How thou haveth dread for this ever distorting path though protracted it was not it with its trees desolate from summer's lack; all seeming as soaring black monsters reaching out as kindling were no longer so but arms with claws on tips or were they spirits of the departed grabbing in this night of Samhain, in attempts to make off with ye very soul, oh vagabond of the night



This be agonize on to ye for in all death be feared not but loss of soul and as thou walks the road on Samhain, in its menace turning the more, it seeming every move detected by sound seems to give pursuit upon thine being, ever ready to strike but what? Was it wind that blew or animals of the forest who at times become thine meals?

Pacing slowly, fearing more and more but daring not accelerate thy pace for terror of coming upon that which thou seeks to avoid for thine eyes find not foe; though senses scold it must be for be fear not caused by such, the unknown on ye way forward; always looking over shoulder safe in knowledge of sanctity to be found at home, ever getting onward, every swirl of the wind seeming that of spirits of evil passing.

Something upon thine back and soul, thou could give oath of tap upon thy being but how might it be; did souls not posses physical presence but merely that of spirit and yet thou turns eyes to behold not, wherest from attack will come thou be without clue for in battle against mortals; thine blade be relied upon but to what effect would it be against those who no longer be composed of flesh

Luminosity takes on more ominous tones as thou makes thine way; light which giveth appearance to every tree of life that be its own with evil intensions; exposed in shapes transform earth to beings of horror aided by what thine mind holds it to be

Or perhaps every large structure weather it be rock or tree hide danger behind ready to strike out when thine guard be distracted elsewhere, creatures howled in the distance but could it be other then nature calling, could it all be demons unleashed by this day of Samhain?

Or be it all imagination getting thine better part in ridiculing ye, as on many a nights gone past on this road .Fear be thine that let not saunter for what if it should come from behind, or from the sky disturbed as if demonstrating its rage against any who dare walk under its doom

And yet in freight thine courage takes up in strength; inquiring if nothing be more then eye surveys for what be in a tree but a figure incapable of movement or harm to any but yet it be thine doubting instinct guided by superstition which prevail

Samhain, and like years gone his would be to bare the day that eradicated the contour of severance between those that be living and whose desire was to vacate the spiritual after life to once again roam the earth in the solidness. Tis was the day that his would be taken for in all in fright his life would end.