All Hallows' Eve

“Halloween is about fun, not business,” Shaggy said a few days before.

“We have to greet this All Hallows’ Eve properly,” he smiled.

So with that in mind, Helen, Cody, and I packed into my small jeep and got out of the city. It would be about 40 minutes to an hour before we’d reach our destination, an isolated farm just past the northwest suburbs. Cody had been there a couple times and talked fondly of its location.

I had to admit, it really was in the middle of nowhere, the nearest neighbor was about a mile away, and I hadn’t seen a town for twenty minutes. When we neared the house, I saw that the yard was packed with cars and there were two large barns on the property. One looked older than the house even, and it was poorly maintained. I was surprised it was still standing.

The lawn was full of people going back and forth between the house and the newer barn. Along the lawn were women hooping with these flashing, LED hula hoops. They were all very impressive, but I knew I’d appreciate it even more when I had some proper drugs in me.

I found a place to park, and then we made our way inside, looking for Shaggy all the while. The whole house was filled with music, someone was spinning Drum and Bass in the living room.

We found Shaggy in an armchair near the speaker with a nitrous mask on his face. He was phishing out hard, so we had to wait a while before he was coherent enough to talk to us. When he noticed us he got up as fast as possible, and we had to prop him up for a second because his knees buckled.

“There they are!” he screamed.

“The Iowans are here!” he added.

“Iowans?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Cody said.

“So is this Helen?” Shaggy asked.

“No, I’m just some random working girl,” Helen responded.

“Please, I’d know if you’re an escort” he replied, wagging his finger.

“I believe that,” she said.

“I am who I am,” he threw up his arms in mock surrender.

“And you’re too pretty for John, you know that right?” he joked.

“I know, I remind him every chance I get” she kissed my cheek.

“That she does,” I agreed.

“What can I say? Sometimes there’s hope for us ugly guys” I said.

“Emphasis on the sometimes,” Shaggy replied.

Then, Shaggy started fumbling through his pockets, and finally he asked, “What’re the words of the day children?”

“Trick or Treat!” we all said, and Shaggy dossed each of us with some lucy from a vial.

After that, we all ate a few points of molly and did nitrous while waiting for the come-up. The house was very nice on the inside; I hadn’t expected that when I walked in. I was just curious as to whether Shaggy owned it or not.

After a while I decided to go take a look inside the barn, just to check it out. The first thing I noticed was that it was far too nice to be a regular barn. The entire floor was redone in polished hardwood, and there were couches lining the walls to each side.

There was another DJ in there spinning Dubstep, and there were strobes and black lights all throughout the place. The dance floor was a swirl of bright colors and pulsing LED bulbs.

In one corner, a guy was selling nitrous balloons for 2 bucks a piece, and they were colossal. The whole barn was packed with people dancing and giving light shows.

Around then, the drugs were taking effect. I could feel the acid hitting me, and things were starting to feel slower, and at the same time, my stomach was filled with butterflies from the molly.

I did a bit more coke, and started dancing with Helen for a while, marveling at the array of colored lights up near the DJ booth.We danced in a trance-like state for at least an hour, maybe more.

It was primal and glorious, the whole scene. People dancing like beasts, consuming the many substances found in abundance there. It was like some long-lost, Dionysian ritual; all the chaos, the excess, the unbridled human pleasure-- I was home.

When we got back inside the house, we all did more nitrous, and after that I was peaking on the acid. I’d already peaked on the molly, or so I thought, but I ate some more for good measure. They were still spinning DNB in the living room, and for that I was very thankful.

I liked Dubstep, well most of it, but DNB and Trance were still my favorites. There was no denying that the times were changing though, and Dubstep was becoming the way of the future.

After dancing some more with the occasional nitrous break, it was almost midnight. Like clockwork, Shaggy stood up on a chair, almost falling over in the process, and the music faded away.

“And now for the main attraction,” Shaggy yelled, like a carnival barker.

“Follow me” he called, stumbling outside.

Everyone followed him to the old barn and stood around waiting for Shaggy to come back from gathering all the people from the other barn. When he came back, he was carrying this big wooden box.

He set it down at his feet, and yelled “You ready for a show?”

The crowd clamored with yells and screams of encouragement, and then Shaggy said, “In the spirit of the most glorious of holidays-- the day that darkness returns, we shall light a beacon for it.”

Shaggy then opened the box up and pulled out a molotov cocktail fashioned out of a wine bottle. He passed more out, but not indiscriminately.

Then, he stood before and handed us each a molotov a piece. I started realizing that he had only made enough for his inner circle, as if it really was ritual.

An icy wind tore across the circled bodies as the group stood around our controlled demolition site. The chance of the fire spreading would hopefully be diminished by the concrete foundation.

The night was still and for a moment, not a word was spoken; rather, we stood silent, studying the decayed shell before us. The moon had cast a spotlight upon the grandiose structure, and together we harkened its resilience for weathering the countless storms.

I admired that even in its last moments, the shelter persisted through the gusting winds without so much as a single tremble or groan.

The broken rafters and missing roof tiles were proudly sewn badges upon the barn’s wooden tunic. Thus, I felt somewhat honored to deliver mercy to the feeble yet valiant edifice.

With a synchronized spark of our lighters, we each ignited our rags and hurled the bottles. One after another they made impact; the sound of broken glass pierced the silence.

The splatters of flame after every strike engulfed the dried skeleton like napalm splashes. Soon, the piles of hay abandoned by the previous owner were set ablaze.

So together, we basked in the warm glow emitted by the raging firestorm and gawked at its incandescent beauty. An aura of yellow and orange scattered through the heavy darkness of that cloudy autumn night. In each flicker of light I felt a sluggish revelation approaching, the scene had been saturated with a surreal quality.

“I release you from your bondage!” Shaggy screamed while tossing his molotov into the barn.

His volley had managed to make it through the second-floor window and onto the thin wooden pallets laid across the rafters. By then, a thick cloud of smoke was billowing out and up to the sky.

For years, man had preserved this corpse, but it was time to release the spirit. After all, matter is formed and reformed in varying blueprints; the essence would surely live on. To commemorate the crossing over, we drank more wine and danced in the stunning luminosity of the funeral pyre.

Indeed, the night was merry, and for once, I was satiated with the hand I had been dealt. For if that night had been my last I would’ve accepted my demise, because for once, I had seen something special reflected within my own existence.