Masquerade
"Boy."
Michael looked around, trying to find the source of the dry, gravelly voice. The street was empty in both directions. The sun was just setting, and the nights were starting to get cool. He was alone.
"Come to me, boy."
What the - the voice was low but each syllable was distinct. This wasn't some trick of the wind. He shook his head, walking faster and hunching into his jacket. There were bigger issues to worry about.
The sun was going down quickly. The other kids, the ones who had dared him to come this way, were nowhere to be seen. After all, they didn't have to walk the long way through the abandoned downtown; they didn't have to walk past the graveyard after dark. They didn't...
Huh. Maybe not quite that abandoned.
The storefront was lit from within, a homey and decidedly not fluorescent light that seemed strangely out of place considering the name of the place: Mourning Masques, Colorful Costumes and Fake Finery. In the front window an old man in a black suit that hadn't been in style since the civil war was arranging a display for Halloween. In it a Frankenstein's monster and a mummy were looming together over a cringing man in a lab coat, while a coldly beautiful woman with fangs looked on, smiling cruelly.
Michael was, like most boys of 12, both given to wonder and a little embarrassed by it. He knew all too well that soon he would no longer be allowed to dress up for Halloween, just as he was no longer allowed to go over to a friend's house to "play". Now he had to "hang out", and he supposed that soon trick-or-treating would be replaced by some other ritual as well.
A bell above the door rang as Michael opened it and stepped inside, flushed from the sudden warmth. The shop seemed to come alive for him as his eyes scanned the wares, with the faces and clothes of monsters and heroes from every era leaping out to be seen.
"Does anything…speak to you?"
Michael turned and saw the tall man who had been arranging the display. His face and hair, the same exact shade of gray, looked dry and the texture of stone. But his eyes and smile were kind as he spoke and put out his hand.
"I'm sorry to intrude on your thoughts." The tall man bowed, the tip of his head almost touching the floor. "Jebediah Mourn, proprietor and costumer. Greetings and salutations. And you are?"
Michael couldn't help but be amused. The old man's theatrics seemed so well-staged and yet spontaneous. He was like a character in a movie.
"Michael Barry." Michael's hand disappeared into the giant grasp of Jebediah's hand, but the handshake was gentle.
"Well met, Michael Barry, well met, indeed." He walked behind the counter and leaned across it, bending improbably until he was eye-level with the boy. "Michael Barry, can I tell you as secret? A confidence? May I, so to speak, take you into my counsel?" His eyes twinkled.
Michael smiled. He couldn't help it; the old man reminded him of the circuses his parents had taken him to before he had been "too old" for stuff like that.
"Sure. Tell me a secret."
The old man smiled widely. "You, my young hyperborean wanderer, are my very first customer. Technically, I am not open. You are not here. We are not speaking. This-" He reached down and brought out a box full of clothes. "—is not happening."
Michael watched him take the box over to a table and start arranging another display. This one had a skeleton and a witch, arm in arm, waltzing. The sign said "Danse Macabre".
"What does hyperborean mean?"
"Hmm?"
"What does hyperborean mean?"
The old man stopped rummaging through the box and peered down at the boy. "It means from the northernmost region."
Michael looked out the window and down the street. "I came from the west."
"What? What was that?" The old man stepped out from behind the table and for a moment Michael was afraid. He had seen such long-limbed stalking before on nature shows...right before the predator leaped. He relaxed when he saw the tall man laughing.
"You caught me, young man. I am not above filching the facts a bit to make a better story. After all, that's all we have in the end, isn't it? Stories?"
Michael had been looking at another sign hanging over a mask of a scarecrow. In big letters it said "Live your dreams!", and had a strange circular design with four lines.
"Stories and dreams," Michael said. "What's that symbol?"
"Dreams! Ah, but you get to the heart, the life, the very soul of the matter, my young friend! That symbol is the very heart of dreams and stories, my dear sir. It is the symbol of the seasons."
"What do seasons have to do with dreams?"
"Everything. Dreams of hope and togetherness live in winter, and so we have the winter holidays. Dreams of growth and children's laughter live in spring, and so we color eggs and eat candy." Jebediah grinned. "And in the Autumn, the monsters come out to play, and we have Halloween," The old man chuckled. "My favorite time!"
Michael smiled again. "I like monsters. I always like to watch the scary movies but my mom doesn't like them. She says they'll ruin my mind."
The old man pursed his lips. "Really. And what does your father say?"
"He says that in the real world, everyone is a monster."
Jebediah laughed, and Michael was surprised at its sound, full and rich, unlike his dry and rasping voice.
"Well, I'll tell you what, Michael Barry: you're father is a wise, if a little cynical, man." He walked over to the scarecrow mask and took it off the wall. "What do you think?"
The smile fell from Michael's face. "I think that it doesn't matter."
"Why not?"
"Because that's all playtime stuff. I need to grow up."
Jebediah frowned. "What do you mean? I'm a grown-up, and I am very fond of monsters. Very fond, indeed. In fact, some of my best friends are monsters."
Michael laughed, but looked confused. "Maybe it's just different for you."
"Indeed. Quite different. Well, let me tell you something: it could be "different" for you too."
"How so?"
"Walk this way, young man. I have a little proposition for you."
Later, as Michael walked happily into the Seasons Gate with his scarecrow mask in hand, Jebediah called after him, "Good journey to you, young Michael Barry. Look up my friend Jack when you arrive, and remember to watch out for open graves...they're all over the place! Good luck!"
The tall man walked the boy walk through the gate, changing as he went into his chosen Essence. He waved one last time as the light from the Gate faded and turned away, his cheerful smile fading, replaced by a weary grimness.
"Good luck, boy. You're gonna need it."