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“Hey Eskel, do you really think there’s such a thing as spirits? Or the supernatural? Good or bad.”
Geralt leaned on the railing of their front porch as he asked the question, staring out into the growing darkness. The man sitting beside him on the porch steps smiled wryly, the scar on his cheek pulling at his skin, and set down his knife.
“You know I’ve always believed in the supernatural,” Eskel said. “I’ve been able to sense strange things for as long as I can remember. I’ve seen strange things that can’t be explained.”
He plucked the pumpkin that he had been carving from between his knees and showed it to Geralt. It was a classic jack o’lantern, with a happy, blunt-toothed grin. Geralt grinned back.
“Very nice,” he said. “So, will it keep the evil spirits away?”
“In theory, at least the weaker ones.”
Eskel picked a stray piece of pumpkin off the front of his red and black flannel shirt, then he stood and carefully placed his masterpiece beside the stairs. Then he pulled a candle from his pocket, put it carefully into the jack o’lantern, and a moment later he pulled back, the candle flickering with a joyful flame. Replacing the top of the pumpkin, he straightened, then met Geralt’s eyes, an odd look on his face.
Geralt had given up trying to explain how Eskel could produce fire from nothing years ago. It wasn’t supernatural, it was just part of Eskel. He shrugged.
“If you like that cheesy thing, you’ll love this,” came a voice from inside. Another man pushed open the screen door, a slightly larger pumpkin in his hands.
“I thought you said you were too old to carve a pumpkin, Lamb,” Eskel said. Geralt chuckled.
“Fuck off, I saw what you were planning and I knew I could do better in my sleep. Check this out.”
When Lambert turned the pumpkin around, the other two obediently looked at it. It was quite similar to the one Eskel had just finished, except with scarier eyes and a large number of much sharper teeth.
“Very impressive,” Eskel said, his tone mocking. “I do believe I’ve been out-done.”
“By far, clearly,” Geralt commented. Lambert didn’t seem to realize they were making fun of him. He set the jack o’lantern on the other side of the steps.
“Will you come get this one, Eskel?” he asked with a big grin. Eskel obliged.
They began to bicker playfully about which jack o’lantern was actually better, but Geralt turned back to the night, his hands gripping the porch railing. Something felt… off. Strange. He was unsettled in a way that really didn’t happen very often at all. It was as if a storm was brewing out of sight, the pressure in the air perceptible if not visible.
He wondered if Eskel could feel it too.
“I’m surprised you’re asking about the supernatural being real, Geralt,” Eskel said over Lambert’s continued explanation as to why his pumpkin was better. “After all, that ex of yours is a real witch.”
Geralt scowled. He knew that Eskel had always disliked his ex-partner, but it wasn’t really a pleasant reminder. Yes, Yen had dabbled in some strange religion she seemed to believe was genuine witchcraft, but Geralt had never been convinced.
“I’m getting my drink,” he heard Lambert say. “If you can put away more shots than I can, I might admit that you’re right.”
“You’re on.”
Listening to the scuffling sounds of Eskel and Lambert fighting to get through the door first, Geralt snorted. He enjoyed their antics, but didn’t feel like participating right then. Though it was always fun when he and Eskel indulged Lambert in a little bit of friendly rivalry, he really felt like something was wrong. His stomach gurgled.
“Could I just be hungry?” he mumbled. “We just ate dinner like an hour ago.”
He picked a piece of candy from the bowl beside Eskel’s jack o’lantern and began to unwrap it.
The sound of soft footfalls reached his sensitive ears. Looking up, he saw a figure approaching through the darkness.
“Happy Halloween,” he said as the man stepped into the light cast by the porch. “Aren’t you a little old to be trick-or-treating?”
The man was dressed in an unremarkable mustard-yellow sweatshirt and jeans. He inclined his shaved head, dark eyes sparkling in the light, his mouth curved into an almost cat-like smile.
“Perhaps,” he said, and his voice was one of the smoothest and richest that Geralt had ever heard.
“Or perhaps…” the man continued, “perhaps I am here to offer tricks and treats myself.”
“Well, we’ve got candy if you want some, but I think we’re good otherwise.”
“Are you? I happened to overhear your friend say you had asked whether or not the supernatural is real. Wouldn’t you like an answer?”
Geralt frowned at the man. He had either been lurking in the darkness outside the light cast by the porch, or he had exceptionally good hearing, and Geralt wasn’t very fond of either option.
“What, are you a ghost or something?” he said sarcastically. The man’s smile broadened, his eyes flashing.
“Oh, no, not a ghost. Guess again.”
“A different spirit? A wizard? A demon?”
The man chuckled at this.
“No, no, I’m merely a wanderer. But I might be able to provide your answer anyway.”
“How so?”
The man stepped forward, and at the exact same moment, both jack o’lanterns sputtered and went out.
“I’ve been told that I’m a very good storyteller,” he said, his eyes never leaving Geralt’s. “Perhaps I can tell you a story or two, you know, take you to the places I’ve been, and show you the things I’ve seen.”
“Who even are you?” Geralt asked, instinctive nerves warring with a deep-seated curiosity.
“Gaunter O’Dimm,” he said. “But you may just call me Gaunter.”
He held out his hand to Geralt.
“Now, how about my offer?”
Eskel felt something hook in his gut, just below his navel. He gasped and dropped his drink, glass shattering all over the floor. A sudden, overwhelming dread filled him, blacking out his vision, flooding his senses with the smell of brimstone, death, and… gingerbread?
He found himself on his feet before he could think, sprinting desperately toward the front door. Shoving it open, he skidded out onto the porch.
“Geralt, NO,” he yelled, fear burning in his throat, but he was too late. Geralt had already shaken the man’s hand.