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For The Blood is the Life: A Frightful Halloween Quest.

Well, here I sit, next to this tree. Some silly initials carved above my head, and roots crawling under my legs. Waiting for the morning to come.

I don't really blame her for what she did. I don't know why, but I don't.

It happened a few hours ago, while I was reading through another one of her poems. Something about waves, I can't remember. Maggie was in the other room, making tea. It was cold, so she decided to make something that would warm us both up. Nice of her to do, interrupting her writing to make tea.

I had about finished with the poem when she came in with the tea.

"What did you think?" She asked.

"It's excellent." I said.

"That's it? Excellent? I asked the moon how he made the tides. I remembered the sound of the waves, the rush and the hiss. I heard the blue-green of the water."

She gave me my tea, and I sipped at it.

"You're beautiful." I smiled.

"I am sick." Maggie sighed and sat down, resigning herself to that fact.

She gripped her cup of tea and drank deeply. I did the same. It tasted spicy and sweet, like autumn.

"What did the moon say?" I asked.

"He said that it wasn't him. That the tides moved on their own." She nodded. She was very sure of this. But, hell, who was I to say that the tides didn't move on their own? Or that the moon didn't talk to a select few?

"Mag, what's this part about? '...pulls me toward the sun...'"

"Oh, the sun. She sung to me. Lullabies, to help me sleep. She's really very nice."

I smiled again. Lovely.

She sighed and started to sing very softly.

"Good night...good night..."

"Is that one of the sun's lullabies?"

She laughed. "No. I made that up."

Maggie put her cup down on the floor next to her chair and got up. Reached behind her and pulled out something I chose not to see.

She sighed again. "Richard, did you really like my poems?"

I nodded, and she smiled. It hurt to see that smile.

I stood up and put my cup down.

"That was good tea, Maggie. Thank you."

She nodded. "Moonwort and cloves. That's the other thing the moon told me about. Said he liked it, and he thought you would, too."

"You are beautiful."

Maggie stepped closer to me, so we were just touching.

"I am sick, Richard."

Maggie moved forward.

It went in cold and sharp, and came out hot and red. She pulled the knife out and tossed it onto the floor. Pain blossomed were she had stabbed me.

I left quickly. She had sat back down and picked up her tea, and I saw no reason to stay. So I walked out to the woods behind our little house. Her little house.

And here I am, under the comforting dead branches of a winter tree, waiting for the sun. Maybe she'll sing to me.

My apologies to the great Mr. Adams.