Once Upon a Nightmare

the halloween masquerade

viii: the halloween masquerade

“It’s useless,” Gloom says, flopping, bony limbs askew, into a chair at his table. I’m propped on his bed, Edgar Allan Poe’s dreams in my lap. “Sweeney was right.” He gives me a paper bag which I open eagerly, sniffing at its contents. Whatever it is, it’s not dog droppings, and I’m starving. I bite into something cheesy and bready and delicious.

“Oh?” I reply, my mouth full.

“I went to the Edge,” Gloom continues, going to the stove to heat up the kettle. The Edge is what they call the wall of electricity; Gloom told me when I’d asked. It’s the portal Dreams and Nightmares use to get into human minds. I stop mid-chew.

“I tried to get into your mind—yours isn’t hard for me to find.” He shakes his head. “It was dreadful. The portal is half destroyed, and besides, there isn’t anything there to get into. Your subconscious is here sitting with me after all.” He waves a hand in my direction and plops back into the chair, sloshing some of the tea in his hands onto the floor.

I’m not too surprised either. The spot of death is still on my hand, so it makes sense it went with me. An easy solution would have been nice, but if I’m honest, I kind of want to go to the Halloween Masquerade. I unfold the poster Armand tore off for me and spread it over the open pages of my book. It looks a bit like an old advertisement for a haunted carnival. What’s my hurry? If I happen to have some fun while trying to get home, it’s not a crime.

Gloom has the wounded but brave look of a martyr. “I suppose this means the Stitch of Time is our best option.”

“Where is the Stitch in Time?”

“No one knows for sure. No one but King Jack. It’s somewhere in the Eye of the World Mountains, and that’s not a place you want to go if you can help it. The human mind is capable of many things—many dark things—and that’s what the mountains are. The twisted, unexplainable parts of mortal subconscious.”

“So, we need to find King Jack.”

“Indeed.” Gloom sighs, taking off his goggles and gloves. “We’ll have to go to the Halloween Masquerade.”

He doesn’t sound very excited. I tuck the folded paper back in my book, deciding not to tell him I’d already thought about going.

“Is it really that bad?” I ask.

He shudders. “Nightmares running around all night scaring each other. It’s terrible.”

. . . . . . .

I borrow one of Sweeney’s dresses and try to ignore the smell. It’s not that bad (the dress, not the smell—that’s like expired perfume and death), all black and an old Victorian style which doesn’t suit my body type at all—not that I’d know what kind of dress would. A black mask covers the top half of my face. No make-up and nothing I can do for my short hair, which is really getting wild without a shower or any kind of brush.

Gloom is dressed to the nines in black satin and red suede. The effect would be better if he had even an ounce of Alexander's typical swagger, but I prefer his shy awkwardness.

I touch my gloved fingertips to my collarbone. "Be still, my heart."

With a tiny smile, he holds out an arm and I loop my hand through the crook.

“Be careful,” Gloom warns again before he opens the door. “Nightmares like to scare each other on Halloween and if we get taken by surprise and they taste our fear, well, that’s it for us.”

“You look scared already,” I say.

“I’m not.” He blushes. “I’m nervous. There’s a difference.”