Just before midnight the crowds begin to swell as they gather in eager anticipation of the annual Hallow parade. Everyone comes to see the parade; twisted old folk with wrinkled faces, their gnarled hands clutching staves and sticks while they tell their grandchildren about Hallow parades of old (yes even in the underworld the elders wax lyrical of mystical and magical times when they were young and everything was infinitely more appealing); gaunt pale young lovers cuddle close in the moonlight; beautiful women hunt clandestinely for handsome men who in turn pretended not to notice their advances as they promenade down the cobbled lanes feigning a search for a good vantage point. Mothers clutch at babes and whisper to them excitedly, whilst their older offspring tear about, sticky with blood red toffee apples and hyped up on sugar. Elves, imps, scoundrels and urchins– none are immune to the bewitching lure of the parade.
Finally as the clock chimes midnight the procession begins it’s meandering crawl through the dimly lit streets. Chilling ghouls with huge papier-mâché heads dance drunkenly about, buffeted too and fro by the crowd. They are trailed by a somber legion of tall, gloomy undertakers complete with tape measure and top hats. An old fashioned hearse drawn by 4 jet black, plumed horses comes alone, within it’s glass casket a ravishing vampiress can be seen hissing and clawing at the by standers. A troupe of truly disturbing , sullen fowl mouthed clowns come next, berating and insulting all that they meet, which delights the children no end. A few mischievous youngsters retaliate in turn by menacing their baggy pant clad tormentors mercilessly, this only serves to spark a new out pouring of obscenities from the disgruntled jesters.
Strange an exotic acrobats and contortionists pull up now– part human, part beast and adorned with opulent costumes and elaborate masks. Behind them a team of curly mustached, implausibly muscular strong men haul a side show of freaks on the back of a lorry– bearded ladies , mermaids and mermen, multi limbed and headed beings, sword and fire eaters and a magician who pulls fearsome beasts from a small black sack. All of this to the sound of a bone orchestra who marches along farther back.
The crowd is mesmerized, the pick pockets frantic to take advantage of the stupefied lords and ladies in their ermine and velvet and tatty, smelly old wigs.
The beasts are magnificent– mighty winged griffins carrying feather clad show ghouls, werewolves howling hauntingly at the moon and growling menacingly at the people and a herd of centaurs stamping and scraping the ground with their hooves, while maintaining an intricate formation.
The Major of the underworld has a float all of his own; his corpulent form swathed in midnight blue velvet , he reclines on a marvelous chaise lounge devouring great handfuls of insects and throwing sugared ants and deep fried cockroaches to the spirited crowd— who consume them with gusto.
Specters and ghosts, spirits and sprite drift past the assembled masses leaving the scent of moss and incense in their wake. A thick, low lying fog billows around them and meanders about the legs of the audience as if it has a life of it’s own. It thickens like a luxurious floating carpet, signaling to the crowd the impending arrival of the star of the evening; The Queen of the Nocturne, this years matriarch of Halloween.
She doesn’t disappoint her subjects, drawn forth by her loyal minions, she sits resplendent on a ebony throne, festooned by ivory skulls and glittering Jackolanterns. She is flanked by hooded body guards and surrounded by sleek black cats, who glare at the public and hiss and spit at each other quite randomly, to their mistress’ delight. Bats hover about her mane of jet curls and stars fall about her china doll perfect face. The gathered masses draw a collective breath, for their Queen is indeed beautiful. Later they will push and shove and jostle in order to get a Halloween audience with her in the hope she will grant them dark fortune for the coming year. But the Queen’s reign is a short and precarious one; every evening until the stroke of midnight next Halloween will rob her of her fragile beauty, eroding her youthful looks until she becomes a withered crone. As her sparkling crown is removed and placed upon the head of her successor, the old Queen will crumble and fade to dust, cast off upon the wind and forgotten amidst the splendor of the All Hallows Parade.
- Jen 2007
