The Longest Halloween, Book Three: Gabbie Del Toro and the Mystery of the Warlock's Urn. Frank Wood

this late afternoon, something uneasy had settled into the walls of one of the corridors. Memory Corridor was what many called it, for all of the memories of times past that it held. Usually it was a quiet, almost hallowed place but today it felt uneasy and tense. The warlock could feel in the walls. They buckled, first gradually, but then they became violent. The seams of the walls seemed almost to the point of tearing as whatever was within screamed to get out, to be free.

      The warlock did not scare easily but this was indeed daunting. He struggled to leave the corridor...but all went dark for him as the corridor claimed him as their own. A new memory would be born in his wake and take its place behind the now-calm walls of Memory Corridor.

      Back to School

      DAY ONE

      It was storming over Ghoulsville on the eve of the first day back to school. Gabbie Del Toro usually did not mind the rain as it spattered against the windows of her fourth floor cozy room of the Del Toro family home, a large corner house at the southern end of Ghoulsville. Jinkies, her pet cat, seemed to care less about the rain. He was just as comfortable reclining in his usual spot at the foot of her bed.

      But things were so different this year. Her family had gone through so many changes, it was no wonder that she wasn’t sleeping as soundly as usual. She got up from her bed and went over to secure the bay windows, peering into the night at the tall spired homes and buildings that formed the topography of Ghoulsville. A flash of lightning showed the woman she had seen before. The woman was all dressed in black from head to toe, in stark contrast to the long whitish-yellow hair trickling from under the black hood and mask, which were connected to a shimmering black cape. After the flash of lightning the woman was gone again, disappearing into the night. Frowning, Gabbie returned to her bed to snuggle up next to Jinkies. She certainly hoped this stormy night did not foreshadow how the upcoming school year would go for her.

      Her alarm clock seemed to go off in no time. Gabbie did not feel as tired as she should have, given her late and uneasy night. Fresh out of a quick shower, Gabbie (short for Gabriella Anamaria Del Toro) feverishly brushed her hair, something she found herself doing these days more often. She was twelve and a witch, or a witch-in-training as her mother liked to say, so any day now, she should be getting her stripe. Every witch upon reaching maturity would get a colored stripe in his or her hair, signifying that they had reached a certain status in witchdom. Her mother had gotten her stripe at eleven; her father as a warlock received his iris color even earlier at ten. By all accounts, Gabbie was already late. For witches, most stripes were white, pink, green or brown. There was one witch who had a blue one—Zeldabub, her aunt and Queen of the House of Ghouls. One witch had a magenta stripe, the criminal Beverly McClafferty. Rarely a witch might also get a purple stripe, the rarest of all the stripes and some said the most mysterious, though Gabbie had no idea why. For her, just getting her stripe was the main thing she worried about these days. She didn’t care what color it was. Her inspection this morning came up empty for any sign of a stripe and she turned away from the mirror, frustrated.

      She glanced out the window to the still-moist streets below. Her eyes wandered to the tall home across the street where her best friend, Neville LeGrand, lived with his father Niall. His mother had died years ago, leaving Neville and his dad to go it alone. Niall was Gabbie’s godfather, which she vaguely thought made Neville her cousin; but a recent falling out between Niall and her father, over the Pumpkin Hill plunder, she assumed, made relations a bit more stark than usual.

      Neville was already dressed and wearing a dark cloak. A mask sat atop his head, turned up. She managed to give him a slight wave which he returned with a head nod. Neville was a warlock or a warlock-in-training, though Gabbie would daresay he was further along in his training than she was in her witchly training. It was one of the unfairnesses of life that as a male warlock, he didn’t have to worry about getting a stripe in his hair or anything like that—just pupil color—and even then, they could be discreet about that. But there was no missing a stripe. Who came up with these rules that governed boys and girls, anyway?

      She headed downstairs to the kitchen where her mother was finishing up breakfast. “Good morning, Mother.”

      “G'morning, Gabriella,” Abigail said. It had been a few weeks now since the Pumpkin Hill Plunder, but it felt longer for Abigail Del Toro, who for all intents and purposes had to shoulder the mantle of a single parent, if only situationally. “You and Grawl need to get a move on. Things are different this year for the both of you.”

      “Yes, Mother.” Her mother looked increasingly drawn and thin these days. She definitely didn’t smile much since her father had been taken into custody for his alleged role in the destruction of Jack of the Lantern’s home and the purloining of the Everlasting Wick. Gabbie didn’t need to be convinced of her father’s innocence, but the proceedings were long and arduous and even at twelve, she couldn’t help believing that the longer they went on, the worse it would be.

      “Still no sign?” Abigail asked, ruffling the chocolate-colored bangs that obscured Gabbie’s eyebrows.

      “No, Mother.”

      “Well, try not to worry. You’re just special is all, and special beings often have to tread a harder pathway.”

      “Yes, Mother.” Gabbie wet her lips and cleared her throat. “Mother, I saw her last night. She’s been there for the last two nights, now that I think about it.”

      “Saw who, Gabriella?”

      “You know who—that witch.”

      “Gabbie, Ghoulsville is filled with witches,” Mrs. Del Toro sniffed.

      “Yes, but you know the one I mean—with the long yellow hair and the shiny black cape,” Gabbie said. “Mother, you have to be curious. Who is she? What does she want?”

      “I’m sure she’s one of your father’s many contacts. He wants us to be safe in his absence, Gabriella.”

      “Are we not safe, Mother?”

      “Of course we are, child. But you know how your father worries about us when he’s not around.”

      “I suppose she could be a member of the Night Guard.”

      “Yes, you’re probably right, Gabriella.” The Night Guard was a community organization of concerned witches and warlocks who came together to make sure that their homes and streets remained safe, though it wasn’t clear to Gabbie what they needed to be safe from. Her father and Uncle Niall had been among the founding members. “You’ve got everything you need to perform your stewardship?”

      “Yes, Mother,” Gabbie replied. Given the family’s recent difficulties, the Del Toro kids, which included Gabbie and her adopted troll brother Grawl, would be tasked with menial chores around the school grounds that they could fit in before the actual learning day started. The Del Toro siblings included her twin brothers Galen and Gilbert, who were six and not yet school age, and her older brother Efrian, who was missing in action over the last year after taking on a mission for Ghoul School’s now deceased former principal, Barnabas Croft. Her parents feared the worst regarding her older brother. According to her father, a lead to Efrian’s whereabouts formed the basis for his alibi on the night of the Pumpkin Hill Plunder, an alibi that unfortunately was lacking in evidentiary support. Gabbie had a thing for legal proceedings, mysteries and crime stuff.

      What made this year even worse for Gabbie was that her best girlfriend, Pinkie Anderson, would not be joining them at school this year as her parents had whisked her off to parts unknown. As Pinkie’s parents were gypsy witches, it was not an unexpected thing for them to do. Though for Gabbie, it was still disappointing.

      Gabbie heard Grawl’s heavy footsteps entering the kitchen. Not quite as tall as Gabbie but as wide as a tree, Grawl was a solidly built troll boy with deep olive skin and a crop of white hair that sat messily atop his thickly browed head. Huge arms poured out of a cut-off top and impossibly wide bare feet crammed into specially made sandals. Though it was the fall