat and left her message as well, as Paul groaned with annoyance.

“I bet he forgot to turn it on,” Paul replied. “We mostly have to keep our mobiles off at college. The teachers want our full attention, and there would be hell to pay for anyone whose phone interrupts a lesson.” He grinned at Bill. “Right, Osterman?”

“Ha-bloody-ha, Metcalfe,” Bill replied, rolling his eyes. “It only happened once.”

“I don’t know Flora’s number,” Sandra said. “She hasn’t been with Gabe that long.”

“Okay. Let’s do this the old-fashioned way and search for them,” Paul suggested. “Let’s split up. We’ll cover more ground that way. And,” he added meaningfully, pointing to his own phone, “let’s make sure we’ll be able to contact each other. Osterman, do you have your phone?”

“Of course I have!” his friend protested. “I wouldn’t have been able to play ‘Happy Cats’, if I didn’t, would I?” As if to prove his point, he showed his phone to Paul, screen up front, and an animated cat with enormous eyes blinked at the young man and meowed suggestively at him.

The device beeped and Bill checked the screen. He tutted. “Oh, but my battery’s running low again…”

Paul fought not to shove the phone down its owner’s throat. “That figures,” he said. “Sandra, would you go with this… coglione?”

“I thought you didn’t know what it meant?” Bill protested.

“I don’t.”

“I’ll go with him,” Sandra quickly intervened, stepping between the two friends.

“Okay,” Paul agreed with a nod. “How about you check the queue first, and walk up to the palace? They might be waiting for us there. In the meantime, I’ll go to the public toilets, and then make my way towards the Maze.”

“Flora did show some interest in it,” Sandra said musingly. “They might very well be there.”

“Yeah, that’s certainly possible. First team who finds them calls the other, okay?”

“Yes, sir! Captain, sir!” Bill answered with a smart salute.

“I’m no captain,” Paul said rolling his eyes. “Except for the football team…”

“You mean, you’re not one yet,” Bill said with a smirk. “That won’t be long after you join the W.A.A.F., Metcalfe.”

It was no secret Paul was planning on having a military career, to follow the family tradition. A born soldier, with a sharp mind, he was supremely competent in all fields of physical and sporting activities and fighting technique. So far, he had excelled in all drills and exercises, and through pure merit, had actually reached the rank of Cadet Regimental Sergeant Major in Winchester College’s Combined Cadet Force. He hoped that one day, all this hard-learned training would be helpful when he enlisted in the regular army.

His fellow cadets could easily have hated him for the ease with which he was performing, but on the contrary, he was very popular and well-liked amongst his peers, because he was always ready to give a helping hand to his companions and to support them; team work and team spirit were important within the CCF, and he tried to uphold this at every opportunity. He knew he was the best, but he was never presumptuous about it, chalking it up himself to ‘good family genes’.

After wishing luck to his friends, Paul turned around and left, while they made their way towards the palace, checking the people queuing in line in front of the ticket office as they walked by. Paul didn’t really expect Gabe and the others to be in the line; after all, he had the tickets right there in his pocket, and they didn’t need anything else to visit whatever they wanted to see.

***

Paul walked to the parking lot in the grounds and went to check the toilets, as he had planned. Not finding his friends there, he crossed the parking towards the Rose Garden, following the signs indicating the way to the Maze.

There was a huge crowd within the palace grounds, people of all ages, again some of them dressed up. He crossed the paths of many street performers: acrobats, stilt-walkers, clowns, jugglers – there was even a fire-eater, who had attracted quite an audience around him. Paul stopped for a minute or two to watch, impressed by the man’s skills and wondering how he could perform such a feat without seriously burning himself.

“Halloween. Harumph. How in Heaven’s name did I manage to let myself be lured into this?”

“Don’t be such a grouch, dear. You have to admit, this is a lot of fun.”

That was a couple, both in their mid-thirties, standing just a few feet from Paul, watching the fire-eater show. She was dressed in a beautiful medieval cream dress, with her black hair done in an intricate style, befitting her character’s era. Her companion didn’t wear any disguise but through the opening of his smart jacket, Paul could see the black T-shirt he was wearing, decorated with a large flaming pumpkin and the words ‘My wife dragged me trick-or-treating for Halloween and all I’ve got was THIS lousy T-shirt’. He had seen the same T-shirt on display at a stand in Hampton Green.

“You should have worn that costume I bought you,” the woman continued. “We would have made the pair.”

“Didn’t have time to pick it up,” her husband replied grumpily. “You know I came straight here after work.”

“I knew I should have brought it with me,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t think it would have made any difference, Liz.” The man who had said this was standing beside the couple; he was in his mid-twenties, with short dark hair and dressed in an all black costume that reminded Paul of a Middle Ages longbowman. He leaned casually on his bow as he enjoyed the show. By the way he talked, he sounded like an American. “I’m pretty sure Mr Grinch here would never have agreed to wear it anyway.”

“I wouldn’t be seen dead in an Errol Flynn costume,” the older man replied dryly.

“Robin Hood, love,” the woman corrected him patiently.

“Not in that costume.”

The man in black chuckled. “Spoilsport. I for one was looking forward to seeing you in green tights.”

The older man glared at him, then turned to his wife: “Remind me again why we brought this young delinquent along?”

“How can you not like Halloween?” his friend said. “It’s the most entertaining celebration one can imagine. Why, while growing up I even preferred it over Christmas.”

“Well, you grew up in the United States, of course you would like it,” the older man replied. He shrugged. “It’s just that Halloween isn’t really an English tradition – not while I was growing up, anyway.”

“The ban under the previous regime didn’t help either,” his wife replied. “Well, I, for one, do love this holiday. And it’s certainly great for kids. The place is filled with them tonight. And I’m pretty sure it’s past bedtime for most of them.”

“Mmm… Yes, well, I can see that people are enjoying themselves. It’s only been five years since the end of the old regime, but there are still some wounds needing to heal. This silly celebration might actually help there, I guess. And if only for that, I imagine that Halloween has its usefulness after all. People need to lie back and relax… Let off some steam.”

“Have fun, just for the heck of it,” the woman added.

“I guess it’s not entirely… a bad thing,” her husband approved.

“So you’ll dress up next year?” the younger man asked matter-of-factly. It was exactly as if he knew what the answer would be.

“Not on your life, Con.”

“If you two had kids, you’d probably enjoy it more, Admiral,” the younger man said with a smile.

“Maybe one day,” the woman replied thoughtfully.

Her husband smiled tenderly to her. “Or course, my dear,” he said, kissing her hand. He nodded towards their young companion and added wickedly: “But in the meantime, don’t you think we have enough with this one?”

The three of them chuckled and started to walk away. Paul did the same, but in the other direction, pondering what he just heard. So he wasn’t the only one to have mixed feelings about Halloween. And he imagined that he and the husband of that woman who was presumably dressed as Maid Marian were not alone. He was right, though. Halloween, despite all its silliness, possibly was a good thing, if only for the sheer entertainment aspect of it. It wasn’t complicated, and mostly, it wasn’t presumptuous. It was just a way to let go of reality, if just for one day, and have some fun.

He reminded himself that his friends were actually counting on him to get their tickets and to have a piece of that fun too. As he walked briskly along the Kitchen Garden, he tried Gabe’s phone again; it kept ringing without his friend answering.

Paul clicked his tongue in annoyance and left a new message: “Come on, Gabe… Where are you, guys? Bill and Sandra and I, we’re looking for you. This can’t go on forever, you know?”

He had barely hung up when he heard a voice from very close behind him. “What a beautiful idea to come here together as a family, Roberto – this Halloween festival – this is so much fun! And our little passerotta will be able to come to her favourite place in all of London at the same time!”

Paul instantly recognised that Italian accent. It was the woman from Hampton Green. Obviously, she had not noticed he was walking in front of her, and he certainly didn’t want to wait for her to recognise him and start another argument. He had just reached the crossroad with the Magic Garden to his left, and the Tiltyard on his right. Swiftly, he turned right into the new alley.

“Are we there yet, Mummy?” a small female voice said.

Of course, topolina mia. The Magic Garden is just there, you see?”

“I heard they added a new merry-go-round,” a male voice – a definitely English voice, with a very clipped accent – added quietly. “You’ll be happy, it’s got little planes, and you’ll be able to fly by yourself. I know how you love planes, sweetheart.”

“Yippee! Thank you, Daddy!”

The man chuckled. “Well, I’ve got little to do with that, really…”

Paul looked over his shoulder and just got a brief glance at the small family of three walking past the corner and disappearing from view. He blew a sigh of relief that he had avoided a catastrophe.

Well, what do you know… her husband wasn’t the Italian ambassador after all. At least, by the sound of it. Only an Englishman could talk with such a precise and posh English accent. He possibly was upper-class, an aristocrat of some sort.

Paul was sure the woman wasn’t really that mean – she was just protective of her young child. He just had to remind himself how his own mother had been with him, when he was that little girl’s age. He was an only child – the pride and joy of his parents, and his mother’s most precious treasure. She certainly could be over-protective at times, and possibly even more than this Italian woman.

As he reached the next corner, Paul noticed that a fog had started to descend, and that it was rapidly thickening. He also came to the realisation that there were fewer people in this area. He turned to his left, rounding the Tiltyard, and checked his watch. It had been a little over ten minutes since he had left Sandra and Bill. He had spent longer than he thought watching the fire-eater show as he should have reached the Maze in half that time.

He took his phone again, and this time tried to call Sandra; the line was busy. Good, he thought. Maybe she reached Gabe.

Or maybe she was trying to reach him at the same time he was?

The fog was much thicker now, and he could see no-one around anymore as he drew near the Maze’s location. He found a bit odd as the Maze was one of Hampton Court’s most popular attractions. He knew there should be people close by. He could hear voices, echoing through the fog, but it was as if they were far away. He stopped in his tracks and looked around.

“Hello?” The echo returned his voice to him, like a low whisper. That was certainly eerie.

He resumed his walk, his steps resonating on the pavement; though the fog was thick, he could see he was approaching a fork in the path to the right. He took it, remembering the map he had checked earlier and that this new path was the way to the Maze.

The fog grew thicker and the sound of his steps echoed louder through it. The voices were nothing more than murmurs now, as if he was going further away from them. He found himself walking faster, hoping that he would soon cross someone’s path.

He soon found himself in front of a hedge, which blocked his way, and he stopped instantly. Curious, he thought as he looked to his left and right. Obviously, he had reached his destination, but he couldn’t see the entrance to the Maze. Had he missed it because of the fog, and gone too far? He turned around and followed the hedge, sure that he would find something – or at the very least, someone.

He soon discovered an opening in the hedge and again, he stopped. He frowned with perplexity. It might have been a couple of years since he visited the Maze, but he clearly remembered the entrance didn’t look like that. For starters, there was a ticket booth, and if he wasn’t wrong, a turnstile to go through before accessing the Maze.

Had the advertisement for the Halloween festival mentioned that the visit to the Maze would be free today? He doubted it would be the case. And anyway, if it was, the booth and turnstile would not have disappeared; they would still be there.

And the main entrance simply didn’t look like this. This opening looked like it had been cut into the hedge, as if it was another opening altogether.

It felt wrong.

“Come in, young man – what are you afraid of?”

Paul frowned again. The voice echoing through the fog was female, and came from beyond the opening. It was clear but sounded old and craggy. He stepped forward tentatively, still unsure if he should cross the opening and enter. On the other hand, he had to admit he was rather glad to hear a human voice coming from so close. He was starting to feel some very bad vibes, with no one visibly around.

He carefully passed his head through the opening and looked to the left first; he saw nothing but the two hedged walls on either side of the path. The fog seemed thinner in there.

“Over here.”

The same female voice came from the right. Paul turned his head that way; there was a woman there, seated at a small table, just at the visible end of the path. She indeed looked very old, and was wearing old clothes – a dress and a hooded cape that seemed to come from another era. They looked faded, used, with patches sewn in some places and a few tears at others. White, tangled hair emerged from under her hood, and she was looking at Paul intently, with very piercing dark eyes.

“Come on in, young man. You’re not afraid of me, are ya?”

Paul cleared his throat and stepped in. Saying he was afraid wouldn’t exactly be right; rather, he felt uneasy, more than anything. This whole setting was just too eerie.

And then it came to him; didn’t Flora say that they had performers in the Maze this evening, playing the parts of ghosts and other scary monsters, to entertain the visitors and give them the creeps?

He walked to the woman. “Nice costume,” he said. “Are you supposed to be a ghost? Or a witch?”

She slowly bobbed her head to one side to the other. “A little bit of both,” she said, smiling a little. She had a few teeth missing; Paul imagined that it was either some very clever make-up, or a special denture, worn to play the part more accurately. “I’m a soothsayer.”

“Soothsayer?”

“I can tell your fortune, young Paul Metcalfe.”

Paul scowled and went closer. “How come you know my name?”

“I know a great many things, Paul. A great many things indeed.”

“Oh, wait, I know. I get it. Palinski put you up to this, right? Or was it Jason Miller?” He looked around, searching for his friends. “Where are they? Hiding around? They’re watching all this, right?”

The woman sighed. “Nobody put me up to this, lad. Least of all your friends, Gabriel Palinski or Jason Miller. They have their own respective futures, and they have nothing to do with yours.”

“If they didn’t put you up to this, how come you know Gabe’s first name?” Paul asked with suspicion.

“The same way I know yours, Paul.”

Paul scoffed and shook his head. “Well, if you know that much, you should have known this trick wouldn’t work, ‘cause I don’t believe in any of that supernatural stuff. I can smell a con when I’m facing one. I’m out of here.” He turned on his heel and took a few steps towards where he believed was the opening he had just come through, but he only found the hedged wall. Unsure, he turned to the wall bordering the other side of the path, but there was nothing there either.

Come on, where’s that entrance? It must be close by… He took a few steps, gingerly touching the hedge to his right, as if he believed it would open up with a hidden door or something of the like. It was solid and compact.

Somewhat frustrated, he briskly came back to the ‘fortune teller’ who had not left her place. “All right, where’s the exit? I know it was there only seconds ago…”

She didn’t answer at first, staring at him with intensity. Paul sighed with annoyance. “It can’t have simply disappeared. How did you hide it?”

“You said you didn’t believe in the supernatural, Paul,” the woman replied quietly. “But I can tell ya – there will come a time, in some years, when you will believe in it. Maybe not this kind of supernatural,” she added, waving around. “But certainly you’ll believe in something that’ll defy your comprehension.”

Paul scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“You’ll see. As clearly as I see it myself.”

“And who are you exactly?”

She shrugged. “It isn’t important who I am. But you can call me Clarabeth.”

“Uh-uh.” Paul shook his head again. “Sounds like a made-up name.”

“Perhaps. What you call made-up names serve to protect one’s identity – and those of loved ones. You’ll know more about that in the future, young man.”

“I really can’t see what you mean. However, can I point out that made-up names can also be used for play-acting?” Paul replied.

“Also true. But I’m not ‘play-acting’, lad. I’ll tell you your fortune, and that’ll be the truth. Whether you believe it or not.”

“And in exchange, how much do you want?”

“Did I ask for any payment?”

Paul hesitated for a few seconds more, thinking about it. Then, he nodded thoughtfully and approached. So she pretended she would be able to tell him his ‘fortune’ – his future. It would be interesting to see her try.

And it couldn’t do him any harm, anyway.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll play. What can you tell me that will convince me?”

Clarabeth smiled a crooked smile and with a bony finger, pointed to the small wooden stool on the other side of her table. “Please, sit.”

Paul did as he was told, making a show of looking casual. He leaned on the table. “You said earlier that you knew a great deal about me. Care to elaborate on that?”

The old woman leaned towards him. “I can tell ya about your past, your present, and your future.”

“Why not start at the beginning, then?”

Clarabeth chuckled. “I like your spirit, lad. All right, the beginning, then. Your full name’s Paul Charles Metcalfe. ‘Paul’ for your maternal grandfather, ‘Charles’ for your father. But nobody ever calls you by your full name. You were supposed to be born on Christmas Day, but you showed up just a few days before. Is this right?”

“So far so good,” Paul admitted. For the moment, he kept to himself that she could have obtained that information from his friends, though he didn’t really remember having told them all that. He did recall having told Sandra about his almost being a Christmas baby, so she could easily have told her brother.

As for his full name, even if he didn’t mention it, any of his friends could have learned that easily enough; it was probably written in some records in school, or perhaps it was used by one of the teachers, while calling the roll. He couldn’t really remember, but it was certainly possible.

Yes, that must be the explanation.

“There’s a long-lasting military tradition within your family,” Clarabeth continued. “Going back many generations, within the British army. Right after the fall of the old regime, your paternal great-grandfather, your grandfather, and your father as well received commissions within the World Army Air Force, because they sided against the Militarist government. Although your great-grandfather died very shortly after that, at a very venerable age.”

“I’m sorry,” Paul suddenly interrupted her. “But so far, I’m not really impressed. I never made any secret about the family tradition. And some of this, I might not directly have told my friends, but they could have learned about it in some way. From school, or even from my parents.”

“You’re a stubborn one, lad,” Clarabeth said with a slow nod. “Well, I really knew that.”

“Of course, you did…” Paul sighed, rolling his eyes. He was getting bored with this, so he started to get up from the stool, showing his intention to go. Clarabeth put her bony hand onto his arm, stopping him in his movement. Her grip was strong, for an old crone.

“Perhaps this next bit will convince you,” the old woman swiftly continued. “When you were younger – and that was only a few years ago - you weren’t that sure that you wanted to join the military, because you feared that they would change you, and make a bad person out of you. In fact, you just avoided being drafted to compulsory military school, because the old regime fell in the nick of time.” That made Paul blink in surprise, and he sat back onto the stool, as Clarabeth continued: “It was your father’s promise that this wouldn’t happen to you. You always suspected that he, a military man, decided to oppose the Militarist regime for your sake. Oh, not only because of that, of course. Your father is a good man and he would probably have taken that same decision anyway. In fact, most of your family made the same decision. On both your father’s side and your mother’s side.”

“My mother wasn’t, or rather isn’t, really a woman of action,” Paul replied.

“Isn’t she? Well, there might be many things you don’t know about your mummy, dearie,” the old woman teased mischievously. “But Old Clarabeth knows… But we’re not here to talk about your mother, but about you. So… let’s continue. Despite your doubts as a child, now there’s nothing you want more than to follow in your forefathers’ footsteps – and to continue the family legacy. You wish to pursue a military career, and serve your fellow man like they did. That’s why you asked to go to Winchester College. You knew you would be required to serve in the College’s Combined Cadet Force, and you gladly enlisted.”

Clarabeth made a short pause to draw breath; she stared at Paul, as if she expected him to make some comment. But the young man kept silent now, and was somewhat perplexed by the old woman’s words. She certainly seemed to know a lot about him, and he wondered how she could have learned it all.

Clarabeth smiled, and it was an almost wicked smile. “Do I have your attention now? I can see that I do... So, shall we talk about your present, now?”

“What do you have to say about my present?” Paul asked with a frown. “And what does it have to do with telling me my future?”

“Ah, but your present builds your future, young Paul,” Clarabeth replied. “Or don’t you know that, already? You see, I know that you are at a crossroads at the moment… You are torn between doing what you think your forefathers would want… and what you truly desire. And you wonder what’s the right thing to do.” She leaned over the table, getting closer to Paul. “You haven’t told your father yet that you wish to go to West Point, in America, instead of going to Sandhurst like him, and his father before him, and his father’s father. You should really tell your father, lad. He’s very keen to promote World Government thinking. And with Sandhurst being a little too associated with the old regime, he might think you wanting to go to West Point is a good idea.”

Paul stared back at her in confusion. He had barely heard the last part of what she had just said, focussing only on the first part. “I didn’t mention this to anyone yet,” he said in a low voice. “How can you –?”

“ – How can I know?” Clarabeth interrupted him. “Didn’t I tell you already? Oh, that’s right, you don’t believe in the paranormal… But my dear boy, the answer to your question is all there, don’t you see? Odd things keep happening around us that you cannot hope to comprehend fully. Especially on this night, amongst all others, where the frontier between this world and the other is so thin that you can almost touch it.”

As she said these words, Clarabeth unexpectedly put her hand on top of Paul’s right one. Her skin was so very cold, so icy, that the young man felt like it was burning him; that took him so much by surprise that he literally jumped from his stool, knocking it over.

What the Hell…?

“I’m sorry,” Clarabeth said in a soft voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Paul looked down in confusion at the toppled stool at his feet, wondering what just had happened. He noticed he had reached for his right hand with his left, covering it. It still stung, from whatever just happened.

It must be static shock, he reasoned. And yet, static shocks didn’t feel like that. Not at all. It was as if he had put his hand in a freezer, several degrees below zero, and that had instantly frozen for the space of a second.

He reached down for the stool and put it on its feet. However, he didn’t sit back on it; he stood there, looking down at Old Clarabeth who was staring intently at him. She waved at the empty stool. “Won’t you sit back down?”

Paul shook his head. “I really must be going,” he said, to excuse himself. “You see, I was looking for my friends, and –”

“Don’t you want to know your future?” Clarabeth asked him, almost insistently.

Paul wasn’t sure if he wanted to anymore. Somehow, he now felt ill-at-ease, standing in front of this woman now. He shook his head again, smiling sheepishly. “No, I think I really must go, or it’ll be my friends who will be looking for me.” Although his phone had not rung during this whole time he was with Clarabeth – or maybe he hadn’t paid enough attention to it. He checked his phone, and saw there was no missed call, nor text. He noticed then that there didn’t seem to be any signal. He groaned. “I really, really must go,” he said for the third time. “Can I… give you something for your time? I’ve got a few pounds, and –”

“Keep your money, lad. I told you already – I don’t need any of it.”

“Well, er… thanks, then. Maybe I’ll see you again and next time, you’ll tell me my future?” She didn’t answer, and kept staring at him, silently, her dark eyes so piercing they seemed to burn him to the soul. That was really unsettling. Nervously, he murmured a swift ‘goodbye’, turned on his heel, and started to walk away.

“Your future is already here.”

That made Paul stop and he looked back at Clarabeth. She was slowly getting to her feet, and hobbled towards him, leaning on an old twisted cane, that seemed to have been directly torn out from a tree.

“Today, you have crossed the paths of three people who will be part of your future,” Clarabeth told him as she was approaching. She showed him her hands, with three fingers raised. “Three, who will have a deep influence on your life to come. And three is a magical number, son – and it is even more on a night like All Hallows’ Eve. You might call it a coincidence that they should be here tonight, at the same time as you, but Fate works in mysterious ways, and coincidence is just another tool used by Fate. Of these three people, one will give purpose to your life. The second will give purpose to your heart. And the third… will give purpose to your death.”

Paul blanched. “My… death?” he repeated in a neutral voice. He didn’t know what to make of this woman’s now foreboding words – whether he should be annoyed by them or fear them, or feel indignant that she seemed to want to try to frighten him. One thing was certain, he felt increasingly uneasy. Like most people, he didn’t like to contemplate the inevitability of death. At his young age, his life was only just beginning, and he didn’t want anyone, especially an old crone, to remind him his life was a finite thing and that one day, soon or later, he would have to forfeit it.

Paul Metcalfe wasn’t especially known for his patience, and it was common knowledge he had a low boiling point.

“What are you trying to do, scare me or something?” he suddenly blurted in anger, letting his temper get the better of him.

“Such was never my attention, my lad,” Clarabeth said. She stopped in front of him and looked him in the eyes. She didn’t look as frail now as she had the first moment he had seen her. “I’m meant to inform you of what lies ahead for you. You’re an exceptional boy, Paul Metcalfe, and you’ll become an even more exceptional man. You’ll be all you ever desire, perform your duty and serve your fellow men, and bring pride, honour and success to your family. But you will also find much pain and sorrow in your path. You will face dangers, and challenges and hardships such as no other man before you has ever experienced before. Fate has a special plan for you, Paul. Yours will be an unprecedented destiny …” She shook her head, and smiled fondly at him. “For death, even if it’s not the finality most think it is, will be even less for you. Because it will not have any hold on your person.”

“What you say makes no sense at all,” the confused Paul said. She took one more step towards him, and he took a step back – and found himself with his back against the surface of the hedge. “Get away from me, you crazy witch!”

“Ah, you have unmasked my true nature,” Clarabeth said, her voice ever so soft. “But you have to decide – am I a good witch or a bad witch? But I want to reassure you – I mean you no harm, my boy. You could say I’m on the side of the angels. And you will be too, one day…“ She smiled thinly. “If only you could see the irony.”

“You are crazy!” Paul repeated.

“I see a great evil on the horizon, such as Mankind has never faced before,” Clarabeth continued, without hearing him. She raised her hand in a slow movement towards his face. Somehow, that hand didn’t look as bony and old as before, and her voice didn’t sound as craggy anymore. He found he couldn’t move at all and watched with dread as the fingers approached him, remembering all too vividly the burning sensation he had felt when she had touched the naked skin of his hand earlier. “And I see you facing this great evil, Paul Metcalfe, Earth’s greatest champion, standing in a rainbow of celestial colours, which will be the symbol of protection and courage. I thank Fate for giving me this opportunity to meet you… But alas, I cannot leave you with any memory of this – for fear this will influence the future… and change your destiny.”

She touched his brow, and Paul braced himself. But this time around, there was no burning sensation – just a sense of general numbness as a blinding light engulfed him, and a sweet voice echoed in the deep recess of his mind.

“Godspeed, Paul Metcalfe… Your destiny awaits. I shall watch it with great interest…”

***

The light subsided, and with it, all of Paul’s senses came back to him. First it was sounds that assailed him – ambient music, people’s voices, laughter, cries of joy from children, coming from all sides. For some reason, he felt a bit woozy, and he stumbled on his feet, his hand reaching instinctively for something to keep himself up. He then opened his eyes to find himself standing in the middle of the path, just in front of the Maze. There were people all around him, some walking past him, others queuing in front of the ticket booth and turnstile leading to the Maze.

He felt hands gently reaching for him. “Young man, are you all right?” He looked up and saw a beautiful blonde young woman, wearing a hooded cape looking at him with concern. He glanced to the other side to notice he was holding himself up against a tree.

“Yes,” Paul answered. “Yes, I think I am.” He frowned trying to remember how he actually got there. He vaguely recalled meeting a woman, dressed as an old hag, who had claimed to be a soothsayer, and that she would tell him his fortune.

She wasn’t very good at that.

Paul addressed a reassuring smile at the concerned young woman. “I felt a bit faint,” he said. “I don’t know why, but it’s passed now. Er… thank for your help, ma’am.”

“My pleasure,” she answered, smiling a bright smile. “Maybe it was something you ate or you felt disoriented in the Maze. They overdid it with all the ghosts and scary stuff in there… I can understand it could cause discomfort to people.”

“You think?” Paul said musingly. He didn’t want to commit himself. He wouldn’t bet it, but he wasn’t that sure he actually had met the so-called soothsayer in the Maze… The memory of it all was just too hazy. But he clearly remembered he had not gone through the turnstile.

He heard the ringing of his phone and, thanking the young woman again, hurriedly answered the call.

“Yeah?”

“We found them!” He heard the victorious voice of Sandra at the other end of the line. “They were just in front of the palace, waiting for us to arrive.”

“Ah, that’s great,” Paul replied with a sigh of relief. He watched as the young woman who had helped him addressed him a departing nod before walking away from him. He turned on his heel to go back along the same path he had previously taken. A thought came to him as he started walking. “Sandra… Have you been trying to contact me for long?”

“No… Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know… I was under the impression my phone didn’t have any signal earlier. And it seems I’ve been gone for some time...”

“You’ve only been gone for fifteen minutes, Paul,” Sandra replied. “Maybe twenty, tops. What are you on about?”

Paul shrugged, dismissing that odd, nagging impression that he indeed had been gone far longer than Sandra was implying. “Forget it. It was just an impression.” He chuckled. “Maybe Halloween’s getting to me… You’re still in front of the palace?”

“Yeah, we’re waiting for you. We need the tickets to get in. You cannot miss us. Bill is still making a fool of himself. You’d better come quick, before they throw us out on his account!”

Paul smiled. “Tell Gabe and Jason to try to control him. I’m coming to the rescue. Be there in five minutes.”

With that, Paul hung up his phone and rushed down the path towards Hampton Court Palace.

Behind him, he didn’t notice the beautiful blonde woman with the cape, who was looking towards him intently. There was sadness in her eyes, but also admiration and fondness as she watched him disappear at the next corner.

“Brave, brave lad,” she said under her breath, “if only you knew what the future holds for you and the evil you must face… But I don’t worry. For our sake, you will prevail. They may crash you, or make your body burn. They may even smash you, but they know you will certainly return – to live again. And to fight again.”

She turned around and slowly walked the other way.

THE END

Author’s notes:

All my thanks to Hazel Köhler for beta-reading this story. I know its entry is a little late into the Halloween Challenge this year, but this is entirely my fault – just as any remaining mistakes within the story are my fault too.

This story draws on my extrapolation of Paul Metcalfe’s life as a teen, based on his character and biography. Nowhere could you find that he went to Winchester College in his youth. However, as he did grow up in Winchester, that his family has a long military tradition, I figured he probably would have ended up at Winchester College and enlisted in the Combined Cadet Force. That would have served as a springboard for his future military career.

The characters of Gabe Palinski, Jason and Sandra Miller, Bill Osterman, Flora Evers and Clarabeth are my own creation. The name of ‘Charles Metcalfe’ for Paul’s father first was invented by Mary J. Rudy.

The rest of his background comes from my own interpretation, inspired by source material from Century 21’s publications.

You might have recognised some of other characters from the Captain and the Mysterons casting… Their respective backgrounds, also inspired by source material from Century 21’s publications, are my own interpretation as well.

And my final thanks are for you, the readers, for visiting this site and reading our story.

Hope you had a happy Halloween.

 

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