Page 17 of When Night Falls

“Troian!” I holler her name and she stops to face me. “Whereisthe Gilded Hollow? I looked it up and can’t seem to find it,” I explain to her and watch a smile laced with trouble curl on her lips.

“It’s just at the end of Mainstreet. That way. Right next to the Hollow Echo street sign.” She points behind her to lead me in the direction of the place in question, but I don’t understand. The street sign she's talking about is right at the end of the Mainstreet strip that leads to the fork in the road.

The road breaks off into two different roads. One leads to Whispering Pines where nothing but houses take up space in small neighborhoods scattered throughout the hills. The other road leads to the Shops of Shadow.

I know the corner she’s talking about. There's nothing there. There's nothing down that road until you reach the Hollows Trace Manor, which supposedly doesn’t exist either.

“Are you sure? I’ve walked down that street like five or six times now and there’s nothing there but trees."

I have to move out of the way, still standing on the sidewalk, to let a few other townies get past me, but I immediately look back up to Troian, waiting for her to correct herself.

“Nope, that’s the spot. Trust me, you’ll see it. Buh bye now,” she sing songs. And with that, she’s gone—disappeared into the crowd.

I huff to myself feeling defeated, knowing that she’s not accurate in her direction to the Gilded Hollow. I might be seeingthings, but I’m not so crazy to be missing an entire building she claims to be visible.

With that, I turn to cross the street at the cross walk and walk past the bookstore to turn the corner home. But as I round the corner, something catches my eye. I look back down Mainstreet at the shops ahead, seeing a sign for a costume shop.

“That was not there before,”I say to myself, feeling like I’m going to lose my freaking mind if shit doesn’t stop messing with me like this. I know I’ve never seen that sign before.

I curiously walk toward the shop and pass by one of the windows. On it, reads a sign that says,

CELEBRATING 225 YEARS OF BUSINESS

I read it several times before feeling like I’m living in a fever dream. Two-hundred and twenty-five years is a long time, but proves me wrong. Maybe Iamblind to some of the stuff in this town. Maybe I’m not paying as close attention as I think I am.

I check the hours of operation taped on the glass. It closes at six and it’s currently five-forty-five, so says my phone. I hate it when people enter my store at the last minute, only because it’s never busy throughout the day and then at the last minute I always get someone in who doesn’t even buy anything. My mind drifts to the memory of my Edgar Allen Poe visitor from a few nights ago, remembering his wicked grin and how power exuded from him.

But I shake my head at the thought, knowing I don't have time to daydream. I have the money and I’m desperate for a mask to wear to the party that I’m suddenly anticipating even more than before, so I open the door and head inside.

I let the last bright white strand of my hair unwind from the curling iron, watching it bounce into place.

I’ve taken my time getting ready for this party. I’m not sure what to expect or who I’ll meet there, other than the girl who ran into me on the sidewalk earlier, as weird as she was. But I feel nervous and excited all at the same time, which is why I chose not to rush the process of doing my hair and makeup.

After the heat of the fresh curl cools, I flip my head upside down and shake my hair loose with my fingers. I flip my head back up and watch as my hair falls flawlessly into place. That’s the one and only thing I took away from my stupid step-sisters, was how to get ready. I especially paid close attention to how they did their hair because it was always done in pretty updos and beach wave curls. I opt to pin mine back with a white butterfly clip to create a half up, half down look, and admire my handy work.

Makeup is a different story. That takes patience and practice and for someone who never wears makeup, I decide to go for the simpler look. I decorate my eyelids with a light shimmer eyeshadow, some eyeliner and mascara. I also line and fill my lips with a deep, blood red lip stain, loving how it accentuates the tone of my gray eyes.

After checking myself out in the mirror to make sure everything is in order, it’s time to put on the outfit.

I slip out of my silk pink robe and pull on a black, lace thong before sliding into the dress I bought from the boutique earlier. It’s a black bodycon with sheer long sleeves and a plunging neckline that falls right between my breasts. I’m thankful I bought it on a whim because it’s really giving me the confidence boost I need to motivate me to walk out the front door.

I check the time to see I only have thirty minutes before ten o’clock, meaning it’s time to put on the final piece of the outfit, sealing the deal and solidifying the fact that I am actually doing this.

The mask.

A white eye mask with intricate etchings and lined with gold lace lays face up on my countertop. I snatched it up at the costume shop almost as if it called my name. I hadn’t seen it at first, in fact I didn’t spot any masquerade masks at all. So when I asked the shop manager if he had anything, he led me straight to this mystifying piece.

I walk over to the mask and pick it up, studying the object that had me worried I would miss this elusive party I was invited to. The mask is placed between two white satin ribbons, the silky texture of it feels like heaven as I rub the material back and forth against the pads of my fingers. The lace is also delicately placed along the outer edge of the mask outline. It truly is the most stunning thing I've ever seen.

But before I put it on, I need one last clarifying piece of advice on whether or not this is the right thing to do. The feeling in my gut tells me that I should stay but the pull in my heart and my mind is begging me not to listen to my instinct. And who better to ask than my best friend?

I walk further into the kitchen and see Stella sitting in her web in the corner. Almost as if she suspects my need for company, she crawls out of her hiding place and over to where I kneeldown, dropping my eyes to level with the counter. I watch her as she strides enchantingly straight toward my face.

“Stella, blink once if I should go to this party,” I whisper to her knowing just how ridiculous one might find me if they saw I was seeking social advice from a spider.

I think I can safely addtalking to a spiderto my list ofI’m truly losing itidentifiers.

But of course, my spider friend doesn’t blink. Instead, the voice I’ve been craving for days enters my head.

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