Was it a noise I’d heard? I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. No, it was a lack of noise. The night had become suddenly still. Try to remember the dream I was having, I think. Whispered voices…something creepy about the way they sounded. I glance at Lorraine. She’s still asleep. The clock reads midnight.

Midnight. On St. Walpurga’s Night. The night when the dead walk among the living.

Funny thoughts. I’ve clearly been doing too many Gothic illustrations, I think. But then there’s the silence….

When we’d gone to bed a couple hours before, I’d heard the owls calling, as they do each spring. But now, nothing.

I swing my feet around and drop them to the floor. That’s when I see it in the corner. A wavering figure, pitch black. It’s watching, stealthy like a hunter, like a panther stalking prey.

Quick now, I think. There’s no crucifix in the room, but there’s one on the bathroom sink. I’d taken it off when I showered and left it lying there.

Trying not to look towards the corner, I stand up and take two quick steps towards the bathroom door. I reach inside. Out of the corner of my eye I see the shadow stretch across the room, feel a jab of pain as a clawed hand pierces the back of my head….

The next thing I know, I’m staring at the ceiling. Sea shells from the bedside table clatter around me, and the lamp nearly topples. Lorraine is shouting my name.

I stand up, clutching the crucifix in my hand. Steadying myself in the bathroom doorway, I flip on the light.

There is blood everywhere. My blood. I feel behind my head and my hand comes back crimson. But the vampire is gone. The escape has been too close for comfort. I put a cloth on my wound to stop the bleeding while Lorraine dials 911….

—

“That is _not_ what happened!” Lorraine told the first responder. “He just got out of bed too fast and fainted.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the paramedic answered. “But he’s still going to need stitches. We’ll take him to the hospital.”

—

Sometimes the life of an artist takes strange turns. And sometimes spouses of said folk end up cleaning up the pieces when life mimics art. But reimagining events in a bigger context makes them touch on truths that our logical minds can’t always get at.

There’s an expression that “artists use lies to tell the truth”. And certainly storytelling, whether it’s in words, pictures, or music, gives us a capacity for seeing the unseen, tasting the untastable. Our creative instincts don’t gild reality…they literally co-create it.

So, as spring comes into its fullness and we move toward the slow days of summer, my mind will be fixed on the time of the 3rd crusade. The world that I inhabit in the coming months will be filled with magick, witches, knights, castles, and, perhaps, even vampires. And these may yet help me make sense of crashing stock markets, layoffs, swine flu, and wars on the other side of the globe.

I wish for all of you a safe and peace-filled season of warmth, a belated Happy Walpurga’s Night, and access to all of those tales that will help you find the deeper Truths in all of life’s adventures!