Once the Hallowe’en pre-season started, (on the first day of August by the way!,) it became almost impossible to go in any shop without being inundated by the autumn pallet of colours on everything. When we went to do our weekly food shopping, (2am in the morning is our favourite time), pumpkin shaped buns, sweets and cakes clamoured for our attention, and skeleton hats, suits and pencil-toppers were literally everywhere. With grandchildren to supply with much of this crap, we would walk slowly, passing and inspecting the goods on offer. Ken obviously hated it. Men do I guess – until it comes to putting something together, or building something ridiculously large, ready to fit into the smallest corner or nook. But each year seemed to bring more and more ‘innovations’ from retail suppliers. “You wanted a mug in the shape of an apparition, why not try these slippers, these oven mittens, this set of cushions, these golf balls? How-a-bout a ghoul umbrella, a set of skull plant pots or maybe this doorbell that heavy breathes and laughs at the caller?”
It’s insane.
Over the years we had seen the growth of the season, no doubt fuelled by the influx of TV programmes from the US, as with everything, where every suburban neighbourhood seems to have a sudden conversion from mid-town America, to ghost train infested cemeteries with bats, demons and zombies everywhere springing up at people who walked through a shopping mall, restaurant or office… Ken and I were not of the opinion that we needed everything, but did like to dress up the house front at least. Living on a main road out of town, we got very few trick or treaters, and to be honest, usually went out for a drive on the 31st itself, to have a look around at other people’s decorations – just like at Christmas!
Anyway, last year was a bit different…
The day had started normally, a trip to the cafe in the morning. Full English, cup of tea, small bottle of fresh orange juice and some toast. Breakfast needs to be well done in our house, Ken likes it all black. I like it crispy and the eggs turned over, it’s a choice we sometimes get into trouble with the cafes for, but hey, we’re paying. Discussion about what we would do throughout the day became the main topic, and it went like this;
Breakfast.
Wander around the village shops.
Try to incorporate enough steps to make us feel good about ourselves.
Try not to buy any more books.
Make the rest of the day up.
Don’t forget to stop for a coffee!
Once you get past sixty it easy to fall into the habit of not doing enough, and we certainly don’t want to do that, Ken’s 63 next and I’m just 61.
Oh, sorry, forgot to introduce myself didn’t I – I’m Mrs Alison Freedall, married for twenty-nine amazing years to Kenneth Algenon Freedall. We live in a lovely part of Wales now, after moving from Bradford ten years ago. We had both worked from being 16 and, to be completely honest with you, had just had enough of the slog. It’ll be ages yet till we both pull our state pensions, but we both have a couple of private ones that keep us alive. The house was paid off a year before we moved so that bought our little bungalow and left some to go into savings. Ken does a bit of work here and there, decorating for people, and I have a few private clients who I do accountancy work for. I find that even with all these apps and online systems that promise to do everything for you, I can still find far too much work from people who just want to hand a pile of paperwork over and forget it! Oops, I keep going off the subject don’t I?
Silly me!
At about 3pm then, on Friday the 31st of October 2025 we had got ourselves up to just over seven thousand steps for the day, eaten well, kept hydrated and caffeined up and seen enough gift shops to last the rest of the year. Book tally was only four; a new heist thriller by one of the big American authors, and three second handers, what the US call ‘thrift books’. I found a history of butterfly catching by a nineteenth century lady of leisure, an interesting volume of dialect poetry from Cornwall and Ken picked up a nice annual of cartoons from Punch Magazine from the ’80s.
Happy faces all round.
We had wandered off up the road towards the free carpark, when our eyes caught a flash of colour and movement from the end of the Newsagent’s block.
“Did you see that?”
“Well I saw something red and moving fast round the corner. What or who was it do you think?”
“Bloody Hell Alison, I saw a blur of movement, a red coat and a boot, and that was it.”
“Santa it was then!” I had said and couldn’t stop myself laughing. We were so nosey.
“We are so nosey aren’t we Ken! Shall we run up and see if we can spot who it is?” and I actually started to walk very quickly the next thirty or so steps, clutching my books and the shopping bag tightly at my side. I was obviously giggling, which hindered me somewhat, and by the time I reached the corner, stopped and looked behind me, all I could see was Ken doubled over laughing too, but probably at my ‘running’…
“Come On!” I stage whispered to him, and he eventually caught up with me. We stuck our heads around the corner, trying to be as inconspicuous as we could, but, both giggling still – we soon stopped. And stared.
About ten yards away with their back to us, one foot on the pavement and the other in the road, stood a tall figure swathed in a flowing red shawl, and red layers of cloth, or silk, or satin, or even taffeta! They had their arms up and was shouting in the direction of the next block end, where a large hare was quivering, before turning and running off round the corner. The figure in red screeched and set off running towards the corner, passing the small chip shop and casting a reflection that even Ken with his terrible eyes, could see was a woman with long black hair. Arriving at the corner, the woman quickly turned around, scanning, saw us, pointed at us, then turned back and fled down the next road. Well! I can tell you, we looked at each other and had another good laugh….
“That was amazing Alison, the woman chasing that rabbit…”
“It was a hare Ken. No white tail.”
“It was still amazing. Must be some sort of play for Halloween, like Mummers or something. A mobile Punch and Judy maybe.”
“Hmmmm, it looked like a mother chasing a wayward child more like to me.” I answered, tears dribbling down my cheeks. “All I know is I’m a bit whacked out after all that excitement. let’s get to the car and get home before it goes dark. We can always come back out later if you fancy.”
“Good idea.” Ken always agreed with me whatever the suggestion was. Didn’t always act on it though, but that is what we did that day.
After the ten minute drive, chattering and making up different scenarios for the scene we had seen, we got home, packed away the shopping, and sat with a cuppa inspecting our book haul. Ken did some jobs in the garden after, brought some kindling inside for the wood-burner and made sure all was secure outside. there had been signs of visitations from foxes the last few days, which was strange at this time of year, but you could never tell. After a tea of ham and chips with a corn on the cob each, and apple pie from the day before to finish, I washed up and made a coffee for us both. It was 7:15 by now, and dark outside, but the sky was clear and no sign of rain or anything other than the gentle breeze that had accompanied the afternoon.
“Let’s take a wander around the village again Alison shall we? See if anything exciting is happening. We could dress up as witches if you like….scare some kids.”
“Naah, I don’t feel in the mood for dressing up, but a wander round and a hot toddy in ‘The Quiet Woman’s Head’ sounds like a grand evening to me” I told him, and went to put my coat on.
We drove down and parked behind the pub, which looked to be hosting a children’s party. There were kids in costumes everywhere, with a group of adults, presumably parents, sat on a bench drinking, smoking and looking bored.
After locking the car, (I think it was still the Volvo, I remember we swapped it for the new Electric Chinese Box in November,) we set off for a leisurely stroll, revisiting the streets we had wandered earlier in the day. We met a couple of people we knew on the way; Dai from the library, English John and Scottish John – who both worked at the joinery company making bespoke furniture, then a bit further on Bethany from the post office and her boyfriend Carl, who didn’t seem to do anything except sleep and drink in the pub. All were jovial and chatted about Halloween with us before continuing their journeys.
“I am so glad we moved here Ken.” I told him as we strolled. “I honestly cannot remember the last time we met someone horrible, can you?”
“Not really, we do seem to have landed on our feet don’t we. It’s ten years now, but I feel like I have always lived here, with you by my side, in absolute bliss!”
“Stop being a pretentious twat!” I remember replying, and gave him a quick kiss when he gave me his hurt look. We both laughed and continued our walk.
We looked through any open windows we saw, Ken always saying “Well if they don’t draw their curtains it is as close to an invitation as the phrase ‘come on in,” and we spoke with all the cats we were inspected by as we passed through their territories. A big ginger tom even jumped down from his watch tower, (atop a stone gate pier) to meet us and push his haunches against our legs and then hiss when Ken tickled his ears. “Charming!” Ken said to him as he slowly jumped back onto the pillar, stretched, yawned and curled back up, fast asleep, but with one eye lazily watching us as we walked past him.
As we got to the spot where we saw the lady in red that afternoon, we joked about whether we would run into her again. A group of devils, spidermen and a girl dressed as Lady Gaga rushed by us laughing and screaming as only young children can. Their footsteps echoing and the aroma of sweetness assaulting our noses as they carried what appeared to be hot dogs, burgers and oodles of sweeties rattling in orange plastic Frankenstein’s monster’s head buckets.
“Oh God, do you remember taking Stuart and Samantha out like that all those years ago? We never seem to be at their homes do we for Halloween, I’d love to take the Geekays out before they get too old…” “Perhaps next year Alison. We’ll see if we can fit it in to our heavy schedule…” We both howled, “Fat chance, Stu and Glinda always book a holiday at the ‘Spanish residence’ about now, and the other two never leave the house unless they have two.” “Bloody modern parents and modern kids eh!”
We both looked in opposite directions, caught in our own thoughts.
“What the…” I heard ken shout and turned in time to catch the view of a red swirl and black boot turning the corner of the road and disappear.
“Ken, was that..”
“It bloody was. How much did you see?”
“The same as earlier, some red clothing and a black boot…. Come on!”
We sped up and reached the corner and went straight round.
We then stopped dead.
Mid step.
We must have looked like one of those living statues to anyone watching.
Outside the chippy stood a large hare, silhouetted by the street lamp. It was staring directly at us, and in between us and the hare, stood the woman with black hair, and her clothes blowing around her, as if moved by a breeze we couldn’t feel. She noticed by the reaction of the hare that we had arrived on the scene, and slowly span round to face us. She seemed to be speaking at us, but we heard no sound, and we stood as if frozen, and stared at her face. After a few agonisingly elongated seconds she made to throw something at us, then turned, jumped a little into the air and transformed into a greyhound – bounding off after the hare, which had abandoned its staring and galloped around the corner of the street. The spell broken, I looked at Ken, he looked at me and we both shouted “YES!” and off we set at speed to the corner, and down ‘Rhuddlan Street’. We saw the greyhound get near to the hare, but just as it was about to be bitten, it flashed and changed form into a large salmon, landing in a fish pond in the front garden of Number Two. The greyhound howled and transformed itself into something like an otter and followed the salmon into the pond. We had caught them up by this time and stood transfixed as the otter twisted and turned trying to catch the salmon, so it turned into a kingfisher and launched out of the water and began to fly up to the top of the house. I stood holding Ken’s Hand.
“This is amazing he said, just like that weekend in Amsterdam!” but I failed to reply, as the otter changed into a sea eagle and flew up and up, searching for its prey. It nearly caught it too, narrowly missing around the old chimney on top of the house. We stood watching, open mouths, as the kingfisher then became something small and fell quickly to the pavement by our side. I reached down instinctively and picked it up and held it in my hand.
“What is it?” Ken asked, and peered down at it.
“Looks and feels like a grain of corn or wheat or some such.” I told him, prodding my finger at it. We looked at each other, hearts banging away, eyes wide and I could see that Ken was sweating. We looked around, wanting to see the eagle, to see what would come next. We waited. We cooled down a bit. We watched as the group of children ran back past the end of the road, weighed down even more with goodies and treats. We looked questioningly at each other, again.
“What should we do?” I asked of Ken. He would know what to do next. he always did.
“I don’t know!”
What a let-down… I did not say anything out loud…
“I know,” Ahh, this is more like it I thought.
“Let’s go back to where that cat was, we’ll put that corn or whatever it is on the top of the gate post and stand a bit off aways and watch it. See if anything else happens.”
“Sounds good Ken, come on.” I agreed and started walking, the grain tight in my fist.
The ginger tom had left his post, no doubt off chasing females or a mice. I lay the grain on the top, in the middle, and we went to stand a few yards away, but where we had a good view. I was panting with excitement, and Ken cuddled me as we stood, whispering nothing of any substance into my ear. I couldn’t take my eyes off the gate post, and missed completely as a chicken skipped and clucked its way behind us and up to the gate. It made some more clucky noises then did a three foot standing jump up onto the top of the gate post, looked round once and then bent to eat the grain in one mouthful. As we stood there gawping, unable to move or speak, the chicken then gave out a loud cackle, jumped off the gate post and landed transformed, once again as an eagle. It took a step towards us. We took a simultaneous step back. It made a guttural noise like laughing, looked straight into our eyes and flew off over the houses.
I looked into Ken’s eyes.
“Drink?”
“Yes please!”
We hurried to the pub.
Some how it had become 9:15 by the time we reached the pub’s door, and we were both freezing. I went to the ‘ladies’. And when I got back, found Ken in a corner booth, sat nursing a glass steaming into his face.
“I got doubles, hope that’s ok?”
“Trebles would have been ok Ken. Crisps??”
“Of course, I’ve got steak and mustard, you’ve got rosemary and sausage or something”
“Oooo sounds nice!” They were delicious, we crunched and sipped for ten minutes. No chat. Nothing, but staring, munching and sipping.
“Well, what do you think?” I eventually asked him, and watching as he turned his empty packet into the obligatory tight plastic knot. We locked eyes and he smiled that smile he could do. It was magical.
“I think – that we got caught up in something….very…..strange indeed!”
What a way with words this man I married has, I remember thinking!
