When the Night Wind Howls

          “Rose, does this young man of yours know how to tell time?”

         Rose swallowed the panic threatening to take over her voice.  Thankfully, it was her mother who spoke.

         “Arthur, it’s only ten minutes.  And he is meeting us for the first time.  You probably don’t remember what that’s like, dear, but I think we can cut him a little slack, under the circumstances.”

         Rose breathed easier when her mother gave her a wink and her father resumed his reading.

         “I think I’ll wait for Roderick outside.”

         As Rose made her exit, her parents exchanged amused expressions.

         The air was fresh and cool.  There was a full autumn moon that lit the cloudless sky.  Rose leaned against a pillar just as headlights appeared at the entrance to the driveway.

         Her heart quickened.  She watched as Roderick’s car inched closer to the house. She ran down the porch steps to the driver’s side and tapped on the window.  

         The window slid down.  

         “Hey, you!  Did you decide to take your car for a walk?”

         The handsome young man behind the wheel had an expression that transformed before her eyes from dead serious to gentle warmth.

         “Roderick, what is it?  I can tell something’s . . .”

         “Rose, I need to talk to you before I meet your parents.  I’ve been, I. . .”

         “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

         In the time it took for Rose to run back to the house, explain the situation to her parents, and run back, Roderick felt more determined than ever that he had to come clean, even if it meant losing the girl he loved.

                                                      ~~~

          Roderick drove them to a park where they’d already spent plenty of time getting to know each other.  It was secluded and, with the full moon overhead, cast a warm glow over them both.  Roderick tried but couldn’t quite ignore how beautiful Rose appeared in this light.  

         “What is it, Roderick?  You can tell me anything.”

         He hesitated and then spoke.

         “I don’t know how to tell you this, Rose, so I’m just going to say it.”

         He took a deep breath.   

         “There’s a curse on my family.  It began back in the 1800’s.  Some of my ancestors were involved in persecuting witches.  One of them put a curse on us, and the eldest in each generation must commit a crime each day or die a terrible death.  It only applies to the eldest and that means me. I just couldn’t keep the truth from you any longer, Rose.”

         Rose stared at Roderick, not yet able to digest what she was hearing.

         “So far, I’ve been fulfilling the requirements and haven’t suffered any real consequence, other than some quashed juvenile infractions and a couple simple misdemeanors.  I just couldn’t go on misleading you that we might have a future together, I mean, unless . . .”

         Rose was beyond puzzled.

         “Unless?”

         “Do we, you think . . . what do you think?”

         Rose was blinking like a toad.

         “I, I honestly don’t know what to think.  I’m not sure I know how to think right now. . . would you mind running this by me again?”

         They alternated talking and listening with several long stretches of silence for Rose to sit with Roderick’s news.

         “I always break a law early and then spend the rest of the day making up for it.  It seems to work, so far.”

         “All that charity work.”  Rose nodded.

         “Right.  I’ve become well-versed in random, long-forgotten laws that I can break without causing lasting harm and still stay under the radar.”

         “You know how insane this sounds, right?  I mean, how do you even know this curse is still in effect, if it ever was?”

         “I knew you’d ask that.”  

         Roderick reached behind him and brought out a box.  He laid it on the console between them and lifted the lid that emitted a strong, musty scent.   Inside was a large ledger, leather-bound and bulging with pages, some yellow with age.  

         “Records?”

         Roderick turned the book toward Rose.

         “Take a look, but gently, please.”

         Rose’s eyes strained as she tried to read the ancient script at the beginning of the ledger.  

         “Oh, sorry,” Roderick turned on the interior lights.  He watched Rose’s delicate features as she perused the entries written in cursive, quill and ink. Some sections were barely legible.

         “Most of these early entries didn’t have long lives, but that’s not unusual for those days, is it?”

         “Except in these cases, they mostly refused to continue a life of crime and died in agonizing ways.”

         “I’m almost afraid to ask, but how do you know that?”

         Roderick opened the book where there was a scarlet bookmark.

         Rose’s eyes grew large.

         “Drawn and quartered?  They really did that?  Burned alive?  Rabid bat bites?  Boiled in oil . . .”

         Rose shuddered.

         “Yeah, I’d say that’s enough.”

         Roderick closed the book and replaced the lid.  

         They sat in silence.

         Roderick spoke first.  

         “Should I drive you home?”

         Rose checked the time.

         “Let’s get a drink.”

         Roderick couldn’t believe what he just heard. 

         “Are you sure?”

          “No.  But if there’s a way, I want to find it.”

         She reached over and took his hand.  His eyes shone as he searched her face.  He then moved the box to the back seat and drove them out of the park.

                                                     ~~~

         “So, now when are we going to meet this young man of yours?”

         Rose poured milk into her coffee.  She and Roderick were going antiquing later that morning as part of their mission.  

         “Soon, Daddy.  I just want to wait until the time is right.”

         Her father shrugged.

         “You’ve been pretty vague about why we didn’t meet him the last time.”

         Rose’s mother set down her mug and looked at her husband.  “It’ll happen when Rose is ready, Arthur.  I doubt she’s in a hurry for you to examine her friend.  You know how you get.”

         “Is your mother right, Rose?” Arthur looked stricken.  “I’m genuinely hurt.  You know I reserve my interrogation skills for the courtroom.”

         Rose and her mother looked at each other.

         “Like that time I was two minutes late from Stephanie’s house?”

         “And that time I forgot to buy your oat squares?”

         “Or that time . . .”

         Arthur continued to look stunned.

         “I’d object, but I doubt I’d get anywhere with this biased panel.”

         Rose went to her father, kissed his cheek, and gave him a hug.

         “We love you.  We wouldn’t give you such a hard time if we didn’t.”

         “That’s warped logic, young lady,” Arthur allowed, “but, for now, I will accept it.”

                                                   ~~~

         Roderick and Rose were roaming through Old Soul’s Vintage Antiques.  They’d been to Town Hall and the local library and gathered a lot of the information they already had.  It was Rose’s idea to try a few consignment and antique shops.  It was when she least expected that she had a way of finding things.  

         Falling in love with Roderick certainly fit in that category.  They’d met at Sullivan’s Bakery one Sunday when they discovered they both had designs on the last loaf of poppy seed sourdough. The proprietor, Sully, intervened, introduced Rose and Roderick, and then offered to divide the loaf in half.   They accepted the compromise, then shared a look before parting ways.  

         The next time they crossed paths was at a Halloween costume party where she dressed as Anne Boleyn and he was King Henry VIII.  He couldn’t help admiring her beautiful neck all night and she suggested he give salad a try.  Halloween became their official anniversary.

         Rose knew this was more than a passing fancy or infatuation.  He was strikingly good-looking with dark wavy hair, a strong chin and midnight blue eyes.  Rose was attracted to these things but, more importantly, she sensed something in him that spoke of loyalty and honor.  He had a rare humility about him she admired.

         She watched him in the toy section, admiring a cast-iron dog that jumped through a hoop held by a clown and then deposited a coin into a barrel.  She’d already decided he was worth whatever trouble might come with him.

         She was still mired in these thoughts when she looked away, and something caught her eye.  She was next to a rack of antique books displayed behind glass.  There was a volume larger than the others.  It was A Treasury of Gilbert and Sullivan.  She knew who they were, of course, and their Victorian operettas.  For some reason, the title stood out to her like a neon sign.

         “Are you a fan?”  Roderick was behind her.

         “I'm not familiar enough,” she responded.  “You?”

         “I know they composed comic operas, satire, like an early Monty Python.”

         “I can’t say I’ve seen any of their works.”

         “Our third-grade class did a rendition of H.M.S. Pinafore.”

         “What part did you play?”

         “I was one of the sailors.  Just don’t make me sing.”

“Come on. I’m buying this book.”

                                           ~~~

         Rose decided she wanted to dig right in.  They bought sandwiches and went to the park.   They chose a vacant picnic table, and Rose brought out the book.

         “Yeoman of the Guards.  There’s your Pinafore.   Oh, The Mikado! I know that.  There’s a Halloween one, look.  Ruddigore.  It says it’s about . . .”

         Rose read.  Her expression turned to disbelief.  Before long, Roderick recognized horror.

         “This is about you, Roderick!  You, your family, it’s all here!”

         “I know.”

“How could you not know about Ruddigore?”

         “Hold on, Rose.  I’m telling you I know all about Ruddigore.”

         Rose leaned back.

         “So, why didn’t you just tell me?  I thought I’d discovered something.”

         “Did you read how it ends?”

         Rose froze. 

         “I’ll spare you.  It’s pointed out that denouncing the curse and refusing to commit the daily criminal act would be, by any definition, a form of suicide.  Well, you know, in those days suicide was considered a crime.”

         “And, voila, the curse is lifted!  They all lived happily ever after.”

         “You haven’t read the fine print.”

         “Fine print?”

         “The law changed.”

         “So?  It’s an opera, Roderick.  It’s made up.  How can any of that affect what’s happening here and now?  So what if suicide’s not a crime anymore?”

         “You’re also forgetting the ledger.”

         Rose paused, then looked at Roderick slowly, sadly.

         “Coincidence?”

                                                      ~~~         

         “So, Daddy, what do you think?”

         Arthur sat back, a sea of papers before him.  In the center was Roderick’s family ledger.  Arthur stared pensively in Roderick’s general direction.

         “And let me say again, sir, how much I would have preferred meeting you under different circumstances.  I really can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

         “Now, let’s see if I understand.  Your people hail from a long line of cursed first-borns forced into a life of crime, or you die in any number of horrific ways?”

         “Correct, sir.”

         “I see.  And I also understand that if you refuse to engage in illegal activity, that would be akin to killing yourself – which seems a reasonable proposition to me – but, as we know, suicide is not a criminal offense at this time.”

         “Also correct, sir.”

         “So, I assume you’re looking for a loophole?”

         “Hoping.”

         “I’m neither Gilbert and/or Sullivan, but what I suggest is you research places on the planet where suicide is still considered a crime and go there.”

        Rose looked at Roderick.  Roderick looked at Rose.  Then Rose turned to her father.

         “Oh, thank you, Daddy!  That’s it!”

"What . . ."

        She ran over and threw her arms around her father’s neck.

"But . . ."      

    Roderick joined them.

        “I doubt I can ever repay you, sir.  I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted to be a law-abiding citizen!”

        “Once we decide where we’re going, Daddy, I’ll let you and Mom know.  I love you!”

"Wait . . ."         

“Thanks again, sir.  I’m looking forward to being part of your family!  I couldn’t love your daughter more!”

        The door closed just as Arthur saw them embrace.

"I was kidding."

        Arthur stared into space, trying to piece together what just happened.

                                                    ~~~

        “There aren’t many places where suicide is still considered a crime.  There’s a long list of places where the laws are unknown, so we still have work to do.”

         Rose dipped a tater tot in ketchup.  She popped the tot in her mouth and grinned at Roderick.

         “The laws are changing all the time, so we have to be sure our sources are fully reliable and up-to-date.”    

         When Roderick didn’t respond right away, Rose became serious.

         “There’s more, isn’t there?”

         Roderick’s frown was answer enough.

         “No, no.  I appreciate you doling out information in small doses, but it’s time to let it all out, Roderick.  We can’t be the first to have gotten this far.  How do we break this curse once and for all?”

         “More fine print.”

         “Tell me.”

         Roderick cleared his throat.

         “Before I denounce the curse, there has to be a ceremony where I announce my intentions.”

         Rose listened.

         “It must take place on Halloween night with my ancestors present to bear witness.  Without their agreement, it won’t work.”

         “Where do ‘they’ happen to be?”

         “Highgate Cemetery.”

         “London, I'm guessing?”

         “That’s the one.” 

         Rose exhaled.

         “Rose, I understand . . .”

         Rose signaled for their waitress.  

         “Could we get these to go?”

         The waitress nodded, gathered their plates, and left.  Rose looked at Roderick.

         “Halloween’s just around the corner.  We’d better get a move on.”

                                                      ~~~

         “When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls

         And the bat in the moonlight flies,

         And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies,

         When the footpads quail at the night bird’s wail, 

         And black dogs bay at the moon,

         Then is the spectre’s holiday, 

         Then is the ghosts’ high noon.”

          “I don’t see anything,” Rose whispered.  

         Roderick and Rose knelt behind a Victorian headstone that bore the name Roderick Murgatroyd and two words, “Eternal Unrest.” 

         “We’re not supposed to sing, are we?”

         “I hope not, but it’s not quite midnight.  Let’s do the next verse and see what happens.” 

         “Okay.”

          “As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees

And the mists lie low on the fen.

From grey tombstones are gathered the bones

That once were women and men,

        And away they go . . .”

          Before they could go further, Rose and Roderick felt their throats tighten.  The words would not come.  As they watched, a thick fog enveloped the grounds.  The headstones disappeared, swallowed by the mist.  Vague forms began to take shape and rise.  Barely discernible features and figures dotted the area, hovering overhead.

       “Who dare disturb the sleep of the restless dead on this most sacred of hallowed eves?”

      “I sense a living presence among us.  Does anyone here claim no memory of the cause for our perpetual unrest?”

“You speak of the reason our souls roam the endless hall of eternal damnation?  Speak instead to me of salvation, and I shall heed the call.”

“Salvation for the damned.  That is all I care to hear.  Speak if there is yet hope that we may break the chains of the pain and torture that is not only ours to bear but to pass on.”

       A chorus of pitiful pleas poured from every corner of the cemetery, rising to a cacophony of grief and misery, more than any earthly being could possibly withstand for long.  It shattered Roderick’s paralysis of fear.

       He stood, resolved, but trembling.

       “My name is Roderick Murgatroyd.”

The wailing subsided.  

“I am here to free you of this torment.  I will go where I can break the curse and do no more harm.” 

One of the misty creatures moved closer.

“Not the suicide law, I do hope.  Many have tried and failed before you.”

Rose listened intently.  

“It cannot withstand the test of time and man.  It wavers and vacillates, much like the mortal condition.”

“Oh, great.”  Roderick glanced at the headstone where Rose could hear.

“But, lo, I believe you present another avenue by which to grant us our liberty, Master Murgatroyd.”

Rose emerged from her hiding place.

       “Tell us!”

       A murmur of amusement spread through the spectral throng.

       “My dear, you have been the answer all along.”

       Rose didn’t understand but felt emboldened by this.

       “Please, what can I do?”

       Several voices repeated the same thing.

       “Marry a witch.”

       “Marry her.”

       “Marry the witch.”

       Roderick and Rose looked at each other incredulously.

       “But I’m not . . . am I?”

       “Many generations ago, yes.  It was your innate powers that brought you to us.”

       Roderick went to Rose, bent down on one knee.

       “Will you?”

       “Yes!”

       The ghosts responded with robust cheers.  They swirled around the couple as they embraced.  Several distinct voices could be heard.

       “Is there a Justice of the Peace among us?”

       “Indeed there is!”

       “Reverend Despard, can you perform the ceremony?”

       “I’m a bit rusty.”

       “Just make it stick, will you?”

       “Do you . . .”

       “I do.”

       “I do, too.”

       “’Tis done!  You are man and wife.”

       “Hoorah!  Hoorah!”

       “The curse is finally lifted!“

"We are free!”

“We retire now to our eternal rest.  Bless ye”

“Bless ye.”

                                              ~~~

When the evening’s dust finally settled, the ghosts returned to their slumber in everlasting peace.  Roderick and Rose went back to their hotel. They would purchase tickets home first thing in the morning.

Not far away from Highgate Cemetery, there was a stirring at St. Jude’s Church. Arthur Sullivan and W.S. Gilbert were both buried there, though in different sections of the graveyard.  This Halloween night, they met at the midpoint between their respective plots.

Sullivan, who was responsible for the musical arrangements of their work, clapped his old friend where his shoulder blades used to be.

“What say you?  Quite the ending, wouldn’t you agree?”

Gilbert shook his head and chortled.

“I do not believe I could have written it better myself.”

                                              -0-