Wicked Stems

Insomnia keeps her awake at night and often. Her mind runs like a horse, a drum machine that won't stop pounding beats on repeat. Sitting on her knees, in bed, drowning in the mystical world that always intrigued her, she opened one of her old magic books. Her skin illuminated by mornings first light, she looked deathly pale, like her heart would stop at any minute; Ivy died that morning. 

It was Halloween when the birds stopped singing, stopped flying. By afternoon there was no wind not even a breeze to move the fallen leaves scattered over the sidewalk.

A vain attempt to keep his creepy grin at bay, Robin, biting the edge of a smile, glanced over at Ivy in her favorite red velvet chair sitting before the fireplace. That mischievous look of his spread and in a few seconds that pirate grin of his was on her face too. A devil may care atmosphere that calls for a highly personalized soundtrack and a dress to match the grandeur of occasions, Robin dedicated his life to the party and so a party we shall have.

When night came there was no twilight, no sunset, simply a blackness that wrapped to the world. His breath as thick as the fog seeping through the cracks of the door, her muscles froze, crippling them to the concrete. From the darkness that lurks together they stood in the middle of the street waiting for the demons fashioned in their worst nightmares. The only light was a gentile yellow flicker from within the jack-o-lanterns on the porch.