Introduction As Fall sets in and the nights chill, Halloween creeps up on us here in Athens Georgia. Fearing that some Goblin might sneak into our Web site and play a little Trick, I've set up a Halloween Treat for those that would come knocking on our door. Trick or Treat? Hopefully you'll think this ghouly little story is a treat!

Once upon a time that has long since blown away, there lived a hard-working and unpresumptious people. Their labors bore a kingdom- that of Barry, a gentled and much-beloved king. It is said he ruled justly and taxed fairly, in contrast to other kings who just taxed and barely ruled. At his side reigned Queen Andrea. Many women of her court strived to be as like their queen as possible for the very words grace and beauty could have been first penned at her birth. Together they were the heart and dreams of the people.

But alas! My story is not of these rulers for although their love and honor is certainly worthy of better scribes than I, we all know that an audience would sooner read a single verse of the evil that men do than suffer a whole epic of good intentions. Thus my story begins when their doom shuffled into the kingdom.

Many kings have seen their doom as a raging foreign army surging from the mountains or as the specter of death looming over their sickbed. King Barry saw his doom coming not at all. For who would suspect doom to come in the guise of a drooping ragged figure that approached the castle one damp morning? The guard didn't suspect and brought the news of a wandering conjurer to the ears of his king. Neither did the queen suspect when she clapped her hands in joy for she so loved magic tricks. So did the castle throw wide its doors for this weary traveler for did not everyone love the king and queen .. and who would suspect otherwise?

Thus a rather sad figure was shown into the feasthall. All eyes turned to take in this thin bedraggled man whose gaudy and mud-stained tunic matched the dirty wearer, but stood out against the high-fashion of the castle. Phizzle, as the traveler called himself, was ushered in, seated, and offered nourishment. He entertained the diners around him with his witty and colorful prattle. Listeners leaned close, yet tried to avoid touching him lest his stains blot their own gay clothes. In like form, Phizzle exclaimed over the quality of the pheasant and dressings, but could not find much room in his thin frame to eat. When, during the meal, Phizzle found he had lost the ears of those close and the eyes of those afar, he pulled his feet into the chair and stood. Gesturing for their majesties' attention, he offered his services as a magician in payment for their kindness. King Barry accepted and he centered himself before the high table.

As thin men, very thin men, seem to be all chins and ears, shoulders and elbows, so did Phizzle sport a nose to be written with and a body to cut hay. He threw wide his arms in a dramatic pose, resembling so much a mast within a billowing sail, and danced! His dance was not so much one of feet and limbs, but of colors swept by a wind and of a wind that stole away the senses. There were twirling lights and leaping flames played by nimble fingers and strange words spoken, and although later no one could quite remember what it was they had seen or heard, they agreed to a person that it had been a most spectacular show. And so it seemed that Barry and Andrea were so taken in with this enchanting fellow they asked him to forsake his travels awhile and stay at the castle. And so it seemed that Phizzle was so taken with the favor shown him by their majesties that he could do no other than remain in their employ...and so it seemed.

Ah, the castle was so busy in those days! Truth be told, an occasional visit to Barry and Andrea was enough for most of their royal neighbors- those two disapproved of liberal drinking and never kept court jesters. The cook was qualified and the food excellent, but so are most dishes when sampled through the whispers of heavy spirits. But then news of the sorcerer traveled around like spells on the wind. Now each week saw the visit of this person or that, and quite often both, and numerous invitations were received to come and dine, and to please bring the wizard. Phizzle entertained all. He dazzled dukes and perplexed the peasants. He comfounded countesses and bewildered the baker. He puzzled the populace, mystified the masses, confused the congregation, and once even frightened the farm animals. The latter he claimed as a mistake. He was practicing, he said, quite involved, and failed to realize that he had wandered into the yard. The chickens were singed, a red horse fainted, the lambs chased their tails, and a days worth of grain sprouted. The horse revived, thank goodness, or rather do not thank anyone at all, and their majesties prepared for yet another journey. Bring the wizard, the invitation had read, but Phizzle had gone out to cure the lambs, who were now scattered about the countryside having not found their tails. The carriage was prepared, and Barry and Andrea departed.

This being a story, we can know what they never knew. We can see what they never saw. We can dive inside the mind of a near-to-mindless creature, say a red horse, and feel what that animal felt. This day, as he was being harnessed, the red wondered at the lateness of it all; much too late for their occasional morning run. This did not bother him as much as the flies he had in his ears that he could not twitch off. Also the sun was throwing sparks, hurting his eyes. He stood there flinching and blinking, mildly protesting. The black next to him smelled his distress and leaned away from him.

As they trotted, the red shook his head. More flies now, deep in his ears, no longer tickling, but now crawling and biting. He flattened his ears and began a run. The black was pulled forward by their harness and felt the reins being jerked back by the driver, hurting his mouth. He whinnied at the red. who had begun running faster still despite the calls of the driver. THUD THUD ...as the red's heart beat faster, the buzzing of the flies subsided, but he could feel them crawling down his ears, behind his eyes, and into his nose, drawing his lips back with the pain. He felt the reins pulling, tasted blood in his mouth and took the bit with his teeth. At a full' run now, the wind was throwing dirt into his eves so he shut them. He heard the warnings of the hotly-sweating black next to him and shied away trying to escape the harness. The black and the carriage were forced off the road, tripping precariously down a ravine. As they began to roll, the red felt the carriage bearing down from behind and twisted, biting the shoulder of the black. The black screamed, as did the driver, and Barry, and Andrea, as they all tumbled down a 40 foot cliff.

The Kingdom was stunned. Phizzle cried that it was his fault, that he should have been there, that he could have saved them all. That he might have done this thing was not thought by anyone. A different thought came instead. Their majesties had no children. No heir. And the thought followed that Phizzle could take their place. Yes, Phizzle. Did he not entertain everyone with his tricks? Surely he had given wise advise to the King. Yes, Phizzle. Ever since that day he had dragged in wearing those rags...no,no...he had ridden a steed and flaunted rich, courtly garb! Yes, Phizzle! Even then he had the bearing of a king! Ever since that night he had dazzled them all with enchantments and lights. Hadn't they known since then he was destined to be king? Yes, Phizzle!

Yet, when invited, Phizzle himself was so torn by their majesties' senseless deaths, he could not even consider taking on the mantle of king, for all of a fortnight.

But then assume the throne he did and here we get to the point of the thing. It began as a shadow that crossed his brow when asked for boons by the craftsmen. It crept as dark lines down his cheeks when begged for mercy by the mother of a thieving son. And it smeared across his mouth as a black grimace when told of failures by peasants to pay their taxes. This thing dripped onto and stained the bright robes he had inherited to a mottled gray. And then the people knew the truth. What could once heal, now horrified. What was once enthralling, now entrapped. And what was once pleasing, now punished. They had lost their bright majesties and gained a dictatorial monster.

Life in the kingdom took a cruel turn. If a family failed to pay their full measure of taxes, a guard went out to collect. If the guard failed in his duty, Phizzle went out. Then both would suffer. The wizard could be creative in the curses he brought upon them. One guard's head sagged and he spent the rest of his days as a simpleton, hatless, collecting rainwater instead. A family rushed into the fields and worked their fingers off, and then shoveled dirt with their palms. The people became afraid of him and whispered among themselves.

And Phizzle was able to read these things. If a man's voice was raised in anger and the wizard brought it down with fear, the anger remained, but leapt into the eyes of those around him. So it grew. Phizzle cared not and spared none. He knew that people could not be trusted, for had not this kingdom trusted him? He paid well the guards who watched the gates at night, but he knew guards could be bought, for had not he bought these? These are the things he read.

Phizzle had been a fool by art, not by nature. No one attended his court willingly, but when invited, they were expected to come. And he saw the growing desperation in the faces around him And he heard it in the voice of the woman who yelled out a curse. And he spoke of it to those who witnessed while she was carried away. As Phizzle declared his mastery over them all, as he challenged their treasonous thoughts, he...he, himself...felt the first fingers of fear clutching his heart. Or what passed as his heart. The secret that had driven him to forsake his travels, the blight that had brought him to this land rich in wealth, the calling that had caused him to seek a sanctuary was that each night as he rested, he was completely powerless. Powerless to cast, powerless to flee, powerless to even summon even a cup of water. He knew this thing also. He knew there were noble men who thought they could wrestle the lordship from him. And he knew those men would eventually try.

That night, he ran. Down to a room that he had claimed as his own before their majesties' deaths, he ran. Phizzle unlatched the heavy door with a key he had hidden deep inside his left hand, and entered. His robe dusted tables displaying scrolls of unfinished spells as he rushed through the chamber. He knew this summoning would require necromantic energies older than his, for it would have to be imbued with power that waxed when his waned. He pulled another key from inside his right hand and opened a wooden box that held a leather book detailed with archaic runes. When he first pulled on its cover, it refused to open and Phizzle was forced to speak soothing words to it. These words were not common ones and are best not spoken of here. Aroused, it yielded to his touch and allowed its pages to be fondled. Like a first lover, the wizard's fingers trembled as he slowly leafed through the pages. And then he had it- an incantation to create a shadowy sentinel to guard over him. Unless, of course, it had him first. Smoke spewed from the binding of the book as Phizzle began to call forth profane magic from the gut of the world. Energies streamed from the corners of the room and were pulled into a whirlwind spun by Phizzle's fingertips. The cone drew in on itself until it became a whirling ball of red flame. Phizzle stepped back to see what he had done or what had been done to him. The light sputtered, died, and the smoke slipped away without comment as if bored and seeking new games.

The creature summoned was surprisingly small, petite enough that an eager spaniel might believe that he would be the better in a fight. But then again, what dog could look past the gaze of those eyes; those coin-round eyes glowing red as if lit with fires from within? Those eyes that if you looked into too long, you might forget they were eyes at all and believe you looked into twin pits of hell. Those eyes that burned and never closed. Beneath those eyes were fangs and clawed fists thrust forward; all blood-red as if that foolish spaniel had already tried his luck and lost. The rest of the monster, head and body, if indeed they were there. was lost in a smudqe of shadow and fur which a person could try to decipher into meaning, but would always be drawn back to those eyes.

And as Adam looked upon the animals and knew their names, for each animal carries its name with it, so did Phizzle look into the fiery orbs of this monster and know it was a Watcher-the very first-and it would watch over him as he slept. He took it and set it above his wardrobe in his bedroom and there it sat..unblinking..unbreathing..watching.

Time Passed. The kingdom's people suffered by day and Phizzle slept deeply at night.

Then came a time when Phizzle's fears were realized. A few of those men who would have made fairer rulers than he came together and formed a plan. One man had heard that although by day Phizzle was powerful and menacing in his hold upon the people, by night he seemed to wither into himself, a mere husk that could not bear his threats into seed. It was a simple rumor told from guard to guard, but it was all that they had. There was another rumor they might have heard; one of a shadow darker than shadows and of luminescent eyes set upon a wardrobe, but those rumors they had not heard.

I don't know if they picked the night or the night picked them, but one night found them moving under the cloak of darkness, daggers hidden deep within their tunics. They strove silently toward the castle, all covered with bravo on the outside, but quaking within. Not one of the men talked about after Phizzle was vanquished and the lordship emptied. Each may have privately hoped he would be the one to assume the mantle of King. Or it could be that they feared to hope at all, as it hope itself might flit ahead into the damp walls, light upon Phizzle's spoon, and find it self as an odd distaste within his mouth.

And so on they marched, silent and brooding, toward the castle. When true royalty had dwelled there, it had been brightly lit with tens of lanterns and piping music had danced into every room. At those times, the castle had been a place of gaiety and laughter. Since Barry and Andrea's deaths however, where there had been voices lifted in song, there was only a shrouding silence. Where lovers had once walked hand over hand down tapestried halls, there were only flitting shadows. And where the castle had once sat upon a grassy dell, it had now grown into the stone beneath like an old tooth jutting from a bony jaw.

Such details were lost on the men who approached on this night. These men found it to be a magic castle for gates swung open at their lightest touch and guards mysteriously averted their eyes as they tread through. All of this magic was purchased at the cost of some coin and a few hundred days of living in fear, both without and within the castle.

And here it draws to a close. In time, they found themselves crowded outside an iron-gilt door. They listened, they listened hard these brave men, yet heard nothing-not a step, not a breath, ..not an eyeblink. They pressed to the door and then through it in their haste, and into the bedroom. They saw each feature in this room as they swept past it- a bookcase holding cracking tomes, a nightstand, a towering wardrobe, and finally a small poster bed and in it, Phizzle. There was something else they could have seen, two smoldering coals tossed into an out-of-the-way place, but that they did not see.

The wizard did indeed look weaker in his sleep. He lay limply across the blankets, one hand clutching the chest of his nightshirt. The furrows of anticipated conquest were eased from his brow the wicked gleams of evil hidden by heavy lids. In the near-dark, he appeared as any other man might appear before his soul was stained. In that light, one might wonder what had happened to this man, who could look like other men, and what fragile differences separated him and us.

But none of these men wondered any of these things. As their eyes fell across the object of their hate, their palms fell across their daggers and their feet across the floor. Hands whisked Phizzle from his bed as six mouths cried for blood and six blades drilled for it. They stepped back knowing this wizard had run out of miracles. Phizzle woke from dream into this nightmare with a flash of pain and screamed, marveling at the new mouths his body had grown that screamed with him. As he wondered, a thought scratched at a corner of his mind that this was not supposed to happen...that he had taken care...that he was watched over!

The wizard tore his focus from his wounds and found himself eye-level with the spindly legs of his wardrobe. His gaze clawed up its lengths, blink by blink, tracing the grain of the doors, and resting on its handles. With his final breath shuddering in his throat, he rolled onto his back and grasped the summit. There, hooked with claws on the very edge, Phizzle saw that the watcher was indeed....eh, watching.