The Red Masquerade

"As you will," said the Red Death. The door opened again. The lights went out in the White Room and her heels clicked on the marble floor as she left.

She was back in the narrow hall. Carmilla was nowhere in sight. But she heard a door creak open and saw a leering, red-eyed wolf's head looking at her.

"Miranda?"

"Richard!" she said. "Oh my God, honey, I've been looking all over for you."

"I've been looking for you," said Richard. His arms circled her. The fur covering his costume scratched her, but she didn't care.

"We have to leave," she said, "I don't know what's going on, but I think we might really be in danger."

"Yes," said Richard, "there is danger." His embrace grew tighter.

"Richard, I'm serious," she said. "Something horrible is going to happen."

"You're right," he said.

"Richard, are you listening to me?"

"Yes," he said. "And I'm tired of it. I'm so tired of listening to you."

Before she could react he had his hands around her throat. The pressure cut off her windpipe. She grabbed his wrists but couldn't push him away. She floundered.

"Is this what you meant?" said Richard, pushing her to the ground and climbing on top, his grip tightening. "Is this horrible? Is this what you were afraid of? Well, is it?"

Miranda opened her mouth but no sound came out. Richard bared his teeth under the wolf mask. Her vision began to blur.

"I bet you were never afraid of me before, were you? Well you should have been. If you knew what I was thinking every day you'd have been damn well terrified. Do you feel it yet? Do you?"

The world went red and then black, and Miranda's limbs became limp, and her body was heavy and sluggish. Her chest burned.

"I'm tired of just living next to you," said Richard. "I'm sick of people only seeing your success and only talking about how wonderful you are. Tonight it's about me. Tonight it's what I want." Tears ran down Richard's mask. His knuckles went white.

Miranda tried to sit up or push him off, but he was too strong, stronger than anyone possibly could be. She felt her face swelling red and she wanted to scream, but it was impossible.

"I'm sorry," Richard said, sobbing now. "I'm sorry, I don't want to do this, but I have to. I have to."

Miranda's eyes rolled back and she went limp. The weight of Richard's body pressed down on her. And then...

She heard a voice calling her name. The world swam back into focus for a moment and she saw Richard's eyes, wide and bloodshot and streaming with tears behind his mask. Her arms flopped back to life, and she reached up...

Richard screamed as se gripped the side of his head and dug her thumbs into his eyes. He released her and backed away, falling against a wall. She pulled herself to her feet and when Richard stood up again she kicked him between the legs for good measure. He doubled over, howling.

Someone was still calling Miranda's name and she ran toward the voice. Carmilla was at the bend of the hall, gaping, and Miranda grabbed her hand as she passed.

"Run!" she said.

She pulled Carmilla behind her and ducked into the first door she came to. It was a dining hall with a long oak table and expensive china and silver. Every surface was covered in dust and cobwebs. Miranda slammed the door and propped a heavy chair under the knob. Carmilla, breathless, leaned against it. "Are you okay?" she said.

Miranda tried to answer but the only sound that came out was a gargle.

"Shhh; be careful," said Carmilla. "Your throat is bruised pretty bad."

Miranda sagged against the wall next to her.

"Was that your husband?"

"I...I don't know," said Miranda.

"I don't think he's a keeper," said Carmilla.

Miranda felt tears at the corners of her eyes, but stopped them.

"The way you handled him was amazing, though" said Carmilla. "I could never do something like that."

"That's not Richard," said Miranda. "He's not like that. I think it's the mask. You remember how we're not supposed to take them off? I think the masks are doing something to everyone. As soon as I took mine off I felt better."

"No," said Carmilla. "It's not just the mask, it's the people. Didn't you feel it when you put yours on? It's like the mask knows you. Like it's your oldest friend and it knows everything about you without having to be told." She touched her veil.

"Mine didn't," said Miranda.

"I guess you're special..." said Carmilla.

The door shook as something banged against it from outside, and Miranda jumped.

"You know, I like this dress," said Carmilla. "It makes me feel beautiful but used up."

"Carmilla, help me move the table before he breaks the door down."

"And I liked being a vampire," said Carmilla, not listening. "I've always felt cold inside, and I never cared when I saw something bad happen to someone. I used to wonder if I really am a monster."

More banging on the door. "Do you see another way out of this room?" said Miranda.

"I wish I could be like you instead," said Carmilla.

"I think—" said Miranda, and then she felt a pain in her wrist. She jerked her hand up, and Carmilla backed away a few steps.

"Did you...did you just bite me?" said Miranda.

"I'm sorry," said Carmilla. "It would have worked if I hadn't broken my fangs earlier. We'll have to use this instead." She was holding a knife from off the table. She took a few steps forward.

Miranda backed away. "Carmilla, what are you doing?"

"Just hold still," said Carmilla. "I got carried away with the guy earlier, but I know what I'm doing now. I promise it won't hurt."

Miranda put the table between them. Carmilla edged along the side of it. Richard was hitting the door harder and harder and from somewhere nearby the sound of music and hysterical voices seeped through the walls.

"It's not my fault," said Carmilla. "I just want to be like you. You're beautiful, and brave, and strong, and I'm not. But if I have some of you inside me, maybe I will be. You wouldn't keep it all for yourself, would you? Friends share, don't they?"

Carmilla darted forward and Miranda ran. Carmilla stumbled and caught herself on the tablecloth, sending dishes crashing to the floor. Miranda was about to scream, but at that moment the door broke in and the chair went flying and Richard grabbed Carmilla from behind, throwing her to the floor.

"Richard, no!" said Miranda. She grabbed his mask and tore it off. His stood there, shaking and pale, eyes wide, frozen in place.

"Richard, can you hear me?" She shook him by the shoulders. "I need you to hear me. I need you to—"

Because her arms were up his slap only half-connected. She fell against the wall, and he took a second to put his mask on before coming at her. Then Carmilla jumped on his back and the two fell in a heap. Miranda watched them struggle, but when Richard pinned Carmilla down she turned and ran,

Carmilla's screams and Richard's howls following her down the hall.

She ran into the first door she came to and heard it slam behind her. She spun around and tugged at the knob but it wouldn't budge. She heard the ticking of the clock and felt the black walls closing in.

"Enjoying the party?" said the Red Death.

"What did you do to Richard?" said Miranda.

"Nothing," said the Red Death. He had one hand on the side of the grandfather clock. "I just gave him license. The rest he did himself."

"But I took his mask off," said Miranda.

"It's very late in the evening now," said the Red Death. "They won't need to wear their masks anymore. Did you think the masks were magic? It doesn't work like that. There's no need put people under a spell. Just tell them that they can do whatever they want and let them think that putting on a mask is like changing into another person and that's all the incitement they need. Can't you hear them now?"

Through the walls Miranda heard sounds: screaming, moaning, hysterical laughter, voices crying out in horrible ecstasy.

"What are they doing?" she said.

"Some of them want to act like monsters, and some of them want to be victims, and some of them want to be tragic, or even just fuck anything that moves," said the Red Death.

"But you've tricked them," said Miranda. "You must have. People aren't all like that."

"The people I bring to my parties are. Except for you: I was wrong about you," he said. "You don't deserve to be here at all. It's very rare that I misjudge someone. So I'm going to do something else I almost never do: I'm going to let you go."

The door opened, and instead of the hall she saw the beach outside.

"That door will take you to freedom," said the Red Death. "Go now, before the last stroke of midnight."

"What happens then?" said Miranda.

"Haven't you read the story?" He recited in a sing-song voice: "'And one by one dropped the revelers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall, and Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion, over all.'"

"No!" said Miranda. "You can't!"

"It's already started."

"Why?"

"Because that's how the story ends. But it doesn't have to end that way for you. Go now. Run and don't look back."

Miranda grabbed his robes and shook him. She tore the skull mask off, and underneath it his hood was empty, and the red robes went limp in her hands, and the entire costume fell, vacant, to the floor.

"Run," said the voice of the Red Death, from all around her. "Run, Miranda. It's time."

The clock began to toll.

One.

Miranda looked at the open door.

Two.

She went to the clock. She had to stop the chimes. She pulled on the door to the works, but it was stuck.

Three.

She looked around for something, anything, to break it with, but the room was empty.

Four.

She beat the glass with her hands.

Five.

"It's too late," said the voice of the Red Death.

"Not yet," said Miranda.

Six.

A breeze blew through the door. The red robes and mask fluttered around her feet.

Seven.

Miranda picked them up. She turned the mask over in her hand.

Eight.

"What are you doing?" said the Red Death.

"What you told me to do: Anything I want," she said.

Nine.

She put the robes on. They were very cold. She held up the mask.

Ten.

"I can be whoever I want tonight, right?" Miranda said. "I've decided I want to be you."

Eleven.

Miranda put the mask on. When she opened her eyes, she could see into every room in the house, and feel the walls and floors as though they were her own body. She stopped the clock just before the final stroke.

With a gesture she threw the doors open in every room. Mobs of frenzied partiers stopped in the midst of their revels. Every door now led outside.

"The party is over," Miranda said, her voice audible in every room. "Get out."

No one moved.

"Out!" Miranda said again, and then the walls shook and the floors rippled, mirrors and paintings falling as furniture overturned. People mobbed the exits, trampling each other as they poured out onto the foggy beach.

Miranda swooned and almost fainted, but forced herself to stay upright. The house was almost empty now. There was only one person left, a naked, frightened-looking man at her feet. She realized that it was Richard.

"Get out," she said.

He sobbed, rocking back and forth. Miranda took the mask off.

"Out."

"Miranda!"

"Get out, Richard," she said. "Whatever you have to say—"

"Miranda, your hands!"

Miranda saw the red splotches on her palms. Blood flowed from her fingertips and she felt it gush from her nose and mouth. Her insides convulsed and she fell to her knees. Richard was staring, wide-eyed. She tried to crawl to the door, but her strength was fading.

"'His vesture was dabbled in blood — and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror,'" the voice of the Red Death said in her ear.

Miranda tried to speak, but her mouth was bleeding, and she lacked the strength. She collapsed, and the world went red, and then black, and then it was gone altogether.

***

It was morning. The party guests found themselves lying on the beach. Most of them still wore the tattered remains of their costumes. The house was nowhere in sight.

Some were hurt. A great many were hung over. A few remembered nothing of the previous night, and more wished that they didn't. They brushed the sand off and waded into the ocean, desperate to feel clean again.

Nearby, Miranda and the Red Death watched, unseen. She wore her own costume again, and he was dressed in his robes and mask.

"Well Miranda, you did it" he said. "You saved them. Most of them anyway. And all it cost you was your own life."

Miranda said nothing.

"Do you think it was worth it?" said the Red Death. "None of them would have done the same for you, you know. They're not good people."

"No," said Miranda. "But they can change. Everyone can change, except for the dead."

"Indeed," said the Red Death. "The dead never change. Isn't that right, Carmilla?" He addressed himself to a particularly morose-looking jack-o-lantern he carried. Miranda shuddered when she saw it.

Richard sat on the beach, holding the remains of his wolf mask. There was blood under his fingernails. He tried to clean them, but it wouldn't come out.

"What will happen to him?" said Miranda.

"He'll probably try to pretend that nothing happened for a while," said the Red Death. "And eventually the guilt will send him to the police. Then he'll spend the rest of his life in some institution. Or maybe it'll just be suicide instead; it's a hard thing to know yourself."

"And what about me?" said Miranda.

"It's not for me to say," said the Red Death. "But I'm sure you'll get along well, whatever you do."

The house loomed over them.

"So little time to get ready for next Halloween," he said. "So much work to do."

He brought the new jack-o-lanterns inside. Stopping in the doorway, he looked back at her.

"You are a remarkable woman, Miranda," he said. "I'm glad to have met you. If you ever wish to return, my door is always open."

The door slammed shut.

"But I know that you will not."

The house faded away, and so did the people. Miranda was alone, on the beach, in the fog. She walked to the waterline and kicked off her shoes, wading in up to her ankles. It felt good. She stripped off the rest of her costume and threw it away. She didn't mind the cold. It was refreshing.

She walked in no particular direction. She was free, and it was All Saints Day, and the only tracks in the sand were hers.