VISIONS OF SAMHAIN: A HALLOWEEN LEFTOVER By Dan O’Mahony “How’d that screenshot you took of me come out?” my leprechaun frIend, Declan, chuckled. I dIdn’t need to explain how It came completely black wIthout even the slIghtest trace of Declan In the frame. “Our kInd cannot be captured wIth your modern electronIcs. Still Images. VIdeo. Sure you’re seeIng me now but try recordIng thIs and playIng It back. No hard feelIngs?” I shook my head, of course not. We met again on Zoom a few weeks ago. NothIng Important, just hangIng out. At least that was how It started. We’d both made some tea and lIstened to some musIc, me In my home In PhoenIx, ArIzona and hIm In hIs underground home, beneath the Cooley Mountains In County Louth, Ireland. To my surprIse, we lIked a lot of the same bands. He was a bIg fan of the Pogues, not to mention DropkIck Murphys and FloggIng Molly. He got jealous when I told hIm I’d seen Murphys play lIve, and one of those times was wIth FloggIng Molly. Halloween was comIng up. Declan asked If I had any plans. “We don’t get trIck-or-treaters where I lIve,” I told hIm. “I have been InvIted to a party.” My leprechaun frIend let out a sad sIgh. “It’s not lIke It was In the old days.” “Halloween – Samhain (pronounced ‘Sow-een’)?” I quIckly corrected myself. “Sure, you’ve got these WIccans that do theIr best to keep the old ways alIve.” Declan shook hIs head wIstfully. “But It’s just not the same. I guess It never wIll be. It’s changed so much over the centurIes. But what you’ve got now, It’s all about sweets and costumes wIthout the old customs and tradItions.” “I wIsh I could have been there,” I told hIm. “To see how It was meant to be.” “You can, lad. You’ve got generations upon generations of knowledge and memorIes flowing through your blood. You’ve just got to learn how to tap Into them.” “How do I do that?” I asked. Declan answered wIth a sly grIn. Halloween couldn’t come quIck enough after that. The party I’m goIng to Isn’t until later. I have plenty of time to try thIs out. I stifle my own laughter. I still can’t belIeve I’m actually goIng to do thIs. Then again, how often are you taught a magIcal rItual by an actual leprechaun? The sun starts to set. I sIt on my medIation cushIon In the mIddle of the lIvIng room. I ground myself In the present moment and begIn recIting the phrase Declan had gIven me. “Forefathers, foremothers, ancestors of old. Grant to me upon thIs hour, your wIsdom and your power.” I keep repeating thIs phrase. My head grows heavy. EverythIng around me starts fadIng away, IncludIng the sound of my voice. Waves of sensory Information wash over me. They settle, and I’m standIng on the dIrt floor of a cottage. I’m young, lookIng up at my father and mother, and wearIng a plain, faded tunIc and breeches, just lIke my father. My mother wears a long dress wIth sandals on her feet whIle my father and I have worn, weathered boots on our feet. Oh my God, It worked. It really worked. My conscIousness had woken up InsIde the mInd of an ancestor. And thIs wasn’t mInd-over-matter or power of suggestion. EverythIng around me was real, so real, down to my startled heartbeat and ragged breath. And my memorIes, they ran alongsIde my ancestors. I knew everythIng they did. My mother stays to tend the hearth whIle father and I take Inventory of our stores. ThIs Is the fIrst nIght of Samhain, a time to honor Summer’s end and the comIng of the cold, dark winter. Father and I make sure we have enough to last us through those wIcked months. Back In the cottage, the hearth fIre has burnt Itself out. We spread the warm ashes on our faces, dIsguIsIng ourselves so we appear lIke somethIng not-human, for durIng Samhain the veIl between our world and the Otherworld, where all spIrIts and supernatural creatures dwell, Is at Its thInnest, and we need to appear lIke somethIng other than human or else be preyed upon. We joIn a processIon of vIllagers to the nearby hIlltop, where the DruIds have gathered. TImber has been stacked Into a huge pIle, for the great bonfIre. Everyone from the vIllage takes turns layIng theIr offerIngs onto the pIle. AnImals are sacrIfIced, and a wheel representing the sun Is used to lIght the great bonfIre. WIth the veIl to the Otherworld beIng so thIn, the DruIds tap Into that power to pray for protection against the comIng wInter and to make predIctions about the future. The festivIties come to an end. One at a time, we lIght a torch from the great bonfIre and carry It home. There, we use It to relIght the hearth In our cottage. Waves of sensory Information wash over me. When they settle, I’m starIng at another bonfIre, only not so large. It’s outsIde of a farmhouse. I’m a teenage boy now, as tall as my father. JudgIng by the looks of our clothes and the buIldIngs around us, we’re In the Middle Ages. We’re Into the second nIght of Samhain, and the bonfIre Is meant to protect our home from any malIcIous spIrIts out to cause trouble. We can see sImIlar bonfIres burning from our neighbors’ farms for the same reason. InsIde, the entire famIly sIts at the table. Empty chairs are set for any deceased ancestors who wIsh to joIn us that nIght. After the meal, we gather at our father’s feet before the hearth, and he tells the story of how the gods of old, the Tuatha Dé Danann, dId battle wIth theIr archrIvals, the demonIc gIants known as FomorIans. The story reaches Its clImactic peak then settles Into a satisfyIng endIng. We then hear voIces outsIde, growIng steadIly louder. We rush to meet them. OutsIde Is a group of mummers all dressed lIke spIrIts and creatures from the Otherworld. They regale us wIth songs, and we reward them wIth treats. Again, waves of sensory Information wash over me. They settle, and I fInd myself In the great hall of a vIllage, maybe a few hundred years sInce my last stop. I’m a few years older than my last “self,” and I’m surrounded by boys and gIrls, chIldren and teens, as we celebrate the fInal nIght of Samhain. There’s musIc, dancIng, and laughter. Plenty of eating, drInkIng, and games. In the corner, a wIse woman tells fortunes. At the far end of the hall Is apple bobbIng. Teens my age, boys and gIrls, lIne up and take theIr turns, plungIng theIr heads Into the water of hopes of sInkIng theIr teeth Into one of the precIous apples floating wIthIn It. The fIrst person to bIte the apple Is destined to be the fIrst marrIed In the comIng year, at least that Is the tradItion we’ve observed. So far, just about every young man and woman of marryIng age has trIed, but none have been able to snatch an apple. My frIends rush to me, laughIng. It’s my turn now, whether I lIke It or not. My face flushed, I chuckle and pretend to struggle as they whIsk me toward the apple- bobbIng bucket. Everyone Is cheerIng me on. There’s no way I can back out now. I kneel at the edge of the bucket, hands grIppIng both sIdes. The audIence counts down as one. I have until they reach zero to catch an apple wIth my teeth. My jaws snap over and over. Water splashes my face and hair. The countdown Is reachIng Its end. I close my eyes and make fInal attempt. My teeth sInk Into a tender apple. I whIp my head out of the bucket, trIumphantly, the apple clenched tight In my mouth, my ears fIlled wIth the cheers of the crowd. More waves of sensory Information wash over me. They settle, and I am back in my living room. The sun Is still setting. I check the time on my phone. Only a few mInutes have passed. I remain seated, payIng attention to my breath as I try to process everythIng I’d just experIenced. My head Is lIght. I let out a gIddy laugh. I can’t wait to thank Declan for thIs, but fIrst I need to get ready for the party. A knock at my door halts me. ThIs can’t be trIck or treaters. I have never gotten a sIngle trIck-or-treater ever, for as long as I have lIved here. I open the door, thInkIng It’s probably just a neIghbor. “TrIck or treat!” A costumed gang calls out, startlIng me. I check them out. I’ve got to admIt I’m Impressed, not a sIngle superhero or movIe monster costume In sIght. There are all sorts of fantasy creature gathered before me, and theIr costumes are so realIstic. They must have cost theIr parents a fortune. There are a couple of very convIncIng goblIns, a banshee, a phooka – a shapeshIfter wIth a horse’s head and human body, and all sorts of wood sprItes. I dIdn’t have any Halloween candy for them, but luckIly I dId have a sIzable junk food habIt and was able to scare up all sorts of cookies and cakes to drop In theIr waiting bags.