Iva Dunraven got into her bed. She felt tired as she settled down; it had been a busy day for her.
Every occult detective had a side number. Professor Brimstone, she heard, was a toilet attendant in Soho. While Mr Twilight and Mr Dusk ran a Cobbler's in Belgravia.
Hers was selling bric-a-brac magic charms. She ran a mall kiosk in Hay's Galleria in London. Most of them of course didn't work they were just for the tourists. But some for one or two of her best costumers did.
From first thing this morning to just over two hours ago she had been selling them nonstop. Something was in the air today.
It was like people knew they'd made a terrible mistake, but couldn't put their finger on what, and some cosmic gut instinct led them to her kiosk. They knew somewhere within themselves they needed a lucky charm. They needed something to hold on to as they lie in bed and think 'Oh God, what have I done?'
Iva pulled up her soft blanket and felt her eyes going heavy. She could feel her mind drifting away like some radio voice in...
She got up quickly and looked for her tablet. She remembered she had a message earlier that her favourite podcast show would be going live at midnight for a special Halloween show.
The Midnight Voices show was a podcast for people who dealt with the paranormal. Its subscribers were less than 1,000 and the host Mr. ASMR kept his identity very secret.
She gave a tut as she found the tablet under a stack of to read books. The time was 12:38, it had already started.
She pressed play and began to listen....
There's only one night a year a witch will absolutely hate, one that will make them grind their teeth and twist their hair. All the others are magic for them of course, but for one night all witches will lay low.
And that night is the night of Halloween.
The giddy funfair of it will send a cold shiver up their spines, their noses will crease at the thought of cauldrons and spells and broom sticks.
They will scream and hide at the sight of children trick or treating, groan when pumpkins are hung from doors and weep at the mention of black cats. Because witches are not really witches, all that stuff is what just comes from comic books and cinema; from the fickle minds of the masses and what they think is history.
No, no, they will have nothing to do with all that pantomime and superstition, because a real witch is something completely different, they are in fact a daughter of nature.
A guardian of the mysteries and they will roll their eyes at such foolishness as Halloween. No, these fine daughters will stay well away from all that fancy dress and nonsense and instead smile to themselves about how it all really started way back in the bog lands and forests of dark Europe.
They will croon with pleasure at how they were the first to stumble upon the revelations that the mushrooms and roots could give them. How it could throw open the doors of the mind and let in the vase timeless universe with all its beautiful bewilderment.
But as with all confusions of the senses there came with it a deep reflection, there came an understanding of the reality that was around them. Of the other dimensions that hides itself just below the surface of things.
Yes, they will giggle with pride at being the first to have worked out that the mind with the aid of these chemicals could dance and skip along the fine ribbon of time and space itself.
They were the first to discover the sacred knowledge and with this new awareness they became the first chemists of Europe, the first doctors. They found combinations to give them the ability to peek into the minds of others and glimpse the shadow of looming futures.
It blessed them with the art of healing.
It made them see the connections to the chaos of life. They learnt like a spider how to bring that entire magnificent cobweb together and break free from the grind of the hunter gatherers and plunged head first into the revelations of the nature of nature.
With it they knew the secrets of the owls. Heard what the murder of crows talked about and flew the night sky with the bats. They swam deep within the oceans like a squid and ran naked with the wild deer.
They travelled far and wide, picking up new secrets along the way; studying every valley and ridge, every cove and cliff, and for this enlightenment they were worshipped as messengers between the land of the living and the land of the dead.
They were leaders of tribes, shamans for the people.
All were in awe of this blessed crazy gift that the universe saw fit to give them.
But as they sit back and reminisce, they will also remember with a heavy heart that it all came with a terrible price to be different, to be truly wise.
But they will hold no grudge at what the Christian flames took from them and instead feel happy that the power of forgiveness is truly the power of the art.
No, they will just sit back and raise a glass or two at what is beating within their hearts. These daughters cannot hate for they know nothing dies, not really dies. Not while the mystery leads them deeper still and beyond what science and cold mathematics preaches today.
Not when all is said and done, they have washed their hands of Halloween. Theses daughters and sisters, these mothers of nature will sit back and dream gently into the world that is just beyond this reality and spell it all out for us with love...
And on that note my friends I will bid you a goodnight and leave you with a gentle reminder that next week we will have an exclusive interview with Germany's foremost Occult detective.
Yes, that's right Frau Vampierkilla will be right here in London.
But for now, I'll leave you with the unforgettable music of Ostad Elahi.
Iva turned the show off.
Frau Vampierkilla was coming here to London, she thought. She only knew of her through whispers. She was a remarkable woman. Totally fearless in the face of death. There had to be some important reason for her to be here.
She knew Wraith never listened to the show. He was always out some place falling about on rooftops or saving the world. She considered phoning him.
But like most things of importance it was always best to see it in daylight. She rolled over instead and went to sleep and dreamed of pigs running riot in Westminster.