Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

Ah Valentine, my Valentine, With beating heart, ah love of mine, With veins so rich and red, I’ll mine Your treasures, Valentine, my Valentine.

Slumped in a corner, he watched the victim die. Who was this man? The murderer rose, gazed dark-eyed back at him. Then two became one.

There were pickles enough for everyone, but sour-faced Glum wouldn’t share; kept their fingers to himself as well and rolled sweet eye-balls on his tongue.

Are there snakes in Ireland? Or worms That wriggle and squirm? Children cry. Three-leafed clovers for truth Four-leafed luck but Here’s five? Are there snakes? The invader Leaf-arms and leaf-legs and one head Takes the kids from their beds. Should’ve driven out clover dear Saint Let the green-snake grass grow.

“Mom. How did you meet Dad? He’s such a dork.” “Ah, love. You really don’t know him so well.” “But seriously Mom.” “Okay. I’ll tell... ...We were playing in the churchyard in the woods; you know, that old abandoned place where the roof’s caved in. And a demon came from…”

They say the fabric stretches thin one night a year and think it’s those in graves that rise to haunt with curious rage. But I wait here, imagined fear on brightly painted page. I look into your eyes. Don’t close the book. Time passes. Ticking clock. D’you hear? Just wait. Don’t close the book. The last bell tolls. That’s when I rise from paper, freed by fabric stretched too thin. That’s when I draw you in and sketch your face to take my place. That’s when I’m free. Next Halloween midnight I’ll hold the book tight-closed. Just wait and see.

They send a truck round to clear the leaves in the fall. It sounds like a vacuum cleaner. A long blue neck in front spews green and brown into the trailer behind. Sam thought it was a monster when he heard it. “What’s that noise?” “Don’t worry dear,” said Mom. “Just the leaf-truck again.” “What’s that?” He saw the neck over the vines. “Just chewing up leaves.” Then, “Mom. What’s that?” His brother’s shoe, a blue shred from his jeans, and the brown turned red. The monster looked down with glowing eyes and pointed bloodstained teeth. “You’re next,” it said.

If her father hadn’t been ill, and the dog hadn’t barked, and her brother hadn’t screamed all through the night, she would’ve still been in bed. But since she was up, she made breakfast, and having eaten she set off for the bus. “’Bye Mom.” “’Bye Sweetie. Take care.” Same as any other day. The headlamps, white against the dawn’s trailing light, slithered lazily, sleepily over the tree-lined streets like a snake sizing its prey. They bobbed and swayed in hollows and ruts, hypnotizing with the engine’s stuttering roar. Then teeth beneath them opened wide. An ordinary day no more.

He felt the usual sense of dread, as if the air were imbued with the victim’s memory, the dead seeking hope. Sergeant Daniels, in front, was suddenly still, lacking the will to walk through the open door. And Peter felt the air’s thick treacle boring into his mind. Copper filled his nose and choked his throat. Murder, he wrote. His limbs slowed down. Breath formed an empty cloud before his eyes. And motionless, a delicate jewel of red, clear rubied pearl, floated ahead, blood frozen in time. Too late for Daniels now, caught by the dead: Pete turned and fled.