The Witch's Mask

As the leaves turn from vibrant greens to subtle golds and deep reds, and the locals begin winding scarves around their necks whilst sipping warm spiced lattes, the first whispers of autumn drift through the small town of Ventura Village. Dictated by local tradition, autumn, as always, was marked by the announcement of the annual play, this year's production titled; A Witch’s Mask. 

But as the locals are putting pumpkins on their porches, and buying overpriced coffees at cafes, the town is struck blissfully unaware that something terrible is brewing beneath their very feet. And so, this is the story of how the fate of Ventura Village– and the lives of it’s inhabitants came to rest on the shoulders of a young actress. A very, very young actress. Now let’s journey to the present, where we find our young heroine– sitting on the floor of the Maxy’s department store, where she faces the first of many tribulations, this time, while shoe shopping.

***

Marcy was terribly upset, as her mother stared down at her with exhausted eyes. “Marcy… please. I’m sorry honey, but you know I have to take any shift I’m given.” Agnes didn’t know why she sounded so pleading as she tried to reason with the small child, perhaps it was to appease her own conscience. Times had not been easy since Mark had abandoned the family in pursuit of another woman, and poor Marcy was far too young to understand the sacrifices made by a single mother– one such sacrifice being the necessity of accepting a shift on the same night as her daughter’s Halloween play. To make matters worse, upon breaking the dreadful news to her, Marcy had planted herself on the rough carpeted floor of the department store in a huff. Agnes crouched down, trying not to imagine all the things that had must have touched the stained carpet over the years. “Marcy, please don’t cry. I’ll make it up to you. And I’ll see the play– Mrs. Wright always films every play. We can watch it together, later.” 

Marcy side eyed her, her eyes glistening with unspent tears, her arms crossed. Agnes bit her lip, knowing that Marcy was teetering on the edge of a full blown tantrum. “Please? We'll even eat Halloween candy,” she said, though Marcy was plainly unconvinced. With a sigh, Agnes continued her appeasement, “and stay up late.” 

Agnes felt a flush of relief as Marcy let out a sniff, then stood, slipping her small hand into her own. “Alright, perfect, now, let's find some proper shoes for your big night.” She murmured, trying to hide the exhaustion from her voice as she led the small girl through the isles. 

***

While Marcy had been appeased for a short time, by the time the night of the play had arrived, she was in another frightfully terrible mood. Mrs. Eugenia found the little girl sulking in the dressing rooms. She watched her for a moment, allowing herself to admire the costume Marcy’s mother had put together. She had done an exceptional job, transforming the girl into a little black feline, with velvety homemade ears and tail, and perfectly placed whiskers. “Excuse me little cat, do you have any idea where I can find Miss Marcy?” Marcy said nothing, her big blue glassy eyes rolling up to meet Mrs. Eugenia’s stare. She’d heard rumors of the poor girl having nearly stopped speaking after her father had left, and Mrs. Eugenia couldn’t blame her. But tonight– tonight she wanted Marcy to enjoy herself, it simply wasn’t right for a child to be sad on Halloween night, especially due to the mistakes of a parent. Mrs. Eugenia sat on a stool beside her. “Have you heard of method acting, darling?” 

Marcy of course said nothing, but she did look up. “Well darling, method acting is where an actress completely immerses herself into her role,” she explained. Then she let out a small laugh, remembering the age of her audience. “What I mean is, tonight Marcy, you are a cat. So be a cat. A cat owns the night, a cat struts down the street, head and tail held high, as if they belong– or rather, as if everything belongs to them.” 

Marcy considered this, her head nodding slowly. Mrs. Eugenia grinned, straightening one of Marcy’s ears. “Cat’s don’t sulk, they strut. So strut darling, strut!” Mrs. Eugenia rose, having much to tend to as the director of the play. “Now, what do cats say?” 

Marcy smiled, following closely behind. “Meow?” 

“Very good.”

***

Meanwhile, somewhere far beneath their feet. 

The smell of incense, and other unusual aromas wafted through the witch’s chambers. Tables and chairs were piled high with trinkets and oddities from prior generations, and candles burned in every alcove, casting eerie shadows upon the stone walls.

“Please Madam! You mustn’t be so angry,” A tall slender man with a thick French accent spoke. From within his Master’s room he could hear things being tossed and thrown about, and the groans of furniture being overturned.

“You! You and your incompetence!” A woman’s voice bellowed from within the chamber. Her voice would have been lovely if not for the vile, anger and hatred that resonated from the depths of her throat. She burst from her room, a green and purple velvet dress flowing around her, her face framed by locks of gorgeous red coils– she looked magnificent. She paused before him, her tone suddenly saccharine, “Jean, dear. Tell me, how exactly did you lose my beloved little cat?” 

Jean cowered, which only seemed to make the witch’s presence seem to grow. Now, I believe it is of great importance to note that our poor Frenchman, Jean, is in fact, not the cowardly sort. Having spent a great deal of time as the witch’s henchman, he simply had a deep understanding that the Madam is not to be trifled with, lest she turn you into a rat, or a toad, or…. he glanced towards the maid that was currently tending to the little stove– she wore a frilly pink dress… and a pumpkin for a head. And no– not a jack-o-lantern, that would imply that she had eyes, nose and mouth, none of which she had. You can imagine how difficult life as a maid must be, and the cruel intentions behind such a curse that deprived you of the most basic senses. 

Poor, dear, Clove, Jean thought with a shiver. He was the only remaining human servant of the witch Esmerelda, and as such, he received the brunt of her anger. He half bowed, half cowered to the horrible woman, “ Madam, please…. They have minds of their own, you shouldn’t blame the poor animal.” His accent grew thicker than normal during moments like these. The witch, of course, was referring to her black cat that had gone missing just the night prior. She had clearly stated that she needed a cat if she were to destroy the town on Halloween night, as she had planned.

 “Oh Jean, I’m not blaming Ember, I’m blaming you.” 

At that, Jean bolted upright as he foolishly made a bee line for the door. Esmerelda snapped her fingers, and Jean froze, devoid of his own will. “Now Jean, I will give you one single chance. Fetch me a cat– a good one, a pretty one, a black one. And maybe, just maybe one day I will let you return home. And maybe your amor will still be there.” She grinned. “Assuming she’s still alive.” 

Mon amor. Jean winced at the thought– he hadn’t any idea how many years had passed in the witch’s service. And the woman he had fallen in love with had only been visiting his beloved Paris, now, she could be anywhere in the world. He knew the witch would likely never let him go, but it was his only glimmer of light in a hopeless void. The witch came to stand before him, and his eyes rolled to her. She snapped her fingers at the acknowledgement, and he sprawled to the floor, as he was suddenly released by the force that held him. He panted for a moment, then put a hand to his heart. “I will find you un chat noir.”

Esmerelda smiled, a terrible, gracious, hideous smile, then she glided gracefully back to her chamber. “Clove! Fetch me a pot of tea– and don’t spill it this time or I’ll bake you into a pie!”

***

Marcy watched the performance from backstage, as she bounced her foot nervously. She didn’t bother to peek out at the crowd, as she knew her mama wasn’t going to be there. But right now, she was a cat. Just as Mrs. Eugenia had told her. She watched as the stage hands swapped pieces of the makeshift backdrop, and girls and boys dressed as scarecrows took their places on the stage. Her cue was almost there. She straightened her ears and shifted. Then her cue arrived– except suddenly two large hands grabbed her shoulders. She spun around to see a tall man in a big coat, and really shiny hair. His accent was strange, but she could make out his words. 

“You are a cat, no?”

In all of her fright, the only thing that Marcy could think of was the pep talk Mrs. Eugenia had given– and a single phrase left her lips in this inopportune moment. “Meow.”

Now, this was a far more convincing meow than her practices with Mrs. Eugenia had produced. And with that, the strange man pulled her into his clutches, wrapping his coat around her as he dragged her away “Forgive me mademoiselle, but the Madame demanded a cat, you must come with me.” He whispered remorsefully. She struggled and screamed, but her cries were drowned out as the children on stage broke into song.

***

As Jean dragged away the little black cat he’d found, her wailing had subsided, instead turning into pitiful sniffles, and Jean began to have his doubts. He wasn’t entirely certain that he had grabbed the correct black cat, after all, one's mind had a way of getting very wibbly and wobbly after spending too much time with a witch. He never knew what was fact or fabrication, trick or treat. But when he had clarified with his Madame, she had said “Get me a black cat– now! Ears, tail, whiskers, and nose– you know, a black cat!” Then with a snap of her fingers, she had vanished him to outside her lair. After several hours of roaming the streets, the sun had begun setting, and there he’d seen it– a poster with an outline of a witch and a cat, below the silhouette it said; A Witch’s Mask. Surely it was a sign, in the most literal and metaphorical sense– and there he saw her! Ears, tail, whiskers, and nose! He recited quietly in his thick accent, before confronting the little cat. It had been some time since he had lived as mortals live so he had his doubts, but she had even made the proper noise.

A tug at his sleeve, drew him from his thoughts. The streets were mostly devoid of trick-or-treaters, as most of the children and families were attending the play. Only a few stragglers trudged down the streets, their costumes washed in warm light from the setting sun. Jean looked down at the little cat tugging at his sleeve. “What is it petit chat?” 

Marcy’s eyes were welling with tears as she pointed to her feet. She wore ballet flats that had not yet been broken in, and her feet had blistered something terrible. But before he could investigate the problem, she began wailing and crying, gaining glances from a family down the street. “Shh! Shhh!” Jean said quickly, for some inexplicable reason, he too wanted to cry as a terrible guilt arose within him. 

Perhaps he could find another cat for the witch! He thought, but as he glanced up he felt his heart fall, as it was already nearly sundown. There wasn’t time. “My sincerest apologies petit chat noir, but we must make haste.” He said, crouching down to help her onto his shoulders, as he’d decided to carry her the rest of the way. Somewhere along the way, Jean had begun skipping and making up clever rhymes to appease the little cat– and to his delight he even earned a giggle as he careened down the street like an airplane. To onlookers, one must’ve simply thought it was a father and daughter enjoying Halloween night.

***

 “What is the meaning of this!? I demanded a cat– not a child!” Screamed the witch, once the pair had finally arrived.

“Un chat noir– ears, tail, whiskers, and nose,” Jean said in confusion as he lowered the girl from his shoulders. 

Esmerelda pulled at her long curly hair in anger, “this is a human child, dressed as a cat,” she hissed furiously. At the venom in her tone, Marcy buried her face against the Frenchman, huddling against his leg. Sensing the little cat was about to burst into tears once again, he impulsively threw his arms around the child. “Madame– Master– you are scaring her!” Esmerelda’s eyes flashed with fire, as she raised a hand with tendrils of black smoke writhing between her fingers– and then she stopped, as a marvelous idea occurred to the wickedly beautiful woman.

 “On second thought, perhaps you’ve outdone yourself this time Jean,” she said as she lowered her hand into a beckoning motion. “Bring the girl to me.” Jean nodded as he unwound the girl’s arms from his leg– but she protested. 

“Little one, you really must go, it is time. The witch is very good to her cats.”

Witch?! Marcy’s eyes went wide in terror as the plot of the play flashed through her mind. Images of a witch snatching children then eating them to maintain her beauty, the children only escaping because they were able to remove the terrible witch’s mask– that and lots of creepy crawlies.  

 “No!” Marcy yelled, finally finding her voice. “She’s going to eat me!”

Jean froze, his head snapping up to the smiling witch, realizing with all certainty, the girl was likely right. He threw himself over the girl, but in that moment Esmerelda picked up a wand from it’s cushioned pedestal. With a snap of her wrist she flicked it at Jean– and in a puff of vaporous mist, he was gone. At that, Marcy screamed at the top of her lungs, causing Esmerelda to clutch her ears. “Stop that terrible wailing this instant!” 

To Esmerelda’s surprise, the girl did– but in that same moment Marcy had hurled herself at the witch, and was now tugging at her hair and face. “Ow! Let go, you little brat!” The two of them tumbled to the floor, the wand rolling across the cold stone. “Clove!” Esmerelda wailed.

Poor, dear, Clove tried her best to aid her master, but given her ineptitude at anything requiring nimbleness or dexterity, Esmerelda found herself restrained, as the pumpkin-headed girl’s arms wrapped around her waist. “Not me, you fool!”

Using the brief distraction, Marcy scrambled away, reaching for the wand. As the little girl’s hand gripped the wand, wind rushed around her, blowing back her hair and ears. Fighting through the gust with a scream, Marcy aimed the wand at the witch. As she did, a burst of pure white light enveloped the room, blinding her. As quickly as it had come, the radiance was gone and the wand slipped from Marcy’s fingers as she rubbed her burning eyes.

“Ma chérie! Little cat– you did it!” She heard a voice, and she turned to see the Frenchman standing behind her. She rushed to hug him and bury her face into his coat, and as she did she felt a snap beneath her feet as the old wand broke beneath her foot. The Frenchman then pulls her away looking her over, “My, my you really are just a little girl.” He says, as all of the witch's tricks disintegrated around them. 

Marcy smiled then said very softly, “I’m a very good actress.” 

Jean nodded, then his eyes began to well with tears. “Ma chérie, you must forgive me for almost handing you over to that terrible witch–” he stopped. “But where is the witch?” He said, suddenly pushing Marcy behind and shielding her. Their eyes both fixed on where Esmerelda had stood, only her dress and clothes remaining, now in a pile on the ground– only something was moving beneath them. “Get back ma chérie! The witch lives!” Jean shouted, barely comprehensibly through his thick accent. 

Out crawled a small fluffy white cat, with bright green eyes. It looked at them both, wide eyed then hissed. Marcy, without thought, pulled herself away from the safety of the Frenchman and hissed back with all her might. The once witch, now cat, looked at her for a brief moment before arching her back in fear then fleeing in the most ungraceful of manners as she tripped and slipped on the crumpled gown.

 And then the witch was gone. 

***

A short time later, Marcy was safely in her mother’s arms as Agnes cried tears of relief. After hearing news of Marcy’s disappearance during the play, Agnes had turned the town upside down searching for her. “It’s okay mama. You made the best costume.” Marcy murmured. Anges’ eyes went wide, both in shock and delight. “I made a friend.” Marcy continued. 

For the first time Agnes noticed the man waiting in the distance, as she locked eyes with Jean. 

“Mon amor?” Jean whispered in disbelief. 

“Jean?” Agnes said, her arms still wrapped around her daughter.

***

And that, my dear friends, is how a young girl became the heroine and savior of an entire oblivious little town– and helped two old flames find one another once more.

The End. Maybe.