Black Candle Vigil

By Elena Berrino

Black Candle Vigil tells the story of Samhain night in the small, rural village of Aberlaine, England. Every year in Samhain, two villagers hold the Black Candle Vigil in the Old House — a whole night of making sure the black candle stays lit and keeps the angry ghosts at bay from the village. When Patrick Lane's sister is up to participate in the vigil but too scared to follow through, he volunteers to replace her. This turns out to be a mistake, as his vigil partner is the only person in the village he doesn't want to see: his ex, Ronan Thorn.

The candle goes out, and the pair find themselves stuck together in a haunted house from dusk to dawn. But at least they're not alone; there are ghosts aplenty.

Black Candle Vigil is a chilling LGBTQ+ romance, tailored to provide all your Hallows’ Eve feels.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Oct 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094431413

Book preview

Chapter 1: The Witching Night

Nicholas the goat had, once again, broken into the kitchen.

How do you keep doing this? Patrick asked him, shrugging out of his tan jacket and dropping it on a chair back. I know for a fact you don’t have thumbs.

Nicholas had nothing to say to this but to continue, unbothered, to chew on the tablecloth. Patrick nudged him away from the table with a knee, weathering the goat’s evil eye with practiced unconcern.

Nicholas bleated loudly in protest, stomping a hoof. Rolling his eyes, Patrick went to the counter and found the biscuit tin. Nicholas, because he knew what was good for him, swiftly changed his attitude from sullen discontent to adorable cuddling against Patrick’s leg. He gave Patrick the most soulful look, leaning the side of his head against Patrick’s thigh.

Patrick huffed.

You’re a horror, he told Nicholas before finally putting the biscuit within the goat’s reach. He quickly withdrew his hand, saving his fingers from being shaved off at the fingertip.

He heard footsteps outside just in time to hurriedly put the tin back on the shelf and turn around. Even he could admit he looked a little suspicious, leaning back against the counter with a goat munching on something at his feet, but his mother, Martha, was busy looking down at something on her tablet and missed the final incriminating second as Nicholas swallowed the last of the treat.

I thought you were out on the pasture today? she asked, glancing up briefly before looking back down at her screen.

I did most of it. I’ll finish the last of it tomorrow, but I need to grade some papers for Friday’s class.

Are they still struggling through ‘What’s Up?’ she asked distractedly, pulling a chair out from the table. Patrick picked up the kettle and filled it with water for tea, subtly nudging Nicholas away with his thigh. The goat was still making eyes at him, like he thought Patrick was up for implicating himself in a crime right in front of his mother. Forty years of life with his mother had taught Patrick better than to draw her evil eye, though.

I made them write down the melody from ear, he answered, setting the kettle back in the base and flicking it on.

That sounds like fun, Martha said vaguely.

I’m sure they’ll figure it out, said Patrick, who was sure of no such thing but was a staunch defender of his students, regardless of their debatable musical talents.

Did you bring the tractor back in?

No, I left it out in the pasture to rust and become part of the scenery. I think it’s picturesque.

Martha hummed without looking up. Well done.

I also decided to set the barn on fire, he added casually. We can use the wreckage to light the stoves and save on gas.

Good call, son.

Patrick studied her for a moment. The kettle beeped.

You want cream on your tea, right?

She hummed an affirmative, and then stopped, blinking up at him.

What? she asked, in dawning horror.

Sugar? he added solicitously.

Martha set down her tablet, frowning at him. Finally she noticed the goat, and transferred her frown from son to pet, head tilting.

Nicholas tilted his head back at her innocently.

How did he get back in?

He teleports, Patrick answered, fishing for mugs and tea bags in the cupboard. What’s got you so focused? Is there a problem with the balances?

No, not at all. It’s shaping up to be a very good year. I’m actually wondering if we could get some more sheep — did you know in some parts of South America they have llamas to look after their sheep? They’re so big, they scare the foxes away.

Patrick set a cup of tea in front of her and gave her a look.

Mum. We’re not getting a llama. They spit.

"So does that," Martha pointed out, gesturing to Nicholas, who was unsubtly edging his way back to the table and sniffing the corner of the tablecloth. Patrick hurriedly shoved him away with his knee.

"Yes, but I’m used to that, I can dodge him. Llamas are tall. Where would we even get a —"

They heard the sound of the front door flying open so violently it slammed against the wall, startling them both. They shared a wide-eyed look as a long, almost inhuman-sounding wail drifted in from the lounge. The door slammed closed.

Patrick jumped to his feet and picked up his tea mug.

Don’t you dare, Martha hissed at him, eyes narrowed.

"She’s your daughter," he hissed back, stepping over Nicholas with haste on his way out of the kitchen.

Coward! she threw at his back, but he waved a hand over his shoulder and skedaddled. Teenage girls had been terrifying when he was a teenager; he certainly didn’t know how to deal with one at the ripe old age of I’m-old-enough-to-be-your-teacher. Unlike Patrick, who’d inherited his mellow attitude from his late father, his sister, Caroline, had their mother’s temper. Patrick would rather go back out in the tractor and work until nightfall than face her in one of her moods.

He wouldn’t go so far as to say he’d locked himself in the safety of the study — or at least he wouldn’t admit it to his mother — but he got a good two hours of silent work in before Caroline remembered there was another human in the household. Presumably by then she had gone over her day’s grievance with their mother in intricate detail and had arrived at the point in which she felt comfortable dumping it on Patrick so long as Patrick did not, in fact, offer an opinion. Living in a remote farmhouse with two women had taught Patrick that issues came to him only to be heard, not commented on. He knew his role in this house, thank you.

Caroline appeared in the doorway in the study, having already changed from what she termed outside clothes into what Patrick assumed instead were clothes I don’t care if anyone sees me in. Tellingly, one of those items was Patrick’s own old gray jumper, which he’d been looking for that morning. One glance at her face swiftly arrested his impulse to complain; he knew better than to incite murder.

Good day at school? he ventured cautiously as his sister collapsed into the chair across the desk and melted into the seat so far her bum must have fallen off the edge.

Why do I need to go to school? she asked flatly, staring at the ceiling. I’m pretty. I could find a rich spouse.

Patrick wisely didn’t point out Not with that temper, which was his first thought. His second, which was a scandalized You’re too young to be married, he swallowed for his own comfort; he’d said something like that before and Caroline still teased him about being an old spinster. Three years later.

In the interest of survival, he settled for a vague, noncommittal hum. There was a moment of companionable silence as he returned to his papers with the dawning realization that he really had overestimated his students. One of them had gotten most of it right, but had written all the notes one line below where they should be. The class’s resident disaster had given up halfway through and just copied the melody for Happy Birthday. Patrick was almost tempted to give him points for being a troll.

Caroline made a telling noise of loud, building discontent. Patrick looked up at her over the rim of his reading glasses inquisitively.

I got a call from Sebastian Thorne at lunch, she told the ceiling.

Patrick’s brows flew up. He glanced at the calendar and found, to his surprise, that it was October 31. Samhain.

You on for the Vigil? he asked.

"I wasn’t supposed to be! she complained loudly. She threw up her hands and then slapped them down hard on the armrests of the chair. Apparently Tim Willows was supposed to, but he’s got the flu or something, and he ditched!"

Inconsiderate of him, Patrick said dryly.

Caroline sat up so quickly her hair went flying. And I have a test tomorrow!

Why didn’t you say no?

I didn’t know I could! He ambushed me!

Patrick gave up and pulled off his reading glasses, sitting back in his chair. From the look on Caroline’s face, this might actually be one of the few occasions in which he was meant to give a solution rather than just sit quietly and listen to complaints. It was a delicate thing, figuring out which was required of him at which time.

So study through the night. You can probably beg off school tomorrow since you’ll be at the Vigil. Study, delay, get a better grade. Profit.

I already delayed it once because I was on my period and felt like garbage, she admitted.

Patrick remembered something about that last week; he’d had to make an emergency run to the store for tampons for her, and then had to ask Mrs. Tomfold from down Spring Lane to help him pick the right box, and also other things that might help his sister feel better, like snacks and treats. She was a great woman, Mrs. Tomfold.

All right, he said slowly, thinking. So — study through the night, go to school and have the test, then come home and nap. Skip school the next day. Profit.

I can’t skip school on a Friday, it’s the best day!

But long weekend, he bargained.

But after-school drinks with friends! she

Reviews for Black Candle Vigil

[Jen DuBay · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Fantastic short, honestly wish it was longer, would love a sequel. The characters feel real, the magic is unique, and the story line, I originally thought was a Hocus Pocus knock off, is anything but.