On All Hallows’ Eve, it is said that the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest, allowing spirits to walk among us. One particularly eerie tradition from medieval Europe involved “soul cakes,” a form of early trick-or-treating. Poor villagers would go door to door offering prayers for the dead in exchange for these small cakes. It was believed that each cake consumed by the living would free a soul trapped in purgatory. But there was a darker side to this custom.
In eastern Europe, Strigoi are restless spirits—undead creatures that rise from their graves to torment the living. They are sometimes thought to be spirits of the dead who did not receive proper burial rites or something had been taken from them before they were laid to rest. On All Hallows' Eve, it is believed that these strigoi wander through villages, seeking revenge or trying to reclaim life. In some stories, they can also shapeshift into animals, usually wolves, or become invisible to stalk their prey unnoticed.
Halloween is filled with rituals meant to divine the future or ward off bad luck, as the boundary between the spirit world and our own is believed to be thin.
The chilling question remains: How can you tell if the one at your door is a human or something much older, much hungrier?
I remember telling this kind of story to my kids oh so long ago, it seems. As I now grow into retirement age, I think. I recall building up the tension to reveal the twist in the tale and shouting out the ending and watching the audience react. So for Halloween, where some of you may be intending to dress up and celebrate the all hallows eve. I present my tale in this 58th Blog.
Band of Gold - By Vincent Taylor
“Come on, Joe, it'll be fun,” Jess said with a hopeful smile, standing in the doorway. She’d been trying to drag me out all week. Halloween was approaching, and the club was holding its annual disco—an event Evelyn, my late wife, had adored. “I don’t think I can handle it, Jess,” I muttered, the weight of grief clinging to my voice. “It’s not been long since… you know.”
Jess sighed but didn’t push further. “Just think about it, okay? I’ll come by, and we can walk over together if you feel up to it.”
I gave a noncommittal nod, and she left. I sat back in the dimly lit living room. The house was too big for one person, too empty without Evie. Halloween had always been her favourite. She’d decorate the place with pumpkins, string up fake cobwebs, and always convince me to dress up for the parties. She had made it feel alive. Now, it all seemed hollow.
My gaze drifted to the mantelpiece, where her wedding ring rested. The funeral director had to cut it from her swollen finger when she passed, but I’d insisted on keeping it. It was all I had left of her. I glanced at the smart speaker and quietly said, “Play Boom Radio.” The soft melody of our wedding song filled the room.
“Oh, my love… my darling… I’ve hungered for your touch…”
Tears welled up, and I let them fall. As the music swirled around me, I drifted into a restless sleep.
Halloween Night
Saturday evening came, and sure enough, Jess showed up at my door, dressed in a makeshift witch costume—cheap, but cheerful. She smiled when she saw me standing there in my coat, clearly not dressed for Halloween.
“You ready?”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Might as well.”
We stepped into the crisp October air. The fog had begun to roll in, thickening around the old street lamps. Jess walked beside me, chatting about the club, how everyone was looking forward to seeing me again, but I barely listened.
When we reached St. Matthew’s cemetery, I hesitated. The place looked even gloomier in the thick fog, the gravestones jutting out like jagged teeth.
“Let’s cut through,” Jess said, tugging my arm. “It’s quicker—and perfect for Halloween, right?”
I followed reluctantly, my breath catching in the cool night air. The fog wrapped around us like a heavy blanket as we stepped onto the cemetery path. The sound of our footsteps echoed, and a chill crept over me.
Halfway through, Jess stopped.
“Did you see that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“See what?”
“I thought I saw… never mind,” she said, but her face was pale with unease.
As we walked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The fog seemed thicker here, pressing in closer. And then I heard it—a faint tapping sound behind us. Tap, tap, tap, like footsteps trailing just a few paces back.
I turned around, but saw nothing—just the gravestones, shrouded in fog. The sound of Unchained Melody echoed in my mind like a scratched record. Then I saw it: a shadow, just ahead. Moving between the gravestones. A tall figure, dressed in a black velvet cloak and pointed hat disappearing into the mausoleum—the exact costume Evelyn had worn to our last Halloween party together two years ago, before the illness set in.
“Evelyn?” I whispered, barely realising I’d spoken aloud.
Jess turned to me, confused. “What did you say?”
But I couldn’t answer. The shadow had vanished, but had I just imagined it?
We continued walking, but I couldn’t shake the pull. The farther we went, the heavier my legs felt, as though something was drawing me toward the centre of the cemetery. Then, as we passed one of the larger gravestones, I froze. My breath hitched in my throat.
The name on the gravestone—Joseph Pearson. And beneath it, today’s date.
“Jess,” I whispered, barely able to speak. “Look…”
She stared at the gravestone, her face draining of colour.
“This has to be some kind of sick joke,” she muttered, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the name, my name!
And then I heard it again. Tap, tap, tap. This time, it wasn’t behind us—it was coming from the ground. From the grave itself.
And then I saw her.
Standing a few feet away, Evelyn. She was wearing the black velvet cloak, staring at me with sorrowful eyes. Her hand was raised, pointing directly at me—her finger missing, just as it had been when the ring was cut off.
The fog thickened around her, and I heard her voice, soft and distant, whispering in my ear:
“It’s time, my love…”
We stumbled out of the graveyard, Jess insisting that I had been imagining things pulling me along to the Drovers, our village pub which had always been our regular haunt. During the evening, I couldn’t stop thinking about that gravestone—about Evelyn’s ghostly form, the tap, tap tapping. It felt like I was walking away from something inevitable.
At the club, the noise and lights felt distant, as though I was standing outside of myself. Jess was trying to chat with the others, but I couldn’t focus. I excused myself, needing a moment alone.
In the Gents, I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection. My heart sank. The face staring back at me was older, frailer, "Get a grip Joe". I mouthed at my reflection.
When I returned to the party, the DJ was announcing the last dance. Jess got up, still in her witch’s hat and cloak, and offered me her hand. The familiar tune started playing again:
“Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch…”
The lights dimmed and all was dark and spooky, a last touch from the DJ to bring the evening to a close.
I took her hand and noticed something strange. Her third finger—where a ring should be—it was cold and jelly-like, as if the flesh had melted away.
“Jess?” I whispered, my voice shaking. “What happened to your finger?”
She turned to me, and I gasped.
It wasn’t Jess standing there anymore. It was Evie.
“You’ve got it, Joe,” she whispered. “Remember?”
I glanced down, and there, on my finger, was her wedding ring, the band of gold that kept us together and always would.
POEM
The signs of life flicker with age,
Of friendships, lovers, children engage,
A wealth of memories, now gather dust,
Once collected hard, to earn a trust.
But in the shadows, something always stirs,
A whisper faint, a presence blurs.
The path once walked, now cloaked in mist,
With unseen eyes that still persist.
For every step, for every dream,
There's something watching, so it seems.
A chill that creeps, a breathless hush—
The quiet sound of time's cold rush.
Go as far as you dare to tread,
Life walks closely with dead.
And in the dark, where echoes creep,
The grave will claim what you can't keep.