Short Story

One Fox’s Tale

A Halloween Story Inspired by Photographer Alan Orr

It was the night before Halloween, and the air had turned sharply cold, with just a tinge of moisture in the air, enough so that the cold would bite through your autumn layers of clothing. If you were a human.

But to Ginger the Red Fox, it was a refreshing and welcome change. She recognized it was time. Time to climb onto her story rock and call the others to gather, to remind them of what was coming after tonight’s moon rose and fell and rose again.

“Gather ’round you young ones, it’s time to tell the story of the two-legged children!”

Ginger called loudly, in her human baby voice. It really captured their attention, and the young ones came to investigate.

Some of the yearlings came, and the ones that had heard the story once or twice before gathered to hear it again. They spoke to their younger siblings. “Come on! You don’t want to miss Ginger’s story! Let’s go! It’s time!”

The young possums, raccoons, mice, rats, squirrels, and even the young otters and fishers — everything furry that lives in the woods — everything but the birds, of course, because they slept through the whole ordeal — crept, or ran, or crawled carefully up to sit at the foot of Ginger’s story rock.

“My young ones, thank you for gathering here in peace this cool evening. I know you are all preparing to settle in for the long cold days with your families.”

“Tonight is the last night of peace before the two leggeds begin to change. When the sun is high and visits us for a long time in the sky, the two leggeds are mostly peaceful. Except for that one day when they create fire and light and noise in the skies at night.”

“Tomorrow is different. You will see things that will frighten you. The orange squash fruit we eat freely from the land will have strange faces, scary faces, and they will light up the night. You will see them anywhere, and every place you look.”

“You will also see little ones, young ones, young like you, but two leggeds. But they will have a disguise, a camouflage, and there will be no telling how big or colorful or frightening it might look. It will confuse you to be sure! Sometimes they might even look like your mother or father, or even like a four legged that lives with the two leggeds, that you may even have played with sometimes, in their grassy fields!”

“But be wary — these are tricksters — and not to be trusted. In fact — do not trust anything you see under tomorrow’s moonlight! It will be best if you just stay with your parents in your den. If you do not have parents, or a den to stay in, find the safest dark space and stay hidden in the shadows. I promise you, you do not want anyone to see you!”

There was a cackling and crying and mumbling, a rumbling almost, of fur baby voices in the woods, as they shook their fur in fear. They echoed into the trees around them, enough to make the owls and night birds open their eyes and peek out of their nest holes in the trees, to see what was happening.

Some of the yearlings looked at the youngest ones and stood a little taller, as if to say, don’t worry, we’re still here. We survived it.

“Before you leave this place,” Ginger continued, “there is one good thing, and only one, that you will be happy to know about. But the timing is important, and you cannot make any mistakes here, or you may surely die.”

More noises of fear and worry shot through the trees.

“You must remember this. After you hear no more noise. Not a single stirring. Not a single footstep. Not a single vibration. And you must have patience like you have never had before in your entire short life!”

Every animal was crouched carefully, waiting, to hear this secret. The waiting was unbearable.

“You must be absolutely sure. Do not leave your dark shadows until you are sure. Only then…..”

Just then, a pair of owls swooped down and tried to pick up a young mouse, or rat — whatever was closest.

The youngsters scattered and waited. They waited for Ginger to call to them again. They waited for anyone to call to them again, that it would be safe.

Then, they heard it.

Ginger’s voice, like a two legged baby, calling that it was safe.

They slowly crept back to the story rock.

“I will not be with you tomorrow night, to tell you it is safe. You will be on your own. This is the true test now, that you are ready. Ready to be grown up.”

“Tomorrow, when there is no sound and all the lights and strange sights are gone, and you hear no sound but the flapping and calling of the owls, which you already know how to deal with — then and only then, you can emerge from your hiding space.”

The young ones could barely stand the suspense.

“Then — you may find the land and grasses and black rock covered. Covered with a gold like you have never seen. Wrapped and dripping and waiting for you to eat! Eggs! And a sweet treat wrapped in paper! Even sweeter than the orange squash.”

“It happens only once, at this time of year. Some will discover more than others. Share amongst you. Do not be greedy, lest the owls come and swoop you away.”

“Now go back to your dens. Think about what I have told you. Be kind and helpful to each other. I know you are hungry. But there will be enough. I promise you.”

And Ginger the Red Fox came down from her story rock, and quietly slipped back into the shadows, and back into the safety of her den, where her kits were waiting for her.

© Susan Brearley, 2019 All Rights Reserved

Susan Brearley is a published book author, writer, editor, essayist, occasional comedy writer, and an accidental poet. She is currently working on her second book, a murder mystery about an OCD detective, who’s been called a “young version of Monk”. She’s a retired systems engineer and salesperson from IBM, a serial entrepreneur, and a survivor of a stage 4 inflammatory breast cancer since 1995. She’s also working on her US Coast Guard Captain’s license, has her US Sailing keelboat certification, and is the creator and elder teacher of a new program, “VisionQuest” that mentors and teaches adults of all ages how to create the life they were born to live. She is currently based in the mid-Hudson Valley, New York.

This was my response to the MuddyUm first weekly writer’s prompt.