Stonehaven cemetery was located far enough away from the suburbanites that inhabited the housing tracks not to be seen on a daily basis, yet close enough to not be entirely forgotten should a walker or jogger choose the ancient rock slate sidewalk that ran in front of it as choice of route. True, there were several other pathways that joined the same few streets that ran around the aged graveyard that weren’t quite as precariously cracked, but many found the path around the cemetery far more enjoyable, for all the elderly oaks that grew along its borders.

This was especially the case in fall, when the bright green shades of the oak leaves turned a warmer hue of orange, just before losing themselves from the gnarled branches of the old trees. Even when a thick blanket of leaves covered the crumbling sidewalk, the oak trees still appeared quite full of broad orange foliage. Though the outskirts of the cemetery were somewhat bright and cheerful, if one overlooked the rusting black rod iron fences, the cemetery itself was anything but inviting.

Having run out of plots several decades before, the cemetery had fallen into a bit of disrepair. The place so absent of visitors, or a caretakers skilled hands the site was bordering on abandonment. On several occasions a new caretaker had been attempted to be brought in, but on the third or fourth night the newly hired grave keeper would quit quite abruptly, insisting he heard strange and eerie sounds at night, and saw glowing shapes in the blackness of night.

Though few scarcely took notice unless the individual who was hired had played some other part in their daily lives before becoming a caretaker, they would also vanish without a trace.

Through word of mouth and superstitious telling, Stonehaven became a thing of frightful bedtime stories, and bullies teasing on classmates who could hone in on the weak and impressionable like a shark zeros in on a kill.

“Oooh, the Stonehaven monster will come and gobble you up!” The bigger would chant to the smaller, delighting in their frightened faces, and whimpering noises.

The ‘Stonehaven monster’, as he became to be known, was actually little more than a grotesque gothic statue of a massive gargoyle, overlooking one of the more ‘well to do’ families mausoleums. It was one of perhaps four still standing above land crypts, and the only one to house an intimidating figure of a set in stone gargoyle, poised to strike down any who dared disturb his masters resting place.

His monstrous face was forever etched with a fierce, roaring visage, horned features distorted fiercely in anger as an open jaw showcased several fearsome looking teeth. He had all the features you’d come to expect to find in a gargoyle, the wings, and clawed feet and hands, as well some more unusual features, in the form of a beard and hair chiseled into his chin and scalp.

Few were noted to appreciate such things, as the gargoyles horrible razor sharp canines and bloodthirsty looking gaze attracted most of their attention.

Every Halloween, a few of the older kids, far outgrowing trick or treating in their own (and sometimes their parents) opinions, they would play a game in the forgotten graveyard. Each would take turns, seeing how long they could stand before the threshold of the mausoleum, staring into the stone, yet eerily alive gaze of the gargoyle before chickening out. This game would’ve seen easy play to build up some of the tougher punks egos, were it not for the fact that, every so often a flash of lightning, or an unexpected glowing around the statues eyes would occur to frighten not only the current contestant away, but the entire group.

Little did anyone know, that both the strange flaming light that would radiate from the stony monsters eyes, as well the flashes of barbed illumination from the sky, were small cries for attention, not means to frighten people away.

“I’m lonely… The deep reverberating bass of the gargoyles inner thoughts would repeat, for beyond the measure of numbers that could be counted “I wish they’d not run.”

Though the gargoyle, whose name he knew to be Luthias could scarcely recall a time he was able to move, or even if such flights of fancy were ever once a reality, he knew he could feel. Even if such lonesome feelings that he harbored were the only things he seemed capable of possessing.

He could recall, sometimes if he dreamed, if he mentally closed his eyes, when a seemingly kind family had come to him, and asked if the mighty beats would be their families’ protector when they passed on from this world. It wasn’t included or mentioned in the deal that he’d be transformed into immobile statue, set in stone, and perched upon the standing stone crypt to live a life of continual solitude, and serving for more than entertainment in childish pranks.

To say he disliked his predicament would be an understatement; the emotions he felt towards the whole thing transcended such simple descriptions. He wanted to move again, wanted to feel, but most of all…
He wanted to go trick or treating.

It was a strange and queer custom, one that he wasn’t even entirely familiar with the centuries ago before he became what he was now. He could see them, seemingly strange, shadowy shapes, moving along the borders of the black iron fence, holding their bright orange buckets, wearing such strange garments.
But most of all, he remembered the laughter, never had there been a time when one of the tiny, or even not so tiny creatures with their bags fit to burst was sad or lonesome. In groups of friends, or one child with their parents, they was always laughter, and words spoken from lips that had to be smiling, for their speech was filled with gladness.

This strange, alien occurrence only happened once a year it seemed and Luthias could always predict its arrival, when the oak trees turned their brilliant shades of gold and orange, and when the only house, an old Victorian, that was visible from his perch put out a single large orange pumpkin with a face carved into it. He could often make out the glowing, toothy pumpkin face at night, and it always gave him a warm feeling.

Many years passed, on and on this way, until one year, the nearby house stopped putting out their smiling pumpkin, and the only sign of Halloween was the night of the 31st itself, as the trees became less and less reliable, parts of them dying off.

The gargoyle soon became hopeless, though he had a hard time imagining he ever felt hope about anything since that faithful night he was tricked into becoming a stone sentinel. But despite his evaporating faith, he still held onto a trace of hope, despite it being so miniscule he didn’t even realize it still remained within him.

It was enough however, to gain the attention of a second stone resident within Stonehaven.

Not far away from where Luthias was perched upon his grim mausoleum, there was a memorial in the shape of a towering obelisk, and leaned aside it as casual as you please, was a stone figure of a male angel, looking somewhat bored, and unimpressed by his surroundings.

He was a pale white figure, with several cracks and chipping, as well as covered with stains and lichen. In the pale moonlight, the figure always looked as if it were glowing despite all these minor imperfections.

The massive gargoyle never took much notice for this particular statue, despite its ethereal characteristics and strange, out of place expression. Far as the foreboding, immobile brute was concerned, it was just one more morbid, lifeless object in a sea of things that could neither move nor feel, the angel was nothing like him.

Luthias was correct in one aspect of his assuming mind, the angel was indeed nothing like him, and though the gargoyle had taken little to no interest in him, the winged seraphim had taken a great interest in the gargoyle.

One night, as Luthias mentally slept, for his stone visage was forever frozen open, the curious angelic statue…began to move. The sudden twitches and spasms were virtually unnoticeable to even the awakened eye, it was until the impressive figure starting to lift and stretch his wings, and crack his neck to either side, and did the angel truly appear moving.

The grating sound of stony segments and non-existent joints scraping against one another as the angel moved was enough to scare the pants out of any new caretaker, if anyone who was in the neighborhood council cared to bother to hire them anymore. More eerie was the strange green glow of the animated statues eyes, much like that of the gargoyles when Luthias tried in vain to make contact.

Still more scraping and scratching occurred as the angel took its first few steps, adjusting is perfectly chiseled lips and shaking himself free of a centuries worth of dust and debris.

“Rotten job this is!” the angel grouses, afraid to flex the stony body any further else risk one of his appendages cracking right off. “Gosh forbid I should be able to come in flesh!”

The angels grumbles and mutterings were overshadowed by the still grating noises of his movements, as well the crunch of dirt and rock beneath sandaled foot. Fortunately the angelic statue had been constructed not far from where the gargoyle was erected, for he was sure where he even a few steps farther away, he would’ve fallen apart.

“Hey!” the angel bent his head back, and attempted to whistle using two of his fingers, but only managed it smacking them against a mouth that wouldn’t quite open far enough, and breaking them off.

“Aw Shhh…” the angel managed to catch himself before muttering vulgarity, wincing at the thought of what would’ve happened if he’d let that slip.

“Hey, You! Up there on the big stone shoe box, wake up!” he called, hoping his moth would move enough to permit a loud enough sound.

Though nothing of the gargoyles features or position changed, he indeed awoke, sight beyond the grey chipped mask catching the angel at the foot of his ward, and having to continue looking before he could believe what he saw.

“Yes, I’m moving, and I’m on a tight schedule, the boss-man upstairs asked if I’d do him a little favor, and apparently that favors for you.”

Even if Luthias could’ve moved his face to express what he thought, his face would’ve remained blank. ‘what on earth was this statue talking about? How WAS he talking at all?’

“Seems you’re in a bit of a bind…so to speak.” The angels pronounced smirk became even more defined. “N’ since you’ve done such a good job and never lost your fate, despite the deceitful trickery you feel victim too, you’ve been granted a second chance.”

Before Luthias could even begin to conceptualize just what it was the angel meant, he felt a strange tingling along his spine. The alien sensation coursed from his back to his tail and wings, down along the backs of his legs. It took a moment for Luthias to realize just what was going on, his grey stony shell was cracking!

At first he was horrified, watching as vein thin cracks appeared along his arms and legs, glowing with a strange purple hue. But the fear soon left him as Luthias suddenly realized, the threadlike cracks felt good, each new crack that snaked its way around him seemed to bring with it the sensation of feeling, of warmth, things he forgot even existed they’d been so long since denied him.
Soon the towering winged brute was covered with such glowing breaks, and not long after the cracks appeared, large chunks of stone started falling from the behemoth statues body. Luthias found, with more and more amazement as large pieces of rock and crumbling debris flew free of his form, that he was no longer stone…he was flesh!

With an amazed cry, the gargoyle stretched and flexed his wings, showering more and more of the area around him in flat stone chunks.

“Hey! Watch it would you!” The angel, currently being pummeled by just such stony shards cried out, raising one arm to protect himself from the onslaught.

“Suh-sorry…” As Luthias abruptly froze, he heard something strange emitting from his bearded lips, a deep, rumbling sound.

He blinked, brought his taloned hand to his face before realizing, he could move! Not only that, he’d felt the lash of his upper eyelid brush across his eye, he was blinking, he could feel it! Wings that’d so long been useless adornments to his mountainous back were unfurled, stretching out, shaking free the last bit of rocky shell that’d once clung to him for so long.

The last few bits of dusty crumbling rock plummeted in the angels direction, who’d by now become used to the irritating shower, and simply continued to shield himself with an arm.

“I move…I feel!” Luthias exclaimed, half leaping from the pillar upon which he perched, and nearly collapsing over as legs from so many years without use were not used to movement.

Sensing the possibility of being struck by an overly large, bearish gargoyle, the angelic statue scooted quickly to his left. Though this kept the gargoyle from falling on top of him, it did not however keep him safe from the dark skinned brute stumbling into him.

With a sudden shout and a curse the feathery winging messenger couldn’t restrain the living statue toppled over, slamming into the stone steps that lead to Luthias Mausoleum Several cracks and snaps followed the angels fall, causing Luthias to wince, as well again be amazed he could even do such a thing.
“I hate being a temp, I never get any real jobs.” The angel, now in several pieces griped.

“Sorry…not mean to do.” Luthias apologized meekly, guilt filling him at the poor statues predicament.

Were the angel able, he would’ve shaken his head “Naw, it’s fine, I need to get going anyways, did what I was sent here to do.”

Managing a cynical smile, the angel in pieces sighed a little, before all at once the entirety of the statue pieces became lifeless once again, and unmoving.

Frowning beneath his beard, Luthias leaned forward to poke and prod at the statues detached head, managing only to make it rock slightly upon its uneven surface, but it did not move. The gargoyle even went so far as to try and attempt to reassemble the now totally mismatched pieces, managing only to create something that could’ve made several monsters envious.

At first, Luthias felt lonesome again, with so many questions running circles around his mind, and having no one to ask. Who was that strange winged being inhabiting the statue? What person did he speak of who decided to at last free him of his prison? Why now, of all times was he at last granted freedom?

Many more questions rang out within the gargoyles thoughts, and though he wouldn’t likely find the answers, he found himself too overjoyed at living again to care whether or not he would.

One answer would come to him not long after his freedom however, as to why it was this particular night that someone decided he should be let loose of his century long curse. It came in the form of something as simple as laughter, smiling faces, and pumpkins, filled to the brim with candy…