The Bite of Cider

[ashintuku]

"Don't ferget yer scarf, Menny!"

Mendel Aschner stopped by the door, turning with a smile when his cousin came over with the familiar burgundy scarf. It was finally crisp and nippy outside, biting at noses with promises that Jack Frost was coming and was just held up. The front foyer, decorated for Halloween, was a dull explosion of browns, blacks, and oranges, with dashes of white and yellow thrown in here and there. The umbrella stand had been turned into a gargoyle; the banister glowing in white and orange fairy lights, a telltale sign of ghosts and ghouls.

Ducking his head, the younger Aschner let Yentl wrap the scarf securely around his neck; allowing his cousin the moment to fuss over him before he disappeared for the rest of the week, probably. Mendel was like that, though. He'd come to visit for a few days, spend time with his family, and then just seemingly disappear off the face of the earth.

"Incoming fairy!" a voice called from the top of the stairs, and both cousins moved away in time to avoid Poppy careening down the stairs, her sparkling pink and purple dress shedding sparkles; her wings slightly askew on her back. Hurrying after her, swaddled in black and green like a regular Witch of the West, Sarah looked over to see Mendel dressed and ready to leave.

"Mendel's leaving already?"

This seemed to draw the Poppy fairy back from wherever she'd run off to, as she came hurrying back. Colliding with Mendel's legs, the little girl wrapped her arms tight behind his knees, squeezing.

"Menny can't leave yet, he has to go out trick-or-treating with us!"

"Poppy..." Sarah sighed, reaching out to draw the little girl away, but Mendel made her pause, crouching over to crush the little girl in a brief hug before pulling away from her gently.

"Y'know I'd love ta, don't ya, Poppers?" Poppy nodded, pouting; her youthful face bedazzled to finish the fairy look. Mendel grinned, then, a smile so much like her Papa's, and Poppy couldn't help but smile back; giggling when Mendel tweaked her button nose. "I'll be back soon."

"Promise?"

"'Course! How else am I gonna steal yer candy, huh?"

"Heey! You can't steal my candy, it's mine!"

Mendel laughed again, standing up straight after mussing with the little girl's hair. She stuck her tongue out at him, skipping over to Sarah so that her older sister could fix up her appearance; the slim 'witch' smiling and shaking her head over cousin Mendel's antics. The blonde Aschner then took out his gloves, tugging them on and patting his pockets so that his keys jingled; showing that he would be back sometime soon.

"Make sure if anyone asks ya fer a trick, ya tell 'em that riddle, Poppers - and make sure that ya tell 'em if they can't figure it out, ya gotta get double the candy." Mendel winked while Sarah made a disapproving face and Yentl laughed, straightening out his coat. "You girls have fun. Where's Jimena and Amara?"

"Jimena's gone to spend the evening with a few of her friends. I'm sure she took Amara along so that she wouldn't be alone," Sarah said, finishing up fixing Poppy's hair. She then looked up at her adopted cousin, giving him a thoughtful once-over. "Where are you going this time?"

"Just around," Mendel shrugged, adjusting his scarf. He then turned to Yentl, reaching out to give his older cousin a one-armed hug. "I'll see ya at the end of the week, I'd guess," he said, smiling as he pulled back. "Tell Dean I said bye, okay? I know he's not my biggest fan."

"Nah, Dean likes ya," Yentl shrugged, smiling a little dopily at the mention of his husband. "He's just a grump about it." Mendel snorted, rolling his eyes, before finally reaching out for the door. Yentl stopped him once more, however, hazel-blue eyes looking at him seriously. "... be careful tonight, okay?"

Mendel frowned, turning away from the knowing look in his cousin's eyes, but nodded all the same. He was then fully released, and he slipped out of the McCopin-Aschner household as soon as he could, closing the door behind him.

The streets of their quaint neighbourhood were festooned in black and orange ribbons. The front yards held various decorations, from graveyards with skeletal hands crawling out of them to steaming cauldrons where the home owners would sit that evening, dressed as witches and reciting Shakespearean rhyme to passerby. Pumpkins sat on almost every doorstep, some of them already flickering with warm candlelight; illuminating friendly grins and ghastly grimaces. Leaves scattered the streets, adding a cool feeling to everything, and the wet scent of rotting leaves, mulch, and asphalt after a heavy storm filled the air.

Mendel walked down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, head tilted up to the sky to look at the clear blue autumn sky. In the summer people always liked to see some cloud, because it protected people from the scorching heat; in spring, the sight of clouds meant sun-showers and rainbows. In the winter, kids from kindergarten to seniors in university peeked out their windows and prayed for snow so that classes would be cancelled and they could have a snow-day.

But when it was fall, people only ever wanted to see clear blue skies. Clouds meant fall rains, and those were dreary and cold and miserable. But clear skies meant that they could take walks out into town or the woods, sipping their hot chocolates and lattes bought at coffee shops, nibbling pumpkin-flavoured cookies and biscuits, and snuggling into their scarves and comfortable, woolen hats.

It was on days like this Halloween that couples walked together, hand-in-hand and snuggled against one another, talking about tomorrows and yesterdays and forevers. Days like today where leaves could fall into hair and warm laughter could chase away even the chilliest of winds.

Honestly, it was days like today that Mendel Aschner hated most in the world, and so he turned away from the bright, clear blue sky and instead watched where he was going, like a sensible sort of person. For once.

You never have been sensible, Mendel, a familiar voice echoed, and he shrugged away the memory and an ache in his shoulders, determined not to fall into that kind of hole again. He had just managed to fully move out of Yentl and Dean's place - he didn't have the time or the wish to move back in.

Startling at a screech, Mendel stepped away just in time for a black cat to streak across his path, quickly followed by two girls - both dark haired, one taller than the other by several inches - chasing after it.

"We can't lose her, people will think she's bad luck and hurt her!"

"Shiloh! I know that! Just - stop crying and go around that way, she's heading for Stasia's yard!"

"Stasia's?! Her mother is going to kill us!"

"SHILOH!"

Mendel watched them for a moment, grinning when the shorter one - Shiloh - finally managed to grab the runaway cat; clinging to her as if afraid she'd flail for freedom again. The other girl, whose name he knew as Jade, panted as she came to a stop beside her friend and surrogate sister, glaring up at the cat reproachfully.

"That was close."

"Too close. Get going, I'll distract the harpy."

Shiloh squeaked and rushed off, escaping just in time for an angry-looking redheaded woman to appear at the doorway. Mendel hid his grin in his scarf, turning and walking off; knowing that Jade would be able to handle herself just fine. That and the smaller redhead just behind the angry-woman would defend her friend to a sound grounding, if she had to.

It was a pretty common scene in the neighbourhood, and even Anastasia's vicious mother knew better than to try anything but scold Jade for running on her finely manicured lawn.

He turned off of the eventful street, heading instead towards town. A few teenagers were hanging around front lawns and in front of the closest convenience store that the neighbourhood had, bumming cigarettes off of one another and talking about how they were going to spend the evening. A few of the teenagers were familiar faces to the blonde Aschner, being regulars in Yentl's office for detention of disciplinary reasons. One stuck out in particular as he stood away from the others, listening to the yammering Shiloh who still clung desperately to the black cat. Just behind him, a cocky-looking teen who Mendel knew was a drama student was frowning at Shiloh's story, rubbing his nose and turning to look towards the neighbourhood Mendel had just left.

Yet once again, Mendel left them to their own devices, not particularly wishing to get into any fights that weren't his own. Not tonight, anyway. Any other night, he would've been more than happy to; but today he felt the need to keep to himself and keep quiet. Maybe it was because of a year ago; maybe it was just early SADs. Whatever it was, it made him hide in his scarf once more and pick up his pace.

The Halloween decorations followed him even into town, where sheeted ghosts floated off of street lamps and bandaged mummies lounged on chairs in front of cafes and the candy store. Just beside the post office entryway, Frankenstein's monster reached out to grab visitors and their packages; his face twisted into the tormented pain of the original, skin tinged the green of assorted corpses.

Now the streets were filled with adults starting to get off from work, business men and women dragging their feet over the pavement towards coffee shops and the one Starbucks that sat on the corner like a beacon of hope and overpriced caffeine. A few walked quickly towards the neighbourhoods, women doffing their witch's cap to those they passed and men adjusting the surgical seam around their podgy necks; teachers who finally escaped the confines of their classroom or club, making their way home to prepare for the arrival of the little ones.

Groups of teenagers were stopped at grocery store doors while cops looked at the three dozen eggs they had bought and four packages of toilet paper, staring at them with significant eyebrow raises so prominent they should've been dressed in a different blue shirt.

Molly Grue, the owner of Grue House & Herb Shoppe, swept leaves and dust from her entryway, smiling as younger kids stopped by her Inn to stare at the decorations that swarmed the place; foggy mists over the front yard, skeletons poised to dance over the grass, and ghosts sitting in the trees, staring down at them with their perpetually surprised expressions. Dante, her adopted son, sat on the stoop just beside her; watching the children with careful, dark eyes, gloved hands fiddling with a glass of wine and dressed, as usual, in a fine, dark suit with sharp angles. The only difference of the night were the little horns that Molly or Evelyn, Molly's unofficial daughter, had most likely stuck to his forehead just against his hairline, just to get him into the spirit.

(Honestly, he probably only kept them on because they made Molly smile, because that was just Dante's way.)

Mendel kept walking, however, waving to familiar faces as he went; stopping only a moment to talk with Emmy, who was on his way to Timothy Morales' costume shop in order to get ready for the Halloween party that night.

"Y'are comin', aren't ya, Mendel?"

"Eh - I'unno, Emmy. But I'll think about it, okay? I'd have ta think of a costume."

Emmy grinned, nodding and clasping Mendel's hand. "Just so's ya know, Tim would be happy t'help ya, okay? Ah gotta go, though - hope ta see ya tonight!"

Mendel smiled, watching his friend walk away from him, chewing his bottom lip and walking off once more.

He finally managed to walk off far enough from the town's festivities, however, when he came across Stefan's Church. It was only called as such because it was rumoured that an old thief called Stefan had died by accident in the pews, and haunted the place still. Roza and Toma - the caretakers of the church, and cousins you simply did not mess with, no matter how mischievous you felt - said nothing on Stefan or the old legends, and usually asked if you were there to respect the dead or to make trouble.

Mendel was not even sure why he was at Stefan's Church, but he shrugged and made his way towards the graveyard all the same.

The graveyard was cool, as all graveyards tended to be. Tombs lying hither-and-thither scattered around overgrown grass, and flowers - some fresh, more rotting and dried dead - gave the air a sickly-sweet smell to it all. A single oak tree, bared of its leaves, stood in the corner, and sometimes Mendel thought he saw rope hanging from the branches if he looked at it only through the corner of his eyes.

He came to a stop just under that tree, looking down at the gravestone in front of him. No one he knew, not personally, but someone he should respect anyway. It was obviously a well-kept place, as the headstone was still standing straight, and the grass was clipped and trimmed just around it. A teddy bear sat in front of it, along with a small bundle of flowers fitting for the season. He knelt in front of it, touched the teddy bear, and wondered how old they had been.

"Someone you knew?"

Mendel frowned, not recognizing the voice as either Roza's or Toma's, and turned around to see who had managed to sneak up on him.

The man was... tall, but probably only as tall as Mendel. He had a bit of a strange face; not wholly unattractive, but not conventionally attractive, either. Dark blonde hair, almost brown from the sun's angle, was swept back carefully, and he wore a dark pea coat and a thin grey scarf that probably didn't do anything against the chill in the air. His green eyes stood out the most, however; dark and deep and wide, almost the colour of moss or seaweed after pulling it out of the lake on hot, summer afternoons.

He had an accent, Mendel realized belatedly, and he stood up as soon as he realized how strange he must appear, crouching to the ground and staring up at the man as if he were an idol of some sort. The man only smiled, however, and said nothing.

"...not someone I personally knew, no," Mendel said after a moment, shuffling away from the gravestone and tugging on his scarf awkwardly. "Just... payin' my respects."

"Ah," the man said, nodding in a knowing way, staring at the gravestone with dark eyes before looking back to Mendel. "You are running from somezhing, too, mine valp?"

"...mine wha-- wait, hold on, why d'ya say I'm runnin'? I'm not runnin' from anythin'. I mean, not that it's your business, of course."

"Of course," the man nodded, smiling in that knowing, nearly arrogant way; staring at Mendel with those dark eyes like seaweed - reaching out to tangle around him and drag him down. "But vhy come here if you are not?"

"Pardon?"

"Zhis graveyard - or, indeed, zhis gravestone. Zhis tree. It is in memory of zhings lost. Zhings you can never get back. We bury our dead because we zhink it brings closure, vhen really it gives us a place to run to, when we feel too much - to remind us it is dead." He waved at the gravestone and the tree, then, turning to Mendel. "Zhis spot has no name. Vhy?"

"...Faded over time."

"It is because zhere is no name here - zhere is nozhing to remember. Just a spot for zhe lost to decide vhether or not zhey have had enough of running." He paused again, staring at the barren oak tree. "Have you had enough of running?"

"...this is really none of your business -"

"Call me Fanden," the man, Fanden, interrupted, and he turned once more to Mendel with a smile. "Come vith me, mine valp."

"What does that mean?" Mendel asked, pulling his coat closer around himself. Fanden paused, before shrugging and curling his fingers in offering; beckoning Fanden to follow like some sort of puppy or duck.

"Nozhing zhat matters," he said, smile curling the corners of his lips. "Come, come, ve vaste time."

"I ain't goin' anywhere with ya - sorry, but that's the beginning of every homicide story in newspapers."

"You are a journalist, zhen!" Fanden said, perking up before shaking his head. "Zhere vill be no murdering from me. I just bought zhis scarf. Now, come, come - ve vaste time."

"...Give me one good reason."

Fanden paused, staring at Mendel with a new expression, before giving him a sharper smile; grimacing like a jack-o'-lantern.

"Her name is Chelsea, ja?"

Mendel's eyes widened, before he moved towards Fanden - but the man was already halfway across the graveyard, walking at a leisurely pace. The blonde Aschner stared at him with confusion mixed with anger, before glancing back at the grave and the tree.

For a moment, he thought he saw a string of bodies hanging there, and Roza pulling them down with a hook like one found in clothing stores, but when he turned around fully there was nothing there.

"Ve vaste time!"

He shook his head and rushed off to follow.

Fanden led him not towards the woods, but back into town. The sun was setting, now, painting the sky in various colours, and stores turning on lights and switching on the spooky soundtracks and the creepy music they saved for this day of the year. Groups of young children gathered around two or three adults, being paired off with a buddy so that they wouldn't get separated from everyone else. Molly sat on her front porch again, dressed to the nines as a witch; Evelyn sitting beside her in a swaddling red cloak, holding a bowl of candy and howling along with the little werewolves as they rushed by, calling out to Little Red.

No one seemed to pay much attention to Mendel this time, however, and he frowned at that, hunching in his coat and picking up the pace to catch up with Fanden. The other man disappeared into a small cafe, and Fanden slipped in after him, blinking when he was suddenly plunged into darkness.

It was not completely dark, of course; dim lights came from lamps attached to the walls, where sheer black shawls were tossed over them to make the light as dim as possible. Men and women sat around in dark clothes; both with various states of eye and face make-up applied, rings and bracelets glinting off their long limbs. A woman swaddled in purple and grey stared at Fanden with narrowed eyes before jerking her head back, and Fanden led Mendel through a beaded curtain into a backroom.

The backroom was empty, save for a couple of people playing music in the corner; one or two couples dancing. Mendel watched the band and the dancers for a moment before being pulled away, shoved into a seat, and handed a cup of something without further ado.

"...I don't think I want ta drink this."

Fanden quirked a brow, before smiling, taking the glass from Mendel without a word and downing it in one swallow. The faint scent of apple cider drifted in the air, and Mendel felt a bit like an idiot for thinking it was poison or alcohol or drugged.

"What do ya want from me, exactly?"

"I am deciding zhat," Fanden told him plainly, resting his chin on his palm; watching Mendel with curious eyes. "Vhy did you decide to come?"

"...You knew about Chelsea."

"Of course I knew about Chelsea - zhe whole town does." Fanden gave him a condescending expression, then, something like a smile but twisted into something unbearable and pitying. It was a look Mendel was much, much too used to. "Is zhat zhe only reason? Did you zhink I would go after her if you did not come? I do not care about Chelsea - just you, mine valp."

"That's got to mean something."

"Answer my question."

Mendel frowned, tugging at his scarf but deciding against taking it off. For the moment it felt like a shield given to him by his cousin, and was his only defence against the strange turn his night had taken.

"...no, I did not think you were going to go after Chelsea."

"Zhen vhy?"

"You're the first new thing to appear in this town for a year," Mendel said, looking up to Fanden with a serious expression. "Maybe I was drawn to you."

"...I vas hoping you'd say zhat."

Mendel was about to ask why when Fanden held up a hand, stopping him from speaking.

"You vish to know vhat I vant vith you?" Mendel nodded, and Fanden pursed his lips. "I vish to know vhy I dream of you."

"...uh." Mendel blinked, brows raising. "You've seen me on the street a lot?"

"But it is you," Fanden insisted, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes. "I vish to know vhy."

"Don't look at me," Mendel said with a shrug, hiding in his scarf. "I'm nothin' special."

Fanden frowned, before standing up abruptly again. Mendel, confused, did as well and followed him out. Yet when they stepped out, it was now evening; the younger children were gone, leaving the older ones who could go trick-or-treating without their parents wandering around, stores closed. Molly's front yard was empty save for Dante, who sat speaking with a young woman dressed like some sort of crossbreed of a punk and a goth. The bars were opened, blasting out music, and adults dressed in various states of undress wandered around, singing the Monster Mash and laughing drunkenly.

"How long have we been in there?!"

"Long enough," Fanden shrugged, moving away from the masses and towards the neighbourhood. Mendel followed, staring in confusion, swearing it had only felt like five, maybe ten minutes in that store. But Fanden didn't even seem fazed as he stopped in front of a familiar house. Mendel slowed to a stop just beside him, turning to see Yentl carrying a knocked-out Poppy up the stairs through the window. Sarah sat with Dean on the front porch, handing out candy to the kids and teenagers who came up to them; smiling warmly and laughing as bright and as bubbly as any Glinda.

"You know where my family lives. That's great."

"I vish to know if you zhink zhat zhey zhink you are nozhing special."

"...Excuse me?"

"Do zhey zhink you are nozhing, as you see yourself?"

Mendel pressed his lips together, and Fanden sighed, shaking his head.

"Does your friend Emmanuel? Or Mitch? Or Molly Grue, or any person in zhis town who knows you - do zhey see you as nozhing?"

"...I don't know."

"You don't know." Fanden rolled his eyes, reaching up to press his hand to Mendel's cheek, staring at him hotly; in anger or frustration, he couldn't tell. "Zhe answer is no - zhey do not."

"And how do ya know?" Mendel demanded, fingers curling into a fist, eyes narrowing at this intrusive man who knew way too much about him. "How do you know?"

"Zhe love zhat is put into anyzhing for you is obvious, mine valp," Fanden hissed, pushing Mendel's head to the side before taking hold of it once more; this time with both hands, holding his face near tenderly. "But your mind has been poisoned by hateful vords by a hateful voman."

"Don't you -"

"Mendel, a man like me vould not dream of someone unimportant."

Mendel shut his mouth, staring at Fanden searchingly; trying to find some answers in his green eyes but getting nothing. Nothing but vague images and muted words.

"...Mendel I lied."

"I'm gettin' that."

Fanden didn't react to his words, thumbs brushing over Mendel's temples. "I've known you for a long time - and you've known me. But you forced yourself to forget me."

"...yeah?"

"Ja," Fanden nodded, fingertips pressing into Mendel's temples as if willing memories to return. But there was no such thing, and Fanden sighed. And then, quite abruptly, he pulled Mendel close and pressed a kiss to his lips.

It tasted like apple cider, and smoke, and like river water. His lips were cold and Mendel's first thought was to get away - but then he realized it felt familiar, and comfortable, and that bothered him more than it should have. But he still relaxed as if it were the most obvious things to do in the world. He relaxed, and leaned in, and Fanden's grip on his head loosened; fingers curling behind his ears just the way the journalist liked it.

When he pulled back, Fanden murmured something; but when Mendel opened his eyes so that he could ask him what, the man was gone, and he was standing alone on the sidewalk. He turned, then, to the door just as Yentl opened it, looking worriedly at his cousin.

"...come inside, Mendel," Yentl called out, and Mendel, confused and feeling dazed, nodding and moving across the street. He wrapped an arm around his cousin, looking out across the street but noticing nothing out of the ordinary, before closing the door.

Just outside of town, sitting in front of the gravestone under the barren oak tree, Fanden stared at the teddy bear left to him by a girl named Poppy, reaching out to trace the name over the stone. The shadow of a girl, guilty for having killed one man and causing another to forget it, hung out of the corner of his eye, and Roza reached up to take her down from the tree.

When Mendel dreamt that night, he dreamt of Chelsea, staring down at him from where he laid out on a hospital bed; reaching out and tracing the bandage over his head with a weak, shaking smile that was full of good-intentioned lies.

You never have been sensible, Mendel, she said, shaking her head; hands shaking even as her resolved solidified. Puck always said that.

But when Mendel woke up the next day, the dream was forgotten.

And so was the man in the graveyard, stuck until he was remembered.