Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

And so here I stand on a bridge between worlds. I’d have been grounded if my parents had known I was even considering coming out here, but that’s not what causes me to hesitate. The passion and defiance of my teenage years has brought me this far, hormones drowning out any thoughts of the consequences of my disobedience. What do they know anyway? I’m almost a man, almost an adult in the eyes of the law. I am my own person and no one can take that away, family or otherwise. My life is mine to lead, my choices mine to make, and they will just have to learn to accept that. Strange sounds carry on the breeze, creatures of the night screaming both threats and warnings. If I had any sense I’d turn back. Everything about the woods seems uninviting, yet they also carry a forbidden allure tempting me onwards. One more step and I will cross from civilisation to wilderness. Why is that so hard? I remind myself of the prize within and my uncertainty is swept aside by fresh determination. ...

Mournful they toll, the church bells sounding their song of sorrow as the day dies and the sun’s light fails. And so it begins. Halloween they call it now. Halloween, just another seasonal holiday, over commercialised and made trivial in today’s society. The old ways have been lost to science, ancient truths replaced with the comfort of modern lies, sacred rites turned into childish fun and booze fuelled parties. But this is still All Hallows’ Eve, Samhain, the time of the dead. And there are still those who believe. As the veil between worlds thins and dusk falls, the bells toll for lost souls and Christians pray. Pagans light their bonfires and prepare their feasts, an extra place at the table set for the departed. But surely these are no more than silly superstitions, out of place in present times? Surely there’s no real danger to be had in walking the streets this night, or at least none more than on any other night? So you tell yourself as you make your way home, a late fini...