SAMHAIN

Every year I'm the zombie.  I get tired of it, but as they point out, I'm tall and have a slight twist in my back that makes me loom in a sinister way.  Lily is the vampire, type cast also, but she seems to relish it. She looks beautiful in her red dress, her black hair flowing down.  James is our axe wielding ghoul and Alice with her crooked nose and piercing eyes is the witch.
"Are we ready?" she asks us and we nod.

At precisely midnight we hit the street to blend with the raucous students and the shop girls who've been wearing their fancy dress and drinking cider all day.  We don't stay among them, we are looking for a fancier place.
"It's this way," says James.
"I've looked forward to this," Lily adds.
We enter and walk by the concierge who doesn't even look at us.  The carpeted corridor leads to the lift and the lift takes us to the penthouse.  We knock on the door and hand the youth that answers a bottle of wine, he invites us in immediately.
"See anyone you know here?" Alice asks with a low chuckle.
I nod smiling, thinking how funny it is that they're having the same conversations.  Jason Derrin is discussing property with Phillip Timpson in the usual Derrin versus Timpson portfolio competition.  There is Caroline Bundy on and on about the yacht her Daddy has bought her.  The Bundys always spoiled their children.
"Hey!" she cries coming over to me, "that severed head you're carrying looks real!"
I put it carefully on the table, reach forward with both my hands and snap her neck before she can protest.  Then I turn on her friend.  Screams and cries fill the room, but no-one comes.  Lily is flying about, tearing throats with her teeth and James is cutting heads with his axe.  Alice has done her part, her magic has sealed the doors, no-one can get in and no-one can get out.

I remember being a lad and asking Cora Bundy to play with me and she refused because I wore rags, was poor, was not good enough.  I recall Josh Derrin running poor Lily down with his horse when she stepped in the road to beg for money to feed her children and how Paul Timpson accused Alice of being a witch when she'd refused his advances.  Off to the gallows she had gone, her family having to pull at her legs to end her suffering.

It's funny how so little changes, money stays in the same families and guising still gets done, although they call it trick or treating now.  What they call Hallowe'en is Samhain to us, the night when the partition falls away and the dead come from the dark.  Tonight we came looking for the blood of those that hurt us and we found them the same as they've ever been.

THE PLAYROOM OF THE ONE PER CENT

“Right,” said Sean they pulled up, “here goes!”

Sally gazed at the primary school; “It looks wonderful, oh I hope you get in, Olivia, remember best behaviour!”
Inside they were greeted by the deputy head; “Mr and Mrs Chantry, welcome.  You must be Olivia.”
Olivia hid behind Sally’s legs.
Sally smiled; “So pleased to meet you, Mrs Evans, call me Sally.”

 

Mrs Evans didn’t volunteer her first name, she led the way round the school, showing them classrooms full of busy looking children who were learning to read and write.

 “What’s in there?” Sean asked pointing to a red door.
Mrs Evans smiled and opened the door obligingly.  Olivia gasped.  Inside were all her favourite toys, My Little Ponies, Shopkins, Moshi Monsters, the Baby Annabel range, all that a she could want.  The girls in there were wearing Disney Princess dresses and dipping Marshmallows into a chocolate fountain.  The boys played with Lego or ran around the place, there didn’t seem to be anyone telling them to pay attention and they weren’t doing any of the boring school work the other children had been doing.  Mrs Evans shut the door again.
“What was that?” Sally asked.
“Oh, that’s the playroom for the one per cent,” Mrs Evans replied, “when are you five, Olivia?”
“In December,” Sean answered.
“You’ll be starting with us in September,” she said smiling.
Sally’s face broke into an enormous grin; “So, she’s in?”
“Of course,” Mrs Evans said.
 

Olivia talked a lot about the playroom she’d seen, Sally had to constantly remind her she was going to school to learn.  After the first week Olivia complained of having to read and write all day and not getting to play in that playroom.

“I’m sure you’ll turn will come,” Sally reassured her.
“They say it’s just for the one per cent,” Oliva replied.
“That can’t be right.  Now remember we’re going to the beach on Saturday.”
“After your home-work,” Sean smiled, remembering that Mrs Evans had told them the children were given spelling tests and writing to do at weekends.

Olivia began her home work at 9am on Saturday morning, Sean tested her spelling, there seemed to be word after word after word and poor Olivia was getting tired.  At 11am they still weren’t finished, Olivia was writing a paragraph about her home, then another about her favourite things and another about her favourite colour.
“This isn’t right,” Sally said to Sean, “so many words to spell, how many were there?  Thirty?”
“Ten for me, ten for Emma and ten for Charlotte,” reported Olivia, rubbing her aching hand.
“What?  Are you doing homework for other children?” asked Sean.
“Yes, the story about colours is for Charlotte and the story about favourite things is for Emma.”
“I’m putting a stop to that!” exclaimed Sally.
 

Monday morning Sally marched into Mrs Evans’ office.  “Why is my daughter doing homework for Charlotte and Emma?”

“Charlotte and Emma are members of the one percent.  The one percent don’t get homework, they do just what they feel like doing.  We share their work out among the others.”
“But – I don’t get it, when is it Olivia’s turn to be in the one per cent?”
Mrs Evans laughed; “Your child?  In the one per cent?  I’m sorry Mrs Chantry, you’re dreaming …”
“So, it’s the same children all the time in the one per cent?  And Olivia will never go into the playroom?”
“That’s right.”
“But that’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, Mrs Chantry and we teach the children that from an early age.”

 

THE JONES' BABY

Ollie wanted to keep kicking his ball at the line of empty cans he’d set up in the garden, but Mummy put them back into the recycling and asked him what was wrong with the new Lego set.  Five minutes later she reminded him they had to go to the Jones' baby party.“There’ll be other children to play with,” she reassured him.

Only adults milled about in the pristine house, eyebrows were arched at the sight of Ollie and he held on tight to Mummy’s hand.

“Heather, so glad you could come,” Mandy Jones said.
“Sorry, I didn’t realise …” began Mummy.
“It’s OK,” Mandy smiled down at Ollie who hid behind Mummy’s legs, “there’s a buffet over there if you’re hungry.”
The food was unrecognisable to Ollie, there were no sausages on sticks or crisps.  He asked Mummy what it was.
“Canapes, houmous, salad, olives and bread,” she said, “it’s all very nice, why don’t you try …?”
“No,” Ollie snapped.
“I’ll get him a bag of crisps,” Mandy’s husband, Derek said kindly, “what flavour would you like, Ollie?”
“Where’s the baby?” Ollie asked.
"Ssh,” Mummy said.
After a bag of sea salted potato chips, Ollie left Mummy talking to her friends and explored the house.  He thought it was strange that there were no toys for the baby to play with and everything was so clean and tidy.  In other places he’d been to where there were children, there was always mess.  Here everything smelt like his house did when Mummy went mad with the Hoover.   He found his way into the nursery.  It was beautiful, a lovely white wooden cot, a mobile of vintage cars, a soft blue carpet, a small wardrobe, a mobile library with shiny new baby books in and finally a toy chest.  He ran towards it desperate for entertainment, but when he opened it all the toys in there were still in their boxes.
“Ollie!” It was Mummy’s voice.  He hurried down the stairs to see her waiting at the bottom for him.
“It’s rude to go wandering around other people’s houses!” she hissed.
“Mummy, all the toys were …”
“Ssh!”
Finally, Mandy bought a Moses basket down to the living room and put it on the table.  One by one the adults looked in it.
“Mandy, your baby is perfect and will be forever,” sighed Jenny.
“He’ll never let you down,” stated Simon.
“You’ll never have to worry about him,” Tina said, touching Mandy’s hand, face full of compassion.
“So beautiful,” whispered Mummy.
Ollie tried to get past Mummy to see into the basket, but the table was too tall for him.  Determined to have a look, he stood on a chair and looked in.
“Mummy, there’s a dead baby in there!” Ollie cried.
The room went silent, then hands grabbed him, pulled him off the chair and propelled him towards the door.
“Get him out of here!” Derek hissed tightly.  Ollie caught a glimpse of Mandy collapsing in tears onto Tina’s shoulder.
“So insensitive to bring a child,” Jenny remonstrated with Mummy.
“I’m sorry, no-one told me!” she cried.

Outside the Jones’ house, Mummy marched to the car with Ollie following miserably behind.

“Well, there was something to be said for the Jones’ baby,” she snapped, “at least he’ll never ever embarrass them!”