October 31st, 1984
Oaksbury, Pennsylvania

Beneath the almost full moon and the smell of crisp autumn in the air, the small town echoes with the laughter of children. It conceals the secret mumbles of shy teenagers holding hands as they whisper forbidden secrets.

Though the chill of winter hangs in the air and the piles of coloured leaves turn to brown with each passing day, the rosy red cheeks and sweet treats floating through the square announce only one thing. It is not only Autumn, a time of carefree celebration, but it is October 31st.

Rosalie Andrews is as happy as anyone that night. She is nothing short of beautiful, her ordinary chestnut hair gathered at the top of her head and replaced with long curly blonde locks. At only fifteen, it is the first time she is free to celebrate the festivities in a world that scowls upon Halloween.

A rural village located in the middle of communities of Amish and Mennonite farmers, Oaksbury is a community known by those who shun things such as electricity and automobiles as secular. For a teenager there, it is anything but typical. Rosalie often calls it "the most boring place God put on the map."

Oaksbury is a place where conservative values, an honest day's work, and church every Sunday reign supreme. The children still finish their studies early, and both the boys and girls are expected to take on a family trade instead of leaving home for college. Most marry young and have large families. Those who choose to abandon family in favour of a more worldly experience are only ever spoken of in hushed, disappointed tones.

Rosalie longs to leave. She doesn't dare to become one of those who doesn't exist. The thought makes her tear up. No matter how boring the place, and how annoying it is that she isn't allowed to do anything she considers fun, she can't bear to break her parents' hearts.

Instead, she stands like a little Tinkerbelle, sporting blonde curls and a colourful blue and purple tutu she once wore in a ballet recital. Colourful wings, sparkly shoes, and a wand that dispenses glittered confetti complete the look, although her legs are freezing even beneath the long thick tights that cover her legs. She keeps an eye on the children as they run and play, and especially those her age who try to sneak into the old red schoolhouse behind her for some privacy.

Rosalie is a portrait of joy, handing out apples, figs, and raisins to those who pass by. She also includes a poof of glitter that accompanies her best faerie imitation, which is more reminiscent of Glinda The Good Witch. That costume would have been warmer, but dressing like a witch on Halloween is the sort of sin punished harshly.

The teenager knows she is pushing the envelope dressing up at all, but she wants the little ones to know there is no harm in the fun. Even if the Halloween celebration is always at the red church that lurks behind the schoolhouse like an imposing reminder of order and punishment, there are still ways to brighten up a world that suffers from being too austere.

Children should be allowed to be children, Rosalie thinks to herself. It never occurs to her that she is little more than that herself.

She considers herself very lucky. Out of all the girls who'd applied, she was the one selected to be the apprentice to Miss Ada, the old spinster who'd taught the younger children inside the red schoolhouse for as long as anyone could remember. Most definitely, Miss Ada had been training children for as long as Rosalie had been alive.

She giggles to herself as she thinks of Miss Ada's face and how it resembles the unappealing figs Rosalie is giving out instead of candy.

A little boy of about six runs past the young woman. He sports a cape and a pair of plastic fangs that glow in the dark. He has a little red bow tie and a white mask that covers half of his face. Rosalie thinks he looks adorable, but she also has no desire to see him decorated in bright red welts the next day.

Most elders in the town still believe in teaching discipline the old-fashioned way. It is not love but fear that makes children grow into proper adults, and Rosalie is no exception to the philosophy. She trembles slightly every time Miss Ada walks by to check on her.

"Alexander, you look mighty handsome today, but stop right there!" Rosalie's voice calls out to the boy, not overly stern in tone but enough to make him pause in his running. The three little boys who stand behind him laugh and make "Oooh" sounds, the universal acknowledgement someone is in for it.

She tries not to laugh as Alex flashes his best imitation-Dracula smile at her, the ridiculous fangs merely a harmless prank. "Alexander Sedona, you know the rules about costumes. What will Brother Jacob have to say when he sees the way you are parading yourself?"

Rosalie shakes her head at the rather cheeky look on Alex's face. He is a well-liked boy, a harmless prankster who fancies himself the class clown. He is indeed witty for his age. Anywhere but this place, he would be the apple of everyone's eye. In this town, though, a boy like Alexander Sedona already carries the stigma of being a troublemaker. 

"I vant to suck your blood....mwahahahah?" Alex replies, sending the other boys into fits of giggles as Rosalie leans down to yank the plastic fangs from his mouth.

"Ow!" The boy sulks now. "We're just having fun. No one ever lets us have fun here."

Rosalie sighs a little, feeling compassion for the boy. She very much agrees, but that's not something she can ever say out loud. "Sorry, boys. Rules are rules. Respect for the church is important. No witches, wizards, ghosts, demons, vampires, or scary killers from horror movies not fit for children." 

Alexander glares at her a little before turning to the other boys. "Fine, Miss Rosalie."

His eyes roll, and he moves off in the direction of the old red schoolhouse,  his merry band of followers behind him. "Come on. Let's sneak into the school and see what it's like when it's all closed up."

"God granted me a perfectly good set of ears, boys. Stay out of the schoolhouse. Everyone's meeting in the church for snacks and games if you're cold."

There is a chorus of groans uttered in frustrated unison from the four boys. Rosalie feels sorry for chastising them over such minor things, but it is better from her than one of the elders.

Children should be allowed to be children, her thoughts repeat.

Almost from the shadows, the petite and wrinkled figure of Miss Ada emerges, a scowl on her face. "I wonder what Brother Jacob would have to say about your costume, Rosalie."

Rosalie blushes pink. "My costume is cheerful, and I believe it is modest, Miss Ada."

The older woman shakes her head. "You are a portrait of vanity herself. I think Brother Jacob would say he is disappointed in you."

Rosalie can't help but smirk, an echo of the look on the rogue vampire's face only minutes before. "I don't. It is not vanity to make the most of God-given beauty. I have only seen smiles from those who greet me."

It is unexpected and out of nowhere, the ice-cold slap that crosses Rosalie's cheek. The back of the old woman's hand looks fragile, but years of practise have taught her to use it well. " You may think yourself all grown up, child. That only shows your foolishness."

Miss Ada's whisper is harsh, almost hissed. "I will not harbour serpents in my garden, Rosalie Andrews. Is that clear?"

Tears sting the back of the young woman's eyes, but she holds herself up proudly. "Yes, Miss Ada."

"Good. Make sure those boys keep from trouble. They have an unfortunate gift for it."

With that, the ancient schoolmistress walks off toward the church. Rosalie is left alone, glowering defiantly in much the same way Alex looked at her.

She still hears the voices of the young rebels, whispering and laughing under a tree near the schoolhouse. "I hear that at night, grown-ups sneak in there together and they do it. "

It is the voice of Alex's best friend, a precocious young boy a year older than Alex. Like most young boys, Ethan offers more curiosity than facts.

"What is it? What do they do?" Alex answers, clearly intrigued.

"You know, IT. Things that adults do with kissing and stuff."

Rosalie doesn't turn around to stop the boys. Instead, the sting of her cheek gives her a feeling of compassion.

Children should be allowed to be children; she muses with resentment.

Directed at no one in particular, Rosalie waves her glitter wand like a rebel cry of freedom.