They say the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead, the real and the...lesser, is thinner on Hallow's Eve. That on one day, spirits can speak out and have their voice be heard.
They are wrong.
The veil is not so much some gossamer veil as an impassable wall—I would know. On any day, Halloween or Christmas or just Tuesday, I am less than the wind scattering through the soil, than the sweet, dew-kissed petals of a rose rising from snow, less than the distant star-song whispering deep in your bones. Any day but today.
I know not why cracks form in between, only that they let my voice carry through, and I don't care to learn more.
Time is so fleeting, and my tongue so unpracticed, but hear me out.

I don't know how I came to be here. Here being where you are not, the world on the other side of where you now stand. Or perhaps you are sitting, or lying down, or floating in the air. Well, regardless of where you are, you cannot reach me, nor I you. Believe me when I say I tried.
At first, I thought I might be dead, but surely to be dead you must have once known life. I awoke as a hollow existence, and my hands never once could reach what they wanted to grasp. You would not understand, I'm sure; how could you when you have never known cold melodies ringing with magnificent truth, angrily clear words on your lips that make the far near and the stars cry with enlightenment? You, a cold clay being held together only by the desperation of a creature afraid of being alone.
...I wonder, then, which of us is the worse off?

The walls of this school are so old, but I'm sure I must be older, because I knew a time when they were only dirt, and I cannot spare a tear for the weary spirits in the brick. I have been watching this place for so long. I saw the first headmaster lose his head and meet his master, and I was watching when the first pupil closed his eyes for the last time. I was watching when they brought that abominable contraption through these borders and then—Then, I was not watching at all. And now I speak instead of listening, and soon I think I might be the watched rather than the watcher.
Let my voice ring clarion through the fog. Know me and for once, I beg of you, do not forget.