Mervanwyck and the Long Halloween
By Paul Koontz
Long ago, when the old forests were deeper and the stars seemed close enough to touch, there lived among the Fair Folk a king named Mervanwyck. He was known by many names: Lord of the Green Glade, Warden of the Starlight Gate, and First Among the Fair Folk. He was old even by the standards of the Fae, having watched kingdoms rise where forests once stood, villages grow into towns, and towns become cities. He had danced beneath summer moons, ridden with winter winds, and walked beside humans on nights when the boundary between their world and his grew thin.
Of all the nights of the year, there was one he favored above the rest: the old autumn night when the leaves fell, the fires were lit, the dead were remembered, and the doors between worlds stood open. Humans had given the night many names over the centuries, and Mervanwyck knew them all. Whatever they called it, he loved it.
But the years passed, and the humans forgot. They forgot the old names first, then the old stories, and finally, they forgot the Fair Folk altogether. The Fae did not disappear; they simply stopped being noticed. They continued their lives in the old places, just beyond the sight of human eyes, holding court beneath ancient trees, quarrelling over streams and mushrooms and moonlight, celebrating their own holidays, and keeping their own traditions. Mervanwyck continued to rule, and for a very long time, nothing seemed to change.
Then came a summer that seemed determined never to end. The days grew long and hot, the streams shrank, the leaves hung motionless in the trees, and even the Fae began to complain. One evening, after a particularly tedious gathering of the Fair Folk, Mervanwyck looked across the Green Glade and announced, "I am tired."
Several courtiers stared at him. "Of what, Your Majesty?" one finally asked.
"Summer."
There was a thoughtful silence. "Summer has been rather persistent," another Fae admitted.
"Precisely." Mervanwyck rose from his throne. "I shall retire to my chambers."
"Until when?"
"Until autumn."
The Fair Folk exchanged glances. They knew their king, and when Mervanwyck said he was going to sleep, it was generally best not to interfere. He walked to his chambers, closed the great wooden door, settled beneath his blankets, and said, "Wake me when the leaves begin to fall." Then he closed his eyes.
The Fae did not wake him. Autumn came, winter followed, spring returned, and summer came again. Years passed, and while the Fae occasionally wondered if they should wake their king, they never did. "Has Mervanwyck awakened?" someone would ask. "No." "Should we wake him?" "No." "Perhaps we ought to." "Perhaps." They never did.
Years became decades, and decades became centuries. The world changed, but the Fae continued on without their king, and Mervanwyck slept.
Above his chambers, the world continued to turn. The Earth followed its ancient path, the moon crossed the sky, and the seasons came and went. Far above the Green Glade, the stars shifted as well. Stars that had once stood beside one another drifted apart, while stars that had been separated slowly drew together. Constellations changed, and new patterns appeared in the night sky as old ones disappeared.
Then, one autumn night, after a very long time indeed, the stars reached a particular alignment, and the Starlight Gate opened. It had not opened in generations. There was no thunder, no flash of lightning, and no great proclamation from the heavens, but simply a soft sound, like a distant chime or a whisper of music, traveling through the Green Glade and into the chambers of the sleeping king.
Mervanwyck stirred, and his eyes opened. For a moment, he did not know where he was. Then he heard it again: a child's laugh, bright and unmistakable. He had not heard such a sound in a very long time.
He rose from his bed and walked toward the Starlight Gate, which stood open beneath the trees, glowing faintly. Beyond it was darkness, but from somewhere on the other side came the child's laughter again, followed by a voice calling out, "Happy Halloween!"
Mervanwyck stopped. The word stirred something in his ancient memory. Halloween. The old night. The night he had loved. He smiled, murmured, "Well," and stepped through the Gate.
He emerged beneath a maple tree and blinked. The world was bright, not with sunlight, but with pumpkins. They were everywhere, sitting upon porches, carved into faces, painted, decorated, stacked, or illuminated from within. There were skeletons, witches, ghosts, spiders, bats, gravestones, and one enormous inflatable creature floating above a lawn dressed as a dragon.
Mervanwyck stared at it and looked around slowly. "Well," he said, "this has changed."
A child's laughter sounded nearby. Mervanwyck turned and saw a child and a parent in the front yard putting the final decorations into place. The child held a string of lights while the parent struggled with a particularly stubborn section of artificial cobweb.
"Almost," the parent said.
"It keeps falling."
"I know."
"It fell again."
"I noticed."
The child laughed, and Mervanwyck found himself smiling. Then, without quite knowing why, he laughed too.
The child turned, and their eyes met. For a moment, Mervanwyck wondered whether the child could actually see him as they looked at his old-fashioned clothes and the curious expression on his face.
"Are you a king?"
Mervanwyck straightened. "I am."
The parent looked up from the tangled webbing, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. "You're a king?"
Mervanwyck bowed slightly. "Mervanwyck, Lord of the Green Glade, Warden of the Starlight Gate, and First Among the Fair Folk."
The child beamed. "Hi, Merv. I'm Leo."
Mervanwyck blinked, caught off guard by the sheer simplicity of it. He looked toward the parent, who offered a warm, easy smile and held out a hand.
"I'm Sarah," she said, her tone completely devoid of fear or suspicion. "Nice to meet you, Mervanwyck."
"Merv," Leo repeated helpfully.
"Yes," Mervanwyck said carefully, shaking Sarah's hand and looking down at the small boy. "I suppose Merv will do."
Leo pointed to the lawn. "We're decorating. Do you want to help?"
Mervanwyck looked around the yard. He had ruled the Fair Folk, commanded armies of creatures that lived beneath hills and in hollow trees, and been offered gold, jewels, honey, milk, and the first fruits of harvest. No one had ever simply introduced themselves and invited him to help.
"I believe I would," he said.
Leo handed him a string of lights, and Mervanwyck examined it. "What is this?"
"Christmas lights."
"It's Halloween."
"Mom says they're Christmas lights."
Sarah nodded. "They work."
Mervanwyck considered the tangled cord. "It appears to be attempting to strangle itself."
Sarah laughed. "That's normal."
"Your people have made considerable progress." Mervanwyck began untangling the lights. He was not particularly good at it, and Leo laughed again. Mervanwyck laughed with them.
Then Sarah looked toward a high branch. "We still need to hang the ghost."
"I can do that," said Mervanwyck.
"You need a ladder."
Mervanwyck raised one hand, and the ghost rose gently from the ground. Leo gasped as it floated upward and settled perfectly among the branches. Lowering his hand, Mervanwyck offered, "A small convenience."
Leo grinned. "Do it again."
"I suppose I could." And so the three of them finished decorating the yard.
As evening deepened, the neighborhood changed. Children appeared in costumes, including witches, ghosts, superheroes, and animals. One child was dressed as a dinosaur.
Mervanwyck studied the dinosaur carefully. "What manner of beast is that?"
"T-Rex."
"I have never heard of it."
"It's extinct."
Mervanwyck looked impressed. "You dress as extinct monsters?"
"Yep."
Mervanwyck nodded. "Your people continue to improve."
He saw a child dressed as a vampire. "That one appears to have put considerable effort into looking dead." Then he saw the child's parents. "And those two appear to be encouraging it."
Sarah laughed.
Mervanwyck began to understand. Halloween had changed, but perhaps not as much as he had first thought. The masks remained, the costumes remained, and the laughter remained. The children were still celebrating the darkness rather than fearing it.
Then Leo took Mervanwyck by the hand. "Come on."
"Where?"
"Trick-or-treating."
Mervanwyck looked at Sarah. "What is trick-or-treating?"
Sarah smiled. "You'll see."
Leo pulled him along, and Mervanwyck learned quickly. He learned that children carried buckets and bags, that they went from house to house, and that people opened their doors and gave them sweets.
He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "They give them food? Freely?"
"Well, they have to say trick or treat."
Mervanwyck thought about this. "So, the children threaten them?"
"Not exactly."
He watched a child approach a door, shout "Trick or treat!", receive candy, and run away laughing after a polite "Thank you!" Mervanwyck nodded solemnly. "A very sound tradition."
At one house, the homeowner dropped a handful of candy into Leo's bucket. At another, they received chocolate, and at another, small toys. At one house, however, the homeowner gave out fruit.
Mervanwyck stared. "Fruit?"
Leo sighed. "Yeah."
Mervanwyck looked toward the house. "Perhaps we should offer them a little magic in exchange. A very small enchantment?"
"No, Merv."
"A mild curse?"
"No!"
Mervanwyck sighed. "Very well."
They continued. At every house, the children laughed, and at every door, people smiled. Mervanwyck watched, delighted. He had once been a figure of dread, receiving offerings left by humans to keep the Fair Folk pleased. Now, children came willingly to their doors, laughing and shouting. The ancient king found it delightful.
When they reached a street crossing, Leo stopped and said, "Hold my hand."
Mervanwyck looked down. "Why?"
"So we don't get separated."
"I have survived considerably more dangerous circumstances than this."
Leo took his hand anyway, and Sarah looked at Mervanwyck. "You heard the boss."
Mervanwyck sighed. "Apparently I did."
They crossed the street with Leo holding his hand tightly. Mervanwyck looked down at the small hand wrapped around his. For centuries, humans had feared him, whispered his name, avoided his paths, and left offerings for him. And now, a child was making certain that he crossed the street safely.
When they reached the other side, Mervanwyck looked down. "Thank you."
Leo looked up. "For what?"
Mervanwyck smiled. "For looking after me."
Leo grinned. "You're welcome, Merv."
Eventually, the town's trick-or-treating hour ended. The streets closed to automobiles, and the character of the neighborhood changed again. Music began playing, tables appeared, adults carried cider and food, and children sat together sorting their candy into piles.
Mervanwyck watched the process with great interest. "You sort it?"
"Of course."
"Why?"
"So, we know what we have."
Mervanwyck nodded. "Of course."
He sat at the edge of the gathering and watched as children ran and played, adults laughed and talked, and music filled the street. The smell of cider and warm food drifted through the evening air.
Mervanwyck looked around, and for the first time in centuries, he felt something he had almost forgotten: belonging. He looked at Leo, who was laughing, and at Sarah, who was laughing too. Everyone seemed happy.
Then he looked at the decorations and remembered the Green Glade, ancient Halloween nights, fires burning beneath the stars, and humans wearing masks to leave offerings. The old traditions had not disappeared; they had grown.
Mervanwyck stood and raised one hand. A faint shimmer moved through the air.
For a heartbeat, Sarah froze, staring, and Leo's mouth fell open in surprise. Mervanwyck himself seemed almost as delighted by their reactions as he was by the magic.
Then the skeleton hanging from a porch lifted its head, climbed down, and began to dance. The children erupted into laughter. A witch's hat tipped politely as the witch lifted her broom and attempted to fly, making it three feet before wobbling sideways and settling back onto the porch. Mervanwyck chuckled. "Close."
The jack-o'-lanterns blinked, their carved faces widening into enormous grins. Plastic bats began circling above the street, and inflatable ghosts floated loose from their anchors, drifting gently through the crowd. There was no fear, only laughter.
Mervanwyck laughed too. Sarah stared at him for another moment, then shook her head with a smile. "Did you do that?"
"I may have contributed."
Leo grabbed his hand. "Merv! Look! Make the skeleton dance!"
Mervanwyck lifted one finger. The skeleton performed an elaborate bow and began to dance faster while the children clapped. Mervanwyck laughed so hard that he had to sit down. He had not laughed like that in centuries, and perhaps, not ever.
Children pointed and shouted to one another, dragging parents from their seats to see the impossible display. Even the adults who had spent the evening pretending to be unimpressed found themselves laughing.
Later, as the night grew quiet, the magic faded. The skeleton climbed back onto the porch, the witch settled beside her broom, the jack-o'-lanterns stopped blinking, and the bats returned to their decorations. Children were carried home or walked home with tired parents, and the street grew quiet.
Mervanwyck stood beneath the stars. Behind him, the Starlight Gate waited, shimmering softly between the trees. Beyond it lay the Green Glade: his kingdom, his throne, his people, and everything he had known for centuries.
He looked toward the Gate, then back at the neighborhood where lights still glowed, a few adults were finishing cleanup, and a child laughed nearby. He stood very still. For the first time in a very long time, Mervanwyck had a choice. He could return to the Green Glade, or he could stay.
Then a voice came from behind him. Sarah stood in the doorway of the little house, one hand resting on the doorframe. "See you tomorrow, Merv?"
Mervanwyck turned. The question caught him completely off guard. Tomorrow. Sarah had assumed there would be a tomorrow, not Will you return to the Green Glade? or Will we see you again?, but simply, See you tomorrow, Merv?
Mervanwyck looked toward the Starlight Gate, then back at the little house, the pumpkins, the decorations, the quiet street, and the warm light spilling from the doorway. For centuries, he had been a king. Tonight, someone had simply invited him to come back tomorrow.
Mervanwyck smiled. "Yes," he said. Then, after a moment, he added, "I believe you shall."
The ancient king of the Fair Folk looked toward the Starlight Gate once more, then back at the lights, the houses, the pumpkins, the people, and the joy. He did not close the Gate. Not yet. There was still a decision to make, but Mervanwyck was no longer certain that returning to his old world was the choice he wanted.
And for the first time in centuries, he found that uncertainty rather pleasant. After all, tomorrow was another day, and Halloween would come again.