Triduum Story
Matthew Ryan Fischer
In
the distance the wind blended with the cars on the highway until it became impossible
to tell the two apart. Somewhere in the night there were sounds of people, of
travelers, of those who dared to explore the night. Then there was laughter.
And gasps of fear and anxiety from the young who weren’t quite sure if they
should be afraid of the dark night or enjoying it. There were the sounds of
adolescents fooling around, running and screaming and yelling to one another,
and scaring strangers and their friends alike, and picking on anyone that
reacted. It was all so very far away and too quiet to be clear, and it was hard
to tell what was real and what was imagined or a trick of the winds.
Somewhere
beyond all of that, there were the other sounds. There were the creatures that
howled at the moon, and the eerie moaning of wailing spirits. The dead
whispered and the living trembled. The victims screamed and the haunted cried
and begged for their lives.
Even
that blended together until it was unintelligible and mostly negligible.
It
was all distraction. It was a diversion. There was what went on, what most
people thought went on, what they wanted to be going on, and then there was
what was really happening. The Triduum of All Hallows was a misguided attempt
to remember and honor the dead. It was mostly forgotten, replaced by masks and
pranks and candy. But the Triduum had been important. Very important, even if
that importance had been forgotten.
The
line between the living and the dead had always been a terribly thin line. When
the cold and darkness came at summer’s end, the line grew weak. There were
holes. There was a blur and a mix and many many things came together to
intermingle and cross over.
Honoring
the dead had kept them at bay. But time had moved on and the people had
forgotten. The line disappeared and the spirits were unappeased.
The
Sinner’s Saint closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of chaos. There was a
whispering voice telling him to look and see and to judge. He found a sense of
clarity within it, a sense of understanding all things both good and ungood. He
was given three days to live and experience life again. He was given three days
and three nights. At the end of it Death would come calling and he would have
to return. But for now he had three days and three nights where the dark
blended with life and chaos was king. He had three days and three nights to do
as he pleased. And he intended on having himself quite a bit of fun.
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