(Art is “Jack O Lantern” by TheArtistJW.)

It seems like 2020 hasn’t just been a year, it’s been a decade! The next few weeks won’t be easy, either. But I won’t let 2020 rob me of my very favorite holiday ― or of the chance to celebrate it with my friends throughout the whole of October.

This is the fifteenth year I’ll be counting down to Halloween with daily posts.

I look forward to sharing quotes, images, links, book reviews, reading and viewing recommendation lists, and various creepy odds and ends with you. I hope you will consider every post a spooky moment of escape, a bite-sized treat (not a trick!) each day.

(Source is “The Hooting Of The Owl” by Yesterdays-Paper.)

Because 2020 marks the 100th birthday of Ray Bradbury, it seems fitting to start this countdown with the words of that great October Ambassador himself.

So welcome to my October countdown… and welcome to the October country…

“…that country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and mid-nights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain…”
― Ray Bradbury, The October Country (1955)

Also…

“For these beings, fall is ever the normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond. Where do they come from? The dust. Where do they go? The grave. Does blood stir their veins? No: the night wind. What ticks in their head? The worm. What speaks from their mouth? The toad. What sees from their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars. They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. They frenzy forth….Such are the autumn people.”  ― Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962)

And…

At the edge of the deep dark night ravine he pointed over the rim of the hills and the earth, away from the light of the moon, under the dim light of strange stars. The wind fluttered his black cloak and the hood that half shadowed and now half revealed his almost fleshless face.

“There, do you see it, lads?”

“What?”

“The Undiscovered Country. Out there. Look long, look deep, make a feast. The Past, boys, the Past. Oh, it’s dark, yes, and full of nightmare. Everything that Halloween ever was lies buried there. Will you dig for bones, boys? Do you have the stuff?”

He burned his gaze at them.

“What is Halloween? How did it start? Where? Why? What for? Witches, cats, mummy dusts, haunts. It’s all there in that country from which no one returns. Will you dive into the dark ocean, boys? Will you fly in the dark sky?”  ― Ray Bradbury, The Halloween Tree (1972)

(Source is “Imps And Pumpkins” by Yesterdays-Paper.)

And from one of my very favorites, “Usher II” (1950)…

“Let me out, let me out!” 

There was one last brick to shove into place. The screaming was continuous. 

“Garrett?” called Stendahl softly. Garrett silenced himself. 

“Garrett,” said Stendahl, “do you know why I’ve done this to you? Because you burned Mr. Poe’s books without really reading them. You took other people’s advice that they needed burning. Otherwise you’d have realized what I was going to do to you when we came down here a moment ago. Ignorance is fatal, Mr. Garrett.”

Garrett was silent. 

“I want this to be perfect,” said Stendahl, holding his lantern up so its light penetrated in upon the slumped figure. “Jingle your bells softly.” The bells rustled. “Now, if you’ll please say, ‘For the love of God, Montresor,’ I might let you free.” 

The man’s face came up in the light. There was a hesitation. Then grotesquely the man said, “For the love of God, Montresor.” 

“Ah,” said Stendahl, eyes closed. He shoved the last brick into place and mortared it tight. “Requiescat in pace, dear friend.” 

He hastened from the catacomb.  ― Ray Bradbury, “Usher II” (1950)

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