All Soul's Eve

It was October 31st, all soul's eve. In Americda, I'm told, the day is celebrated by gangs of feral chidren in outlandish costumes practicing a kind of protection scheme. They knock on doors an demand candy in return for not committing acts of vandalism involving eggs, lavatory paper, and/or bars of soap. Here in London the day is celebrated by clerks dressed as pirates and shopgirls dressed as tavern wenches getting gloriously drunk. I didn't feel much like celebrating this year.

I work as a clerk for a large firm in the City. during Victoria's reign I would have sat on a high stool with a whale lamp in front of me writing small numbers in a large ledger with ink stained fingers and a quill pen. Today I sat in a soul killing little cubicle under depressing flourescent lights entering tiny numbers on a tiny computer screen with a worn out keyboard and aching wrists. If I didn't finish the report I was working on in the next day or so it would cost the company thousands in interest and penalties, and the bloody thing would not add up.

They called the program I was using user friendly. It was supposed to instantly point out any errors I made. Nonetheless the bottom line was off by 13d and I had no idea why. In the past two days I had gone over every one of what seemed like ten thousand entries at least twice. Today I had come in two hours early and stayed two hours late. The only result had been to raise the descrepancy to 13d from its previous level of 11d.

As I rode the lift to the ground floor my back felt like someone had been beating on it with a cricket bat. My head threatened to split wide open and my eyes resolutely refused to focus. When I closed them rows of random numbers seemed to dance behind my eyelids. As I moved out onto the streets I was surrounded by the aforementioned pirates and tavern wenches. There also seemed to be an inordinate number of bobbies and nuns.

I had made the trip from work to the tube station literally thousands of times, so my legs went on their way without input from my malfunctioning eyes. I eventually found my path blocked by the two halves of a pantomime horse which were engaged in an argument. My eyes chose that moment to temporarily focus and I saw that I was in front of a pub. I decided to go in for a pint before I went home.

I soon found myself sitting in a surprisingly uncomfortable booth sipping my beer and listening to a band of pirates musically discussing what to do with a drunken sailor. By the time I finished half my pint my back was starting to unclench. It now seemed to be throbbing in time to the music and my eyes were going into and out of fucus to the same rhythm. At that point I looked down and saw a subway token laying on the table. Huzzah, I thought. One small ray of brightness on an otherwise dismal day. How wrong I was!

Seeing that token reminded me that I had better be on my way. I suspected that the tube ran considerably less often at night. I am not normally much of a drinker. At home I rarely drink anything but Nescafe'. I normally go out to a pub less than once a month and then I make a single pint last all evening. Thus it was probably a mistake to gulp down the rest of my beer. I picked up the token (which was definately a mistake) and headed for the tube station.

When I got there I found myself behind a Nazi storm trooper and a Red Indian who had evidenty invaded the Old Baily and abducted a judge. My eyes seemed to lose focus as I dropped the token into the slot and pushed through the turnstyle. I paid no attention since the same thing had happened twice since I left the pub. If the costumes were somewhat stranger on the platform than they had been earlier I didn't notice.

After a few moments a train arrived. I climbed aboard and collapsed on a bench. As the train lurched into motion I briefly opened my eyes and saw that the costume on the guy across from me made him look about two feet tall with fully functional wings. I closed my eyes again and laid my head back, thinking that he would surely win a prize at whatever party he was going to. Then an alarm went off in my head as my brain finished processing what it had seen. The costume next to the little man was so large it would take at least three people to operate it. the blood flowing down from its red hat looked disturbingly real.

"Wizard costume mate." said the person beside me.She could only be described as a hag. Her back seemed to bend in the middle so that her chin rested in her navel. The wart on her nose was almost as big as the nose itself.

A subsonic rumble eminated from the costume by committee across from me. " 'Sright. That'll win a prize for sure."

"I thought they weren't doing costumes this year." said the little man in a rather effiminate voice.

"There's always them as can't resist." said the hag sneeringly.

A horrible thought began to form in my mind. "Th-this isn't the Orange line is it? Does this train stop anywhere near Chelsea?"

"Only one stop on this train." said the ...Troll? "The Unseellie Court."

Suddenly the little man leapt into the air with his hands fluttering almost as much as his wings. "Oh my Goddess! We've got a visitor!"

The Hag spat. "Bloody Sidhe! Always pullin' in some poor human so they can sit and laugh while he struggles to cope with the culture shock." I stared with horrified fascination as wisps of smoke curled up from her phlegm.

Without even leaning forward the Troll reached across and put his paw on my knee. "No worries mate. We'll at least see you get everything you're entitled to."

"Yes, yes!" cried the Pixie. "That way we can get into the Great Hall too"

At that point the train stopped and everyone started to get off. There was an enormous vareity of creatures, some of whom could not possibly be mistaken for humans in costume. As the Troll stepped onto the platform he seemed to expand to twice his previous size. I realized he had been hunched over on the train. We all exited from the platform, but instead of heading up the stairs led down. Most of the passengers headed toward the archway at the far end of the passage, but my companions stopped in fron t of a door leading off to the side.

Under other circumstances I might have mistaken the figure guarding it for an overdone Arthurian costume. He was wearing a set of black armour and leaned on a sword that was taller than I am. Its blade was that dull grey colour that is called gunmetal in automobiles. I suspected that in this case it was cold iron. With the point on the ground the hilt did not reach his chin. His red cloak matched his glowing red eyes. His eyebrows, his shoulder length hair and the fangs protruding from his lower jaw all seemed to glow whitely against his ebon skin.

"Be off with you." said the knight. "There be nothing for the likes of you here."

"This one is a visitor. It is his right to pass within." said the Hag.

The knight's head swivelled. He looked at me rather as I might have looked at a plate of fish and chips just then. A crimson tongue moistened the black lips between his white fangs. "Very well then. He may pass."

"We are his guides and protectors" cried the Pixie shrilly. "Where he goes, we must go!"

"Then you also must pass" said the knight. He smiled at me, revealing what seemed to be far more than thirty-two teeth, all pointed. "Eat and drink what you will, and stay as long as you desire." With that he resumed the sort of immobility normally only seen at the gates of Buckingham Palace.

We stepped past him into the Great Hall. Those within were dressed in costumes that would have made the court of Louis XVI green with envy. The ugliest of them would cause a supermodel to chuck it all in and order a double order of Spaghetti Marinara. There were four impossibly long tables running the length of the hall, with a fifth on a raised dias at the far end. To my surprise we had no trouble finding seats at the end of an inner table nearest the dias.

As I sat an unseen waiter handed me a golden goblet filled with a clear liquid that tasted of lemons with just a hint of mint. The goblet was matched by a plate on the table before me that held a salad made from a mixture of tasty leaves and herbs dressed with what tasted like a lavander vinaigrette. My companoiins had no plates of their own, but happily ate off of mine. There seemed to be enough for all.

My friends each had their own goblet, however. The Troll drank a hearty red wine. The Pixie had some sort of viscous golden fluid, and the Hag enjoyed a fizzy green drink. In due course the salad was supplimented by a variety of delicious smoked fishes and eels. This was eventually replaced by the whole carcass of a bird bigger than a chicken but smaller than a goose. That was followed by some sort of roast meat in red sauce that my friend the Troll declared the best he had ever eaten.

After a prolonged bout of eating and drinking I was singled out by the Master of Ceremonies as an honoured guest. He politely asked me my name and introduced me to the crowd, who cheered lustily. I responded by complimenting him on the delicious minty-lemon drink and relaying my colleague's praises for the roast meat. He responded with a full throated laugh and bade me eat and drink to my heart's content and to stay as long as I wished.

The drink must have been stronger than I supposed because I rather lost track of events after that. I vaguely remember a great deal of carousing and feasting. I remember being entertained by heartrendingly beautiful music and poetry intrespersed with sketches that even in my befuddled state struck me as shockingly crude.

I came to myself laying on a bench on the tube platform with no idea how I got there. My head was aching, there was a kink in my back, and my bladder was about to burst.My cheek was laying in what I fervently hoped was a puddle of my own drool. I checked my watch and found that it was half an hour after the arrival time of my normal train. I hurried off to work, but before I reached my cubicle I was summoned before the office manager.

That august personage informed me that someone else had finished my report., finding my mistake with ridiculous ease and saving the firm from financial ruin. I was also informed that in future no matter how sick I was I would be expected to call in on each day I missed work, and that in any case if I missed a day in the next year I would be summarily fired.

I returned to my cubicle and took half a dozen headache tablets. I considered getting some water to wash them down. but my bladder was already full again. As I headed to the loo I resolved to buy a yearlong Britrail pass and if I ever saw another subway token to flee from it as if from a plague rat.