Page 5

Chapter Five

T he Oriskany Falls town square was bustling with people and shops. Dash didn’t know how many people lived in town, but it seemed they’d all turned out for the festival. Was it really a festival if it happened every night for a whole month?

The town had been transformed into a whimsical autumnal landscape. It reminded him of the Christmas bazaars when he was a kid, only with a different theme. Jack-o’-lanterns of all sizes lined the streets, their flickering grins casting dancing shadows on the worn cobblestones, twinkling fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, and the god-awful scent of pumpkin spice.

Dash tugged on Slate’s arm at the caramel apple stand. He held up three fingers, and Slate and Liv nodded. Paying the merchant, he grabbed three sticks and handed them out. Stuffing the change in his pocket, he found another difference between Oriskany Falls and the city—cash. No one at the festival accepted payment by phone, and most didn’t accept credit cards. Thankfully, Liv had warned him, and he hit the ATM before meeting them.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never been to a proper Halloween festival,” Slate said, taking a bite of his apple.

He looked as amazing as always in a vintage-inspired outfit that perfectly straddled the line between costume and everyday wear. Dash stuck out in his jeans, hoodie, and Cuban fedora hat. Hopefully no one got offended, because he wasn’t buying a new wardrobe of Victorian-inspired clothes.

“Growing up in the city, Halloween was more about overpriced candy and questionable costume parties. This has a very different vibe.”

“Well, prepare to have your mind blown,” Slate grinned, grabbing Dash’s hand and pulling him towards a nearby booth. “First stop: Madame Zelda’s Cauldron of Curiosities!”

Slate had changed since the incident at Blackwood Manor two nights earlier. He touched Dash more, walked closer, and called just to say hello. Dash saw this behavior as a precursor to a relationship. A week ago, Dash would have run away scared, but he liked being close with Slate.

He was still processing his feelings when he found himself face-to-face with an elderly woman wearing an outrageous purple wig and enough jangling jewelry to stock a small boutique. She peered at him over half-moon spectacles, her eyes unnervingly sharp and knowing.

“Ah, the newcomer,” she crooned, her voice raspy yet somehow melodious. “Care to have your fortune told, dear?”

Dash didn’t like everyone calling him the newcomer, and he was totally skeptical of fortune telling. Even his supernatural experiences at Blackwood Manor didn’t change his opinion that this was something he’d find at a seedy carnival midway exhibit. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Oh, go on,” Slate handed the woman ten dollars and nudged Dash forward. “It’s all part of the Oriskany Falls experience.”

He held out his palm because he knew it would make Slate happy. The significance of that needed to be unpacked at a later date.

Madame Zelda’s fingers were surprisingly warm as she traced the lines on his hand, her touch sending an unexpected shiver down his spine.

“Interesting,” she murmured, her brow furrowing. “I see a great change coming... a veil lifting... and a choice that will alter your path forever.” Her eyes snapped up to meet his, startlingly clear and intense. “Beware the night of the Blue Moon, dear. That’s when the veil is thinnest, and secrets long buried may come to light.”

A chill ran through Dash, and he quickly withdrew his hand. “Uh, thank you,” he mumbled, backing away from the booth, unsettled by how her words seemed to echo the strange events at Blackwood Manor.

Slate followed, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost again.”

Dash blinked, trying to shake off the eerie feeling. “What was all that stuff about the Blue Moon and the veil is thinnest?”

“You know how fortune tellers are.” Slate tried to brush it off, but his voice was uneasy. “It’s just some words.”

“No,” Dash stopped walking. “Some of what she said felt like what happened at your house.”

“Not really. All that stuff is part of the local legend,” Slate said with more conviction. “This time of year, everyone’s telling ghost stories.”

Dash wanted to believe him, but he was sure there was more going on than he knew. He didn’t think Slate was lying as much as keeping back information. What Zelda said was generic enough that it could be just as Slate said.

“Liv ditched us while you were getting your fortune read,” Slate said. “Let’s see if we can find her.”

Dash ignored the obvious redirection, and followed Slate deeper into the festival. As they walked around the town square, Dash gradually relaxed. The townspeople, while undeniably quirky, were welcoming in a way he hadn’t experienced before. He watched a surprisingly intense pumpkin carving contest where the gourds appeared to change expression on their own, and even allowed Slate to paint a small jack-o’-lantern on his cheek, the cool paint tingling slightly on his skin.

The painting had been more intimate than Dash expected. It required them to be inches apart for several minutes. That close, with nothing to do except remain still, Dash studied Slate's face. Slate smiled the entire time, like he'd wanted to do this his whole life. Every time their eyes met, Slate's smile widened. Dash didn't exactly swoon, because who swooned, but it made him feel appreciated, and strangely at home in this eccentric town.

“Dash! Slate!” Liv’s voice cut through the festival chatter. She appeared in a new outfit from when they last saw her. She must’ve gone home to change into a witchy costume, complete with a pointed hat adorned with tiny, softly glowing pumpkins. “I’ve been looking for you two. Oh, nice pumpkin, Dash.”

Dash blushed, and wondered if she knew he let Slate do it. The way Slate smiled proudly, she could probably guess. “Slate painted it. Said I needed more Halloween spirit.”

“Did he.” She dragged out the second word. “He’s always been good at art. I take it you’re having fun?”

He caught himself before playing it down. Slate wanted to come to the festival with Dash and while they didn’t talk about it, this was a date. “It’s more fun than I expected,” Dash said, sneaking a peek at Slate. “Though I’m still trying to wrap my head around some of these customs. What’s with the competitive gourd rolling?”

Liv’s eyes lit up, and she launched into an enthusiastic explanation. “Oh, that’s one of our oldest traditions! It dates back to the town’s founding in 1692. Legend has it that a group of witches used enchanted pumpkins to escape persecution. Now we reenact it every year as a way to honor our history and have a bit of fun.”

Since he was going to have to live in Oriskany Falls, Dash had researched the town before accepting the job. He hadn’t read anything about their obsession with Halloween. He found the town’s history fascinating, especially how the lore and legend infused itself into every aspect of life here.

He snuck glances at Slate as Liv detailed other unique Oriskany Falls customs like the midnight moth release, the whisper tree rituals, and the peculiar habit of leaving offerings of cinnamon cookies at crossroads. Slate caught him every time Dash looked. For someone so confident, Slate seemed hesitant when it came to Dash.

Inching closer, he brushed his hand against Slate’s. He wasn’t sure what it would accomplish, but he hoped it would send the message that Dash was glad to be at the festival together. A second later, Slate hooked his pinky around Dash’s.

They both stood still, staring ahead as if looking at each other would break the moment.

“Oh, for the love of pumpkins,” Liv said, rolling her eyes. “Would you two hold hands already?”

He looked at Slate who was as red faced as Dash felt. Neither pulled away, so Dash twisted his wrist until he laced his fingers with Slate’s. The smile he got in return was priceless.

“Much better,” Liv said. “Let’s move around. I need a pumpkin spice chai.”

Dash didn’t groan at the mention of the horrid drink, he was too pleased to be holding Slate’s hand.

Liv led the way, threading them through the crowd. Walking with Slate’s hand wrapped around his, the festival took on a more magical atmosphere for Dash. He laughed more, noticed new things, and had way more fun than he expected when he agreed to come.

They’d made their way around the perimeter of the square, and stood in front of the large open space in the center. Couples had gathered and appeared to be waiting for something.

“What’s this?” Dash asked.

“The Midnight Waltz.” Slate’s ever-present smile grew wider. “It’s another old Oriskany Falls tradition. Legend has it that if you dance with someone at midnight between the full moons, your souls become entwined for a year and a day.”

Dash raised an eyebrow, a mix of skepticism and intrigue washing over him. “That sounds potentially complicated.”

“Scared?” Slate teased. The moonlight caught his green eyes, making them seem to glow. “Come on, it’s just a dance. Unless you believe in all that soul-binding stuff.”

A gust of wind swept through the square, carrying with it the scent of wood smoke and something wilder, more ancient. Several nearby lanterns flickered and went out. In the shadows, Dash thought he saw ghostly figures twirling at the edge of his vision, their forms translucent and shimmering. An instant later they were gone.

“Did you see that?” he asked Slate in a shaky whisper.

“The veil’s getting thinner,” Slate said, his expression serious. “We should probably go.”

The music swelled before Dash could agree. A haunting melody engulfed them, and the crowd surged forward, sweeping Dash and Slate with them onto the makeshift dance floor. Surrounded by dozens of couples, Dash was pressed close to Slate, and they moved to the ethereal tune.

Dash forgot about the strangeness of the town, and the eerie event that brought them into the dance. Those thoughts were pushed aside by the feel of Slate’s hand on his waist, the warmth of his breath, the way their bodies seemed to fit together so well. They twirled under the moon light, and Dash felt a strange sensation. He was probably just imagining things, but it was as if invisible threads wove around them, binding them together in ways he couldn’t fully comprehend.

The music reached a crescendo, and their faces mere inches apart. Dash’s heart pounded as Slate leaned closer. He felt the warmth of Slate’s breath on his face.

“Well, well, well,” a shrill voice cut through the moment like a knife. “Looks like our Slate has found himself a beau!”

They broke apart to find an older woman staring at them with undisguised glee. Around them, other townspeople were watching with varying degrees of interest and amusement, some whispering behind their hands, others grinning openly.

Dash’s face flushed as he straightened up, very aware of the many eyes upon them. It was like being back in high school, and everyone wanted to know who was dating who. Slate, however, was unfazed by the attention.

“Mrs. Finch,” he said smoothly, a charming smile on his face. “I see you’re as observant as ever. Always first with the news, aren’t you?”

The older woman started asking a barrage of question, but Slate moved them off the floor. “Welcome to small-town life.”

Despite his embarrassment, Dash didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. There was something almost comforting about being part of the town’s gossip. The people cared enough to notice. It was a stark contrast to the anonymity of city life.

They made their way through the crowd, ignoring questions and dodging knowing looks. Dash smiled at how different this place was from what he imagined when he first arrived. He decided Halloween wasn’t so bad, except for pumpkin spice.

They passed by Madame Zelda’s booth and he caught her eye. She smiled at him, but then put a finger to her temple. Her earlier warning, “Beware the night of the Blue Moon,” echoed in his mind.

Dash shivered and he was reminded that beneath the festive exterior, a deeper and possibly darker mystery still waited to be unraveled.

Slate must have sensed his unease, because he squeezed Dash’s hand reassuringly. “Doing okay?”

Dash nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Taking it all in.”

They left the town square and the sounds of the festival faded behind them. Dash found himself at a crossroads, both literally and figuratively. To his left was his rented apartment, and the life he’d known before coming to Oriskany Falls. Blackwood Manor and it’s uncharted territory and potential danger was to his right.

Slate hadn’t invited him to come home with him, but when they each headed toward their respective homes, Slate hadn’t let go. For all his outward confidence and happy exterior, Dash realized Slate was as insecure about some things as Dash.

He met Slate’s gaze and felt a gentle tug on his hand. It was almost too soft to notice, but it was a seismic event to Dash. He hesitated for a moment, and then leaned to his right. Slate’s smile almost lit up the night.

They turned right, still holding hands and headed toward Blackwood Manor.