The Night of the Story Characters

      There was a chill in the air as I strolled on the sidewalk covered in red, yellow, orange, and brown leaves. They crunched under my black boots as I walked to the Books and Things Cafe. The cafe building was painted with different story characters from children's fiction novels, Alice and the Mad Hatter having a tea party on the outside walls, Cinderella getting away from the ball, and Dorothy and her friends going to the Emerald City. All of my childhood favorite stories. The door to the cafe looked like a bookshelf with all sorts of book titles. The BoxCar Children, Five Little Peppers, Pride and Prejudice.

   “Eliza!” said Amanda from behind the counter as I came into the cafe. Amanda was the one who painted all the characters and the bookshelf door. She wore her black hair in a tight bun and her burgundy dress made her tan skin have an even more rosy tone. Her dark brown eyes sparkled in the light.

    “Hey Amanda,” I said as I walked up to the counter where she had a slice of apple pie and a hot chai latte with jack-o'-lantern latte art on top. “How did you know I didn’t even order yet?”

     She laughed, “You always get a chai, and whenever we make apple pies, you always get a slice.”

    I pulled out my credit card, and she put her hand over it. “Not today, you’re getting it for free with you reading for the kids today.”

     I laughed, “You sure?”

     “Girl, we have a literary crisis right now. Whenever you volunteer to read to the kids, they either buy new books or get them at the library.” 

    I laughed. “That’s true, but I wish you would let me pay; you all work so hard on making those.” 

   “You do so much for the kids with the books you write and volunteering to read here and at the library,” she said as she wiped down the counter after I took the plate and mug over to the small table in the corner next to the window.

    I sipped on my chai; the warm, spicy drink kept me warm from the chill of fall. Halloween was tonight. My first Halloween in Mt. Mageia; I moved here to get some new scenery after my mother passed away. She loved reading, and for the first few months I was here at the cafe, I read to the children, either books I wrote or books from the library. Some children never have their parents read to them, so being able to read to them. 

    I was waiting for the kids to come to story time while I ate the tart apple pie. I looked out the window and saw Alice from the painting walking onto the window. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Still there, she waved to me as the Mad Hatter walked over, the table still holding tea and all the food on it. They waved to me.

   “Curiouser and Curiouser,” I muttered under my breath, quoting Alice in Wonderland.

   Amanda came to me with the book for the kids, “If You Give A Mouse A Cookie.” Alice and the Mad Hatter were still there drinking tea and chatting.”

   “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” I pointed to the window, and she turned to it; her face went white.

  “No, um…you…must be imagining things,” she said as she quickly turned away from me and practically ran to the back of the cafe. I turned to the window; they were still there.”

   I then quickly finished my chai and apple pie and went to the big comfy red chair in the kids' section of the cafe.

   The kids all came in in their Halloween costumes. Some wore sheets with holes cut into them for ghost costumes, some wore witches' hats, and some dressed as their favorite book characters. They all sat quietly before I started doing the silly voices for the characters I usually do. They all laughed at the voices and clapped when I finished reading.

   “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth!” said the kids after I finished. They all went out to look at the children’s books section, and I went out to the window; this time, Cinderella and Dorothy and her friends were there. 

   I rubbed my eyes, then turned to Amanda to check out the books for the kids. I went up to her when she finished. “I know you saw what I saw.”

    “You’re imagining things again,” she said as she began to wipe the counter again.

     “And I know you’re lying,” I whispered to her“I saw it with my own eyes; the characters on the walls are walking on the windows.”

   She avoided eye contact with me. “You’re imagining things.”

    I sighed, walked out of the cafe, and saw the characters still having tea together. They waved goodbye to me.

   “Would you like to hear a riddle?” the Mad Hatter asked. “How is a raven like a writing desk?”

   “You’ve been asking that forever,” said the Scarecrow, “Even though I have a brain, I still can’t figure it out.” 

    “You can speak?” I whispered, and they all nodded. I wanted to scream and run away, but all I did was run. I ran back to my cottage in the woods, the one my grandfather had built years ago for my grandmother. I never knew they lived here until Mom’s will was read and I was told I inherited this cottage. My garden was almost completely done, with winter coming soon. I mostly needed to harvest the green beans and some pumpkins. I ran straight to my door and went inside.

   “I know what I saw, but how could those characters come to life?” I asked, “They never have done that before today.” 

    I went into my living room and sat there while I mended my witch costume. It was my normal dark purple dress that I started embroidering black spider webs on the skirt. I needed to finish it before the Halloween festival tonight. I wanted to wear it to the story time with the kids, but I didn’t finish it in time.

    I heard a knock on the door, and I put down my dress onto the coffee table and got up to see who it was. Amanda was knocking on the door.

    “Amanda?” I said as I opened the door, “What are you doing here?”

    She sighed, “Listen, I …um….I’m sorry about today. I just got off of work.”

   “Why did you lie?” I asked, and she looked to the ground.

   “May I come in?” she asked. “I don’t think I can talk about it out here.”

   I opened the door and led her to my living room. She sat on the couch across from my big brown rocking chair.

   “The characters come to life one night a year,” she said, “Halloween Night, that way everyone thinks they’re just in costume.”

   “Then why were they moving on the window?” I asked as I finished embroidering the spider webs.

   “They can move around on the building during Halloween day, but at night they leave the walls and walk among us.”

   “Is this a problem?” I asked as I looked up from my work.

    “No, that’s not the problem; they’ve been doing it since we opened. The cafe building is magic through the stories we share. Stories themselves are magic.”

   “What is all this got to do with me being able to see them?” I asked, “Shouldn’t more people be seeing them?”

   “They can only see them on Halloween, and they think that they’re in costume. But you and I can see them walk around on the walls. You are part of the magic,” she said.

   “What magic?” I asked as I stood up. “You’re not making sense right now.”

   “The magic of storytelling. You have it because of your grandfather; he built this house and the Cafe Building. It was just a building before it became the cafe. My mom asked me to paint some story characters on it when we opened. So I did, and every Halloween they come alive,” she said.

   “How did this happen?” I asked.

   “That I don’t know,” she said. “They told me I can see them before nightfall is because I have storyteller magic.”

   “So we both have it, but you don’t know why?” I asked, tapping my finger on my chin.

   “I think since there’s another one who can use this power and see the characters. I thought I was the only one who knew that they came alive,” she said, “But maybe we can figure out why, and I think it might have to do with your grandfather.”

     “So where do we start?” I asked as I got up. 

    “We wait until sundown and go to the festival together,” she said, “Then we find the characters and see what they say. Or if we can look around here. They said it’s because of Greggory Kyleson, who built the building, but won’t tell me more.”

        “Alright?” I said, “You think that they will be willing to tell us?”

       “Maybe with you being his granddaughter, they’ll help you more than me,” she said.

        “Hmm,” I said, wondering if they would help me since my grandfather made it, but something still felt off. The story's characters only come alive on one night a year, so it should not be a problem that it's Halloween. 

     “Let me get dressed for the Halloween Fest tonight and we can try to track them down,” I said, and she nodded. Her eyes sparkled even more, and then she snapped her fingers and her normal burgundy dress turned into a light blue long-sleeved dress and a black cloak.

   My jaw dropped. “How did you do that?”

   She didn’t answer me but then snapped her fingers, and I was changed into my witch costume. “What, you thought storytelling magic is only in books?” she said as she pulled a black sparkly mask out from behind her cloak.

   “Who are you?” I asked, “Or what are you?” 

    “I’m a good witch, or storyteller, or fairy godmother if you ask Cinderella,” she said. 

     “What?” I asked.

      She smiled, “Come on, let’s go!” 

     She snapped her fingers again, and then we were in the town square with the kids running around in their Halloween costumes. It didn’t take long for us to find the characters from the window. The Mad Hatter poured tea for some kids as Alice told them about her adventures while they ate the little tea cakes. 

   “Miss Eliza!” said one of the girls wearing a Dorothy costume, running to us, “The Mad Hatter says he wants to see you, and so does the Scarecrow.”

    “Oh?” I said, “Thank you.”

      The little girl took my hand and led me over to them sitting at the table. Where the Mad Hatter was asking that weird riddle from the book again.

    “How is a raven like a writing desk?” the kids were all thinking.

    “I don’t know!” said many of the kids.

     “Tell us the answer!” said another kid.

      “Eliza!” said the Mad Hatter as I walked up to the table, “Do you know the answer?”

    “The original story never gave the answer originally, at least to my knowledge,” I said.

    “But what do you think he meant for us to take from it?” he asked.

    “Hmm,” I tapped my finger to my chin, “Maybe because they have a good memory, or can be creative in the ways they play tricks. Or he wrote it for us to make up our own answer.”

      The Mad Hatter smiled, “You think like a storyteller. Children, this is why we ask riddles, even if they don’t necessarily have an answer. To challenge our minds.” 

     The little girl in the Dorothy costume said, “Will you read us from Alice and Wonderland next story time?”

     I smiled, “I think that can be arranged.”

    Then the Scarecrow came up to me, “Ah, you must be Eliza; the children have been telling me about your story time with them. And your stories you write.”

   I held out my hand. “I promise that I am a good witch.”

   He shook my hand and laughed, “Of course I know that. A wicked witch would never read to children and share knowledge.”

    “Where are your friends?” I asked as I looked to see the Tin Man ax-throwing with some of the teenage boys. Dorothy was playing with Toto, and the kids came to play with them. The Lion was telling the children the story of their adventures and how he saved Oz. I laughed, knowing he did help save Dorothy, but there are some other books later on that the author wrote, so maybe that’s where he’s getting this from.

    “Why did you want to talk with me?” I asked him, and he smiled as he took off his hat, showing the pins and needles in his head that the Wizard put in to give him a brain.

    “You’re doing a good thing reading stories to the kids. You’re keeping the stories alive,” he said as a woman came up to us with styrofoam cups of hot apple cider.

   “Free samples of the Books and Things Cafe apple cider. I smiled and took a small styrofoam cup of hot apple cider. The warm tart drink had a hint of cinnamon in it, and helped keep my hands warm.

    The Scarecrow put his hand up and shook his head, “No thanks.”

    He then put his straw-filled arm around my shoulders and led me to the side of the cafe that he and the other Wizard of Oz characters would usually be at.

    “You need to keep the magic alive,” he said to me, “If you don’t, the stories in the books will die.” 

    I looked to the kids talking with Cinderella, trying to help her find her glass slipper. “How can I alone do this?”

   He shrugged, “You can’t; you need others to help encourage kids to read. It used to be that all the characters in the bookstore would come to life on Halloween night. Your grandfather made it that way. But now it’s just us. Because the children can see us in the windows in the bookstore. Your grandfather built the building as a small bookstore, and every Halloween night had a party where we shared our stories to get people to read. But now not a lot of people read, so the stories are dying. But you have been helping keep the stories alive even more now. We used to only come alive at nightfall, but now we were able to come to life on the windows earlier.” 

   He touched the window and smiled, “I’ll have to go back soon.”

   “I know,” I said, “But just by reading to the kids is going to keep the stories alive?” 

   He shook his head and laughed, “No, encouraging reading, making it available, and showing them books they will enjoy will help keep the magic alive.”

   Before I could say anything else, he and the others went back onto the fall. The clock struck midnight, and everyone was still chatting and going about the festival as if the characters were never there.

   Amanda came up to me, “My spells usually only work until midnight.”

   Then it struck me, “You’re actually Cinderella’s godmother; it wasn’t just something you said as a joke?”

   She laughed, “Eliza, no one will believe you tomorrow. When you wake up, everyone will tell you it’s a dream. Or you imagined it. But keep the stories alive, and the magic will keep spreading.”

    “I hope Eliza reads Cinderella to us!” said one of the girls dressed up as a little witch in a black dress and pointy black hat. Some of the other children talked about the other characters’ costumes. 

      “Thank you, Amanda,” I said, but she was gone. And when I woke up the next day and went to the cafe, she wasn’t there. A young red-headed girl worked behind the counter. She wore a forest green sweater under her blue apron and smiled at me when I came in.

   “Where’s Amanda?” I asked her as I came up to the counter.

   “Who’s Amanda?” she asked as she wiped the counter down. Her chocolate brown eyes were covered by her black-framed glasses.

   “She works here, and painted the pictures on the windows,” I said, and she shrugged.

   “The girl who painted the pictures left town years ago,” she replied as she glanced at the children coming into the cafe.

    Then Amanda’s voice rang in my ear, “No one will believe you. But keep the stories alive.”