The Masquerade Of Becoming

 

  It embarked with laughter.

  Children darted through the streets, their costumes flapping in the wind, such as pirates, witches, vampires, superheroes. My friend Jules, dressed as a Victorian ghost, floated beside me, her voice abruptly echoing with weird grace. “The veil is thin tonight,” she whispered, eyes glowing faintly.

  I chuckled, assuming she was just playing along. But then I saw Marcus, the pirate, barking orders to imaginary crew members with the confidence of a seasoned captain. His plastic sword shimmered like tempered steel. A girl dressed as a witch flew past us—flew. Her broom crackled with sparks, trailing embers.

  The air grew heavier.

  At the town square, the transformations intensified. Fangs lengthened, cloaks billowed unnaturally, and voices deepened with centuries of forgotten dialects. I watched a boy dressed as a werewolf howl, his fingers curling into claws. The line between costume and identity blurred.

  I clutched my own outfit—a simple scarecrow costume. Straw poked from my sleeves, and my painted-on smile suddenly felt... permanent. My limbs stiffened. I stumbled, my joints creaking like dry wood. Panic surged.

  “Jules!” I cried, but she was no longer Jules. Her eyes were hollow, her voice a mournful wail. “You must resist,” she moaned, drifting toward the cemetery.

  I ran.

  Everywhere, the masquerade deepened. The town had become a stage for ancient spirits, forgotten legends, and primal fears. I tore at my costume, ripping straw and fabric, desperate to reclaim myself. The moment my hat fell, clarity returned. My thoughts sharpened. I was me again.

  I sprinted to the community centre, where the costume contest was still underway. “Take them off!” I shouted. “The costumes—they’re becoming real!”

  Some laughed. Others hesitated. But when the vampire judge hissed and lunged, the crowd scattered. Parents tore masks from their children. Capes were discarded. Gradually, the enchantment faded.

  By midnight, the town was tranquil again. Costumes lay abandoned, twitching faintly in the moonlight.

  I never wore one again. But every Halloween, I walk the streets, watching. Just in case the masquerade returns.